Not A Good Time

Jaime may have never made it to New York to dally with his growing model. My phone went off at 6am (on a Saturday morning!) Still mostly unconscious, I expected a tale of lascivious gluttony and instead heard a demand that I go on the internet and find a hostel for him.

"I'm sleeping," I whined as a wave of exhaustion rolled over me and I turned over, shutting the phone on his indignant exclamations. When it rang again a second later I slapped it off.

When I came fully awake I wondered if I had dreamed it, but Q. (who's visiting) had heard me too. Later in the day I found he'd left a voice message:

"You might be expecting an apology," he said, "but FUCK YOU! Talk to you later."