God bless my Cartier.

Finally, 4:25.

"Quitting time," I laughed to myself.

The past few months I'd been packing up and saying my booh-yah see-yah's around this time. It was great for bang-starting the rest of my day -- and not just because it eliminated the half-chance that I'd have to share the elevator with fat Francis or Scary Gerry. It also gave me plenty of time to hit at least two happy hours.

And hey -- if you're shit's in order, what's a few fucking mintues anyway? When you stop and actually think about it too, 4:25 is pretty much the same as 4:30, which is practically 5. Dude, you can't argue with that. Even if Eben minded, he'd never bust on me. It was too bad he was stuck now in a meeting upstairs -- I wouldn't have the usual pleasure of passing his open door on the way out and hearing him get up, stick his head out, and say in a bumbling way as I kept on walking, "I... Hey!... Wait!... You know... Come over... What?... Hey... Okay... see you." Or some other such dribble. It was all the same to me.

When I got downstairs, it was just as I had hoped. Maria-Daniella (hot as ever) was busy, but not too busy. All we had time for was a quick exchange, the kind let me keep our flirting in that expectant state. I took one last look on my way out, fucked her in my mind again, and promised to stop by the next morning.

"Atay amanya," she said. I could feel her eyes follow me as I walked away.

*******

If it was up to me, we would have met right at O'Shannohan's. Catty-corner from the office, 13 beers on tap, slamming' hotties, and slammin' bartenders. And a stacked jukebox. And Karoke three nights a week! What more could you want? Myron wouldn't respond to any of my texts, though, so I'd just have to head uptown.

"Hey C.H.-man! Who are you talking to, buddy?"

No sooner had I left O'Shannohan's did I run into Charlie.

"What?!? No, I don't know what you're talking about. . . I wasn't talking to anybody."

It never got old catching Charlie talking to himself. It was the best when you were able to hold your laughter long enough to see him go through a whole range of expressions that you could mock him later for.

"Yeah I know," I said. "It was nobody. It looked deep though -- hope you got some good advice at least." A grimace. Yes! It was so easy with Charlie.

"Please tell me you didn't talk to Myron today," he said. He looked serious.

"Actually yeah -- I'm heading up to see him now."

"Uggh. Me too."

"Sweet! Let's rock and roll."

*******

We were into my ninth song on the jukebox and Charlie's fourth drink when Myron finally walked in. Hell's Bells was just hitting its peak. Insane in the Brain was waiting on deck.

"Dude -- where the hell have you been?"

"It's been a long day . . ."

"Speak for yourself."

"Yeah?"

"Well not really... If I'd had to entertain Charlie for the past two hours, then yeah maybe. But man, all you gotta do is get him started. He's an animal! Look at him over there with that chick. At least I think that's a chick."

Myron started to get up, with a slight lean in Charlie's direction, but he then stopped mid-motion and sat back down. He didn't have to say anything. The look in his eyes said, "Alright, we'll get him later -- that dumbass."

Charlie eventually saw us talking and walked over. By that time I'd pretty much told Myron everything I'd remembered about the Dragon's Teeth:

It was about some twenty-something chick named Olive (a waif but she wasn't that hot) who graduates from UCLA and sets off on a cross-country journey after her boyfriend dumps her. Then one day in Santa Fe, she buys some necklace from some strange Indian dude at an open air market. He tells her that the seven pale-green triangles dangling off the front of the necklace are actual dragon's teeth, and that they'll protect her "through all love and peril, now and forever."

Myron was impressed I'd heard of the play, let alone read it and hadn't completely forgot it.

"That was only a few years ago," I reminded him. "Back when I was a big-time Star!"

"But I thought you were only an extra." Leave it to Charlie to not see things in technicolor.

"Anyway," I said, turning to Myron as if Charlie wasn't there, "You know I've put the acting thing on hold for a while. That scene is crazy -- it's a gossip-mill outta control! I'm suprised Jessica never found out about that one chick those three afternoons in the warehouse studio."

"Hey I never heard about that," Charlie said.

Correct as ever, I thought. And with that I got up, patted Charlie on the head, and ruffled his hair until he was sufficiently agitated. Before he could complain, I was already on my way back at the bar. Two girls had just walked in, and you could tell they were here for some action.