"Listen," I say, my voice trembling with emotion, "have whatever you want but I'm telling you I recommend the Diet Pepsi." I look down at my lap, at the blue cloth napkin, the words Deck Chairs sewn into the napkin's edge, and for a moment think I'm going to cry; my chin trembles and I can't swallow.
Courtney reaches over and touches my wrist gently, stroking my Rolex. "It's okay Patrick. It really is...."
A sharp pain near my liver overcomes the surge of emotion and I sit up in my chair, startled, confused, and the waiter leaves and then Anne asks if we've seen the recent David Onica exhibit and I'm feeling calmer.
It turns out we haven't seen the show but I don't want to be tacky enough to bring up the fact I own one, so I lightly kick Courtney under the table. This raises her out of the lithium-induced stupor and she says robotically, "Patrick owns an Onica. He really does."
I smile, pleased; sip my J&B.
"Oh that's fantas tic, Patrick," Anne says.
"Really? An Onica?" Scott asks. "Isn't he quite expensive?"
"Well, let's just say..." I sip my drink, suddenly confused: say... say what? "Nothing."
Courtney sighs, anticipating another kick. "Patrick's cost twenty thousand dollars." She seems bored out of her mind, picking at a flat, warm piece of corn bread.
I give her a sharp look and try not to hiss. "Uh, no, Courtney, it was really fifty."
She slowly looks up from the corn bread she's mashing between her fingers and even in her lithium haze manages a stare so malicious that it automatically humbles me, but not enough to tell Scott and Anne the truth: that the Onica cost only twelve grand. But Courtney's frightening gaze - though I might be overreacting; she might be staring disapprovingly at the patterns on the columns, the venetian blinds on the skylight, the Montigo vases full of purple tulips lining the bar - scares me enough to not elaborate on the procedure of purchasing an Onica. It's a stare that I can interpret fairly easily. It warns: Kick me again and no pu**y, do you understand?
'That seems...." Anne starts.
I hold my breath, my face tight with tension.
"...low," she murmurs.
I exhale. "It is. But I got a fabulous deal," I say, gulping.