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Chapter 9: The Magic Of Linda Ronstadt
"Is there anyone that you don't know in Manhattan?" I joke once I get in Theo's car; a grey, shiny Bentley. He's so loaded, it's not funny.
While we were getting to the parking lot where Theo parked his car, restaurant managers greeted him on our way, some people called him out from their docked yachts... It was like walking with DiCaprio, everyone knew him, only he was friendlier.
"You got that backwards," he starts his car and cranks up the heat in the seats. I almost melt into the expensive leather. "They know me, not the other way around."
"Careful," I laugh, "You'll be disappointed once you get to Brooklyn, Harry The Conspiracy Theorist, who lives in the subway, is a lot more famous than you are."
"Damn, it's like fifth grade all over again, when Harry Hoffstader got an A+ for his volcano and I didn't."
"Ouch," I wince, "sore sub." I joke and he chuckles.
I look in his general direction and find him tapping away on his GPS' screen, "Oh, by the way, I live in Brooklyn." I inform him, "I know I've told you before but I'm giving you one last chance to back out. No harm is done."
"Vee, I'm not letting you walk home alone at 12:30 A.M., wet and injured in the cold. I don't care if you live in Texas, I'll take you there." he gestures to the GPS to give me permission to put in my address.
"Fine, thank you." I tell him honestly before entering my address in the system, "But just so you know, I won't ever consider living in Texas." I put the safety belt on.
"But you live in Bushwick, Brooklyn?" he raises an eyebrow at me.
"It has nothing to do with the socio-economic state of the place," I shrug, "Texas hates women. I'm a woman. Ipso facto, I cannot live there. I'll end up hurting someone, most likely a uniform."
