Before I continue, Peter Luger is the quintessential steak house of all time located, since 1887, in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. If you want a steak and are willing to remortgage your house for it, this joint’s for you.
“Camille, I don’t eat meat on a normal day and it’s Good Friday, so forget it.”
“Did you not hear me the first time? YOU’RE NOT CATHOLIC ANYMORE.”
“I realize that Camille, but out of respect for the life I lived for 55 years, I’m not going.”
“But my coupon is going to run out.” Seems Camille has a 2fer she needs to redeem by midnight that’s sizzling, no pun intended, in her Fendi clutch. Joanne, who would have been the perfect companion since she eats like a Navy Seal, is in Wichita visiting her aunt, so that leaves me.
“So just come anyway, they serve other things…you can have sides…creamed spinach, those sliced tomatoes they’re famous for, and cheesecake.”
“You know I’m off cheese and the smell alone will make me faint. All that cattle slaughtering. You should be taking Teddy Roosevelt, not me.”
“If he wasn’t dead I would.”
“You have no right being this mad. Find some guy to take. What about Patrick. He’s always up for a free meal.”
“He borrowed a Donna Karan dress of mine and didn’t return it. We’re not speaking.” Patrick is our friend who likes cross-dressing on the weekends, but he does tend to keep whatever he borrows.
“Why do you lend him anything you care about…you should know better.”
“He showed up when I wasn’t home. Lucinda (the maid) let him in. He told her I said it was okay.”
“He’s such a scamp, and what’s wrong with Lucinda that she just let him ransack your closet?”
“He brought her donuts and I don’t have to tell you she’d do anything for a Krispy Kreme.”
“Takes so little doesn’t it.”
“But we’re getting off the subject. I really want you to come…please?”
I have to come clean. It’s more than just the aroma of beef and remnants of the Last Supper that’s keeping me from going. Unbeknownst to Camille, I had a little tryst with someone who works there, when my kitchen was still open for business. Camille has always had a yen for this fella so I couldn’t tell her, and I knew if I showed up the sea would part…not because he gives a shit, but because he doesn’t. Guilt. Once he was quenched, so to speak, I never heard from him again. We fooled around on his desk one afternoon following a flirtation that was becoming legendary…he kept sending me their special steak sauce UPS…I think it’s the sugar they put in it. Drives me kind of wild. That’s why I understand Lucinda so well. Simple pleasures reap big rewards, especially for the one pleasuring.
So after lots of verbal warfare, Camille thawed and invited Patrick who actually agreed to bring her dress.
I just hope he’s not wearing it.