Play it Again Sam Pt. 04

Author's Note: This story is based on the premise of the movie Groundhog Day. Some comments have expressed worry that this series could go on forever. It won't. This is part 4 of 6. The story should end in less than two weeks. I was going to split this part up, but decided against it. I shortened it a little instead. I have read the comments and have taken some suggestions into account, but there is no way I can cover all the various paths this story could go down. I encourage anyone who is interested to do their own Groundhog Day take on the genre.

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Friday July 15 ^th , 2016 Day 132

"What is love? Baby don't hurt me....don't hurt me....no more"

Finding out that the woman you love has betrayed you can lead a man into dark places. The grind of everyday life can help mask the pain with ritual. Even so, it could be weeks, months, or even years before you feel "whole" again. There a lot of factors to determine the length of time it takes for a man to really put a disastrous relationship behind him.

My circumstances were unique.

I'm not sure if I sped up my healing process, or prolonged it.

I would call my behavior self-destructive, but that doesn't really fit. I came to find out I was more or less indestructible.

My descent into drugs lasted several months.

I won't bore you with the details, even if I could remember most of them.

I had a lot of bad drug reactions. I couldn't build up any tolerance to anything. I snorted, smoked, and shot up all sorts of shit. Half the time I have no memory of what happened next. I would just wake up in the guest room.

I suspect that I probably OD'd several times, but have no way of knowing. I didn't think of it at the time, which doesn't say much for my intelligence. I had a blind-spot. The time loop had made me feel invincible. Had I stopped to think about the actual consequences of dying in the time loop, I would have slowed my roll.

Death is final. I had no desire to test that.

But as my drug phase wrapped up, I would get definitive proof that I could die and come back.

I was looking for adrenochrome.

It was in Fear and Loathing, but as a square, I had thought it sounded made up. I googled it and it was real, but I was having a hell of a time getting my hands on any.

I finally got a line on a dealer who supposedly sold it. First I went to the guy I got my cocaine from. He never remembered me of course, so I had to drop a tab of ecstasy to prove I wasn't a cop (and pay for it).

He sent me to a Filipino in queens, who sent me to dealer named "Smoke" in Long Island.

I thought Smoke was a pretty sweet name for a drug dealer. Most of them were just "Bill," or "Tyrone," or something ordinary. I was expecting a lean black guy or a dreadlocked white guy.

Smoke was a 400 pound Jewish woman. So much for my stereotyping.

We started doing the dance I had gotten used to. I looked like what I was, a mid-twenties professional. Nobody had a problem selling me weed or cocaine, but when I asked for less recreational drugs they started itching. I usually offered to do a drug right there to alieve their suspicion.

I had already done ecstasy for the coke guy, but Smoke wanted to see for herself. I had learned not to try smoking anything. Every day I woke up with virgin lungs, so every time I smoked something I would have a coughing fit. So I did some speed she supplied.

When she was satisfied that I wasn't a cop, she sold me the adrenochrome. It came in a small bottle that I put in my pocket.

I was turning towards the door when the police broke it down.

"Get down! Down! Everybody on the ground!"

By now, getting arrested was old hat. I had been busted several times buying from an undercover cop, but I had gotten better at spotting them. I would always take my drug buys to a hotel. Some of them made me go a little crazy, and I'd had hotel managers call the police on me a few times.

I was also a little wired from the ecstasy and speed.

So I didn't get down on the ground like they said. Instead I reached into my pocket to get the adrenochrome. In my addled brain I was just getting it out to hand over to the police.

But they didn't know what I was reaching for.

BANG!

What was...?

I felt...strange. I looked down and saw a hole in my shirt. No blood at first. I touched it with my fingertip. I must have had a very confused look on my face.

Then I was looking up at the ceiling. Still no pain. I felt hollow somehow. I could hear my breath rasping in and out fast, but it seemed like it was coming from someone else.

The ceiling was drawing down into a point.

...

Friday July 15 ^th , 2016 Day 132

"What is love? Baby don't hurt me....don't hurt me....no more"

I had died. No doubt about it.

If you had asked me whether I thought that I could die and wake up again the next day... With what I had seen of how the time loop worked, logic would say yes, I would wake up. But I sure as hell wouldn't have wanted to test that theory.

