Read Clothing Optional Online

Authors: Alan Zweibel

Clothing Optional (2 page)

Can I Have a Million Dollars?

—Can I have a million dollars?

—Excuse me?

—Can I have a million dollars? Why are you making that face?

—That's quite a request.

—Not really.

—How do you figure?

—Look, we've been friends a long time, right?

—Right.

—And you have around four hundred million dollars, right?

—About that, yes.

—So all I'm asking you for is a measly million.

—Is that all?

—I know it sounds like a lot….

—That it does.

—That's because you're not looking at it properly.

—Then how should I be looking at it?

—Well, let's say you had four hundred dollars. Would you give me one?

—Sure.

—Okay, and if you had four thousand dollars. Would you give me ten?

—Probably.

—So? Do the math. It's the same thing.

—Not really.

—Why?

—Because this is a million dollars.

—But it's the same percentage.

—But this is a million dollars. And that's a lot of money to loan someone.

—Oh, I agree.

—You do?

—Yes.

—So?

—So that's why I'm not asking for a loan.

—You're not?

—No. I just want you to give it to me.

—But I don't feel comfortable doing that.

—Fine. Then can you loan me a million dollars?

—Okay.

—Really?

—I can do that.

—Great.

—Any idea when you could pay me back?

—I'm not going to pay you back.

—You're not?

—No. That's a lot of pressure to put on our friendship.

—But…

—“Neither a borrower nor a lender be.”

—I've heard that saying.

—And it's true….

—I bet.

—That's why it's a saying.

—I guess so….

—Because think about it, if you lend me a million dollars, it's going to be hanging in the air between us.

—Maybe.

—Not maybe, definitely. Whenever we're together you're going to be thinking, “He owes me a million dollars,” and I'm going to be thinking, “Shit, I owe him a million dollars.”

—Perhaps…

—And I wouldn't want something like that to come between us.

—Neither would I.

—Your friendship means too much to me.

—Sure…

—So that's why you should just give me the million dollars. Clean. With no strings attached. Because God knows it's a lot better than the alternative.

—Which is?

—Me suing you for a million dollars.

—Excuse me?

—And I really don't want that to happen because that would be bad for our friendship.

—I'll say…

—Because whenever we're together you're going to be thinking, “He's suing me for a million dollars,” and that could lead to hard feelings, and I don't want that.

—Why would you sue me?

—Mental anguish.

—Mental anguish?

—Yeah…

—What kind of mental anguish?

—Because it would really bother me if you didn't give me a million dollars.

—Jesus…

—I won't be able to sleep, which will affect my moods, and my relationship with family and co-workers.

—And that will be my fault?

—To my mind, yes.

—All because I didn't give you a million dollars.

—To my mind, yes.

—That would be hard to prove, you know.

—I know. A case like that could tie us both up for years. And I would really like to avoid that if at all possible.

—So would I.

—Hey, we both have too much else going on without adding this nonsense to the mix.

—So what are you suggesting?

—That we settle.

—Settle?

—Look, we've been friends a long time. And we're reasonable adults. I'm sure we can come up with a figure that's comfortable for both of us.

—Do you have a number in mind?

—Yep.

—What is it?

—Fifty thousand dollars.

—You want me to give you fifty thousand dollars?

—Look, if you had eight thousand dollars, would you give me one?

—Of course.

—This is the same thing.

—Okay.

—Really?

—I said okay.

—So you'll give me fifty thousand dollars?

—Sure. That all right with you?

—Well, I'm taking a bit of a hit here, but it's worth it.

—For our friendship?

—For our friendship.

Mrs. Glickman's Deposition

Setting:

A lawyer's office in Los Angeles, California.

         

         

Situation:

Two years ago I was involved in an automobile accident with an eighty-one-year-old woman. Although my insurance company made several attempts to settle with her, she kept insisting that the offers were insultingly low and was now suing me personally.

         

         

Her Claims:

That, as a result of injuries sustained from the accident, this now eighty-three-year-old woman has not been able to sexually satisfy her now eighty-seven-year-old husband.

         

         

In Attendance:

Me, the now eighty-three-year-old woman, her now eighty-seven-year-old husband, my attorney, her attorney, and a very fat female court reporter.

