CHAPTER 2
THE DUCHESS OF BAY RIDGE
December 13, 1993
The next morning—or, if you want to get technical about it, a few hours later—I was having an
awesome dream. It was the sort of dream that every young man hopes and prays for, so I decided to go
with it. I’m alone in bed, when Venice the Hooker comes to me. She kneels down at the edge of my
sumptuous king-size bed, hovering just out of reach, a perfect little vision. I can see her clearly now…
that lusty mane of chestnut brown hair…the fine features of her face…those juicy young jugs…those
incredibly loamy loins, glistening with greed and desire.
“Venice,” I say. “Come to me, Venice. Come to me, Venice!”
Venice moves toward me, walking on her knees. Her skin is fair and white and shimmers amid the
silk…the silk…there’s silk everywhere. An enormous canopy of white Chinese silk is suspended from
above. Billows of white Chinese silk hang down at all four corners of the bed. So much white Chinese
silk…I’m drowning in white fucking silk. In this very instant the ludicrous figures come popping into
my mind: the silk cost $250 a yard, and there have to be two hundred yards of it. That’s $50,000 of
white Chinese silk. So much white fucking silk.
But that’s my wife’s doing, my dear aspiring decorator—or, wait, that was last month’s aspiration,
wasn’t it? Isn’t she an aspiring chef now? Or is she an aspiring landscape architect? Or is it a wine
connoisseur? Or a clothing designer? Who could keep track of all her fucking aspirations? So tiring it
is…so tiring to be married to Martha Stewart in embryo.
Just then I feel a drop of water. I look up. What the hell? Storm clouds? How can there be storm
clouds inside the royal bedchamber? Where’s my wife? Holy shit! My wife! My wife! Hurricane
Nadine!
SPLASH!
I woke up to the angry yet gorgeous face of my second wife, Nadine. In her right hand was an empty
twelve-ounce water glass; in her left hand was her own balled-up fist, punctuated by a seven-carat,
yellow canary diamond in a platinum setting. She was less than five feet away, rocking back and forth
on the balls of her feet, like a prizefighter. I made a quick mental note to watch out for the ring.
“Why the fuck did you do that?” I yelled halfheartedly. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand
and took a moment to study Wife Number Two. God, she was a real piece of ass, my wife! I couldn’t
begrudge her that even now. She was wearing a tiny pink chemise that was so short and low cut that it
made her look more naked than if she were wearing nothing at all. And those legs of hers! Christ, they
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