Chapter 18 Cord
Cord
On their “Day We Fell in Love”-versary (according to Giovanni, who had the time to record such things), Cord and Giovanni went to Panna II, the only restaurant left in what was once called Little India, on New York’s Lower East Side.
Where there had been four windows filled with flashing holiday lights, now there was Panna II surrounded by three dark and empty storefronts—another casualty of the pandemic.
“May our holiday lights continue to burn bright,” said Giovanni, squeezing Cord’s knee under the bright red tablecloth.
“I’m going to have a seizure,” said Cord.
Had the strings of multicolored bulbs always flashed erratically?
Had they always hung so low? Many were burned-out, which seemed like a clear fire hazard and an even clearer metaphor.
“I’ve never been here sober,” Cord mused.
“Honestly, I’m not sure I want to be here sober. ”
“Cord…it’s been ten years since we got engaged,” began Giovanni, before he was interrupted by a little boy—he must have been twelve. The kid wore a shiny three-piece suit and skinny tie.
“Welcome to Panna II, where Christmas happens all year long!” he said in a practiced manner. “Can I interest you in mango lassis or have you brought your own wine?”
“I’ll have Perrier in a glass,” said Cord. He was pretending to be sober when outside their apartment.
“Same here,” said Giovanni with a sigh.
“As a gentle reminder, we only accept cash dollars,” said the boy. “An ATM machine is conveniently located in our basement.” He gestured grandly toward a foreboding, half-open doorway.
“Oh God, that sketchy ATM,” muttered Giovanni, when the kid was gone.
“I remember,” said Cord.
“Did we have sex down there?” said Giovanni.
“I believe we did,” said Cord. “Ah, the glory days.”
“Yeah,” said Giovanni. He took Cord’s hands in his own. “But this is better.”
“Is it?” said Cord. As soon as he’d strung together a year of sobriety, the pandemic had hit.
Trapped at home, alone with each other, both Cord and Giovanni had agreed that a little wine would be OK.
They began splitting a bottle a night, then two.
Eventually, those fever-dream days of sourdough starters and banging pots outside their Upper West Side window ended, but New York—and Cord and Gio—emerged diminished, collectively sad.
How had banging the pots helped the hospital workers, again? Cord’s memory of those days was hazy.
Now, Cord was overwhelmed by work—as soon as 3rd Eyez had been bought for a fortune, everyone wanted Cord’s firm, NYC Ventures, on their roster.
But he didn’t want to fund tech overlords anymore.
He didn’t know what he wanted to do. His latest venture, Sweethearts, was about to go public.
Sweethearts used artificial intelligence to make customized chatbot spouses.
(“Like the movie Her,” the college-dropout founders had told him. “But this time, we put a ring on it!”)
At Panna II, Cord’s phone kept buzzing and dinging as they ordered a mixed appetizer (papadum, piazi, samosa, and banana fritter); butter chicken; lamb vindaloo; naan stuffed with cheese; naan stuffed with potato; and naan stuffed with garlic.
“Should we also get the one stuffed with ‘fruit and nut’?” asked Gio.
“Are you carbo-loading for a 10K?” asked Cord. “Jesus.”
“We’ll take that one too,” said Gio.
“Wonderful, sir,” said the boy, closing his waiter pad with a flourish. “I will return with your Perrier,” he said.
“Thanks,” said Cord. The kid removed his suit jacket, left the restaurant, ran across the street to a liquor store, and returned with a large bottle of Perrier, which he handed to a man behind the bar.
The man poured sparkling water into two wineglasses and added lime wedges, and the boy put his jacket back on and delivered their drinks.
Ding! A text from Cord’s business partner and college roommate, Jacobey:
SOS
Sweethearts team spinning out
Call me ASAP
“I love this restaurant,” said Giovanni. “I love New York, and I love you.” Gio held his glass aloft.
“Sorry, hon,” said Cord. He typed: at dinner, turning off my phone.
Jacobey called. He called again. He called again.
“And we haven’t set a wedding date…” continued Giovanni.
“We will!” said Cord. “You want to pick a date? That’s fine; that’s great. When?” Cord’s phone buzzed again and he picked it up. “One second,” he said to Gio. “Just one—Jacobey! I’ll call you in an hour!”
“Get to the chopper, man,” said Jacobey. “Timmy and Eddie are on MDMA and they’re trying to jump off the balcony.” Timmy and Eddie were the founders of Sweethearts.
“I’ll be there in an hour,” said Cord. “Gio’s going to leave me if I don’t get off the phone.”
“I will,” said Gio. “Honestly, I will.”
“I mean, you won’t,” said Cord, hanging up on Jacobey.
“True,” said Giovanni. “You asshole.”
“I’m here, honey,” said Cord. “I’m here, with you. Let’s pick a date for our wedding.”
Giovanni shook his head. “I have other news.”
“Do tell!”
“Cord, I have planned a special vacation, and we leave on Sunday!”
“What?”
“Return to Love,” said Giovanni. “It’s a digital detox…with horseback riding, canoeing, and facials.”
“Sweethearts’ IPO is Friday,” said Cord.
“We leave on Sunday,” said Giovanni slowly, as if he were talking to a child.
“Did you say facials?” said Cord, touching his skin, which was in need.
“You can call Jacobey and text whoever and handle what you need to handle. I am going to eat my butter chicken and all the naan and then I’m going home.
The resort is in the Poconos, and you’re coming, and you have to put that fucking phone in a lockbox and we are going to return to love.
Do you hear me, Cord Perkins? We are going to return to love. ”
Cord’s relief that he could handle his work emergency was immense. “You won’t get mad if I leave, like, now?” he said. “Even though it’s our ‘Day We Fell in Love’-versary?”
“I won’t get mad,” said Giovanni. “As long as you show up in one week for the Sunday 10:02 a.m. Greyhound from Port Authority to the ‘Return to Love Digital Detox Retreat.’ ”
“Greyhound?” said Cord. “You mean…a bus?” He stood, gathering his briefcase and spring jacket, an Isaia Capri pinstripe.
“And maybe at the retreat, we can also talk about…” said Gio.
“I know,” said Cord.
“We can detox from…from everything.”
“I can try,” vowed Cord.