These Women

A Blog Sitcom

Archive for Charley Malarkey’s

The Hateful Dossier of an Homme d’affaires

HOKEY POCUS: I go to Charley Malarkey’s tonight, the shitty/good fusion franchise. To eat dinner, and have some drinks to bring me down from a formidable caffeine high of earlier this day.


So, I take the last open seat at the bar, and this fuck is sitting to my right, in a billowy white dress shirt, talking to this cute black-haired girl.


I, on the other hand, have my notebook, and am reading Paul Verlaine in French.


YURI NULL: you are already in a movie.


HOKEY POCUS: So, this guy is getting drunk, and it becomes clear she’s not his girlfriend, nor his ‘date’, just a girl he ‘met’. And they’re eating, having drinks. And he’s getting drunk on — what? — on multiple Miller Lites. She’s drinking wine. He has a platinum/silver wedding band, and begins talking about his children. Let me also say that this guy was a ‘businessman,’ about our age — as it turns out, 33 — in town from Charleston for his company.


YURI NULL: i dislike him already.


HOKEY POCUS: She = 29. In town from the city. And apparently having to hear about how well this dude’s daughter can count, and how her favorite word is “the.”  This is how he’s attempting to woo this woman, who, by the way, despite being a young professional, is clearly all about indie-rock. But, bafflingly still, she’s humoring him, maybe because, “Hey, it’s an evening.” So he continues, going on and on about how his daughter, who’s barely even a toddler, plays fashion-police vs. dad’s more billowy choices. “Look at me, look at my style,” he says. “It’s nothing. Nothing.” But the glimmer of a strategy reveals itself when he suddenly juxtaposes the “effectively over’ness” of his own life with the life of the dinner-companion: “Oh, but look at you — you’re a beautiful girl, whose whole future lies ahead of you…”


The bartender shows up. Jerk says: “I’d like another light beer — and another wine for the lady.” Throughout the evening, going forward, every time he orders drinks, he makes it a point to request “a wine, for the lady.” That said, he’s starting to feel loose, three light beers in, and they’re laughing about this or that and Jerk says, apropos of some multiple-partner-simul-sex topic they were on, how much he would LOVE to get in a foursome with her and her friends. She reminds him he’s married with children and he’s like, “Yeah, you’re right, I should feel lucky with what I have.”


Now, at one point, as I’m continuing to take notes about his line of bullshit, and build a word-portrait from jealous rage, Jerk turns to me and says, “You’re not drawing pictures of me there, are you?”


YURI NULL: no way.


HOKEY POCUS: Thus, the open sesame.


I say, I might as well be.


He says, Draw a portrait of me.


I say, All right, but you’re not going to be happy.


YURI NULL: you should have drawn one like the portrait you did of me. my balls and dong were somehow squeezed between my legs on the backside. it was amazing. i wish you still had it.


HOKEY POCUS: He begins to go off about how big his nose is. But of course it’s a normal nose, and he’s a handsome guy — albeit beginning to bald at the satellite-dish. So at this point, she says, “Oh, I love those notebooks. I have hundreds of them.”


And right as I’m about to reveal the secret compartment in the inside back cover, she’s already raving about the feature. I display it like it’s magic, like I’m Moleskine the Magnificent.


Our quasi-handsome married doof, meanwhile, realizes he’s now in danger of losing the game. So he says, “Draw my portrait — but bear in mind I have such a big nose — and if I like the picture, I’ll buy you a wine. If I don’t — ” “If you don’t?” “I’ll punch you in the face.” “If you punch me in the face, I don’t care, because I hate my life. But I’ll punch you back.” “Fair enough.”


So I draw his portrait. And make no mistake, it’s an accurate rendering. He loves it. And, drunk (on light beers), begins to show it to everyone at the bar, who couldn’t give a FUCK.


