"I think I should talk to Mr. Owen first," the driver says, amused, toying with me.
"No, wait!" I say, then calming down, "Listen, I'm... it's fine, really." I start chuckling to myself. "Mr. Owen is in a very, very bad mood."
"I'm not supposed to do this," the driver says without looking up at me. "It's totally illegal. No way. Give it up."
"Oh come on, man," I say.
"It's totally against company regulations," he says.
"Fuck company regulations," I bark out at him.
"Fuck company regulations?" he asks, nodding, smiling.
"Mr. Owen says it's okay," I say. "Maybe you're not listening."
"Nope. No can do." He shakes his head
I pause, stand up straight, run a hand over my face, breathe in and then lean back down. "Listen to me..." I breathe in again. "They've got midgets in there." I point with a thumb back at the brownstone. "Midgets who are about to sing 'O Tannenbaum'..." I look at him imploringly, begging for sympathy, at the same time looking appropriately frightened. "Do you know how scarythat is? Elves" - I gulp - "harmonizing?" I pause, then quickly ask, "Think about it."
"Listen, mister - "
"Marcus," I remind him.
"Marcus. Whatever. I'm not gonna break the rules. I can't do anything about it. It's company rules. I'm not gonna break 'em."
We both lapse into silence. I sigh, look around, considering dragging Evelyn to the third limo, or maybe back to Barker's limo - he's a real ass**le - but no, goddamnit, I want Owen's. Meanwhile the driver sighs to himself, "If the midgets want to sing, let them sing."
"Shit," I curse, taking out my gazelleskin wallet. "Here's a hundred." I hand him two fifties.
"Two hundred," he says.
'"This city sucks," I mutter, handing the money over.
"Where do you want to go?" he asks, taking the bills with a sigh, as he starts the limousine.
"Club Chernoble," I say, rushing to the back and opening the door.
"Yes sir," he shouts.
I hop in, shutting the door just as the driver peels away from Evelyn's brownstone toward Riverside Drive. Evelyn's sitting next to me while I'm catching my breath, wiping cold sweat off my brow with an Armani handkerchief. When I look over at her, she's on the verge of tears, her lips trembling, silent for once.
"You're startling me. What happened?" I am alarmed. "What... what did I do? The Waldorf salad was good. What else?"
"Oh Patrick," she sighs. "It's... lovely. I don't know what to say."
"Well..." I pause carefully. "I don't... either."
'This," she says, presenting me with a diamond necklace from Tiffany's, Meredith's present from Owen. "Well, help me put it on, darling. You're not the Grinch, honey."
"Uh, Evelyn," I say, then curse under my breath as she turns her back toward me so I can clasp it around her neck. The limousine lurches forward and she falls against me, laughing. then kisses my cheek. "It's lovely, oh I love it... Oops, must have true breath. Sorry, honey. Find me some champagne and pour me a glass."
"But..." I stare helplessly at the glittering necklace. "That's not it."
"What?" Evelyn asks, looking around the limo. "Are there glasses in here? What's not it, honey?"
'"That's not it." I'm speaking in monotone.
"Oh, honey." She smiles. "You have something else for me?"
"No, I mean - "
"Come on, you devil," she says, playfully grabbing at my coat pocket. "Come on, what is it?"
"What is what?" I ask calmly, annoyed.
"You've got something else. Let me guess. A ring to match?" she guesses. "A matching bracelet? A brooch? So that's itl" She claps her hands. "It's a matching brooch."
While I'm trying to push her away from me, holding one of her arms back, the other snakes behind me and grabs something out of my pocket - another fortune cookie I lifted from the dead Chinese boy. She stares at it, puzzled for a moment, and says, "Patrick, you're so... romantic," and then, studying the fortune cookie and with less enthusiasm, "so... original."
I'm also staring at the fortune cookie. It's got a lot of blood on it and I shrug and say, as jovially as I can, "Oh, you know me."