Note: The following are the exchanges, the way I remember them, between my attorney and the now eighty-three-year-old woman, unless otherwise indicated. (I've also changed the old crone's name.)

         

Q:

Your name is Rita Glickman?

A:

Yes.

Q:

And you understand, Mrs. Glickman, the oath you just took is the same as if this were a court of law and that the penalty for perjury is also the same?

A:

Yes.

Q:

And you further realize that due to the nature of your claim I may have to get somewhat personal with my questions?

A:

What do you mean?

Q:

Well, in your suit you say that because of the accident with Mr. Zweibel you have not been able to perform your, let's say, marital duties. Am I correct?

A:

Yes.

Q:

This is a legal assertion called “loss of consortion.”

A:

Okay.

Q:

So to investigate this fully, I may have to ask some rather embarrassing questions, such as “Before the accident, how often did you and your husband engage in marital relations?”

A:

Four times a week.

Q:

Excuse me?

A:

Four times a week.

Q:

Perhaps you didn't understand my question—

A:

What's not to understand? Before this hooligan slammed into me, Gerry and I had sex four times a week.

Q:

And by sex you are referring to…?

A:

Intercourse.

Q:

Intercourse.

A:

Intercourse.

Q:

Four times a week.

A:

Yes, we had intercourse four times a week.
(The fat court reporter starts blushing.)

Q:

Now, when you say four times a week…strike that…Was it literally…strike that…Now, Mrs. Glickman, on the morning of November 18 of last year you had a collision with Mr. Zweibel and you sustained some injuries.

A:

Yes.

Q:

And what exactly was the nature of those injuries?

A:

I had bruises across my chest and contusions in my left hip.

Q:

And because of these injuries to your chest and left hip, you claim there was an interruption of yours and Mr. Glickman's regular sexual activity.

A:

Yes.

Q:

And why was that?

A:

I was in too much pain to accommodate the weight of my husband's body…
(Everyone steals a peek at the now eighty-seven-year-old Gerry Glickman.)

A:

…plus, he likes to move around a lot and I just couldn't keep up.
(Everyone steals another peek at the now eighty-seven-year-old Gerry Glickman.)

Q:

I see. And for how long were you unable to accommodate your husband's weight and movement…strike that…How long was it until you and your husband were able to resume normal marital relations?

A:

Seven months.

Q:

So you're saying that following your accident with Mr. Zweibel, for seven months you had—

A:

No sex.

Q:

And after those seven months, when all your wounds were healed, you and your husband returned to your regular rate of intimacy?

A:

Yes.

Q:

Which is…?

A:

Four times a week.

Q:

Four times a week.

A:

Yes.

Q:

(under his breath)
Four times a week…

Her Lawyer:

Counselor…

Q:

Okay, okay, Mrs. Glickman, you do know that there are other ways…strike that…Mrs. Glickman…were there any other ways you were able to show affection during this seven-month period?

A:

Other than kissing and hugging?

Q:

Yes.

A:

No.

Q:

You couldn't show affection?

A:

No, I couldn't.

Q:

And why was that?

A:

Because I also hurt my jaw.

Her Lawyer:

Jesus.

My Lawyer:

Oh my.

Me:

God help us all.

Q:

I would like to remind you that you are under oath, Mrs. Glickman.

A:

But I
did
hurt my jaw. It's right there in my hospital records.

Q:

Yeah, yeah, I saw them…. Now, were there any other injuries from this accident that affected your marital relations with Mr. Glickman?

A:

Well, I did suffer a loss of hearing.

Q:

Your hearing loss has hurt your sex life?

A:

Yes.

Q:

How so?

A:

Because sometimes it's difficult for me to hear what Gerry would like me to do, and this throws our timing off. You see, Gerry's very expressive, and if I'm looking at him, I can read his lips. But when I'm facing another direction and Gerry issues a command—

Her Lawyer:

I think this would be a good time to take a break.

My Lawyer:

Me too.

Me:

God help us all.

         

During the break, the court reporter made some phone calls, Mrs. Glickman read a magazine, and everyone else followed her now eighty-seven-year-old husband into the men's room.

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