I started the weekend early, as is my custom. Friday was Sterling’s birthday, after all. By the end of our sushi lunch I’d already knocked back enough saki to be completely over the top, sweating bullets and slurring words. I demanded that Sterling get in a cab and come with me to Sax. We walked through the freezing, wood-paneled rooms until we got to the Cartier dealer in the back. A bald fag and two model types looked down their noses as we sank into the thick carpeting. It was dark, but the glass display cases were lit up nice and bright.

“Which one do you want?” I asked Sterling. She laughed.

“OK, let’s take a look,” she peered down at the watches, humoring me.

“It’s so much different than in a magazine,” she said. “You can see the way the numbers are raised on the face.”

She sauntered over to the next display, observing the watches as if she were in a museum instead of a store.

“Look at the red jewels in the dials—how classy is that? It's all about old school Hollywood.”

“Yeah but those are all steel,” I said, pulling on her arm.

“Over here you’ve got your white gold and platinum. Take a look at these. Check out the new tanks.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sterling said, exchanging glances with the security guard. His neck was the size of her waist.

“Look, TRUE, you’ve proven your point.”

“What? I haven’t proven anything…it’s your birthday.”

“You’re drunk,” she said.

“What’s that have to do with anything?” I asked, feeling around in my pocket for my wad of cash. Of course it wasn’t going to be enough. The big bills were folded over the outside. It really looked like something—something impressive and bad ass--but inside it was filled with fives and ones.

I’m so fucking sick of fives and ones…



iMike