Free Skinnydipping by Bethenny Frankel Page B

and through the bar, and I felt like everybody was staring at my skates. Or maybe it was the hairy legs. Tim was talking to another girl, but as soon as I came back, he turned his back on her and pulled out my bar stool for me. “Nickel beers are over,” he said. “Do you want another Long Island iced tea?”
    “Why the hell not?” I said. The more he drank, the better I would look.
    Sometime after dark, we both stumbled out of the bar, with me still on my skates. He pulled me down the street for a while, and then I pulled him for a while, skating backward and giggling a lot. He was staggering and we were hanging all over each other. At one point, I think I remember boasting to anyone on the street who would listen, “I can skate better than I can walk!” I think that’s when I did the round-off. On skates. A few people walked by and clapped. Somehow, I didn’t break my neck.
    Back at his building, he pointed up the stairs. “I’m on the third floor.” He looked down at my feet. “Are you gonna take those off?”
    “No way! That would take waaaayyy too long. I can do this!” I said with alcohol-fueled optimism.
    Clomp, clomp, clomp, clomp—up I went, two floors on my roller skates, Tim nervously following me, ready to catch me if I suddenly pitched backward, but I held on to the rail and made it. Out of breathand even sweatier than I had been before, I fell into his apartment and onto the bed, and the room was spinning faster than my skate wheels. I’m pretty sure I gave him a blow job, although I don’t exactly remember the experience. After fooling around for a while, we both passed out.
    Bright sun through the thin mini blinds woke me up the next morning to a searing headache and a wave of nausea. I looked over at Tim. He was cute, in a rugged way, but for the first time, I noticed his thinning hair and the spare tire under the Hang Ten muscle shirt. In horror, I noticed that his pants were around his knees. What was I thinking?
    I scrambled out of bed, trying to be as quiet as possible, my skates still firmly attached to my feet. I adjusted my clothes, smoothed my hair, rolled over to the door, and opened it. Just as I was about to make a clean getaway, he stirred and groaned. I froze. He opened his eyes and looked at me.
    “Hey,” he said, grinning woozily. “Where are you going?”
    “I was … I have to get home.”
    He looked disappointed. “Can I get your number?”
    I sighed. “Really? You want the number of the hairy wildebeest in the bad sports bra that you picked up in a bar last night? Who’s still wearing roller skates?”
    “Sure,” he said.
    “Let’s just play it like we’re now dreaming, and I didn’t actually blow you on the Starlight Express.” As if my whole life and so-called career weren’t degrading enough …
    I shut the door behind me, then carefully, treacherously, painfully worked my way back down two flights of stairs, on wheels, excruciatingly hung over, clutching the railing like my life depended on it. It probably did.
    Then a first: the long roll of shame home.
    Larry Todd was in and out of my life, but more in the role of father figure than flirtation. Once, he took me out for lunch. We laughed and talked and I asked about his daughter, and he seemed a little sad. At the end of our lunch, he put his hand over mine on the table and looked me in the eye. “You know you can always talk to me about anything that’s going on, at work or in your life,” he said. “Consider me your friend.”
    “Thanks, Larry. I really appreciate it. You’re …” I almost said “like a father to me,” but I didn’t want to insult him or make him feel old. “Your support means everything to me. I think I’m almost ready to move out of my father’s house and get my own place.”
    “That’s great,” he said, finally removing his hand. “Do you know where you’ll live?”
    “Not yet. Somewhere not too far from work.”
    “A friend of mine owns a building in West