We went to dinner at some Americanized Mexican restaurant and I tried to maneuver myself to sit directly across from him but somehow managed to sit in between two people I didn't even know were coming to dinner. But Shoniqua sat next to him, so I knew I was covered.
My dinner experience consisted of molesting a pair of enchiladas while listening to one of the local production assistants we hired tell me about finding her birth parents. I am always fascinated by adoption stories, but for different reasons than most. I am convinced my sister Sloane was adopted, and I have gone to great lengths to try and prove it. So far, I've been unsuccessful. The closest I came was when I hired an online attorney, who charged twenty-five dollars per e-mail and assured me there was a strong chance my blue-eyed, fair-skinned sister was of Creole descent.
After dinner we went back to the hotel bar for more drinks. Two of the people in our group excused themselves for the night, so our group had dwindled to five. Carter and I sat next to each other in overstuffed club chairs while the others were on the couch facing us. I was just finishing up my conversation with the production assistant when suddenly I heard the words "conspiracy theory."
There are two topics I enjoy even more than adoption: conspiracy theories and Jennifer Lopez. I turned my head so fast that my contact fell out.
Carter was discussing Kennedy's assassination. I bided my time and at the exact perfect moment interceded with, "Kennedy, Schmennedy, let's talk about Biggie Smalls and Tupac. That's where some real shit went down."
There were a couple of seconds of awkward silence before Shoniqua broke it for me. "Now you know you got that fucking right, Chelsea. Let's talk about it!"
Thanks to my segue, our group enjoyed a roundtable discussion, where everyone put their two cents in with regard to all three assassinations. This wasn't the first time I'd been able to bring people together and it was definitely something to think about. Maybe one day I would lead a committee for people who were unemployed but weren't looking to get back in the workforce.
Shoniqua said she was tired and going to bed. I gave her a look that said, "Don't go." She leaned down to kiss me good night and whispered, "It's on, he's into you. I fucking told his ass."
As soon as she left, Carter and I zoomed in on each other. While we were talking to the other guys with us, he kept putting his hand on my leg. I returned his affection with hard slaps to his back whenever anyone said anything funny.
I asked him about his job and he told me he prosecuted terrorists.
"Really?" I asked. "Do you work closely with President Bush?"
"I've met with him before, but mostly I work with his advisers."
"Does everyone just kind of sit around and make fun of him when he leaves the room, or is that kind of thing done on the quiet tip?"
He smiled and said, "No, I've never seen anyone make fun of him, but there are definite moments where looks are exchanged."
"Wait a second. Are you a Republican?"
"I'm registered as a Republican, but I don't always vote that way."
"Interesting," I said, "very interesting."
I immediately had fantasies of marrying Carter and spending my free time with Colin Powell and Donald Rumsfeld at the Pentagon bar, where I would grill them about how they could be so opposed to stem-cell research yet not put a ban on the handlebar mustache.
I would convince them that gay couples deserved every benefit that the three of us were fortunate enough to have.
I would also talk to them about my 401 (k) that I never started and see if they could somehow cut me a deal. There are so many issues I would lobby for in Washington, and I would make sure that everyone in my community was heard. I'd be like the new Jackie O, except wilder and I'd wear jeans.
I looked at Carter with a whole new level of respect and couldn't wait for us to start seeing each other more seriously. These feelings I had for him, coupled with the fact that I had just seen the episode of Oprah where she had a doctor on who explained that the more sex an individual had, the healthier they'd be, led me to my next decision. In my ever constant desire to maintain a healthy lifestyle, I decided it was time to make my move.
I got up and announced, "Well, everyone, I'm beat. I'm going up to my room. Carter, would you like to join me for a nightcap?"
"Of course," he said and stood up.
We stopped at the concierge's desk on our way to the elevator bank. "Would you mind sending up some ice to room 1202 please?" I asked.
"Sure thing, right away," he told me. Just as we were about to step inside the elevator I ran back and whispered to the concierge, "Do you have any condoms?"
"Absolutely, Miss Handler," he said with a very professional smile. "I'll have them sent right up."
"Well, that was easy," I told Carter as I caught back up with him inside the elevator.
We weren't alone in the elevator so we didn't start kissing until we got into my hotel room. It wasn't immediate, though, because first Carter headed straight to the minibar and took out every bottle of alcohol.
There was a couch that ran the length of the window and was connected to the wall. We sat on it together while he poured me a warm vodka and soda and a gin and tonic for himself. Then he went to the fridge and took out a sixteen-dollar bottle of Vos water and chugged it.
"Are you okay?" I asked him.
"Yeah, I'm just so parched."
"Yeah, I guess."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you have to pay for any of this?" he asked.
"No, don't worry about it. Have some Pringles too if you want."
"That's okay," he smiled.
We made out for a little bit, which was pretty blase. We didn't have the chemistry I was hoping we would, and I was sensing Carter wasn't able to relax. He kept getting up and sitting back down. He was a really nice guy and charming, but his body language was all over the place. Then we heard a knock at my door. He tipped the bellhop and grabbed the ice bucket along with a sunglasses case.
"What is this?" he asked as he opened it and saw three condoms splayed inside like magazines at a doctor's office.
"Did you order condoms?" he asked me.
"No, are those really condoms?" I asked. "That is so funny. Talk about good hotel service."
Carter was emptying ice into our glasses while I turned on the satellite radio. I went to the bathroom to freshen up and take a last look at my gut. I wasn't happy with it, but I had noticed that Carter's body wasn't in tip-top condition either and he was carrying a little extra meat around the middle. He had the physique of a football player who had stopped playing years earlier.
I brushed my teeth and came out. Carter was sitting on the window sofa when I approached. He made a movement with his mouth that I immediately recognized from my friend Nathan's drug-induced repertoire. It indicated one of two things: either he had a hair in his mouth or he was on cocaine. It was not at all attractive and I needed to investigate further.
"Are you partying right now?" I asked.
He hesitated and then said, "I just did a tiny little line. Is that okay?"
"I don't know. Is this going to affect your performance?" I asked, referring to his penis.
"No, no, not at all," he replied.
Carter took this as his cue to prove to me that he was indeed ready for some action and threw me on the bed. He got on top of me and started to put his hand up my shirt when I moved it down the back of my pants instead. I wanted my torso quarantined until I could get into the perfect horizontal position with my hands over my head to ensure a leaner look.
"Your butt is so cute," he said as he squeezed it a little too hard.
"You think that's good, wait until you get a load of these!" I said as I threw off my shirt and undid my bra.