Chapter Four
Arnold was fashionably late, however, Helga seemed to be even more in style. It had been well over an hour since the festivities began and she was nowhere in sight. This only bothered Arnold for fifteen minutes, only until Lila came through the door.
She looked more beautiful than ever, with her dark green dress, tenderly hugging every curve, with her glistening eyes that looked larger, more profound tonight than he had ever seen them look before. She was, without a doubt, beautiful. Jonathan, clutching her side, knew it as well as Arnold, and he used the petite treasure next to him to full extent. He flaunted the green emerald as they strutted through the room, as the other guests awed and praised the happy couple. Only Arnold stood alone and sullen, as the ray of family values descended above him and burned irrepressibly into his skin. He suddenly realized how alike Lola's beauty was to Lila's. Did he transgress into that being? Did he have a taste for green-eyed brunettes because of the one that got away? This was frightening, that he was looking for love in all the wrong places, without even realizing that it, indeed, was love and not lust. Would Humbert constantly search for his Annabel Lee until he found Dolores Haze? And would his outcome with the said substitute take the same tragic farewell as that of Hum's Lolita? Arnold vowed never to invest in Nabokov again.
He stood alone in gray tint, a hushed grim surrounded his body, barring him from the light. But then, the light came to him, it touched his wounds and nursed them back to health. Lila was that light.
"Hello, Arnold." She said in her usual, well meaning tone, but it struck him to the core.
"You look beautiful," he said, as his eyes hungrily fed in the image of her body, of what it must have been underneath of that dress.
"You look good too," she said in a friendly tone, a sort of white lie one may say to anyone, "I haven't seen you in a while. Where have you been, partner?"
"I've been kind of tied up."
"Oh yes!" she laughed, "I can't forget the case. You know, I'm starting to feel ever so jealous of Helga Pataki. She has all your time now."
"No, Lila," he smiled, "Helga is the last person you should be jealous of."
"That was not neighborly of you!" she giggled, "I was just kidding."
"How's Jonathan?" Arnold asked bitterly.
"Oh he's ever so good, that man. He bought me these emerald earrings for our anniversary, When I saw them, I wanted to leap on him from the excitement."
"Your love life is going well, then?"
"Yes, Arnold," she replied, "It is. And can I inquire about yours?"
Oh just the usual. I just happen to have been in love with a married woman ever since childhood, and today I slept with someone who looks just like her. Oh yeah, and I've been comparing my relationship with her to Lolita. Did I forget to mention that the woman is you?
"Oh I just the usual."
She nodded with a smile, "Oh, you! When are you going to get married already? I'd just love to be an aunt."
"Aunt?" he asked in bewilderment.
"Yeah!" she smiled, but when he did not understand she added, "You're like a brother to me, Arnold!"
"Oh!" he said unenthusiastically, and without thinking continued, "In that case, I'd love to be an uncle."
Lila's _expression stiffened for a moment. Arnold was thinking of a way to men his stupidity when Jonathan approached.
"What are you two whispering about over here?" he asked. For the first time in his life, Arnold was thankful of his arrival.
Lila's face turned bright once more, "We're just talking. That's what pals do, you know."
"No," he laughed, "I don't."
"Perhaps because you don't have any pals," Arnold said once more without consideration of the consequences. This was the second time that night. His evening was not going as well as he thought.
A silence followed.
"Well," Arnold said nervously, not because he was afraid of Jon's reaction, but because he feared Lila's, "I'll just go say hi to Gerald over there."
"You go right ahead," Lila said awkwardly, "I'll see you later, okay?"
"Yeah," Arnold nodded, "I'll just go now."
He paced away towards his best friend. Gerald had always been there for him, and the two were inseparable. They had identical views on life, including their way with women, and both were eligible bachelors. Each had a special love in their life. Arnold had Lila and Gerald had Phoebe. The only difference was that Gerald had intercourse with Phoebe on every occasion and Arnold only occasionally dared to dream of intercourse with Lila. Despite this, both were ill fated. Arnold could not be with Lila because she was married. Gerald could not be with Phoebe because he was stupid.