And then this guy just goes back to babbling about how great his kids are, and other banalities even more banal than the “understandable-magic” of having children. Then there’s a bit more chit-chat, and at this point, he clearly just wants to take her back to the Hyatt and bang.


YURI NULL: except he ends up weeping over his portrait. which he loves and hates, at the same time.


HOKEY POCUS: So, then, they leave, “Nice to meet you (okay let’s get out of here before he steals you from me)…” And as they’re walking out — she walking behind him — she eyes the book of Verlaine and enigmatically goes:


“Au revoir.”


So I say to myself, All right — this game is on, and Jerk’s not going to beat me at it.


YURI NULL: i’m pissed that he leaves with her. they came together or what? you said they “met” but what really happened?


HOKEY POCUS: They met, that was the truth. And then they left together — Jerk kept buying her wines, while he drank light-beer-pints — and then ushered her out, like “they were now together, having met there and hit it off.”


So, what do I do.


YURI NULL: you take a cab to the hyatt?


HOKEY POCUS: Jerk’s last words before leaving: “Let’s go somewhere else and get a drink.”


I sign off my check.


Jerk, an out-of-towner, doesn’t know the area, yet wants to get a drink? That means they have only one other option, in the vicinity of Charley Malarkey’s — and that option is the bar at Ruby Tuesday’s.


So you know, I think I’m in the mood for a nightcap, and I’ll mosey on over there.




YURI NULL: dude, you could be a professional sleith —




HOKEY POCUS: Dude, I’m ready to ruin Jerk’s night. Without regret.


YURI NULL:hi, i’m keith the sleith.”


HOKEY POCUS: He’s married, and is using anecdotes about his two children to try to lay an indie-rock girl from Greenpoint or wherever? Fuck him.


He doesn’t deserve it.


I’m going to destroy his night.


So. I go in, walk up to the left of Jerk in Ruby Tuesday’s, and say, “What’s up, dick?”


He’s nonplussed. She’s heartened.


He says to her:


“Just when I think I landed you —–” 


I say: “Dude — you have a wedding band, and can’t stop talking about your kids. Wake up.” He says, “Yeah, yeah.” I say: “In fact, I can tell that if you talk about your kids for 20 seconds more, you’re gonna start to tear up.” — I was trying to make him cry with just the power of suggestion.


YURI NULL: holy shit.


HOKEY POCUS: He admits this is true, and how he can start to cry just thinking of them, and says that every morning is “like Christmas morning” when he gets them out of bed.


YURI NULL: you’re kidding!


HOKEY POCUS: I’m not kidding. Whereas for them, waking up every morning to that brute must be like waking up to a nightmare. Anyway, this prick wanted to play hardball, I’ll throw the hardball back in his face. Because I have nothing to lose, whereas he has the wife and kids in Charleston.


Helen — as is the girl’s name — can’t get enough of this. She knows who the victor is.


YURI NULL: this is cinematic.


“my name is hokey, but you, jerk, can call me victor.”


HOKEY POCUS: Cut to one hour of me hitting it off with Helen, and we’re getting on famously and talking about things that Jerk can’t comprehend.


YURI NULL: dude, is he pissed? what is his situation? he’s not irate?


HOKEY POCUS: Jerk says: “I was so close — ” right in front of her. I say: “Deal with it.” And I keep bringing up his wife and kids.


Jerk = handsome, but banal. 


YURI NULL: so how does it end?


HOKEY POCUS: So here’s how it ends.


She and I are talking, he wants to go. He says: “Come on, come on.”


YURI NULL: does he go to reach for her hand and you slap it?


HOKEY POCUS: I say, “Look, you can go back with him, and do whatever you want to do, but I’m getting your information, and we’re meeting up again soon.”


There we are, standing there, holding hands. She gives me her info, I give her mine. It’s all very romantic.


And then she says the following:


“Well, he’s kind of a dork — but for tonight… well, I don’t know… he kind of reminds me of Lawrence Ferlinghetti…”