“How so?” asked OCD.

I shrugged. “Mostly they just ignored the fact that she showed up with someone else, and they started coming on to her, as if the guy didn't even exist. It finally came to a head when the two of us were being introduced. We were standing by the pool table and she said something like, ‘This is a really nice house,’ and I said, ‘Thanks,’ and then suddenly I saw her face drop, so I turned around and saw Mark Hanna, who was one of my brokers at the time. He was standing a few feet behind me, staring at her and jerking off.

OCD recoiled in his seat. “What do you mean?”

I shrugged. “He had literally dropped his pants to his knees and he was pulling on his own pud. And then his wife, Fran, came running over, and she was screaming, ‘What the fuck is wrong with you, Mark! Pull your pants up!’ So Mark pulled his pants up, and Fran started smacking him. Then, when I turned back to Nadine, I expected to see a look of astonishment on her face or maybe even fear, but, instead, I saw stone-cold anger. She had her eyes narrowed and her fists clenched in rage, and she was leaning forward as if she was getting ready to take a swing at him.

“Of course, I didn't know she was a Brooklyngirl back then; she looked like she was from Australia or Scandinavia or somewhere like that. Anyway, suddenly Denise was on the scene and sensing danger in a way that only a woman can, and then I heard Nadine's boyfriend say, ‘Okay, it's time to go now.’ Nadine and I were both saying, ‘No, no, not yet,’ and Denise started bum-rushing them out the front door. As all this was happening, the party was raging around us, with the music blasting and the champagne flowing. And just as Nadine was about to leave, she turned around and flashed me this mischievous little smile, and then a second later her boyfriend yanked her out the door like a rag doll. I saw a long trail of flowing blond hair behind her, then she was gone. It was just like you see in the movies.”

I paused and took a moment to study OCD. He seemed to be enjoying my story immensely. He was still shoveling in his food, but he had this wildly expectant look on his face. Yes, I thought, despite the badge and the gun he was a man like any other man. He said, “Sooooo…” and he waved his fork in tiny circles.

I nodded. “So, to make a long story short, the second she left I began asking everyone under the sun who she was and then spent the rest of the summer trying to run into her, which I occasionally did but always when I was with Denise. Denise would always say something like, “Oh, look! There's that pretty blond girl from the party, remember her?’ And I would be like, ‘Oh, yeah, I think that's her…’ but my tone was like, ‘Who gives a shit.’ But, to my own credit”—I rolled my eyes—”I made it all the way to Thanksgiving before I finally broke down and paid someone to arrange a date.”

OCD's eyes popped open. “You did?”

I shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah, I know it sounds kind of lame, but that's the way it is. We didn't really have any friends in common, except for this one girl named Ginger, who was a complete mercenary. So she was pulling this shit on me, saying, ‘Come on, you're married,Jordan; I can't get involved in this,’ so I said, ‘Fine, Ginger, how about if I give you ten grand in cash? Will that ease your conscience?’ Of course, the next day I had Nadine's phone number and Ginger had already put in a good word for me.”

“Jesus,” said OCD, “what a player this Ginger is!” He shook his head, amazed. “And what did Nadine say about you being married?”

I shrugged innocently. “Well, that was the first thing she asked me when I called, so I did the only thing a married man could do: I said, ‘I'm in the process of getting divorced.’”

OCD's eyes popped open again. “You didn't think you'd get caught lying to her?”

I shook my head quickly. “Nah, it wasn't really like that. I mean, I didn't say it so bluntly—like ‘I'm getting divorced tomorrow.’ I just kind of painted the picture that things weren't going so well in my marriage. You know, that we were consideringwhether or not to consider getting a divorce.”

OCD started chuckling.

“No, I'm serious! That's exactly what I said to her. That's what every married guy says when he starts an affair.” I shrugged my eyebrows. “It's what you call standard operating procedure.Anyway, there happened to be a bit of truth to my words; not that I was contemplating getting a divorce, but my marriage to Denise wasfeeling the effects of Stratton. The two of us were never alone— we always had an entourage of Strattonites around us—and we'd already met Elliot and Ellen; and if you think Elliot's off his rocker, you oughtta get a load of his wife, Ellen! Anyway, I don't want to place the blame on Elliot and Ellen, but any bit of magic Denise and I had left was squashed when the four of us became running partners. Before that, we hardly did any drugs, and Denise was like this young beautiful girl, but then Ellen sunk her claws into her. Before I knew it, Denise was wearing Chanel outfits and buying Bulgari jewelry and taking Quaaludes during the day.

“I mean, don't get me wrong: I wasn't upset about Denise spending money on things. My money was her money, and I was making it so fast that she couldn't put a dent in things if she tried. It was just that that wasn't Denise. You see, what made her beautiful was how pureshe was, how she could go out to dinner dressed in a T-shirt and jeans and still look gorgeous. Thatwas Denise—not the chichi clothes and the overpriced jewelry. She was much too good for that.

“Anyway, by the time I met Nadine, Denise and I were spending more time apart than together, and I was sleeping with Blue Chip hookers a dime a dozen.” I shrugged and shook my head sadly. Then I said, “And when Nadine and I went out on our first date, I got a lot more than I bargained for. I was expecting a dumb blonde, who I could spoil rotten in exchange for mooring rights.”

OCD cocked his head to the side. “Mooring rights?”

“Yeah,” I replied, “mooring rights: like my dick is the boat and her pussy is the mooring.” I shrugged innocently. “Anyway, Nadine, as it turned out, was not a dumb blonde, and by the end of the night I was totally captivated. When we pulled up to the front of her apartment, I was trying to figure out a way to seduce her, but I never got the chance, because she came right out and said, ‘You want to come upstairs for a cup of coffee?’ Next thing I knew I was inside her tiny apartment, saying, ‘Jesus, Nae, this is a really cute place,’ but what I was really thinking was: How the hell am I going to get this girl into bed?

“And then she said, ‘Why don't you start a fire? I need to go to the bathroom for a second.’ So I said, ‘Sure…” although, in retrospect, I remember being a bit shocked that a girl as pretty as she was even went to the bathroom! I mean, she seemed way too perfect-looking to ever have to take a dump! You know what I'm saying?”

OCD started chuckling. “You're demented. You know that?”

“Of course,” I said proudly, “but that's besides the point. So, anyway, there I am, crouched in front of her fireplace, searching my demented skull for the perfect line to get her into bed, and then I hear, ‘Okay! I'm back!’ And I turn around and there she is, stark naked, in her birthday suit!”

OCD's jaw dropped. “You're kidding me!”

“Nope!” I said. “I ended up sleeping over there that night—I told Denise I was stuck in Atlantic City—and, from there, things quickly spiraled out of control. At first we were going to see each other only once a week, on Tuesday nights. We wouldn't even speak in between. And that lasted for about a day and a half, at which point we started speaking every day on the phone—just for a few minutes, though, and just to check in to see how our days were going. But that quickly turned into a few hours a day, although I'm not sure how. So I figured that I needed to just spend a few days with her alone—you know, to get her out of my system. So I told Denise that I needed to go to California on business. And that was the end: Nadine and I fell madly in love and started speaking on the phone nonstop and meeting in the afternoons to let our rogue hormones out for a romp! It was sometime in late January when I finally told Denise that I needed space, and that's when I moved into the city, to Olympic Towers.