She had extended her heart to him on a silver platter, tightly packaged, with a pink bow on it. He was too afraid to take it, too blind to see that this was the way to happiness. Gerald was too unskilled to distinguish white gold from silver, too weak to handle a powerful woman. He wanted to control his perfect bride, and Phoebe would not give in. She had a strong mind and will, and never would she take orders from a man. Gerald hated that, and to spurn her, he started an affair with his secretary. When, at last, Phoebe found out about it, he wanted to shoot himself. That was what her existence signified in his life. Phoebe was the only fuel he had to keep going, and when he, with his manly pride, extinguished that fire, he at last understood the nature of his problems. Gerald knew nothing about the inner workings of women. He had, of course, been instructed in the outer physique, but this knowledge gave him little advantage on the singles market. When, at last, in her own stupidity, Phoebe gave him another chance, he cheated on her a day after. Following this, he knew that she would never take him back again.
Well how dare she, that little woman, think that he, as a man, would take it? Oh no, she was not going to get away with breaking his heart. Of course, there was the little matter of him breaking hers, but he did not like to think about it. Somewhere in this crowd was his date. A tall blonde, with oversized breasts and an undersized brain, not to mention bra. He knew that when Phoebe saw her, she would feel that strange inferiority complex all gorgeous women feel when they see their lover (past lover, in his case) with an inferior. They glorify that inferior, as if she is some sort of goddess, as if they cannot see how much they have on her. Gerald derived a sick sort of pleasure from seeing such a reaction in Phoebe; that, and he longed that jealousy would drive her back into his arms. What fools men are indeed!
"Hey Gerald," Arnold approached him.
"Hey Arnold."
This was their traditional greeting, derived from the good old days when they were nine-year-old children.
"So, how are you doing? Is it anywhere near as good as the way I am?"
"Oh, I'm about to explode," he said, "You look at Gemini over there, she looks extra hot tonight."
"It's so funny," Arnold smiled, "that you're not even looking in her direction when you're saying it."
Gerald's attentions have been overshadowed by the appearance of Phoebe, sweet, sophisticated, proportioned, Phoebe.
"What are you talking about?"
"Man, how are you holding up?"
Gerald sighed, turning back to his friend, "What can I say? She's driving me crazy. I got dressed to this party feeling like a man going into a fucking battle. I don't think I can handle it, it's too taxing. Women aren't supposed to be like that."
"Oh no," Arnold winced, "women are supposed to be like that. That's the burden all men have to carry. If you screw up, they make you beg."
"Arnold," Gerald said in a concerned tone, "what's been happening to you lately? Your perception of women really had changed lately."
"No Gerald, trust me, it didn't."
"Really? Prove it then."
"I fucked my housekeeper. Then I threw out her phone number, and tomorrow, I'm going to fire her in the most anonymous way possible."
Gerald opened his mouth; "You're kidding me! The hot one?"
"Oh come on, they're all hot."
"Arnold, this doesn't surprise me at all. But it doesn't prove anything anyway."
Arnold smiled, "Do you think I need to prove something to you? You're the one standing here ogling over a doomed relationship when a model is standing meters away, just waiting for you to take her home."
"Arnold, I think that maybe I have changed a little."
"I don't think you've changed at all," Arnold sighed, "you just got used to having her around, always there, and now that she's not, you're a little bit confused."
"No, I don't think that's it. I think I'm a little bit in love."
His voice was sullen and depressing, and Arnold tried to elevate him, "Love? Gerald, what is love?"
"What you feel for Lila."
"And look how well that's going. If I were you, I would not be jumping into this love bullshit headfirst. If I were you, I'd wade around a little before torturing my own self. "
Gerald sighed, "That's not the only thing I'm worried about, Arnold. I feel extremely guilty?"
"Well," Arnold said, "You should. You cheated on her; that's how you're supposed to feel. I don't blame you, but she, as a woman, has every chance in the world to. Women are like that."
Would Gerald be upset if Phoebe cheated on him? After two offensive outbursts of the evening Arnold was not willing to make yet another.
"Yeah, man. But it's not just that."
"What else?"
"Well," Gerald sighed, "You know how she's really tight with Helga Pataki? Well, she called me crying and telling me that she had a fight with her over us. She was saying all these things, all I remember was that Helga disapproved of us seeing each other again because she didn't want me to hurt Phoebe again."
Arnold looked down, thinking about Helga, Helga as a caring individual, as a woman of substance who was concerned with the well being of others. Helga.
"She said," Gerald continued, "that the argument was so intense that she doesn't think Helga will ever forgive her. She said she chose her relationship with me over her friendship with Helga. And then, I go right ahead and wreck it. I go and do exactly the thing that Helga warned Phoebe about, breaking the trust that made Phoebe give up something very important. Arnold, I almost feel like a bad person."
