Read Online The Unbinding by Walter Kirn - Free Book Online Page A

silk gift bag full of lotions that are complimentary but not free, as men understand but women never will.
    “I’ll call for the car,” I say. “We’ll swing by Nordstrom. Grab my amber Ray-Bans from the room and six of those pills from the bottle with the warning sticker showing a pair of droopy-lidded eyes.”
    My mad money will run out in a few days, which is also about when my johnson should fall off, so I’ll be back in action shortly. In the meantime, however, should you wish to, peruse the vast transcripts being generated by Sabrina G’s decision to ignore her AidSat talking earring and let the employee at the other end turn it into an open microphone. The tape from last week even features her deflowering, with plenty of phlegmy grunting from her male partner and at least one cry of, “Keep it in!” (And what’s this “Unbinding” business her colonel keeps talking about? A project of ours? And which Osmond are they referring to? I dimly remember hearing that the sister informed on a drunken third cousin of some top Saudi who’d roughed her up at an Aspen ski lodge once, but I’ve always thought of the brother as Mr. Clean.)
    Oh, and one last favor: Kent Selkirk’s got a tax problem, apparently, so let’s teach him a lesson in respect and send him a hefty, alarming manila envelope with all the cultic seals and stamps of power. Delivered by a clipboard-wielding tough guy whose greeting should be: “Both sign and print your name, sir.” (It’s having to print it that always turns them pale.)
    Off to the store now. My tramp wants Chloé sandals. She assures me that they never go on sale but she said the same thing about her Chanel purse and it was over thirty percent off. Nowadays, everyone discounts when they have to. Even smug Parisians.
    I needed this break.

16.
    [Via satellite]
    “I have a confession, Colonel Geoff. I drove over to Kent’s last night while you were sleeping. He said he wanted me to meet his dog. It yipped at me over the phone and sounded darling—one of those smallish breeds without much fur whose hearts you can see faintly beating through their skin. The ones whose thin skulls you can cover with one hand and feel their whole souls alive against your palm.
    “On my way to his place, I stopped at my apartment to pay some bills and make sure my heat was off. There was something on my computer from my sister: a bunch of research I asked for about Kent that a friend of hers looked up on the Web. I couldn’t understand the software program that I needed to open it and read it, though, and plus I decided that it wouldn’t be right, so I dragged it to the trash. How would I like it, I mean, if somebody raided my mailbox or stole my diary and found out, oh, I don’t know, about the eye doctor whom I let diddle me to get free LASIK? Sure, it’s the truth, but I’ve changed inside since then. If people can’t keep a few secrets here and there, how can they free themselves up to do things differently? They can’t. They’re marooned with their mistakes. If Kent’s made mistakes, I don’t want him to be stuck with them. I want him to know he can love me and not be perfect. Is that naive of me?”
    (Unintelligible)
    “That’s an awfully unforgiving attitude. Take your friend Tom Cruise. Those things he did. Those people you caught him with behind the pool house. Well, now he knows better. He has a lovely baby. He deserves to move forward, to grow. To be a daddy.”
    (Unintelligible)
    “Fine, we’ll disagree. It doesn’t matter. This is about me. Last night. With Kent.
    “In the courtyard between our apartments there’s a fishpond, and as I was heading over I threw some coins in it and made a few silly wishes about my future. While I was standing by the water, a policeman walked by with a flashlight and a pet crate, shining the beam inside the little door and making cooing sounds. Then, up above me, on a balcony, I noticed Kent in his boxers, with his shirt off, smoking a