Two weeks with a sex addict

Bad Choices Make Good Stories: Going to New York, Chapter 15

“A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment.”

Jane Austen

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"When we remember we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained."

Mark Twain 

Remember pimple poppin' Patty, the drug counselor?

At this point I hadn't talked to Patty in over a year, ever since right after my divorce, back when I had hung out with her three or four times at the mansion in the Poconos, and she had made meatballs with tomato sauce from scratch. 

After that I had met Jennifer, the gorgeous, impossibly perfect gold digger. Then Linda, the scam artist who was immune to abortions. And then Liz, the yoga pothead who moved to North Carolina. And Raven, the airheaded wannabe porn star. And finally, Alice, the heroin addicted hooker. 

What a team, what a team! What an all-star team!

Now, a year later, while I was living in the apartment in Middletown and going through all this crazy turmoil with Alice, I suddenly got a call from Patty out of nowhere:

"Hey Oliver! Remember me? It's Patty. It's been a while. How have you been? I'm still thinking about you all the time. Listen, can I ask you a favor? Can I come stay with you?"

"Uhmm, wait, what? You want to come stay with me?" I asked.

"Yeah, things are crazy here. I need to get outta Scranton for a while. Disappear off the radar. Get away from the paparazzi."

"Paparazzi? What paparazzi? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, remember when we met last year and you took me out to dinner at that steakhouse in Milford?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember I told you I had been there before, because before I met you, I dated a musician who lived near you in Milford?"

"Yeahhh?"

"He was actually a really famous musician. You might know him."