Filthy Gorgeous (5 page)

Hemingway knew it. Kerouac knew it. Hell, even Barney Gumble knows it.

Can you guess what my team and I do when we run into a roadblock at the office?

We vodkastorm.

The concept is simple. We lock ourselves in a room with a crate of vodka and we don’t come out for air until we’ve found a solution. Three hours or three days, it never fails. Vodkastorm has been the catalyst for some of our most famous campaigns. Do you remember that chocolate commercial with the ice-dancing gorilla? What about the giant billboard in Times Square with the naked guy on a unicycle?

I’m proud to say that they were all creations of Slade Group, and all conceived after a vodkastorm.

Why vodka? It keeps the mind lucid. Awake. Not like the hallucinogenic green toxin I ingested at Ward 8. I’d sooner chop off my balls and sit in a bathtub of vinegar than let a drop of that crazy juice pass my lips again.

Pishov is Russia’s finest export since Anna Kournikova. It’s lethal, and at eighty percent proof, it’s creative gold. Mr. Lebedev runs a convenience store next door to Parker’s apartment and he always keeps a little something under the counter for those in the know.

My team is assembled at my apartment, so let me introduce them. You’ve already met Parker, so let’s start with Karl Lindgren, our Chief of Digital Media. He’s in charge of all things web-related. We attended the same high school. He’s a great guy with a rapier wit. He’s also the most Hispanic looking Swede you’ll ever meet. Needless to say, we’ve never questioned his paternity out loud.

Karl has this whole hipster style going on that women adore, but he’s a one-woman guy and very happy with his fiancée, Susie.

Raj Kapoor is my personal assistant. You figured I’d have a female assistant, right?

After WangGate, my father decided that it would be in the best interests of the company for me to hire a dude. An intern when he first joined us, Raj is one of the most diligent workers I’ve ever had. When we interviewed him, he was wearing a Pringle sweater, corduroy slacks, and sporting a comb-over so extreme that he made Donald Trump look hip.

So Parker and I took Raj under our wing. A new Armani suit and a trip to Sapphires later, and his indoctrination into Slade Group was complete.

Last—but by no means least—meet Petie, my sulphur-crested cockatoo. I know what you’re thinking—what is a mover and shaker like Alexander Slade doing with a cockatoo?

Let me explain.

Earlier this year, I ran into an ex-client at the golf club. Pete O’Sullivan is a fun guy, a notorious gambler, and a drunk who’s always in the red. Pete challenged me to a game of poker.

Unluckily for him, I’m something of a card shark. I tried to extricate myself from the contest and spare him the humiliation, but Pete’s a persuasive guy. A few beers later and we sat down at the table. I beat him, of course, and Pete promised he’d pay all twenty-eight thousand dollars in cash. Truth be told, I had no intention of taking his money.

When I arrived at the office the following Monday, I found Pete had paid his dues. Sort of.  On my desk sat a bottle of Captain Morgan and a letter to say that he was sailing back to Ireland.

Oh, and a cockatoo.

A cock-a-fucking-too.

I’m not a pirate, but Pete had obviously missed that memo. Although happy to accept the rum, there was no question of me taking on the bird. My mind was made up—the cockatoo had to go. Then my cell rang, and at the time it was
Billie Jean
. I looked down to see the bird moonwalking on its perch. Who can resist a moonwalking cock? I changed my mind right then and named him Petie.

Anyway, now you’ve met my team, let’s get back to my heartbreaking tale of familial rejection.

With the Pishov in free flow, I arm myself with a flipchart and marker pen, and give the team a blow-by-blow account of my trip to Montauk. They listen intently as I regale the events of this morning, culminating with my father’s stunning ultimatum.

“That’s some pretty serious shit,” Parker concludes as he pours another glass of vodka.

“Right, but let’s focus on the solution. How the fuck am I going to get married without actually getting married?”

Karl clears his throat and raises his hand. “I have a question.”

