The knock on my door is slow and sad. I look through the peephole and see Drake, suit stained like a buffet table cloth. I walk in and he collapses in my arms. I gag at his imitation crab meat aftershave.
***
After an hour long shower and six fingers of Glenlivet, Drake recounts the night. There was a German, gluttonous with women and with food, Victor. He took such a liking to Drake, Victor offered him his wife stuffed with imitation crab meat. Drake said Victor’s favorite thing was eating a California roll cream pie. Drake almost said no. Almost. As he talks and slumps on my couch, Drake looks broken. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“What wasn’t supposed to happen, Drake?”
“This. You weren’t supposed to get this far...”
I sit at the edge of my chair. “You mean you weren’t supposed to get this far.”
“No, James, I meant you. I got tired of you of running interference against me. This...this was supposed to ruin you...”
“Because I would take a gig like this, hooking someone up with a weird fetish with people with other weird fetishes? I got you in that play party because of my rep with the kink community here. I’m having drinks with Victor tomorrow.” Drake drops the highball glass. “My question to you is why make up this bet?” Drake looks down. “Say no more. This is your kink, I get it. I’ll help you as long as you pay me. I’ll blackmail you if you decide to lie to me again. I have those photos, too. Understood.” Drake nods. “Go home. We’ll get your golden tickets punched soon enough.”
