Part I

“It’s been raining in my dreams lately,” Davy breathed into the phone.

“Why’s that hun?” The raspy voice answered.

“I don’t know, but the sink in my rooms been dripping.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Ummmmm.”

“That’s sexy, like your moaning,” Davy, loosened his tie.

“Mmmmmm do you like that hun?”

“Yeah.”

“Ummmmm. What else do you like?”

That was the last thing Davy did at work before he left for the day. It was the Fall and Davy had in fact been having rainy dreams. Although the dripping sink wasn’t where he lived, he isn’t some sad tragic hero. Davy was “in the process of being whipped,” he laughed with his friends at cocktail hour. Moving into his fiancés Park Avenue apartment, “a gift from Rabbi Dad,” he would also joke, left Davy in a crummy hotel in Times Square while Julie prepared their marriage apartment. “Davy you’ll just get in the way if you and all your things are here at the same time.” Obviously Julie told him that when he even offered to sleep in a sleeping bag.

Davy was a Hedge Fund manager at a family-sized investment firm. Julie and Davy’s meeting involves Davy’s friend, Eric, at the firm, one of Davy’s college buddies who happened to stay in touch with Julie after high school. Eric explained one day to Davy that “there is no where to go in this firm “

“What do you mean?”

“The old guys at the top, they aren’t that old, fifty max, big eighties money you know?”

“Okay?”

“No one is dying soon.”

“We aren’t selling life insurance Eric – life and death don’t factor into our job.”

“It’s political boy, if no one dies, no one gets promoted.”

“What do you suggest, murder?” Davy only kind of laughed.

“No boy, we got to get into our own firm, you’d never last in a murder rap.”

And the next day, Eric introduced Davy to Julie at cocktail hour. Eric enjoyed thinking of things as a rap, like the set up with Julie, Eric letter explained to Davy in the bathroom.

“You see man; this rap is all about politics too. Julie, boy, she’s the daughter of Frank Gottlebaum. The very same Frank Gottlebaum that owns half of the upper east 80s. The very same Frank Gottlebaum whose been rumored, from the highest holy sources seated next to him at Shabbos table, to be looking to start a Tech Hedge Fund.”

“Why don’t you date her?”

“We went to high school together, it won’t work, but boy, I’ve been into this rap for awhile now, building you up and shit, it’s a slice of pie boy, literally, did you see her? Plus she just broke up with this real jerk, boy she’s all ready for Davy to save the day.”

Eric was right, because despite Davy’s best efforts, Julie was quite taken with him. Even when Davy never called, Eric would have her show up at the movies, or at lunches, although he made those look like coincidences, and even once after Shabbos lunch at his parents house on the Westside of the city. Though only at that particular meeting did Davy finally conceded to his future.

During this nicer day of spring Julie and Eric arrived at two, a bit early for Shabbos afternoon visitors and Davy’s family was still drinking tea. Eric must have known Davy was having lunch with his parents because he rarely stops by on Shabbos, growing up in a less than religious household. Julie wore this bright sky blue sundress whose pleaded skirt section allowed the dress to border the tennis wear / casual formal attire all too well. Her black hair curled around her neck with the loveliest contrast to her pale princess skin. She looked like a modern day bombshell shot with black and white film, capable of suggesting color in as an under-saturated environment as his parents antique living room full of the dullest oak furniture and dust covered collections of magazines, books, and old Democratic Party posters from when Davy’s mother volunteered for Hillary Clinton for Senator Committee. But they only popped in to say hello, yet Julie approached Davy directly and leaned over him to whisper “Good Shabbos.” A friendly afternoon chat ensued as Davy tried to avoid thinking of Julie playing tennis in that outfit, which tragically failed once the possibility of Anna Kornikova and Julie playing tennis, but not in that outfit, but rather very elegantly naked entered the match. Now he fought to fight the erection building sensations. He didn’t battle them out of modesty or embracement; he battled them because he learned to when his sister’s high school friends would spend entire weekends with his family whenever his visited home from college. Then he felt shame about perverting younger girls, but now, he had grown accustomed to loosing and gave up. It was only in this mechanic way could he ever beat his urges toward women. Luckily Eric and Julie left, although only after inviting Davy for a walk in the park on this chic afternoon.

After lunch Davy’s parents went into their room to nap. Davy was alone in the house. With no TV, no computer, no anything, boredom climbed on top of lust. The only appliance that could offer Davy release now was the phone. He took the cordless into the bathroom, shut the lights and dialed his number. As always, the prompt came on, his selection was made, and his credit card was required. Reaching desperately for his wallet, all at once he went limp realizing he had no wallet on Shabbos. Frantically, he entered some random numbers, was denied, and retreated anxiously into the house. With just the faintest whiff of Julie’s perfume, Davy was out the door wondering if he could possibly work that Anna / Julie tennis set by the end of the day. And after that afternoon in the ramble of Central Park, which Eric was obviously not present at, ditching the meeting entirely for a sudden urge for some Cajun food, well, Davy wasn’t the kind of guy who was not going to return phone calls after something so romantically clichéd.

Goal: Part II by Monday Morning