The Kings Of Cool

155

Kim is surprised to see him.

“John,” she says, “what a delightful surprise.”

In a voice to make sure he knows that it is a surprise, but by no means a delight.

That she isn’t the girl he knew from the cave.

Or the drug mule with cocaine strapped to her body.

Or the wannabe debutante performing fellatio at a party.

She’s a wealthy young divorcee, long separated and well insulated from that life. The fact that she has invested some of her divorce settlement into a common business does not make them peers.

He is a dope dealer.

She is a businessperson.

“I won’t keep you long,” John says.

It made him laugh, he had to go through a security kiosk to get to her house on Emerald Bay. Now she stands outside her front door, looking cool, blonde, and beautiful in a summer dress and jewelry.

Princess fucking Grace.

Come off it, he thinks.

I sold coke to buy my place.

You sold your gash.

In the words of Lenny Bruce-“we’re all the same cat.”

“What can I do for you?” she asks.

“It’s about Doc.”

“Doc?”

You remember Doc-he used to fuck your mother in a cave while you lay there humming? He strapped cocaine next to your precious twat and then boosted you onto the first step of the social ladder? He turned your little investment into a small fortune?

That Doc?

“Is he unwell?” she asks, apparently recovering her memory.

“I guess you could say that,” John answers.

He runs through the whole thing again.

Kim’s quicker on the uptake than Stan.

And more decisive.

“I don’t owe Doc anything,” she says, bending over to inspect the job that the Mexican gardeners did on the flower bed. “In fact, I barely remember him.”

But, like Stan, she has to get in a parting shot as he walks away “John?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ever come here again,” she says. “And if we should ever run into each other in public…”

“Got it,” John says.

It’s the eighties.