Bone in the Throat - Anthony Bourdain [74]
"Sure," said the driver. "I hate when that happens."
TOMMY WAS STANDING there in the hall, holding the bag of sweaters, when Cheryl answered her door.
"Don't be upset," said Tommy.
"I'm not upset," said Cheryl. "I'm mad."
"Please," said Tommy.
"I'm grossed out," said Cheryl, standing in her doorway, one arm blocking the way. She looked at Tommy's eye. "Wow!" she said. "I did that?"
"It was a nice punch," said Tommy. "You really got your shoulder into it."
A fat tear rolled out of the bloodshot eye. Tommy made the most of it, dabbing at the eye with his sleeve.
"You fucked that cunt," said Cheryl. "Anybody else, I wouldn't mind so much."
"I'm sorry," said Tommy. "I was drunk."
"That cunt. I should bust her in the fucking mouth too," said Cheryl.
"I'm sorry," said Tommy. "I'm really sorry. I was really, really drunk. It just happened."
"You are a complete fucking asshole," said Cheryl, taking a longer look at the eye.
"I know," said Tommy.
"That looks really bad," said Cheryl. She stepped back into the apartment, unsure what to do. "Can you see out of it? You're not going to go fucking blind on me or something like that, are you? Even though you fucking deserve it."
"No, I'll be fine," said Tommy, sliding through the open door. "I could use some ice, though. Its swelling up like a motherfucker."
Cheryl went over to the refrigerator and took out a tray of ice cubes. She found a towel hanging on the bathroom doorknob and emptied the ice into it.
"You better do it," said Cheryl. "I'm not inclined to be gentle right now."
Tommy took the towel and pressed it against his eye. He tilted his head back and slowly sat down on the double bed in the middle of the room.
"If I owned a chair, I'd be telling you to get off my fucking bed," said Cheryl.
"I'm sorry, Cheryl. I'm really sorry," said Tommy from underneath the towel.
"Fuck me, fuck my friends, is that it?" said Cheryl. "You're getting the bed all wet." She found a clean towel on top of the storage cabinet in the corner and tossed it onto Tommy's chest. He tucked it under his head and lay back down.
"I hope it hurts," said Cheryl.
"It does," said Tommy. "It hurts like a motherfucker."
"Yeah, well. . . You're not the injured party here. I'm the injured party. Me," said Cheryl.
"I think this qualifies as an injury," said Tommy. "The cab driver on the way down asked if I wanted to go to Emergency."
"All right, all right, let me see it," said Cheryl. She lifted a corner of the ice pack and peeked at the eye. "That's not that bad," she said, wincing slightly. She put the ice pack back on the eye. "You gonna sue me now? Call up one of those lawyers on TV? Maybe you can garnish my tips." She moved the ice pack roughly, so it covered all the swelling.
"Ouch!" said Tommy.
"So everybody in the restaurant knows, right?"
"Nobody knows," said Tommy.
"Yeah, right, nobody knows. That cow has told everybody on the floor by now, are you kidding me? She's back there with a fucking bullhorn right now probably, in the waiters' station. 'Ladies and Gentlemen. Please be advised: I fucked Cheryl's boyfriend!' I feel like I'm gonna throw up."
"I didn't know for sure I was your boyfriend," said Tommy, sitting up in bed.
"Well, let's see," said Cheryl. "We've been sleeping in the same bed for the last four months. I seem to remember we were having sex on a regular basis . . . I guess . . . " Cheryl slapped herself in the face. "What the fuck am I saying? What am I, an idiot? I can't believe what I'm saying, am I some sort of whining little airhead? You're right—I'm not your girlfriend. What the fuck does that mean? You can fuck anybody you want?"
Tommy reached over, but she pulled away.
"I want you to be my girlfriend," he said. "I don't know what the fuck that means, but you know. . . partners in crime and all that. We never talked about that, you know? It's not an excuse. I did something wrong. I know that. It's bad manners. Bad form. I know. Whatever it is we are . . . I . . . I betrayed you kind of. And I'm sorry about it. I was drunk,