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The door to the exhibition rooms and playrooms looms ahead in the distance, but I have no desire to go through it.
I’m not here to think about sex or fantasies or what I want to do to Skye in my private suite.
I’m here to escape the thoughts that have been plaguing me since the trip to the food pantry.
Except this place is offering anything but escape…
…
It was Benji’s birthday, and Daddy was out on a bender. That’s what Momma said, anyway.
“What’s Daddy bending?” I asked Momma.
She didn’t answer because she was busy changing Benji’s diaper. My baby brother was one year old today.
My momma was beautiful. She had dark-brown hair and blue eyes, just like mine. Benji’s were brown like Daddy’s.
Momma bought a special cake at the bakery for Benji. It was chocolate with white icing and words in blue. Momma told me it said, “Happy Birthday, Benji.”
But when Daddy got home from work, he came in and got mad about the cake.
“The kid’s too young to even know it’s his birthday. Why the hell did you spend money on a cake?”
“He’ll only be a year old once, Bobby.”
“For Christ’s sake.” Daddy pulled open the screen door. “I’m out of here.”
That’s when Momma said he was on a bender.
I didn’t cry when Daddy got mad anymore. I used to, but I was a big boy now. Almost four years old. I only cried when Momma got mad at me.
Momma only got mad at me when I was bad. I tried to be a good boy because I hated it when Momma was mad. Luckily, she didn’t get mad a lot. She didn’t even get mad when Daddy yelled about the cake and left.
Instead, she said she had a treat for me. She said we’d eat Benji’s cake and have dessert first tonight.
Momma set Benji in his highchair and put a piece of cake on the tray. Momma and I laughed with him as he got more cake on his face than in his mouth.
And I forgot all about Daddy’s bender.
…
I open my eyes before I realize they were closed. I’m still in the club, sitting alone at a table in the corner. A quick check of my phone shows it’s time to leave for the airport.
I rise abruptly. “Enough of this self-indulgent bullshit,” I say out loud. It’s becoming nauseating.
I walk briskly out of the club.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Christopher is off tonight, as I thought I’d be in New York, so I take a cab home to my place, where I find my driver hanging out talking to Marilyn in the kitchen.
“Not taking advantage of your night off?” I ask him.
“Mr. B, what are you doing back?”
“Change of plans.”
“You need me to work?”
