Young and Revolting: The Continental Journals of Nick Twisp Read Online Free

Middle of the night. Awakened by a mystery noise. Traced annoying sounds to our closet, where I discovered my forgotten cellular phone chirping away in a suitcase. I closed the door, sat on the toilet, and answered the call. It was Connie Krusinowski, my ally in amours, stuck in desperate traffic on the 405 Freeway in Los Angeles.
    “ Rick, why haven’t you been keeping in touch?”
    “ Sorry, Connie. I didn’t think my phone would work over here.”
    “ That’s obvious. But thoughtful Connie just paid your bill and had the service switched over to international.”
    “ Thanks, Connie. What’s happening with Sheeni’s parents?”
    “ You can relax for the time being, Rick. They are presently scouring Mexico for their runaway daughter.”
    “ Mexico! Why there?”
    “ Simple, amigo. I sent my maid Benecia down to Tijuana with some bribe money. She got a suspicious Hunter-Saunders marriage entered there on the public records.”
    “ Connie, that’s brilliant.”
    “ Yeah, it was pretty devious even for me. So, where are you, guy?”
    I filled in my friend on the events of the past week. She was not pleased to hear that Sheeni was no longer wearing her wedding ring.
    “ Jesus, Nick, it’s hard enough to drag a Saunders to the altar. Don’t tell me now I have to worry about poor Paulo backsliding on me.” Connie has been conspiring to wed Paul, Sheeni’s jazz- playing incarcerated older brother.
    “ They can be pretty skittish, Connie. Kind of like adopting a feral cat. I’m thinking of getting Sheeni 10 wedding rings—one for each finger. So what’s happening with you?”
    Connie reported that things were going so well it was almost scary. Her parents’ lawyers were thrashing out the divorce settlement, her dad was now engaged to Lacey (glamorous erstwhile girlfriend of both Paul and my father), and Paul was getting friendlier every time she visited him in jail (where he’s confined on a marijuana rap).
    “ Has he asked you to marry him?”
    “ Not yet. But it’s only a matter of time. I am resolved on that point. You are my inspiration, Rick.”
    “ Thanks, Connie. I appreciate all your help in springing Sheeni from that prison camp for unwed mothers.”
    “ My pleasure, guy. So, how many hours a day are you spending with her?”
    “ Well, approximately 24. We’re on our honeymoon, you know.”
    “ Too many, Rick. That’s obviously your problem. You can’t crowd a Saunders. Remember, Rick, everyone wants what they cannot have. You have to be more unavailable.”
    “ OK, Connie. I’ll try.” Promising to stay in touch, we rang off.
    Mulling it over, I decided to bone up on my Spanish. Latin men, François reminds me, are notorious for their unavailability—especially to their wives.
    7:48 p.m. Another day in language hell. No museum-hopping as most such venues closed on Mondays. Sheeni buried lovely nose in heavy French tome. Hope it’s a book on baby rearing and not a guide to do-it-yourself divorce. To boost my unavailability, I went grocery shopping and did the laundry. No Safeways in Paris? Bought necessities in little specialized shops, where you allegedly receive personalized service and certainly pay through the nose. Lugged ten days’ worth of laundry and two bags of groceries up six flights.
    Made dinner with our antique pots and pans. Surprised they weren’t melted down for cannon during the Napoleonic wars. Must upgrade soon to Teflon. Wife had seconds of pot roast and commented, I hope, approvingly on the cuisine. She apparently never heard of the rule that the person who doesn’t cook does the washing up. Should have worked out the division of labor back when we were still speaking English. Since I didn’t know the Spanish for “Look, the dishes are stacking up,” I washed them myself.
    Lots to learn about being married, I can see that now. Not just uninhibited sexual congress 24 hours a day. Wonder who started that myth? The need to remain aloof now in fundamental