Page 21 of A Very Grumpy Father's Day
Naked with heels.
I close the blackout drapes before undressing, turn on the flat-screen TV, and find a music station. I land on the soft jazz station that we always used to listen to when we came here. It reminded us of the music from the hotel lounge in Ohio. The hotel we stayed at when I was pretending to be his girlfriend for his family’s Christmas dinner and we were both pretending we weren’t madly in lust with each other. Or I was pretending anyway. I guess Declan has always been straightforward and honest about that part.
My phone rings, and I know before looking at it that he’s calling to tell me he’s running late.
“Let me guess,” I say, “Drucker cornered you on your way out.”
“Fucking Drucker. I’m just driving out of the parking garage now.”
“You’re going to drive through the park, right?”
“No. I’ve learned that it’s always a bad idea to drive through the park. Once you’re on that path there are no other options. Especially in the summer. Shakespeare in the Park has started.”
“That’s not until this evening.”
“There are people who get there early. Really early. Annoying people who don’t walk fast enough. I’ll take Fifty-Seventh and Fifty-Ninth.”
“Honey. That’s a bad idea.”
“I don’t have bad ideas, Mrs. Cannavale. What are you wearing?”
“Two raised eyebrows and a frown.”
“Hot.”
“Hurry up and get here, Dec. I can’t wait to see you.”
I hear him lean on the horn, and then someone who sounds an awful lot like my husband yells out, “Eat a bag of dicks, you scumbag!”
So that’s going to be some fun sexual energy to play with when he gets here.