Arnold was contemplating the situation, he had many things to say to Gerald, things he would have said over a decade ago were pushing against his lips. But that wouldn't have been right. He had to preserve his macho image, at least until he avenged himself.
As any supporting friend would have, Arnold remarked, "Almost," and directed his attention to the opposite wall at the precisely correct moment.
There she stood, pale and precise, in a silk pink gown, with a strand of hair falling across her eye. She stood afraid and nervous, fiendishly watching her surroundings, wondering if she was being judged, if she was being distorted in their imagination.
"Gerald," Arnold said quickly, "I'll see you later."
"What? You see someone?"
"I do," Arnold said, unattached, "I do."
He made his way through the crowd towards her, and she gave him a laconic look in return once he approached.
"Hello there," he said to her.
"Hello," she said coldly, turning away.
"Have you just come?"
"No," she replied, not warming up, "I've been here all evening."
"Are you having fun?"
"Oh I just saw a pig fly."
"That must have been interesting," he smiled, "where did it go?"
She returned with a slight flicker on her lips, "I forgot to remember."
"That's a pity," he studied her, "I wish I'd seen it. Then, I'd have seen everything."
"Oh Arnold," she sighed, sipping champagne from the tall glass she was holding, "believe me, you haven't missed much."
"I missed you," he suddenly put in, "I think it's just enough."
Helga gulped down the remainder of her drink and with a snicker, chased after a caterer, leaving Arnold alone.
After 'mingling' for a half-hour with random people, Arnold once again spotted Helga among the crowd. When he approached her, she studied him with a disoriented confusion.
The girl looked at the floor and then back up again, "I need a cigarette."
"I was just about to say the same thing."
"You really think you're something, you know that?" Helga said as she inhaled the smoke and blew it out after they walked into the street and watched the cars passing by.
"Really?" Arnold said, enjoying his cigarette as much as Helga, "What makes you say that?"
"You think you could befriend me, and flatter me. But I know what you're up to, and there's no way I'm falling for that."
"What am I up to?" he said solemnly, "clue me in on that."
"Oh, don't start. You're horrible, you know that?"
"Helga," he sighed, "How many drinks did you have?"
"And you know what this feels like? Standing in the street like this? This feels like that thing all over again."
"Helga, let's not remember that, I would apologize but"
"But I told you not to," She finished, "You know, I don't hold that against you. You were mad and I was desperate. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have become the way that I've become. And I really love the way that I've become."
"Okay," he said, awe struck but afraid to show it, "How many drinks was it?"
"Arnold," she said, "I'm not bitter with you about that, I forgive you for that. What I hate you for id what you're trying to do to me. I understand it's your job, and all, you're making money. I can't be bitter with you about that either. But Arnold, you're corrupting my baby!"
"You corrupted your baby all on your own, Helga. People like you shouldn't be allowed to have babies."
She slapped him across the face and burst into laughter. His stone gaze settled upon her, and she felt frightened by his emotion for a second.
"I'm sorry," she creaked, "it's just so funny how I always wanted to do that!"
"Now we're even," he said softly and took her hand. "Let's get you back inside"
"No!" She screamed, "I can't go back there in this condition."
"Well, Helga, what are you planning to do then?"
"I don't want to go back there," she said, and he noticed that her eyes were becoming watery, "I hate that place, and I hate those people. I hate FUCKING EVERYTHING!" she screamed the last bit at the sky.
He looked into her face, not knowing what to look for. She was melting and he could have her right here on the street if he wanted. But that wouldn't have been honorable, that wouldn't have been challenging, that wouldn't have been fair. She began moving away.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"I'm going home."
"Are you sure you can drive in this condition?"
"No," she sniffed, "I came with an associate, she drove. So I guess I'll just walk." She had many, many drinks that night.
He sighed, "I'll drive you home. What hotel are you staying in?"
"I don't remember."
"Damn it, who's your associate?"
She took a moment to think it over, "I don't remember."
He sighed angrily, "So, what am I going to do with you?"
"Oh I got it!" she gave the subject matter serious thought, "Let's go to your house!"
While she giggled, Arnold could not believe her proposition. It would have been a good way to avenge himself if he had left her on this street alone, exposed to public degradation. But he had compassion, a little whim of compassion, leaving him no choice.
"Hey," he said to the valet, "Go get my car."