I hold the tip of the marker pen against the board. “Fire away, Karl.”

“Just so we’re clear, I’ve cancelled a dinner date with the future parents-in-law at Costino’s because you want us to do what exactly?”

I sigh. “Karl, do you have anything constructive you’d like to say?”

He crosses his arms defensively. “I’m a digital creative. I’m not your fucking therapist!”

“Karl, I find your ongoing commitment to monogamy both unnerving and highly offensive. Please have some respect for the matter at hand. Parker, what about you? Got any ideas?”

Parker fails to suppress a laugh. “I’d have given my left nut to see your father’s face.”

Idiot.

Look at Raj. He’s taking notes. Here’s a guy who truly grasps the severity of my situation.

“Guys, in all seriousness, I’m too close to this. I can’t fucking think straight. You guys have some of the best creative brains in the city. I know we can pull this off. Oh … did I mention the bonus?”

Parker rubs his hands together in glee. “Now you’re talking. I want ten percent and a new desk.”

Karl smirks. “I want ten percent and a new MacBook Air.”

“Done and done. Raj, how you getting on, buddy?” I grab the notebook from his hands and glance over his notes.

There are no notes. 

Raj Kapoor has just spent the best part of an hour sketching pictures of breasts.

***

One hour and two bottles of Pishov later …

“I got it! How about online dating?” Raj announces triumphantly. “It’s all the rage in India. The website Desperately Sihking Suma has over forty million members.”

We’ve explored several ideas.

Online dating. Cash incentives. Sham-marriages. My team suggested I divorce my parents for bullying and clean them out for half of their estate.

They all suck ass.

Karl unscrews another bottle of Pishov. “Just do as your father says. Hell, you might even enjoy it. Besides, I’d pay good money to watch you at the altar and it would be one hell of a party.” 

Parker and Karl bump fists and I throw my stereo remote at them. “Shut the hell up!”

“Shut the hell up!”

Parker cocks a brow in Petie’s direction. “Can you kindly ask your cock to refrain from cussing at me? I’m trying to concentrate.”

My face turns completely serious. “Guys, I don’t think you don’t realize just how difficult it is to be Alexander Slade. I can’t step outside my frigging apartment without being propositioned, cajoled, stalked, and lusted over by the opposite sex. Forget monogamy, prenupt or no prenupt. Lawyers can be so sneaky these day.”

Parker laughs. “Imagine that guys, a life overrun with fawning female acolytes. What a tragedy. Said no man.
Ever
.”

Karl checks his watch and sighs. “I bet Susie’s on her main course now. I’m hungry. Can we get takeout?”

And Raj?

He’s happy.

He’s still drawing pictures of tits.

***

Two hours, three bottles of Pishov and five pizzas later …

“Hey, it’s Renée. Listen, I want to talk to you about last night … umm … you haven’t returned my calls. I’ve been reading articles in
Cosmo
and it’ll be fine, baby. It happens to all guys at one time or another. We’ll have you hard and ready to fuck again in no time. Call me.”

Shit.

I dive from the couch and onto the phone like a quarterback in the end zone. It’s too late. The guys are laughing their asses off.

They already heard every goddamn word.

Karl raises his glass. “Interesting. I’ll sleep well tonight, safe in the knowledge that even the most ardent of Lotharios are prone to the occasional episode of penile dysfunction. Cheers.”

Parker jumps up. “Guy’s, that’s it! Renée! She’s smart. She’s a little on the cold side, but smart. Great ass. Your father likes her. She’s good with finances. You’re fucking her already, and best of all? She knows she’s not the only one. Did I mention that she has a great ass?”

Karl claps his hands together. “Sparky’s got it. There’s you answer.”

Parker smiles triumphantly. “Guys, I believe our work here is done. I’ll get back to you on Monday about the desk.”

