Not The Usual Date: The Invitation (Part One)

The Hangover
Anthony Falbo

A melodious tune.

Crap.
“Yeah?”
“Ese!”
“Yes, Wan.”
“How’s my homie on the west saaaaiiiiiiide?”
“Wan, are you latino or black?”
“Blatino, homie.”
“Wan. I’m in a very shit state of being right now. Cut to the chase.”
“Take a chill pill, Will!”
“Wan.”
“Sheesh. Okay. Okay. You should be nice to those who come bearing good tidings, you know!”
“You don’t know what the news has to be to be good right now, man.”
“Zack, I’ve got news that would be good any time, any day, to any man.”
Sigh. “Spill it.”
“One word: models.”
“Models?”
“Models.”
“As in women?”
“As in fine women. As in women so fine, it would be a crime not to wine and dine them. And you know all about crime don’t cha? They’re like BBP.”
“Hmmm… I don’t know, man. I’ve feeling a bit fucked up right now.”
“WHAT?!!”
“I’ve only had 4 hours of sleep. I’ve been up since 9’ish, taking shit from my mom, 13 and …”
“Fuck that shit, man! Don’t tell me you’re pining about that cockteaser last week!”
“Fuck that.”
“Fuck you. Fuck that. You’ve been whining like a fucking cunt all week about that piece of ass.”
“She’s not …”
“She’s a piece of ass, okay?”
Don’t need. This. Right now.
“Fine. Fine. She’s a piece of ass.”

“That’s better. That’s rule number one. Don’t forget that. The moment you treat them as anything else, you get in deep trouble. Now, Dr. Wan has just the thing to cure that whiny ass of yours, because, brother, it’s starting to make me ill as well. So I have booked us some specialists who will take a good look at us and perhaps prescribe something for us. Or we can look at the specialists and see what they can do for us! Hahahahaha…”
Ah. Such simplicity. In life. In love.
Correct that. In Sex.
“Wan… I told you I’m like really …”
“Zack, you’re not fucking doing this to me man! You are not saying ‘no’ to me!”
“Wan…”
“Don’t make me do what I have to do to get you out.”
“Wan…”
“I’m thinking your place. About Maghrib. Lots of booze. Lots of women. Lots of …”
Bastard.
“Bastard.”
“Is that a ‘yes’ then?”
“Wan, why can’t you ask somebody else?”
“You won’t believe this!”
“I will.”
“Okay then, check this out. Cloud 9, right? Friday night. With Chong, Deva, Thiru and all of that.”
“Thiru?”
“So, I’m working the bar early. Like 12’ish. After an hour, I’m still without a number, right? We hit the dance floor. Next thing you know I’m bumping and grinding with this hot mama and her friends. And man, can she dance! AND all her friends were like HOT! So we’re there for I don’t know how long. Things kinda spun out of control and I forgot some bits.”
“What the hell were you on?”
“God knows. We took combos. And boozed.”
“Jesus.”
“Didn’t see him there. So anyway, we’re like stumbling out at 6 or something like that and I reach in my shirt pocket and there’s a number and a name. Cha-ching! Call her the next day and she’s game for dinner.”
“So what the hell has this got to do with me?”
“Well, she’s game if she can bring her friend. And they’re both students AND models.”
“Yes, you can stop emphasizing the word ‘model’ now. I heard you the first time. And students? For god’s sake Wan, how old are they?”
“Chill pill man! It’s all good. And legal, okay? So, anyway, the chick I talked to she’s in mass comm or something like that and her friend does law. She’s asking me who I was bringing, right? I tell her my friend who’s a lawyer. She wants a name, so I tell her: THE Zachary Hamid. Know what?”
“What?”
“Her friend’s fucking heard of you! Turns out her friend actually reads the papers and followed your case. She thinks you’re like this legal greek god or something.”
“Wan. Please.”
“I kid you not! And that’s not the end of it!”
“Whatever, Wan. Just don’t feel like going out with models tonight.”
“What the fuck?! Any reasonable man on the fucking Clapham Omnibus wants to go out with models!”
“I don’t take the fucking Clapham Omnibus.”
“What the fuck, man?!”
“It’s just tiring man. And I’m tired. I never know what to say to them. And they never seem to want to say anything.”
“Man… I think you must be the only dick getting so worked up about conversation and talking and shit. What the hell you wanna do that for? Kick back. Relax. Enjoy the beauties. It’s time for body language, not the English language. Knowhatimean?”
“Unfortunately.”
“So, anyway…”
“There’s more?”
“Hell yeah! I haven’t even got to the best part yet!”
“Is this gonna take long? I really gotta get some sleep if I’m going to go out.”
“Just shut up then I’ll finish quicker!”
“Okay. I’m shutting up.”
“So I asked her what her friend’s name was. She told me: ‘Nadia Lim’.”
Pause.
“Am I supposed to say something?”
“Yes!”
“You just told me to shut up.”
“Fuck that. You can talk now.”
“Okay. Nadia Lim. So what? Who the hell is she?”
“’Who the hell is she?’”
“Yeah.”
“Uhhh… ‘she’ is just the newly crowned Miss Malaysia.”
“Are you serious?”
“As I’ve ever been. How the hell can you not know about that, man?!”
“Wan. I read the news. Real news, you know. People dying. Companies going insolvent. Global warming. And all that shit.”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
“When the hell was she crowned Miss Malaysia, anyway?”
“About a month back.”
“It’s only noon and this has to be the most fucking bizarre day in my life.”
“What’s bizarre about Miss Malaysia?”
“Nothing. Forget I said anything. So are we picking them up or what?”
“No, they’re gonna meet us there.”
“Good. You pick me up then.”
“What?!”
“I’m fucking tired man.”
“Oklah. But I don’t feel like driving, either.”
“Can’t you use your father’s driver or something?”
“Forget it. I’ll sort something out. Pick you up at 8. Since you’re in such a shit mood I’ll bring some
appetizers.”
“Great. What are you bringing?”
“Our usual.”
“Wicked. Can you bring me some as well? I’m out.”
“Done. Anything else?”
“Yeah. Leave me alone.”