Arnold was fashionably late, however, Helga seemed to be even more in style. It had been well over an hour since the festivities began and she was nowhere in sight. This only bothered Arnold for fifteen minutes, only until Lila came through the door.
She looked more beautiful than ever, with her dark green dress, tenderly hugging every curve, with her glistening eyes that looked larger, more profound tonight than he had ever seen them look before. She was, without a doubt, beautiful. Jonathan, clutching her side, knew it as well as Arnold, and he used the petite treasure next to him to full extent. He flaunted the green emerald as they strutted through the room, as the other guests awed and praised the happy couple. Only Arnold stood alone and sullen, as the ray of family values descended above him and burned irrepressibly into his skin. He suddenly realized how alike Lola's beauty was to Lila's. Did he transgress into that being? Did he have a taste for green-eyed brunettes because of the one that got away? This was frightening, that he was looking for love in all the wrong places, without even realizing that it, indeed, was love and not lust. Would Humbert constantly search for his Annabel Lee until he found Dolores Haze? And would his outcome with the said substitute take the same tragic farewell as that of Hum's Lolita? Arnold vowed never to invest in Nabokov again.
He stood alone in gray tint, a hushed grim surrounded his body, barring him from the light. But then, the light came to him, it touched his wounds and nursed them back to health. Lila was that light.
"Hello, Arnold." She said in her usual, well meaning tone, but it struck him to the core.
"You look beautiful," he said, as his eyes hungrily fed in the image of her body, of what it must have been underneath of that dress.
"You look good too," she said in a friendly tone, a sort of white lie one may say to anyone, "I haven't seen you in a while. Where have you been, partner?"
"I've been kind of tied up."
"Oh yes!" she laughed, "I can't forget the case. You know, I'm starting to feel ever so jealous of Helga Pataki. She has all your time now."
"No, Lila," he smiled, "Helga is the last person you should be jealous of."
"That was not neighborly of you!" she giggled, "I was just kidding."
"How's Jonathan?" Arnold asked bitterly.
"Oh he's ever so good, that man. He bought me these emerald earrings for our anniversary, When I saw them, I wanted to leap on him from the excitement."
"Your love life is going well, then?"
"Yes, Arnold," she replied, "It is. And can I inquire about yours?"
Oh just the usual. I just happen to have been in love with a married woman ever since childhood, and today I slept with someone who looks just like her. Oh yeah, and I've been comparing my relationship with her to Lolita. Did I forget to mention that the woman is you?
"Oh I just the usual."
She nodded with a smile, "Oh, you! When are you going to get married already? I'd just love to be an aunt."
"Aunt?" he asked in bewilderment.
"Yeah!" she smiled, but when he did not understand she added, "You're like a brother to me, Arnold!"
"Oh!" he said unenthusiastically, and without thinking continued, "In that case, I'd love to be an uncle."
Lila's _expression stiffened for a moment. Arnold was thinking of a way to men his stupidity when Jonathan approached.
"What are you two whispering about over here?" he asked. For the first time in his life, Arnold was thankful of his arrival.
Lila's face turned bright once more, "We're just talking. That's what pals do, you know."
"No," he laughed, "I don't."
"Perhaps because you don't have any pals," Arnold said once more without consideration of the consequences. This was the second time that night. His evening was not going as well as he thought.
A silence followed.
"Well," Arnold said nervously, not because he was afraid of Jon's reaction, but because he feared Lila's, "I'll just go say hi to Gerald over there."
"You go right ahead," Lila said awkwardly, "I'll see you later, okay?"
"Yeah," Arnold nodded, "I'll just go now."
He paced away towards his best friend. Gerald had always been there for him, and the two were inseparable. They had identical views on life, including their way with women, and both were eligible bachelors. Each had a special love in their life. Arnold had Lila and Gerald had Phoebe. The only difference was that Gerald had intercourse with Phoebe on every occasion and Arnold only occasionally dared to dream of intercourse with Lila. Despite this, both were ill fated. Arnold could not be with Lila because she was married. Gerald could not be with Phoebe because he was stupid.
