The Culmination (18 page)

I nod. “
Curious
.” I can’t suppress my smirk.

Will’s eyes sparkle. “Especially when you’re drunk?”

I nod again. “Especially when I’m drunk. And right now I’m drunky-drunkerton.”

“Well, let’s keep the train rolling down the tracks, then, shall we?” He motions to the cocktail waitress and orders me another glass of champagne, plus a beer and six shots. “I just did your husband a big favor—tell him he can thank me tomorrow.” He winks. “So, tell me more about your mad spin-rapping skills, Oprah. When did you first discover you had the gift?”

I laugh. “It’s hardly a gift. I’m only a world-class spin-rapper when it comes to ‘Crash.’ I just love it. I listen to it constantly. It’s catchy as hell and really clever. The musical arrangement is really different—groundbreaking, even. Unexpected instrumentation—unexpected rhythms. And it’s funny. I can’t resist funny.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. Thank
you
for a frickin’ awesome song
.
It’s destined to be a real classic, Will. Mark my words. Right up there with the greats.”

He gulps down the last of his drink. “So, enough with the flattery. On to more important topics. What’s your rapper name? We gotta make sure it’s something tight.”

I glance over at Jonas again. Reed’s talking to him—and by the look on Jonas’ gorgeous face, Reed must be saying something particularly interesting. I’m just about to look away when Jonas glances over and beams a heart-stopping smolder at me. God, this man makes my heart skip a beat—and my panties turn soaking wet. “Huh?” I say, returning my attention back to Will.

“A world-class spin-rapper can’t go by ‘Sarah Faraday.’ You need something with some attitude.”

“Oh, yes. My rapper name.” I shift in my seat. If I’m not mistaken, my husband just gave me his I-want-to-swallow-you-whole look. “Hmm. I don’t know.”

“M.C. Oprah?”

“I’d get a cease and desist letter from Oprah’s legal team before I could say ‘Wave your hands in the air.’”

He laughs. “Spoken like a true attorney. M.C. Big Talk?”

“Jeez.” I shake my head. “That makes me sound like a total blowhard. Why don’t we just call me M.C. Blowhard?”

He laughs.

“Oh my God,” I say, putting my hand over my mouth. “Am I a total blowhard? I am, aren’t I?”

He bursts out laughing. “No, not at all. Not even the slightest bit.”

“Oh, thank God. You’d tell me, right?”

“Of course, I would. That’s what friends are for. You’d tell me, too, right?”

“Hellz yeah. That’s what besties do for each other, Will.”

“Good. ’Cause we world-class rappers gotta stick together,” he says.

I giggle.

We clink glasses again.

A guy approaches Will, obviously a fan, and Will graciously shakes his hand and leans in for a selfie on the guy’s phone. I suddenly feel like a third-wheel. I glance at Jonas, but he’s thoroughly engrossed in his conversation with Reed. Should I get up and stand next to Jonas—let this guy have some time with Mr. Superstar?

“Thanks, man,” Will says. “No problem. But I’m kinda in the middle of something important right now.” He gestures to me, like
I’m
the something important he’s in the middle of, and my cheeks flush. The guy on my ringtone wants this guy to leave so he can continue talking to
me
? I can barely keep myself from squealing.

The minute the guy leaves, Will exchanges a look with a huge black guy standing on the other side of the large balcony. Holy Large Black Man, Batman. Next to that guy, my ripped husband looks like a frickin’ child.

The guy nods and moves closer to us, but still far enough away to allow us complete privacy.

“Okay, Oprah,” Will says. “Back to your rapper name.”

“Oh. Hmm.”

“Tread carefully. This is a
very
serious decision.”

“Maybe the most important decision of my life.”

We both tap our temples for a moment, thinking carefully about this important decision.

“It’s got to be good. You’re
world-class
. It can’t be fucking bush league.”

“Dude, I know. Trust me, I
know
. But I’m drawing a blank. Hey, you’re the fancy rapper with the number one hit on iTunes that’s the odds-on favorite to win a Grammy—you’re the one who’s supposed to have all the freaking genius ideas. Come on.”

“Fuck that. You’re the one who just graduated fucking law school. It’s your job to come up with the ‘freaking genius ideas’ and let me steal all the glory from you. That’s how the music biz works, Oprah.”

I laugh. “Actually, that reminds me of another question.”

“Oh God, no. No more questions that are gonna make me cry.” He laughs. “But I promise you this: When I have my total fucking meltdown, which I predict will happen within the next year or so, give or take, I’ll give you the exclusive interview. Okay?”

