Tears on a Sunday Afternoon - Michael Presley [13]
Kathleen made her exit about half an hour after our “second coming.” I watched as Donna started to get her stuff together.
“I have to meet my husband at Carnegie Hall. Our daughter’s performing,” she stated casually.
I picked up the two spent condoms and stuffed them into a small plastic bag.
“So how long have you been fucking Kathleen’s husband, Peter?” I asked.
“Not just a pretty face after all,” Donna said as she slipped on a blue skirt.
“If you thought that, you wouldn’t have invited me up to the room,” I said, flushing the condoms down the toilet bowl. I don’t know why I put them into the plastic wrap before I flushed them, but I did.
“White men and black pussy, they just don’t know how to act. I’m not leaving my husband for any soft-ass white man. The gifts are good, but that’s it. I love my husband. He’s a good man and an exemplary father. I give this man a taste and he’s getting stupid. He told me a few months ago that he was thinking about leaving Kathleen. I told him that it wasn’t a good idea because it would mess everything up. But no, he goes and tells Kathleen he wants a divorce anyway.” Donna completed her outfit with a white blouse. She took the clothes that she was wearing earlier and dumped them in the garbage can.
I looked at her and the garbage. She smiled.
I smiled. Sometimes garbage is garbage.
She answered my inquisitive look. “That’s why men always get caught. They don’t do the math. My husband or a hundred dollars’ worth of clothes.”
“What if…”
“I’ve been with my husband for over ten years. Do you honestly believe that he’s paying attention to what I put on in the morning? But let me come home smelling like I just got fucked.”
I looked at the rest of the liquor in the bottle. “Do what you have to do.”
“You might as well stay the night,” Donna said as she picked up her bag. “The suite is paid for.”
I went back to the bed and took the sheets off. I picked up the phone and dialed room service.
“You’re not done, are you?” Donna asked as she opened the suite door.
“Not by a long shot. I’m going downstairs to get some dinner,” I said as my stomach started to growl.
“Just keep our discussion to yourself.”
“Go meet your husband,” I said, irritated because she seemed like she was calling me a bitch.
“Maybe I’ll have him eat me out in the bathroom at Carnegie Hall. You know you men are always wanting to push the envelope,” she said as she closed the door.
Chapter 4
I picked up the Heineken bottle and dumped it in the small round white garbage can Brian had in the kitchen.
“Donald, don’t you ever get any feelings for women?”
I froze with my hand extended to the door.
“I think I need another beer for this.” I turned back toward the kitchen table. He had asked me a question that I had all the right answers to. Brian put another Heineken in front of me.
Brian poured himself some apple juice and sat down opposite me. “I know you’ve been with lawyers, doctors and multimillionaires. One had to have tugged on your heart strings.”
“Brian, do you know the difference between a fat woman and a skinny woman in bed?”
Brian smiled. “I would sleep with one and not the other.”
“No, Brian, there isn’t a fucking difference. Once you get past the size and looks, your dick feels the same way in either one of them. Have you ever noticed that some of the girls you expect to have a great time in bed with are lousy fucks?” I drank some of the Heiny…
“But sometimes that’s a personality thing,” he said defensively.
“Yeah, you’re right, but you wait to find out.” I looked through the small kitchen window into nothingness. “With me, Brian, I already know what the pussy’s gonna feel like before I get in there. There ain’t a damn thing a woman can do that will make that feeling change.”
“Someone fucked you over really well.”
It was my turn to smile. The whole world was filled with therapeutic couches and the end result was still the same. The world was fucked up.
“No, Brian, I don’t think my heart has ever been broken. I’ve never cried over a woman or spent sleepless