She had extended her heart to him on a silver platter, tightly packaged, with a pink bow on it. He was too afraid to take it, too blind to see that this was the way to happiness. Gerald was too unskilled to distinguish white gold from silver, too weak to handle a powerful woman. He wanted to control his perfect bride, and Phoebe would not give in. She had a strong mind and will, and never would she take orders from a man. Gerald hated that, and to spurn her, he started an affair with his secretary. When, at last, Phoebe found out about it, he wanted to shoot himself. That was what her existence signified in his life. Phoebe was the only fuel he had to keep going, and when he, with his manly pride, extinguished that fire, he at last understood the nature of his problems. Gerald knew nothing about the inner workings of women. He had, of course, been instructed in the outer physique, but this knowledge gave him little advantage on the singles market. When, at last, in her own stupidity, Phoebe gave him another chance, he cheated on her a day after. Following this, he knew that she would never take him back again.
Well how dare she, that little woman, think that he, as a man, would take it? Oh no, she was not going to get away with breaking his heart. Of course, there was the little matter of him breaking hers, but he did not like to think about it. Somewhere in this crowd was his date. A tall blonde, with oversized breasts and an undersized brain, not to mention bra. He knew that when Phoebe saw her, she would feel that strange inferiority complex all gorgeous women feel when they see their lover (past lover, in his case) with an inferior. They glorify that inferior, as if she is some sort of goddess, as if they cannot see how much they have on her. Gerald derived a sick sort of pleasure from seeing such a reaction in Phoebe; that, and he longed that jealousy would drive her back into his arms. What fools men are indeed!
"Hey Gerald," Arnold approached him.
"Hey Arnold."
This was their traditional greeting, derived from the good old days when they were nine-year-old children.
"So, how are you doing? Is it anywhere near as good as the way I am?"
"Oh, I'm about to explode," he said, "You look at Gemini over there, she looks extra hot tonight."
"It's so funny," Arnold smiled, "that you're not even looking in her direction when you're saying it."
Gerald's attentions have been overshadowed by the appearance of Phoebe, sweet, sophisticated, proportioned, Phoebe.
"What are you talking about?"
"Man, how are you holding up?"
Gerald sighed, turning back to his friend, "What can I say? She's driving me crazy. I got dressed to this party feeling like a man going into a fucking battle. I don't think I can handle it, it's too taxing. Women aren't supposed to be like that."
"Oh no," Arnold winced, "women are supposed to be like that. That's the burden all men have to carry. If you screw up, they make you beg."
"Arnold," Gerald said in a concerned tone, "what's been happening to you lately? Your perception of women really had changed lately."
"No Gerald, trust me, it didn't."
"Really? Prove it then."
"I fucked my housekeeper. Then I threw out her phone number, and tomorrow, I'm going to fire her in the most anonymous way possible."
Gerald opened his mouth; "You're kidding me! The hot one?"
"Oh come on, they're all hot."
"Arnold, this doesn't surprise me at all. But it doesn't prove anything anyway."
Arnold smiled, "Do you think I need to prove something to you? You're the one standing here ogling over a doomed relationship when a model is standing meters away, just waiting for you to take her home."
"Arnold, I think that maybe I have changed a little."
"I don't think you've changed at all," Arnold sighed, "you just got used to having her around, always there, and now that she's not, you're a little bit confused."
"No, I don't think that's it. I think I'm a little bit in love."
His voice was sullen and depressing, and Arnold tried to elevate him, "Love? Gerald, what is love?"
"What you feel for Lila."
"And look how well that's going. If I were you, I would not be jumping into this love bullshit headfirst. If I were you, I'd wade around a little before torturing my own self. "
Gerald sighed, "That's not the only thing I'm worried about, Arnold. I feel extremely guilty?"
"Well," Arnold said, "You should. You cheated on her; that's how you're supposed to feel. I don't blame you, but she, as a woman, has every chance in the world to. Women are like that."
Would Gerald be upset if Phoebe cheated on him? After two offensive outbursts of the evening Arnold was not willing to make yet another.
"Yeah, man. But it's not just that."
"What else?"
"Well," Gerald sighed, "You know how she's really tight with Helga Pataki? Well, she called me crying and telling me that she had a fight with her over us. She was saying all these things, all I remember was that Helga disapproved of us seeing each other again because she didn't want me to hurt Phoebe again."
Arnold looked down, thinking about Helga, Helga as a caring individual, as a woman of substance who was concerned with the well being of others. Helga.
"She said," Gerald continued, "that the argument was so intense that she doesn't think Helga will ever forgive her. She said she chose her relationship with me over her friendship with Helga. And then, I go right ahead and wreck it. I go and do exactly the thing that Helga warned Phoebe about, breaking the trust that made Phoebe give up something very important. Arnold, I almost feel like a bad person."
