PARKER : 022
PARKER : 022
WE’RE IN THE LIMO, ABOUT halfway home, when I realize that I’m Parker Fucking Altman, and Parker Fucking Altman, who snagged the cover of Rolling Stone, doesn’t go without something he wants.
For a little while, the idea confuses me — some mishmash of my old ways of seeing life blending with the new ways like two streams coming together. I’m lost in the turbulence for a while, then I decide I’m being stupid and that the trajectory of all this is obvious.
I stayed away from Angela’s part of my life for almost ten years, and during that decade, my life steadily improved. Duncan and I started dicking around while in our teens, then got serious with seed money from Duncan’s dad when we were twenty. Since then, my net worth has ticked steadily upward. I have the Midas touch because I’m Parker Fucking Altman. I didn’t give a crap back then, and being true to who I was (not giving a shit) made me bulletproof.
I’d lived on the streets, literally, for a brief period between getting the hell out of my dad’s house and the day we got that first loan. Before then, I was fighting for pretty much everything. I lived under a dead weight sack of shit while my dad was between wives then lived under two dead weight sacks of shit when he married Maria. That second sack of shit just yelled at me all the time, adding sinning to being a criminal on my personal resume. Everything I did in that house was going to earn me a ticket to Hell. Whatever. The way I saw it back then, I was in Hell already.
Leaving home improved for me. The longer I stayed away, the better things got.
So far, so good.
But then what happens? I get some mail and go backward — dumpster dive by revisiting the world of my poor, hated past. I have a weak moment and decide to stop being Parker Fucking Altman, going back to my life as an insecure douche bag by hooking up with Angela and her baggage.
I feel like shit the minute I do.
Leaving my old life made things better. Bringing it back made them worse.
It’s so obvious. Of course I said that only the world’s crap stayed in places like where my old man lives. I said it because I believe it. I still do, now that I think about it. Angela could have left but decided to stay. That’s on her, not me. Why should I feel bad for looking down on who and where I used to be? Why should I feel bad for thinking those old days were unmitigated shit? Why should I pretend to think they were fabulous now?
I look out the window. Samantha and Duncan are somewhere beside me, but I barely care. I drank a lot as we finished dinner, and I finished dinner because I’m Parker Fucking Altman.
I ride for a while in melancholy, trying to ignore Sam and Duncan’s yammering.
I open the windows. I close them. I turn on the radio over Duncan’s protests. Then I turn it off. For a while, I stare out the window, feeling nineteen again, effortlessly slapped back to my old shithole because I foolishly allowed a moment of weakness to suck me in. Didn’t my shrinks warn me to stay away? It’s fine to divorce your parents, they said. Dad’s a dick? Then let him rot. And if he has prisoners of fortune with him, that’s his problem and their problem, not Parker Fucking Altman’s problem. I’m a good person. I give millions to charity. I don’t have to help my dad, and screw anyone who thinks I do. Screw Angela if that’s what she’s implying, which after enough alcohol I’m sure she is.
My money is mine to spend as I please, and I can have any prejudices I want. I earned what’s mine. I refuse to feel guilty about my success, or about the failure of others.
I don’t stop to examine my logic because with booze in my veins, I already feel a lot better than I did when Angela stormed out and I failed to follow her. Instead, I try to unpack this newer, better set of emotions. And you know who’s good at helping me with things like this? Duncan.
I turn to Duncan and say, “Let’s go somewhere noisy.”
Duncan owns this club called Supernova, so he tells Brian to take us there. I’m too old for clubs, but at this point I don’t care what anyone thinks I’m too old, too rich, or too good for.
I’ve got my first tab of Molly two minutes after entering the thumping, riotous mass, and by the time I’m into rehashing dinner’s events with Duncan, I’ve forgotten why it seemed like such a big deal. Ten minutes after that, there are two slutty girls on either side of me and way too much touching.
Duncan takes charge of the situation because he’s a motherfucking player. He starts reading the two sluts the WinFinity balance sheet, and I think they both have orgasms every time he recites a number above seven figures.
I show the girls my watch. I promise them rides in my jet. Duncan says he wants to get in on that, and before I know it we’re both in his limo because it’s bigger than mine. I consider calling Samantha but can’t remember if I broke up with her. Then I remember through my blissful haze that she’s already here, somewhere in the club. I text her rather than trying to find her. I tell her she’s welcome to come back to Duncan’s, where the hot tub’s about to get sticky. Of course she’ll show. If anyone can be bought, Samantha can. And right now, I’m in a buying mood.
I don’t remember much of what follows. There are more drugs, though I’m not sure what they are. All that matters is the more I take, the more I feel like myself.
I wake up in a suit I’ve not worn in months, not sure how the hell I got it if it was in my closet rather than Duncan’s. There’s a wash of color and feelings, then I realize my dick is in someone’s mouth. It’s Samantha’s. There’s still no indication as to whether or not we’ve broken up, but I won’t care for at least five or ten minutes. She almost makes me cum, but then she rises up and I realize she’s been naked the entire time.
Samantha impales herself on my dick and rides it for long enough to get off, my own staying power seemingly enhanced by sleep or mind-altering substances. I have no idea what time of day it is. This stops bothering me when Sam hops off, returns my cock to her mouth, and jerks me off until I shoot a gallon of jizz down her throat and all over her face.