ROXANNE
A Modern Love Story
She lives in a condo in SM and drives a convertible that she leased with your money. You are good. Everything for this bitch. Brunch with girlfriends and Fashionnova hauls? You are still not quite sure what she does for a living. She did mention that she streams on Twitch(?) once, and she might have a fur baby or two with silly names. But you’d be a fool to say you get those names either because she’s gen z and you are 20 years senior.
Which sometimes you suspect she cares about them fur babies way more than she does about you. Go on, keep telling yourself that she loves you for YOU. Even when you get the bill from your financial institution in mail. Ouch, that must be the credit card that you gifted her once on a very special occasion! It’s triple the size of the receipt you got at CVS. You stop by there usually in the am after partying in the hills to pick up some essentials and grey goose.
Anyhoo… You wrap that CVS receipt around her waist and do bad things to her 🔞. The back seat of an exotic car. The rustic bench in Runyon Canyon. The back row of AMC theatre. You’ve surprised yourself. Now your sciatica flares up, probably, from doing it in all these silly places. She calls it romantic. Your doctor calls you a B-list industry simp in his throwaway Reddit account 💀
None matters. She makes you feel alive and she even taught you some of her Tiktok vocab. You can’t use it in board meetings, though. That would be inappropriate. POV, you are smiling as your investor lashes out at you in front of the bros for fucking up Series B schedule.
Likely, because all you can think about is that little dip on her body where her hips meet the thighs ❤️
You both don’t have much to talk about besides sexy times and how good soft shell crab is at Sake House. Somehow, it doesn’t bother you much. As you take your yellow exotic car out on the weekend to visit your beach house you realize… Happiness has not evaded your life completely. You are a happy man. Screw your ex wife looming in the back with your eldest’s college tuition letter in her crocodile purse. It’s like that failed marriage never existed.
Stakes rise when your high limit room poker buddies call your girl Roxanne not a good fit. They offer to introduce you to that Wall Street lady. This chick is a CEO of a green energy firm. She has her many PhD diplomas mounted above her mahogany Maison Valentina. This is cool, but the fact that they might fall on your head at night freaks you out every single time. Last time there you bypassed sex at her request and just rubbed chins for 20 minutes. She is pulling in an 80 hour work week (argument A), also a senator’s daughter (argument B), but you give zero hoots. You call them friends losers, and cash out.
Like the city itself, Roxanne is carefree and superficial. Bottomless mimosas and happy hours, she embodies LA so well. You two are at a brunch! She parts her lips and talks about the most pedestrian things with such joie de vivre (italics here, bitches, it’s French) that you can’t help but fall for her again. You want to blab about it so everyone would know! You slow blink at her. The world goes supersonic.
You can’t help drinking Roxanne Koolaid. Because Roxanne is VIBE!