Well, now I knew.

That was the end of my drug binge. Not because it was dangerous. I had proven to myself that it wasn't, so long as I was in the loop.

No, dying in a drug raid made me stop and look at what I was doing. I didn't like what I was becoming.

My wife had ripped out my heart and shit on my manhood. She made me question whether any woman could respect and be happy with me. I tried to play off my lack of skill in bed as a problem that was in my rear view mirror. Yes, I used to be bad, but I got better.

I didn't fully believe it.

I knew Julie started cheating to find sexual satisfaction. In the later years of our marriage she had nothing but positive things to say about me as a lover...

But she didn't stop cheating. So was I still not good enough to keep a woman from straying?

I was running. The drugs were a distraction, an artificial problem to keep my mind off my real ones. I couldn't develop a physical addiction, but I had the mental craving to escape through chemical means.

But no more.

From now on, I would get down to the nitty gritty of rebuilding the man that Julie had destroyed.

...

Friday July 15 ^th , 2016 Day 133

"What is love? Baby don't hurt me....don't hurt me....no more"

I knew where to start.

I went to work. Even in my drug days, I kept refining my day trading formula. I hadn't really needed the money yet, but when you can make millions of dollars... well, that's pretty sexy, even if you don't have an immediate use for it. And the number kept going up as I fine-tuned my trades. Eventually, I memorized every stock movement of note for July 15^th 2016, and could pre-book my trades in less than thirty minutes.

I went ahead and got that ball rolling, but I had a different reason to come to Broadwell & Marx that day.

I went to the office of my supervisor, Ben Johnson. Ben was a playboy. He had a stable of women that he saw regularly. But he was honest about it. The women who dated him knew he was getting around. They put up with it because they were hoping to win the golden ticket and become Mrs. Johnson, wife of a young Wall Street up and comer. Ben was used to getting his rocks off early and often, and I knew he occasionally cut out the middle man and just paid for it.

I knocked on his door and went in.

"Hey Ben, you got a minute?"

"Sure Sam, what do you need?"

"It's not business related. I was in the break room a while back, and I heard you and Schmidt talking about getting Brad an escort for his bachelor party."

Ben was looking confused. "Yeah I remember. Not the conversation, but we did buy some company for Brad. Look...Sam...I'm sorry for not inviting you to the party, but it didn't really seem like something you would-"

"No, no, no. That's not what I'm getting at. You're right, not really my scene. Actually I was hoping you could steer me towards an escort. Someone high class."

Ben sputtered. "Where is this coming from Sam? You practically have "happily married" tattooed on your forehead."

I was struck for words. I didn't really want to get in to my marriage troubles.

"You know what, forget I asked that. It's none of my business, sorry. What kind of money are you looking to spend?"

"Sky's the limit, but I want someone very professional. I want brains and beauty. No airheads."

"I know the perfect woman then. But I gotta warn you, she's very expensive. Five G's minimum. If you're looking to make a night of it, it's fifteen. Gloria's the best, but I can set you up with a fine woman for a grand or two."

"No," I said. "If Gloria is the best, that's who I want. I can swing it."

Ben didn't question that. He probably knew how much I had in my personal trading account, but he was a man's man. He wouldn't question my ability to pay. I went to him because I knew he wouldn't pry, he'd just set me up. I could have went to any of a dozen execs at Broadwell & Marx. Some people on Wall Street kept a rolodex of hookers and strippers right on their desks. If not for themselves, then to butter up VIPs.

"Gloria only works on referral, so I can't give you her number. I'll call her and give her your cell number. She'll set up the meeting."

"Thanks Ben. I appreciate it."

"No problem Sam. I know you're a stand-up guy. I wouldn't set up just anybody with Gloria, she might cut me off."

He might have been blowing smoke up my ass, but I doubted it. I had a reputation as a straight arrow. Which didn't really fit with going to a prostitute, but I definitely wasn't the type to abuse one.

There really wasn't anything else to say, so I thanked him again and made my exit.

Now I had a new dilemma, I had to actually work. I didn't want to piss Ben off by cutting out and maybe screw up the liaison he was setting up for me. Oh well, it wasn't the end of the world. Actually, it had been so long since I put in a full day for Broadwell & Marx, that I had forgotten most of the research I did in those first days.

