Pork Chop Night part 4

I sat there for a long time, just taking in the room and my father’s presence. He was an intimidating man. Not big necessarily but be had a definite captivation, you could feel it when he was in the room even if he didn’t know you were there.  It was a classic study, filled with the novelties of manhood. It had wood lined walls and green carpet, all rather nice if not expected. The south and west walls were concealed with floor to celling bookshelves and they were completely bursting with books. There was a gun case built into the north west corner filled a couple of old Berettas and a pair of Holland and Holland twenty gauges he bought on a business trip to London. My dad loved his guns. His favorite was an Abercrombie and Fitch double barrel that he got from Ernest Hemingway’s collection. He bragged about it a lot. He had to show it to every man that asked, and most of the time to those who didn’t. “He’s a hell of a guy” he told everyone about Hemingway  to which my mother would reply, with the courage of a couple highballs, “you bought it at a charity auction, dear, he only talked to you because you bought it.” The north wall held ornate frames housing my fathers law degrees from both Cornell and Harvard, hung just to the right of the door, and among other various accomplishments and certifications. Above the door was mounted a giant boars head, the body of which I always thought to be suspiciously missing. I hated it, it had horns and big glass eyes and I was glad the body was gone, that way he couldn’t ever get down. I always had a dream where my dad and the bust would be in a conversation about politics, the banter would turn into a heated debate and eventually a conflict over policy. My father would get up and walk to his gun case, take out the old Abercrombie and blast him right between the eyes, saying something like, “I didn’t think I’d have ta shoot you twice.” I would be sitting where I usually sit, here at the back of the desk, watching. He would turn around and notice me and pull me up by the arm and into his lap where we would smoke Cubans together.

            I sat and smelled his cigars. He smoked one every night. Him and my mom used to go to Havana often. I would stay with my grandma most of the time. I did go 

END CHAPTER I

BEGIN CHAPTER II

God I hate him. He’s such a prick. Anyways, I need to get Marcus off to school and I just cannot think about him right now. It’s just that I go to the trouble every night to make him dinner and he doesn’t even eat with us, Always sitting alone in that godamned office. Well, I don’t go to the trouble do I? Tony does. He’s a good cook; I don’t know what we would do without him. Jesus, When did I become so pretentious? We have a fucking live-in cook for crissake. It just so unreal, and when I say unreal I mean UNREAL. It’s so fucking fake, this whole life is.

“Marcus, come on now honey. What are you doing in there?” I called down the hall

“Coming mom, just havta brush my teeth one more time.” Marcus yelled back.

He’s the only thing worthwhile in this goddamned city. I’m not sure why he has to brush his teeth like that though. He certainly is a strange child. I shouldn’t think that, he’s my son. But the truth is he really is odd. Royal says its “just a phase that he will grow out of” but I’m not sure. Even his name is pretentious, the prick. What kind of name is ‘Royal’ anyway?

“Marcus! Were going to be late!”

“You don’t have to walk me anymore mom, I have my bike now remember?” Marcus shouted down the hall.

“Well your going to be late anyway.“  

Royal hates it when we yell down the hall at each other. He says it’s “just not what good people do.” Well Fuck him, he’s never here anyway. “That’s what you get for marrying a senator,” he always says. He’s right about that, I hate it when he’s right, the prick. 

“Marcus! Now!”

Marcus tumbled out of the back hall and into the great room, his schoolbooks scattering on the floor in his rush-to-a-stop at my feet.

“Marcus! How many times have I told you to take better care of your schoolbooks?”

“Sorry mom, but you really don’t need to take me to school today.” He said, “I’ve got my bike.” 

That damn bike, I fought Royal for two years, TWO YEARS, to get him that goddamned bike. “He needs to save up for his own bike.” Royal always said, “he’ll appreciate it more.” I don’t want to think about that right now either. 

“Sure sweetheart, but be careful. I don’t know what I’d do If something happened to you.”

“I will mom, It’s a Hawethorn Zep, I’m the fastest thing out there.”

I walked Marcus down to the foyer and waved goodbye to him. I waited until he rounded the corner at the end of our block and I could no longer see him. I closed the door and walked back up to the great room. We have a live-in maid, so it was always spotless and perfect, nothing out of place. God we’re ostentatious.