Read Online All You Could Ask For: A Novel by Mike Greenberg - Free Book Online
Authors: Mike Greenberg
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glass, and shot the tequila, then took a slice of lime and sunk my teeth into it. The whole thing was fabulous, absolutely fabulous . I haven’t done tequila shots in years. The drink was tangy on my lips and warm in my chest. It tasted good and felt even better.
“Let me do one more,” I said, and I did, and it was even better the second time.
Then Pamela was holding her camera and staring me right in the eye.
“All right, sweetheart,” she said, more gently now, reassuringly, “are you ready to do this?”
“One more thing,” I said.
“Anything.”
“Do you have Cheap Trick at Budokan ?”
She smiled and left the room again. I began to unbutton my coat. Underneath was a teddy I had picked up after I saw Scott not-so-subtly admire a similar one on Jessica Biel in a movie. Seemed like a good way to ease into this. I let the coat drop to the floor and stared at myself in a mirror decorated with Grateful Dead skulls.
“Not quite Jessica Biel,” I said aloud, “but not half-bad.”
Then I heard the screaming from the Japanese audience as the drums began to play the introduction to “I Want You to Want Me.”
And then Pamela was behind me in the mirror. “No time like the present,” she said.
I’ve never been so ready to do anything in my entire life.
SAMANTHA
“SO,” MY FATHER SAID, “are you ready to admit I was right?”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I was just wondering if you had come to any conclusions about my views on this fellow you met and decided to marry fifteen minutes later.”
My first thought was that this couldn’t be happening. I don’t mean my father browbeating me, that has been happening all my life. But how could he know? I had yet to tell him anything.
“Dad, what’s going on?” I asked.
“I have a better idea,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on.”
Every once in a while I get a glimpse of how my father came to be such a successful businessman. It is not just that he is ruthless (which I suspect he is) and brilliant (to which I can attest firsthand) but he is also very cunning, and this was the perfect illustration. Obviously he knew something, but I didn’t know what, nor did I know how he knew it.
“Listen, Dad,” I said, fighting desperately to keep all the positive energy from being sucked out of me, “as I said I’m having sort of a strange day. It’s pretty clear we both have something we want to say, and I can’t tell you how much it would help my state of mind if you would just go first.”
He chuckled on the other end of the line. There was something not so malicious in his chuckle, which is unusual for him. Normally, when you’re arguing with my father and he laughs, it sounds like Vincent Price in “Thriller.” But this was different. He was going to give me a break. I could tell.
“Sweetheart,” he said, “Robert called me.”
I have no idea why that should have come as a shock to me. There were only two people on the planet who were aware anything was going on. I was one and Robert was the other, so it only stood to reason that if my father was aware of a problem it was Robert who alerted him to it. But why? I’d only been gone a few hours.
“He told me what happened,” my father said.
That’s when it hit me. I never shut the laptop off, never logged out, never yanked the power cord out of the wall, nothing. I just left it on and open for him to find the nude photo of his campaign manager splashed across the screen. I felt a little smile cross my lips. Good. No better way for him to find out.
“What did he say?” I asked. To my surprise, my voice cracked a bit. It sounded as though I might cry, which seemed odd at first but then suddenly I realized tears were streaming down my cheeks.
“To be honest, he was very forthright,” my father said. “I give him credit for that. For a lying sack of shit, he’s a pretty straightforward guy.”
I laughed a little.
“He said he had something he needed to
“Let me do one more,” I said, and I did, and it was even better the second time.
Then Pamela was holding her camera and staring me right in the eye.
“All right, sweetheart,” she said, more gently now, reassuringly, “are you ready to do this?”
“One more thing,” I said.
“Anything.”
“Do you have Cheap Trick at Budokan ?”
She smiled and left the room again. I began to unbutton my coat. Underneath was a teddy I had picked up after I saw Scott not-so-subtly admire a similar one on Jessica Biel in a movie. Seemed like a good way to ease into this. I let the coat drop to the floor and stared at myself in a mirror decorated with Grateful Dead skulls.
“Not quite Jessica Biel,” I said aloud, “but not half-bad.”
Then I heard the screaming from the Japanese audience as the drums began to play the introduction to “I Want You to Want Me.”
And then Pamela was behind me in the mirror. “No time like the present,” she said.
I’ve never been so ready to do anything in my entire life.
SAMANTHA
“SO,” MY FATHER SAID, “are you ready to admit I was right?”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I was just wondering if you had come to any conclusions about my views on this fellow you met and decided to marry fifteen minutes later.”
My first thought was that this couldn’t be happening. I don’t mean my father browbeating me, that has been happening all my life. But how could he know? I had yet to tell him anything.
“Dad, what’s going on?” I asked.
“I have a better idea,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on.”
Every once in a while I get a glimpse of how my father came to be such a successful businessman. It is not just that he is ruthless (which I suspect he is) and brilliant (to which I can attest firsthand) but he is also very cunning, and this was the perfect illustration. Obviously he knew something, but I didn’t know what, nor did I know how he knew it.
“Listen, Dad,” I said, fighting desperately to keep all the positive energy from being sucked out of me, “as I said I’m having sort of a strange day. It’s pretty clear we both have something we want to say, and I can’t tell you how much it would help my state of mind if you would just go first.”
He chuckled on the other end of the line. There was something not so malicious in his chuckle, which is unusual for him. Normally, when you’re arguing with my father and he laughs, it sounds like Vincent Price in “Thriller.” But this was different. He was going to give me a break. I could tell.
“Sweetheart,” he said, “Robert called me.”
I have no idea why that should have come as a shock to me. There were only two people on the planet who were aware anything was going on. I was one and Robert was the other, so it only stood to reason that if my father was aware of a problem it was Robert who alerted him to it. But why? I’d only been gone a few hours.
“He told me what happened,” my father said.
That’s when it hit me. I never shut the laptop off, never logged out, never yanked the power cord out of the wall, nothing. I just left it on and open for him to find the nude photo of his campaign manager splashed across the screen. I felt a little smile cross my lips. Good. No better way for him to find out.
“What did he say?” I asked. To my surprise, my voice cracked a bit. It sounded as though I might cry, which seemed odd at first but then suddenly I realized tears were streaming down my cheeks.
“To be honest, he was very forthright,” my father said. “I give him credit for that. For a lying sack of shit, he’s a pretty straightforward guy.”
I laughed a little.
“He said he had something he needed to
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