At about 3:00 that afternoon, my phone rang. It was an unlisted number.

"Hello? Sam Waltley speaking."

"Hello Sam. A friend gave me your number."

The voice on the other end was like liquid sex.

"You must be Gloria. I'm very happy to hear from you."

"Mr. Johnson said you might be looking for a date. Do you have an event coming up?"

She was being circumspect. She wasn't going to give details over the phone. Plus, high class call girls like her dealt with a lot of corporate types who liked to show them off.

"Something like that. I'm actually in a bit of a time crunch. If you're available, I'd like to meet and discuss the details."

"You're in luck, I had a cancelation. I can meet you at La Chife in the Westin Times Square. Does 8 o'clock work for you?"

"That would be perfect," I replied. "I look forward to meeting you."

I went ahead and worked a full day. Ordinarily I turned my phone off in the evenings, because Julie would call when I didn't come home. But some nights, like tonight, I thought I might need to make or receive a call, so I just set her ringtone to 'silent.'

I would need to have cash tonight, so I went to a 24hr branch of my bank.

With my advance knowledge of the stock market's fluctuations that day, turning my seed money into a small fortune was the easy part. It was much harder to actually get access to that money. Banks are leery about receiving and releasing funds the same day.

If I had been in a smaller city, with a less robust financial sector, I wouldn't have been able to get to the majority of my money. Fortunately, I worked for a brokerage with several billion dollars in assets, and I banked with one of our close corporate allies.

Broadwell & Marx moved so much money through the bank, that any account tagged as part of their umbrella got VIP treatment. Even when my account grew to several million, I was still a relatively small fry. I could take out several hundred thousand in cash without setting off alarms. If I needed more I had a bank credit card with limit tied to my account balance.

For tonight, I took out fifty thousand.

I went over to the Westin early. I rented the best suite they had available. I didn't have time to get a new suit, but I had the concierge get me a new shirt and tie, and billed to the room. They were waiting for me when I got out of the shower. I was nervous and didn't want to sweat in my suit, so I lounged around in a hotel robe until it was almost time to meet Gloria.

I entered the restaurant fifteen minutes early and sat at the bar. Gloria hadn't said if we were eating, so I gave my name to the maître d just in case.

I got a text from Gloria just before eight.

Gloria: "Almost there. I'm wearing a green dress, with a silver pattern."

Almost as soon as I looked up from my phone, I saw her.

Wow. Julie was a beautiful woman, but Gloria was in a whole other class. The two guys sitting next to me at the bar literally stopped their conversation mid-sentence. Truthfully, Julie was more my type. I like them petite which fit Julie at 5'5 and about 120 pounds.

Gloria was about five inches taller. Her conservative heels put two inches below my 6'2. She moved with a sinuous grace that made me think she had dance training. Her bust was a perfect handful and her ass looked like you could bounce a quarter off it.

But the showstopper was her face. She shared the chestnut hair and green eyes of my wife. But where Julie was good looking, Gloria was radiant. She could give Helen of Troy a run for her money. I probably had the same thought that every client of hers had- Why is this woman selling her body? She could have been a model or actress. I never asked her, it didn't seem polite.

I walked over to her.

"Gloria? Hi, I'm Sam."

She reached to shake my hand. "Pleased to meet you Sam."

Instead of shaking it, I took her hand and kissed the back of it. It just seemed the right thing to do. She had a little smile, like I had done something cute.

"Quite the gentleman," she said.

I blushed. "Sorry. I wasn't prepared for your beauty. It felt appropriate."

I thought she might have blushed, but discounted the thought. This woman made a living of courtship.

"I put my name on the waiting list if you would like to eat."

"Perhaps," she replied. "Let's go to the bar and talk for a bit."

I am not a great conversationalist. With Gloria, it didn't matter. She kept the conversation going effortlessly, and I found myself completely at ease with this beautiful woman. I could see why she could charge a premium for her companionship. She was vibrant.

After we had been talking for a while, she addressed the reason we were there.