Arnold was contemplating the situation, he had many things to say to Gerald, things he would have said over a decade ago were pushing against his lips. But that wouldn't have been right. He had to preserve his macho image, at least until he avenged himself.
As any supporting friend would have, Arnold remarked, "Almost," and directed his attention to the opposite wall at the precisely correct moment.
There she stood, pale and precise, in a silk pink gown, with a strand of hair falling across her eye. She stood afraid and nervous, fiendishly watching her surroundings, wondering if she was being judged, if she was being distorted in their imagination.
"Gerald," Arnold said quickly, "I'll see you later."
"What? You see someone?"
"I do," Arnold said, unattached, "I do."
He made his way through the crowd towards her, and she gave him a laconic look in return once he approached.
"Hello there," he said to her.
"Hello," she said coldly, turning away.
"Have you just come?"
"No," she replied, not warming up, "I've been here all evening."
"Are you having fun?"
"Oh I just saw a pig fly."
"That must have been interesting," he smiled, "where did it go?"
She returned with a slight flicker on her lips, "I forgot to remember."
"That's a pity," he studied her, "I wish I'd seen it. Then, I'd have seen everything."
"Oh Arnold," she sighed, sipping champagne from the tall glass she was holding, "believe me, you haven't missed much."
"I missed you," he suddenly put in, "I think it's just enough."
Helga gulped down the remainder of her drink and with a snicker, chased after a caterer, leaving Arnold alone.
After 'mingling' for a half-hour with random people, Arnold once again spotted Helga among the crowd. When he approached her, she studied him with a disoriented confusion.
The girl looked at the floor and then back up again, "I need a cigarette."
"I was just about to say the same thing."
"You really think you're something, you know that?" Helga said as she inhaled the smoke and blew it out after they walked into the street and watched the cars passing by.
"Really?" Arnold said, enjoying his cigarette as much as Helga, "What makes you say that?"
"You think you could befriend me, and flatter me. But I know what you're up to, and there's no way I'm falling for that."
"What am I up to?" he said solemnly, "clue me in on that."
"Oh, don't start. You're horrible, you know that?"
"Helga," he sighed, "How many drinks did you have?"
"And you know what this feels like? Standing in the street like this? This feels like that thing all over again."
"Helga, let's not remember that, I would apologize but"
"But I told you not to," She finished, "You know, I don't hold that against you. You were mad and I was desperate. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have become the way that I've become. And I really love the way that I've become."
"Okay," he said, awe struck but afraid to show it, "How many drinks was it?"
"Arnold," she said, "I'm not bitter with you about that, I forgive you for that. What I hate you for id what you're trying to do to me. I understand it's your job, and all, you're making money. I can't be bitter with you about that either. But Arnold, you're corrupting my baby!"
"You corrupted your baby all on your own, Helga. People like you shouldn't be allowed to have babies."
She slapped him across the face and burst into laughter. His stone gaze settled upon her, and she felt frightened by his emotion for a second.
"I'm sorry," she creaked, "it's just so funny how I always wanted to do that!"
"Now we're even," he said softly and took her hand. "Let's get you back inside"
"No!" She screamed, "I can't go back there in this condition."
"Well, Helga, what are you planning to do then?"
"I don't want to go back there," she said, and he noticed that her eyes were becoming watery, "I hate that place, and I hate those people. I hate FUCKING EVERYTHING!" she screamed the last bit at the sky.
He looked into her face, not knowing what to look for. She was melting and he could have her right here on the street if he wanted. But that wouldn't have been honorable, that wouldn't have been challenging, that wouldn't have been fair. She began moving away.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"I'm going home."
"Are you sure you can drive in this condition?"
"No," she sniffed, "I came with an associate, she drove. So I guess I'll just walk." She had many, many drinks that night.
He sighed, "I'll drive you home. What hotel are you staying in?"
"I don't remember."
"Damn it, who's your associate?"
She took a moment to think it over, "I don't remember."
He sighed angrily, "So, what am I going to do with you?"
"Oh I got it!" she gave the subject matter serious thought, "Let's go to your house!"
While she giggled, Arnold could not believe her proposition. It would have been a good way to avenge himself if he had left her on this street alone, exposed to public degradation. But he had compassion, a little whim of compassion, leaving him no choice.
"Hey," he said to the valet, "Go get my car."