Lucky Bastard Paperback - 2013

Its my understanding that naked women dont generally tend to carry knives.

But considering all thats happened since I woke up this morning, I wouldnt have been surprised if shed pulled out a meat cleaver. Or a chain saw.

Why dont you put that thing away, I say, before I realize that was probably a bad choice of words.

From the glint in her eye I can see shes considering obliging me, so I take a couple of steps back, which is about all of the wiggle room I have, since its less than three feet before my luck runs out.

Where I am is the roof of the Sir Francis Drake Hotel in San Francisco after ten oclock on a late-August night with an angry, naked woman holding me at knifepoint. Which doesnt completely explain my current predicament, but at least it gives you an idea of what my days been like.

A helicopter approaches, the propeller thwup thwup thwupping, the lights cutting through the darkness and fog. At first I think its the cops until I see the CBS logo painted across the side.

Great. Im making the evening news. This is all I need.

Maybe I could have prevented all of this from happening had I paid more attention to my better judgment.

Or found a four-leaf clover.

Or eaten another bowl of Lucky Charms.

Im not superstitious, but sometimes it doesnt hurt to take precautions.

This is all your fault! she says, holding on to the eight-inch carving knife with both hands. All of it. Your fault!

Its at times like this that I wish Id taken some classes in situational diplomacy.

Even though I grew up in a somewhat lax home environment and had the opportunity to embrace a lot of personal freedom at an early age, I still know how to behave in a civilized manner. Like saying please and thank you. Or turning off my phone in a movie theater. But tact and finesse have never been my strong suits. Not that I have an inflammatory personality. Ive just never been particularly adept at managing interpersonal relationships. And if any situation called for a little skill and tact in dealing with someone, this is it. But I dont know if this type of scenario calls for humor or reason. Plus its a little awkward considering shes naked, so I try to keep my eyes above the horizon.

Still, I have to do something to let her know Im not the enemy, so I give her a smile, one thats meant to be reassuring. Something to ease the tension and lighten the mood. Not that Im thrilled to be here. I can think of other things Id rather be doing. Like sleeping or playing naked Twister. Instead, Im on the roof of a hotel trying to defuse a tense situation before anyone else gets hurt. But like any naked woman holding a knife, she completely misreads my intention.

Do you think this is funny? she says, pointing the knife at me, stabbing at the air. Not in a menacing way, but more like Rachael Ray making a point about how to properly slice eggplant. Only this isnt the Food Network. And Im not a big fan of ratatouille.

No, I say, shaking my head. Its not funny at all.

A crowd has gathered on Sutter Street, twenty-two stories below, their faces upturned and indistinct in the hollow glow of the streetlights, but even from this height I can make out the media circus pitching its tent. News vans, reporters, floodlights. A dozen cameras trained at the top of the hotel. The CBS helicopter circles us, the cameraman hanging out the open door with a video camera, his lens pointed my way.

I smile and wave.

I feel like Im in a Hollywood movie, a dark action-comedy, with a little bit of intrigue and personal drama thrown in for fun. Characters die, illusions are shattered, and things get messy. I just wish I knew how this ended. How things wrapped up. My personal denouement. But I forgot to read my copy of the script. So I just wait and hope that someone gives me a cue.

The helicopter circles, the videotape rolls, the people on the street below wait for the scene to play out, and Im an actor trying to remember my lines.