Knocking Around Inside My Head: Weekend Write-In

Marea (#rich)

Jared shook as he sipped the Don Perridon in the dark and watched the lights twinkle around the perimeter of Central Park from his pied-a-terre on the 22nd floor. He owned much larger properties of course, but he always came here to the small apartment with an impressive view on his first night in the City. He could have seduced women anywhere, but he was nothing if not a creature of habit-one with an established reputation for crushing multinational corporations- and, he fancied himself, sentimental. The bar at Marea also drew such an endless supply of lovely ladies impressed with his residence upstairs, that he exclusively used his Central Park South residence for his Manhattan affairs.
Jared oozed wealth and charm. When he flashed his white smile, his perfectly tailored suit complemented by designer shoes left no doubt in women's minds that the view from his humble abode was worth coming up (for just a minute) to admire. His baby blue eyes and the fact that he kept most of his salt and pepper hair as the years went by didn't hurt either. He knew, and they knew, he had everything any woman ever wanted. No female ever turned him down.
Except tonight. Jared poured himself a fourth glass and wracked his brains trying to find another answer than the obvious one he had spent his entire adult life blatantly ignoring. He replayed the evening in his mind for the thousandth time.
As always he zeroed in on his pray before he'd finished his Puttanesca-ironic he knew because he had never paid for sex- he might indulge in gentleman's affairs despite being married, have no qualms about dismantling long-held family owned businesses, push the limits of corporate law, but he prided himself in being  a moral man. A young woman (he was not agist, he would happily seduce a willing beauty of any age) caught his eye tonight. Judging by her attire, she was drinking a cocktail above her means, not that that bothered Jared, he wasn't a snob when it came to the wealth of women. Not a tourist, no, a New York working girl (NOT a prostitute of course). Before he approached her he refreshed her drink with nothing more than a silent nod to the bar tender. She looked anxious at first, but when reassured her benefactor paid for her beverage, she relaxed a fraction but glanced around surprised.
Not an unusual reaction. Jared followed up by politely introducing himself. Jenna chatted up quite nicely, proving herself quite educated and articulate, if not slightly tipsy. To his annoyance, however, she glanced at her watch, before somewhat reluctantly joining him for dessert. Perhaps she was meeting someone, not an obstacle he hadn't overcome before. When she didn't hesitate when two glasses of 20 year tawny port appeared beside the chocolate cake, Jared knew he was only one innocent invitation to enjoy the view and a glass of champagne away from getting laid.
But her boyfriend appeared, again nothing a business mogul like himself could not handle. This one looked so hungry with long skinny limbs protruding from his polyester uniform-ah he worked at the Plaza, that is why she was here-he could be bought off by attention from the chief, with whom, like the bartender, Jared maintained unspoken agreements. But it didn't work.
Jared opened the window and unbuttoned his shirt sweating, he could not breathe. The muggy New York summer air swirled around him, such a distinct familiar smell. He swallowed dryly. Those poor buggers loved each other. That gangly fellow had kissed Jenna and grabbed her ass and she loved it. He pictured them making love as they surely were now. Her desire for that boy over his wealth shook Jared to his core.
Like every successful business decision he had ever made, he did it without hesitation. He jumped.