In Part 1 our hero Philip finally gets somewhere with Serena, but Steve has a prior claim on her. In frustration, he decides to leave Princeton and head up to New York, where his sexy old flame Mandy resides. Nostalgia sex, anyone?
Looking for nostalgia sex leads to reawakened love.
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Serena was off somewhere with Steve and no doubt they were imitating rabbits all weekend, and I had a choice: I could sit at home and mope, get sick to my stomach, watch porn to distract myself, or follow my gut and pay a visit to Mandy.
Mandy was my true love until she dumped me. She dumped me when I left New York to take the job in Kansas City. She patiently explained to me that there were lots of jobs in New York, even in northern New Jersey, and if I loved her I would not ask her to move to Kansas.
"It's Missouri," I replied, and that had to be the stupidest thing I had ever said.
"I'm not pulling up my roots, and for that matter pulling out my hair by the roots, to move to the middle of nowhere and leave New York, for some stupid man, even if he's handsome, great in bed, and I love him," she had said. "That goes for you, too, you jerk!" she added, almost spitting at me.
"Well, I'm going. I've already signed the papers," I had said. I was angry.
"You go, and we're done. We're finished," Mandy had replied. There was an element of volume to her voice, too. Also, for some reason, she threw her favorite Italian hand-crafted pottery cup at me, which missed me, and hit the wall, shattering into a boatload of shards and pieces.
It's always a mistake to give ultimatums, the person giving them always seems to lose, but Mandy had lost control of her emotions, just then being a mixture of love, betrayal, and anger in the extreme. I stupidly responded in kind, about to lose the most wonderful woman imaginable.
Of course, Mandy had plenty of flaws. She was quick to anger, and would say things she would later regret, and we fought more than I would have liked. The make-up sex, however, could salve the most poisonous of fights. This time, however, I did not see make-up sex on the horizon. For me, Mandy was perfect, but we both knew she would wither away and die internally if lost in a Midwest city like Kansas City, even if she were to admit (which she did not) that it was a nice city.
I called, sent emails, and mailed postcards, but Mandy never responded. She defriended me at Facebook. Now I was at my specialized training program in New Jersey and I had called and asked if I could see her?
There had been a long pause, and then she said, "Go to Hell," and she hung up. You have to know Mandy as I do. Translated, this meant, more or less, "Sure. Come on over and bring flowers." I know, I know, she's a strange woman. What can I say? Hearing her voice helped me to realize that I still loved her.
I dressed in my finest Midwest clothes, all plaids (fabulously clashing ones, too), and even wore special plaid briefs I had bought in Kansas (yes, not Missouri; it turns out Overland Park, Kansas, is a lovely suburb of Kansas City) for the occasion. Mandy hates plaids; she always said that there's nothing but plaid in the Midwest. Truth be told, there is indeed a lot of plaid, especially on the golf links.
I came with an $80 bouquet of flowers (before sales tax), a bottle of her favorite red wine (Montepulciano), and a box of a dozen condoms, the last item just in case. I rang the buzzer at the street.
"Yes?"
"It's Philip. May I come in?"
"No. Go away and go to Hell."
"Okay. What should I do with the flowers?" I asked.
"You've got flowers?" Mandy replied.
"Yes. Shall I just leave them here, on East 25th Street?" I asked, "or take them to Hell's Kitchen with me?"
She buzzed me in. "Third floor. Apartment 3G."
I chuckled to myself. I used to read Apartment 3G in the comics of my newspaper until it died in 2015. It wasn't a funny strip, it was more of a soap opera about these three single women on the make who shared the apartment.
I used to imagine, filling in all the sexy details, that the comic strip could only elliptically hint at. I fantasized about having artistic talent and penning the X-rated version of the comic strip, just for fun. Mandy had such talent. The woman could really draw. Well, maybe in a different life...
Now Mandy lived in Apt. 3G. Cool.
"Hello, Philip," Mandy said, her tone as cold as ice. "Thanks for the flowers, they're gorgeous. The bouquet is so big, I'll have to use three vases." How did she manage to keep that tone of ice when clearly, she was moved by what had to be the most spectacular bouquet of flowers she had ever seen? Mandy amazed me, and yes, she impressed me. She is a formidable woman.
She scurried around arranging the flowers, giving their stems a fresh cut, and adding Sprite to the water with the roses. Meanwhile I checked out her body, that body that I had so, so much enjoyed in our previous life.
Finally done with the roses, she joined me on the couch. "Don't think you can come here after all this time and just resume taking me to bed, Philip, 'cause it ain't happenin'." I smiled. I knew that meant she'd take me to bed in a heartbeat. Mandy has her own way of expressing things.
"Why? Are you seeing someone?" I asked.
"None of your fucking business," she said. That meant she was not.
"How about you?" Mandy asked. "Have you got some cute little Kansas sexpot back in
Missouri
you want to cheat on with me?"
Oh, we were sooo going to have sex!
"No, there's nobody there," I replied, being honest.
Mandy raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
