Bobby Gold Stories

Author:Anthony Bourdain [Bourdain, Anthony]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781582342337
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Published: 2004-06-15T07:00:00+00:00

She had a drink at the mezz bar on the way out. The bartender there never denied her anything. She'd fucked him in the dry goods area at the last Christmas party - an experience she was unlikely to repeat. His cock, she remembered dimly, leaned noticeably to the left. And he'd smelled of patchouli. The glass in her hand suddenly empty, she had another one, as she felt, strangely enough, nervous about her imminent meeting with the mostly silent and (they said in the kitchen) dangerous Bobby Gold.

"You know what that guy does?" Lenny had said in the locker room, his voice lowered to an insistent whisper. "He's like a bone man! He busts people up for Eddie Fish! He's a fucking gangster, Nick! I heard that he maybe even kills people!" Lenny had been waiting for her in there when she arrived to peel off her soggy, reeking whites.

"Bullshit," said Eric, unseen on the other side of a row of graffiti-covered lockers.

"He's a fucking faggot. What's with the all-black clothes? Who does he think he is? He's all talk. Another punchy-ass doorman been sprinkling steroids on his fucking Froot Loops. Probably got balls the size a cashews."

Nikki, in her underwear, peeked around the corner. Eric was cutting a few lines of coke on the lid of a plastic fish tub, a shaker glass of Long Island Iced Tea sitting on the floor next to him.

"Think so?" she said. "I'll let you know."

"I'm tellin' you, man. He's into some serious shit," said Lenny. "I know . . . I heard from reliable sources. He's been to prison — for like a long time. For murder or some shit."

"Bullshit," said Eric, unwilling to believe anything so interesting about the quiet security man who his number-one line cook was clearly planning on fucking. "All those muscle guys are faggots," he sneered. "They all take it in the twins."

Seeing that Eric was too high and drunk to talk to — and not caring what he said anyway - Nikki struggled into her jeans, pullover and leather jacket, slung her knife roll over her shoulder and prepared to leave. Lenny looked stricken.

"It'll be fine," she told the chubby little line cook, pinching his cheek. "I'm just having a drink with him."

She left him in the locker room looking dejected, shaking his head.

They all wanted to get in her pants. That was the problem.

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