"I got the impression from Ben that you aren't my usual customer. I can see that. You haven't looked away from my eyes since we sat down." She leaned in and whispered in my ear, "I wouldn't mind if you looked, you're going to be seeing it all tonight."

I gulped. This woman's raw sexuality was outside my experience.

"Uh...Sorry. There's a story behind that. When I was younger, I was shy. I didn't look people in the eye. I got a reputation with the girls in school, because I would drop my eyes when I talked to them. They all thought I was staring at their chests, even though that wasn't my intention. I had to make a real effort to look people, especially women, in the eye, so they didn't think I was a creep."

"No need to apologize," she laughed. "Most days I appreciate not being ogled. Let's get dinner. But I think we should continue this conversation in private. Why don't you get a room and we can order something up?"

"I actually already have a suite. I wanted to take a shower after work. We can go whenever you're ready."

I had been paying for our drinks as we got them. I threw a tip on the bar top and we left the restaurant. We ordered meals from room service and ate them at the table in my suite. We continued to talk on general topics until we were finished eating. I made a conscious effort to let my eyes wander. When a woman makes it clear she wants you to notice her, you'd better look if you don't want to offend her. It was torture looking at that fabulous body, but I endured.

I'd found with my previous girlfriends that one of the best ways to make a woman feel good is to stare at her. Let me explain. I don't mean stare from across the room. Don't stare as you rub your crotch.

Make sure you have her attention, but don't say anything. Just let your eyes roam her face and body, but try to stay mostly on areas that aren't covered by clothes. The trick is to let your eyes convey that what you are seeing is beautiful. That you are enjoying the sight of her, not as an object of lust, but as a work of art.

It's not that hard if you feel, like I do, that the female body is a thing of terrible perfection.

During a lull in the conversation I just sat back and took Gloria in. My eyes traced the line of her jaw, her high cheekbones, her full lips, her slightly aquiline nose, her deep green eyes, her curly chestnut hair.

She grew quiet and let me make my inspection. This time I was sure she blushed. Even a woman who knows she is beautiful, likes to know she is appreciated.

"It seems we may be at the... entertainment portion of the evening. Sorry, but we have to talk a little business first," said Gloria.

We discussed prices for a minute before I told her what I was hoping to accomplish tonight.

"I have no problem with the cost, but I do have a special request. Nothing kinky, just...unusual. I want you to critique me."

"Critique you?" Gloria asked, confused. "Most men are looking for a fantasy, not...judgement."

"I recently had a... blow to my ego," I said. I paused as I tried to find the words.

"There's no sense beating around the bush. My wife cheated on me. Because I didn't satisfy her. I don't want to get into the whole story, but I'll just say that I addressed the problem and I need an impartial opinion."

She looked worried.

"I'm very sorry that you had to go through that. It must have been very painful for you to hear that. I... wouldn't want to... add to your troubles..."

I could she was trying to tactfully say something. I could guess what she was worried about.

"I think I know the problem. You're afraid that I'll pump you twice, cum in your eye, and then want you to tell me it was the best ever."

She laughed, high and musical.

"Something like that, yes. My business is pleasure, and I am good at it. If I told half my clients where they could improve... it could get ugly."

I went and took out the bank bag I had put in the bedside dresser earlier. I took out three stacks of bills wrapped in bands from the bank.

"Here's thirty thousand, yours regardless of what happens from this point. I promise, I won't be angry, no matter what you tell me later. I don't expect you to tell me I'm Don Juan. In fact, the only way you could disappoint me is to shine me on and tell me something patently false. But even then, I won't get mad, I'll just take my business elsewhere."

"I'll hold you to that. Give me a moment to freshen up."

Gloria retreated to the bathroom.

I went around and turned off most of the lights, leaving enough to see easily without being too bright. I kicked off my shoes and tie, and sat on the bed.

I was nervous; as much for my performance as for the first time I would have sex with another woman in almost eight years. I had second guessed myself over whether I could sleep with someone other than my wife. I didn't want to be a hypocrite, but in my mind, the marriage was already over.

Julie had betrayed me so thoroughly that I knew I could never live with myself if I stayed with her. Even if I could forgive her. I would have to bury my self-respect. I had loved Julie most of my adult life. I would have taken a bullet for her, but I wouldn't take one from her.