I knock back another Pishov and sigh. “Forget it, guys. Last night, Renée told me that she loves me. I was banging her right there, over the arm of the couch, and she just came right out with it.”

Parkers smile fades into a blank stare and he sinks back into his chair. “Shit. Sorry man. No go, eh?”

There you have it, ladies. It’s a no-go.

Never sleep with a woman who loves you if you don’t love her back—it’s one of the unspoken but universally acknowledged laws that men abide by. It’s right up there with never getting down and dirty with your best friends’ ex, and never
ever
sticking your penis in your friend’s mother, even if she’s a MILF.

Raj jumps up from his chair. “I got it! We can make an ad campaign to find you a wife.”

Excuse me while I bang my head repeatedly against this wall. Has he been listening to anything I’ve said?

This is going to be a long, long night.

***

The following morning.

I blink.

My goddamn head is pounding harder than a sailor on shore leave. I’d forgotten about the inevitable Russian hangover that follows a Pishov binge.

I roll over onto my back and groan.
I’m never drinking again.

Shielding my eyes from the bright morning light, I eventually manage to haul my ass up off the couch to assess the damage.
Jesus fucking Christ
. Empty pizza boxes and glass bottles are strewn across the floor. Photographs are hanging haphazardly from the walls. It’s like the morning after an alcohol-soaked version of the Mad Hatter’s tea party.

I sniff the air and follow the scent of waffles to the kitchen to find Raj revving the shit out of my KitchenAid. We’ve got eggs, bacon, waffles, hash browns, and pastries.

Delicious.

See, I told you that he’s useful, didn’t I?

“Good morning, Boss. Would you like an orange juice?”

I nod and stretch. “Where’s Karl?”

“Karl? He went home after … umm … nothing.”

Do you see the way Raj is twisting the belt of the apron? He’s lying. Raj only fidgets when he has something to hide. He gets this guilty look on his face, like a puppy that’s just pissed all over your new slacks, but still expects you to talk it for walkies.

“Raj, you’ve got three seconds. Three … two …”

He edges toward the countertop; his eyes wide like a startled deer. “We made some adverts, Boss. Well, Karl and Parker did. I tried to stop them, really I did … I told them not to send it!”

Uh-oh.

“Advert? What advert?”

He looks over his shoulder to Parker, who is still sleeping like a baby in the corner. I stride over and gently nudge him on the shoulder. “Good morning, Goldilocks. I believe you have something you want to share with me?”

He rolls over without opening his eyes. And now he’s snoring. I grab the MacBook from his lap and swipe the touchpad. The machine whirrs into action and the screen lights up.

And I wish to hell I hadn’t.

See this?

Devilishly handsome SWM, 29, 6’1”, 180lbs, with dark brown hair and green eyes seeks a gorgeous woman for amazing sex and possible marriage.

No crazies need apply.

Wait, it gets worse.

FILTHY seeks GORGEOUS for mutually destructive long term relationship – possible marriage
.

Ladies, this is your lucky day.

I’m emotionally unavailable, afraid of commitment, and fantastic in bed.

Interested? Then read on …

Me: Tall. Dark. Handsome. Rich (almost).

Need I go on?

Alright then: Harvard-educated. Hedonistic workaholic. Master of the oral arts.

Skilled pastry chef. Great dancer. Currently impotent—you’re the solution.

Interests: Rumpology. Cruising in the Aston. Cunnilingus. Ornithology. Russian vodka. Golf. Playing with my cock.

Unique Selling Point: I have two cocks.

You:  26-35 year old. Gorgeous. Long legs. Good actress. Animal lover.

Enjoys nocturnal activities. Dynamite in bed. Experience with handling a cock cage.

NOT CRAZY.

I scroll through the contents of Parker’s sent items box in amused horror. There are registrations to various dating sites.
Holy Hell.
He even attached photographs. ‘Filthy’ is clearly recognizable as Alexander Slade, right down to his tighty-fucking-whities.