“Deal.”

We share a smile.

“Oh, hey,” he says, “I think I have a ‘freaking genius idea.’ Faraday’s your married name, right?”

I nod.

“What’s your maiden name?”

“Cruz.”

“Boom. Now that’s a sick brown-girl name. I can work with that.
Cruz.
That’s just pure Latina-badass right there. How ’bout you just do the one-word thing? Eminem. Usher. Kanye. Jay-Z.
Cruz
.”

“2Real,” I say, reminding him of his own place in current pop culture.

He smirks.

“Oh, wait,” I say. “By George, I’ve got it. How about ‘O-A-P Cruz’?”

“OAP Cruz? What’s O-A-P?”

“Oh, it’s just this thing. Never mind what it is. Just trust me, it’s perfect—totes gangsta.”

“Just a tip: ‘totes’ and ‘gangsta’ don’t really go together if you
actually
wanna be gangsta.”

“Super dorky?”

“Super dorky.”

I shrug. “Shoot. Story of my life.”

He laughs.

“I really think that’s it, though, Will. ‘OAP Cruz.’ I’ve already got an ‘OAP’ tattoo. I just need to get the ‘Cruz’ tattoo and I’ll be
totes gangsta
.” I do a sudden freakazoid thing with my hands which I’m intending as a flashing-my-gang-sign thing, but which comes out more like jazz hands.

He laughs. “Wow. Now
that
was ‘totes gangsta.’”

I laugh.

“So, come on, what’s OAP?”

“I’m not telling.” I swig my drink.

“But you’ve got a tattoo that says ‘O-A-P’?”

I nod.

He blatantly looks me over. “Where is it?”

“In a place only my husband’s ever gonna see.” I wink.

His face lights up. “Oh, man. Something tells me your husband’s a lucky motherfucker.”

“He is.”

He smirks. “Come on. You gotta tell me what O-A-P means.”

I shake my head.

“If you got it inked on you, it must stand for something pretty important.”

“It does.”

“Oh, see. Now you got my full attention.”

I wave my hands like it’s not important.

“Oh no. You don’t get to wave me off. You gotta tell me. I promise I won’t tell anyone. We’re friends, remember?”

I shake my head and sip my champagne.

“Aw, come on, Cruz. One world-class rapper to another.”

“It’s too personal.”

“Oh, fuck. Now you got me crazy-curious, Cruz. Don’t do me like that.”

I shake my head again.

He rolls up his sleeve like a man on a mission. “Check this out. You see this here?” He points to a tattoo of an elaborate flower on his arm. “That’s my mom’s favorite flower. I got it there so I can always bring my momma flowers no matter where or when I see her.” He rolls up the sleeve on his other arm. “See this?” He points to a dragon with a huge heart. “I got matching hearts with my girl back in high school. I thought we’d last
forever
.” He grins. “But then she slept with my best friend so that was that—so I added the dragon to camouflage it.” He laughs. “You want more?” He starts unbuttoning his shirt, apparently to show me something on his chest.

“No. Stop. No disrobing necessary.”

He flashes me an adorable look. “I’ll show you the tattoo on my ass if it’ll convince you to tell me what I wanna know.”

“No, please. I wouldn’t be able to explain you dropping your drawers to my husband.” I laugh.

He exhales. “Shit. Fine. I’ll answer your question then. Will that convince you?”

I shrug, unsure what he’s talking about.

He crosses his legs and postures himself like he’s on a talk show. “Well, Oprah, the reality of my success has been fucking spectacular, thank you for asking,” he says. “There’s money, women, fame, travel, and as much weed as a man could ever want.” He grins. “Fucking
awesome
. And yet, honestly, it’s been soul-crushing and lonely as fuck, too, if you really wanna know. I cheated on my girl and lost her—and rightly so. I couldn’t withstand the temptation all around me, and now I’m kicking myself every single fucking day. I lost a really special girl—a girl who totally understood me and stood by me. I just totally fucked up, but there’s nothing I can do about it.” He takes a long swig of his drink. “The other thing that sucks is that all my conversations with strangers these days, other than this awesome conversation with you, Oprah, are about nothing but small talk and ass-kissing and people wanting to take selfies to post on fucking Instagram—and that gets really old really fast, trust me.” He takes another large gulp of his drink. “Okay, so there you go. I’ve poured my heart out to you. I’ve laid my soul bare. Now it’s your turn—what the fuck does O-A-P stand for?”

