He’s silent. “Are you really doing a film about me?”
“I told you I was.”
“Max,” he sighs. “Do I have to watch this thing?”
“You probably won’t want to.”
A dry chuckle comes through the phone. “I can guarantee I won’t. Why are you doing this?”
“Can you tell me how you felt. Were you disgusted? Because I just got a glimpse of how a good feeling can switch just like that.”
Resolved to answer as honestly as he can, my father huffs his resistance out his nose and begins, “Yes, I guess in a way I was. But mostly at myself. Maybe at Bernie, too. You know, when you’re in love with someone and they keep hurting you, you can only take it for so long. In the beginning of the downfall, I cried in my car. Then I got hard and cold, no feelings. After a while, yes, I became disgusted. But a lot of that was at the disease. It’s a disease, Max, make sure you put that in your film. It’s important.”
“I have,” I whisper, kicking the wall with my toes. “Thank you for explaining all of that. But—”
He interrupts me, “One other thing. When your mother came into the picture, that’s when my feelings for Bernie really shifted. She’d been to my place, where you live now, high and begging for help before. But when she showed up when Sarah was there I wanted her gone in a big way. I didn’t want anyone coming between this feeling I had for your mother. But she was a saint, Max. Total saint. Never ceases to impress me how she handled that situation.” He pauses, voice changing, more clinical, less thoughtful. “So if you’re looking for a way for your lead character to be done with Bernie, have him meet someone who makes him realize what’s possible. That answer your question, son?”
“Yeah, thanks Dad.”
“I probably won’t see your film.”
Walking to my jacket I ask, “What’s Hunter up to tonight? Any idea?”
“If I knew I’d win a spying medal. Your brother is as evasive as hell.”
I glance to my watch, tap it a couple times to turn down the lights in my home. “Dad, I’ve gotta go. Thanks for everything.”
“Love you.”
“I love you, too.” We hang up and I scan for my keys, hurry to snatch them from the coffee table, and dash out to my Jeep.
The phone rings and Hunter’s voice comes through my car’s sound system. “You looking for me?”
“What the fuck, you have my place bugged?”
“Dad called.”
“That quick?”
“We never talk long.”
“Want to go to a strip club?”
Dude still has no emotion in his voice as he deadpans, “Sure. Name it.”
“Ah fuck, I don’t know which she’s working at tonight.”
“This that stripper who’s producing your film?”
My lip curls. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”
“If she’s producing—”
“NO, if she’s a stripper!”
“What do you care if she is or not?”
“Just Google The Dollhouse and Southern Comfort, and pick one.”
“Don’t need to Google them. I know where all of them are.”
“If I wasn’t so irritated I’d laugh.”
Hunter picks the first one and says, “Come get me. I’m at my apartment.”
“On my way.”
No more lame rehearsals where I’m not mentally present. I’ve worked too hard and I’m blowing it because Natalie is walking through my brain at all hours of the day.
It’s like she left her scent in my home.
Everywhere I turn I smell her.
It’s in my damn head, I know it.
But it feels so real.
CHAPTER 27
M AX
Hunter and I came up empty so we dropped by Swinging Richards as a final ditch effort because it was on the way. Walking in we’re assaulted by Christmas decorations.
“Pretty cool what they’ve done to these.” Tucking away the fake ID he showed the bouncer outside, my ginger-haired brother shrugs, “I’m down with it.”
“Better than the cheesy laser lights you expect.”
“I don’t mind those either,” he smirks, heading for the bar. “Okay, if she works here she’s a cocktail waitress because she doesn’t you know, have a cock.”
I motion to the male bartender who’s wearing red spandex shorts with a reindeer nose hanging off them. He walks over, jogs his chin to us. “What can I get for you?”
My brother motions to the guy’s crotch and says, “So is that Swinging Rudolf?”
The bartender rolls his eyes. “Third time in two hours I’ve heard that.”
Hunter slouches. “Oh, fuck,” and turns to the stages where naked Santas are dancing. “Bet they’ve heard the joke of sitting on their laps.”
“We’ll take a couple Sweetwaters on tap.”
The guys heads off. “You got it.”
I smack my baby brother’s head. “You’re an idiot.”
“I’m usually very funny. This isn’t my crowd.” Leaning back on the barstool he rests his elbows behind him, watching the show while I pay for our beer. “Guess Caden couldn’t make it on your stalking mission, huh?”
“He’s on call. And I needed a drink.”
“Beer barely qualifies, but okay.” We tap our pints together and nod a silent toast, eyes scanning the room.
“I see no women. Except customers.”
“Audience members,” he corrects me.
“I bet they call them patrons,” I volley back.
Hunter takes a sip and shakes his head, glancing to me. “They call them walking ATMs.”
Smiling, “That’s funny,” I glance over to the announcer introducing Father Time. A silver-haired man appears in a long robe. My brother and I exchange an impressed look as half our beers disappear during the older guy’s dance.
My brother, only eighteen, dips his chin appreciatively. “I hope I look like that when I’m ancient.”
“Nowadays that’s still young.”
“He’s someone’s grandpa.”
“Wait, he might not have kids.”
Downing the last of his lager, Hunter reminds me, “He can be gay and still have kids.”
“I meant he might not want kids. You don’t have to be gay to not have children.”
“Oh, well, whatever. You pay the tab?”
“Yeah.”
“Your girl’s not here.”
The bartender overhears us and asks, “Which girl are you lookin for?”
I cover my brother’s face with my palm before he says something stupid again. “No, it’s an
