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try.”
                Rick was doing
his I’m-right-and-you-must-be-crazy thing. He did it a lot when it came to talk
of sex and women, because like all single men he thought he was an expert.
Markie still hadn’t gotten his head around that notion. To him it sounded more
rational to have actually experienced a few relationships before you went
around calling yourself an authority on the subject. Hearsay and studying the
matter from afar hardly accounted for being an expert.
                But that
was Rick. The guy also thought Serena’s best friend Tabitha was a babe so what did
he really expect?
    “No, I honestly
haven’t ever had the desire to give it a go. I don’t believe a man should have
to pay for sex.”
    “Ooooh,”
Rick replied, waving his hands towards the sky. “Aren’t you Mister High and
Almighty? I should have kicked you off your pedestal a long time ago.”
                Yep, it
amazed Markie every day how a person with such low emotional maturity could
function well in society, as a top creative director no less. You could take
the boy out of high school but not the high school out of the boy. Good thing
Rick didn’t display this childish temper tantrum side to clients and staff
alike.
                Bad
manners aside, as a team he and Rick admittedly worked great together.  Markie
had all the organization know-how and get-up-and-go while Rick was blessed (or
cursed, he believed) with an over-worked imagination and artistic genius.
Together with Rick’s guts and Markie’s burning ambition, they had picked up
quite a few lucrative clients and built their little advertising agency The
Guerrilla Zoo to a respectable level in less than three years. It took other
agency’s at least ten to get to the same spot.
    “It’s too
late; the girl has been arranged. The boys and I all pitched in forty bucks.”
    “But I
don’t want to go to a hooker; I don’t need to go to a hooker.”
    “Listen
the girl isn’t a hooker, she’s an escort. Big, big difference, so grant her
some respect.”
                Oh yeah,
very big difference. Next thing you know they’d be sending him to ‘respectable’
swinger parties.
    “Sounds
more like same shit, different smell to me, Rick.”
     “Very
funny, but you won’t be laughing tonight at eight o’clock.”
    “Why,
what’s happening at eight?” Other than the football match that is - he did mean
the game, didn’t he?
    “Boy
tonight all your dreams are finally gonna come true. Put on your spiffiest
shirt and aftershave because rumor has it Biffy loves to please.”
     “Biffy!” 
Rick couldn’t have come up with a more bimboesque name if he handpicked one out
of a porn flick. “Don’t tell me you’ve given her my bloody address!”
    “Course I
did. How else is she gonna find you and tear off your clothes. On second
thoughts maybe it’s better if you open the door completely nude. You only have
an hour with her so why waste any time?”
    Rick put
his pointer finger to his chin, as if considering more timesaving strategies.
    “You’re
really serious?” Markie asked again. He still wasn’t sure whether the escort
thing was totally legit. It could easily just be Rick’s way of testing him. You
know, of seeing whether his manhood was still in place and jumped to attention
at the idea.
    “Markie,
you think I’d lift your spirits like that?”
    “Yes,
definitely; you get off on that crap.”
    “Then I
suppose tonight is going to be a pleasant surprise. Don’t worry about getting
me a Thank You card though; a case of beer will do just fine.”
                Christ he
really was serious. Rick was intent on getting him screwed by a harlot. And
Markie wasn’t sure how he felt about that. While other men might consider
visiting a brothel an appropriate stop-off after work or a night on the town
Markie had never taken that route. No he was lucky in that respect. He’d even
managed to avoid the