The waitress returns with our drinks. Will takes a shot off the tray and hands it to me and then double fists two shots for himself. “Ready, OAP Cruz?”

I nod and we throw back our shots together.

Will offers me one of the other shots remaining on the tray and I put up my hand, so he grabs it and throws that one back, too, hands me the champagne glass off the waitress’s tray, and places the beer and remaining shots on the table in front of us.

I glance at Jonas and discover he’s been watching me. For how long, I have no idea. He raises his glass, slowly, ever so slowly, apparently asking me if I’m good. I raise my champagne and he smiles thinly. I flash him the “okay” sign and he sloooowly turns his attention back to Reed, his eyes blazing.

“Just tell me already,” Will says. “Or I’ll make you do another shot.”

“Oh, you’ll
make
me do a shot? How would you do that, pray tell?”

“Bad choice of words. I’ll
request
you do another shot
.
”

“Mmm hmm. You’re used to getting everything you want, aren’t you, Mr. Hip Hop Star?”

“Nowadays? Yes. Everything I want. Pretty much. Yep.”

I make a sad face. “Except Carmen.”

“Ooph. Are you trying to make me cry again?”

“Yes. I’m sadistic like that.”

“‘Except Carmen’ is exactly right,” he says. “
And
not getting to find out what O-A-P stands for. That’s an even bigger tragedy than losing Carmen.” He makes a sad face.

“Aw, sad Will.”

“Very, very sad Will.” He makes his face look even sadder. Oh, man, he’s adorable.

“Oh, jeez. Stop, please,” I say, throwing up my hands. “I’m a sucker for a man with sad eyes—just ask my hunky-monkey husband. Okay, I’ll tell you.”

His face lights up.

“But it’s our little secret, okay?”

He smiles broadly. “Absolutely. I promise.” He crosses his heart.

I pause. What the fuck am I doing right now? “You promise you’re not gonna tell
anyone
?”

He crosses his heart again.

“I’m serious, Will.”

“No lie. I promise. My word is my bond.”

“Okay.” I bite my lip. I’ve definitely got his undivided attention. I lean right into his ear. “Orgasma the All-Powerful.”

He leans back from my face, in total shock. “Are you shitting me right now?”

“No, I am not shitting you right now, sir. That’s what O-A-P stands for. Orgasma the All-Powerful. Boom shaka laka.” I drain my entire glass of champagne.

“Holy shit. Not at all what I expected. You’re telling me you’ve got a hidden tattoo, maybe even in your secret garden is what I’m guessing, that says
Orgasma
the All-Powerful?”

“Well, no, my tattoo just says ‘O-A-P.’ But that’s what it stands for, yes.”

He glances at Jonas and back at me with blazing eyes. “I’m so fucking jealous of your husband right now. Damn, girl.”

I shrug. “He’s not complaining.”

“Holy shit, girl. This deserves a shot.” He hands me one of the alcohol-filled glasses on the table in front of us and grabs one for himself. We clink and down the shots.

“Why are you Orgasma the All-Powerful?” he asks, his face on fire. “Please tell me the reason is exactly what I think.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“That orgasm is your superpower or some shit like that.”

I can feel my cheeks burst into flames.

He claps and hoots. “I hit the nail on the head, didn’t I?”

I press my lips together, my cheeks blazing.

He laughs. “Aw, don’t clam up on me now, OAP. Tell me the rest.” He leans in and smiles at me. “If you don’t voluntarily tell me everything I want to know, I’ll just keep feeding you shots ’til you do.”

I can’t suppress my smile.

“Come on, Cruz. You know you’re dying to tell me the rest. We’re besties, remember?”

I roll my eyes and exhale. “Before I met my husband, I’d never had an orgasm. And then I met Jonas, and he showed me what I’d been missing.”

“Get the fuck out of here. Never
once
before your husband?”

“Never once.”

“Not even while masturbating?”

I shake my head. “So, thanks to Jonas, the man of my dreams, I became Orgasma the All-Powerful—an orgasmic superhero. Powerful in a brand new way. The End.”

“But you’d had sex with other guys before Jonas, right?”

“Yes. Many times.”

“And never
once
?”

“Never once.”

“How many guys tried and failed?”

“Tell me again why I’m sitting here in a Bangkok nightclub, drunk off my ass, telling my entire sexual history to the guy with the hottest song in the entire world right now?”