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.
