sighed.
After disappearing from his life for almost an entire year, she had reached out to him. And he had blown her off. He suddenly felt ashamed, and when he felt guilty, he became moody.
Where the hell was the little girl? This was a bad idea. He became even tenser.
After Chris appeared, they never went hungry again. They had heat, they had air-conditioning, and he had the greatest luxury of them all—a piano.
Chris had taken him to Paris six weeks ago for New Year’s. Being with his dad was always like being with a powder keg with a very long lit fuse. It would eventually go off, but you never knew when. Gabe had been polite and quiet and for once, his dad decided to behave himself. The two of them actually had a pleasant time.
Not that they were around each other all that much. Chris usually slept all morning while he was out taking in the city, long walks by himself, snapping iconic architecture on his camera. They’d usually meet in the afternoon and take in a museum and then they’d go to dinner and/or a concert. Then Gabe would go back to his room while his father trawled for women.
Trying them out one by one by one. The age of consent was younger in France, and Chris took advantage of the more liberal law, screwing girls that would have landed his ass in jail in the States. All in all, his dad went through around fifteen girls in ten days. Sampling the merchandise was how he put in. There was a tacit understanding that Gabe could take what he wanted, but that would have only led to complications. So he sequestered himself in his hotel room every night and looked at the varieties of porn offered on the French Internet.
In the end, Chris had offered only one girl a job. She was a beautiful but drug-addicted nineteen-year-old. He had bought her a coach ticket on the cheapest airline he could find while Gabe, Chris, and Chris’s current girlfriend, Talia, flew back first class on Air France.
“What are the chances she’ll actually come work for you?” Gabe asked him.
“Fifty-fifty.”
She showed up two weeks later. Such spoke to the power of Chris’s charm.
W hen Gabe’s watch read two, he became pissed. He had already racked up twenty dollars in waiting charges and she was nowhere in sight. He told the cabdriver to hold on for another moment and got out of the taxi, texting while pacing the sidewalk.
Where are u!!!!
Sorry.
Fuck! They were going to be late. He hated being late. It set his teeth on edge. Finally, at 2:20, he saw her running down the block. If he wasn’t so furious, he would have laughed because she was comical. Red faced, she was running on heels, wearing a mini black cocktail dress that was tight on her nonexistent hips, and a black sweater with an old-fashioned furry collar. Her hair was pinned up in a kind of formal ball gown style. She was holding a beaded evening bag. His dress? A denim shirt over a black cotton tee, khakis, and vans.
She waved to him.
He didn’t wave back.
When she got to the cab, she said, “I’m so sorry—”
“It’s really late. Let’s get out of here.”
She went in first, and then he slid in beside her and slammed the door shut.
Hard.
“Go, go, go,” he barked to the driver—a Russian who spoke with a thick accent. “Take the 405 to the 101 east that turns into the 134. Take that to the 5 south until you hit the 110 south. Get off at 1st.”
“Hokay.”
“We need to get there in a half hour.”
“That is impossible.”
“Do it and I’ll make it worth your effort.”
“You the boss.”
The driver punched the accelerator and pitched them backward. Yasmine let out a slight gasp, but he ignored her. He sat back in the bench seat, fuming inwardly, his folded arms across his chest.
“I’m sorry,” Yasmine told him.
He didn’t answer. Then he said, “What took you so long?”
“I told my mom I gave back the tickets. So I had to wait until my mom and sisters left for shopping and Michael Shoomer’s party. Then I had to
After disappearing from his life for almost an entire year, she had reached out to him. And he had blown her off. He suddenly felt ashamed, and when he felt guilty, he became moody.
Where the hell was the little girl? This was a bad idea. He became even tenser.
After Chris appeared, they never went hungry again. They had heat, they had air-conditioning, and he had the greatest luxury of them all—a piano.
Chris had taken him to Paris six weeks ago for New Year’s. Being with his dad was always like being with a powder keg with a very long lit fuse. It would eventually go off, but you never knew when. Gabe had been polite and quiet and for once, his dad decided to behave himself. The two of them actually had a pleasant time.
Not that they were around each other all that much. Chris usually slept all morning while he was out taking in the city, long walks by himself, snapping iconic architecture on his camera. They’d usually meet in the afternoon and take in a museum and then they’d go to dinner and/or a concert. Then Gabe would go back to his room while his father trawled for women.
Trying them out one by one by one. The age of consent was younger in France, and Chris took advantage of the more liberal law, screwing girls that would have landed his ass in jail in the States. All in all, his dad went through around fifteen girls in ten days. Sampling the merchandise was how he put in. There was a tacit understanding that Gabe could take what he wanted, but that would have only led to complications. So he sequestered himself in his hotel room every night and looked at the varieties of porn offered on the French Internet.
In the end, Chris had offered only one girl a job. She was a beautiful but drug-addicted nineteen-year-old. He had bought her a coach ticket on the cheapest airline he could find while Gabe, Chris, and Chris’s current girlfriend, Talia, flew back first class on Air France.
“What are the chances she’ll actually come work for you?” Gabe asked him.
“Fifty-fifty.”
She showed up two weeks later. Such spoke to the power of Chris’s charm.
W hen Gabe’s watch read two, he became pissed. He had already racked up twenty dollars in waiting charges and she was nowhere in sight. He told the cabdriver to hold on for another moment and got out of the taxi, texting while pacing the sidewalk.
Where are u!!!!
Sorry.
Fuck! They were going to be late. He hated being late. It set his teeth on edge. Finally, at 2:20, he saw her running down the block. If he wasn’t so furious, he would have laughed because she was comical. Red faced, she was running on heels, wearing a mini black cocktail dress that was tight on her nonexistent hips, and a black sweater with an old-fashioned furry collar. Her hair was pinned up in a kind of formal ball gown style. She was holding a beaded evening bag. His dress? A denim shirt over a black cotton tee, khakis, and vans.
She waved to him.
He didn’t wave back.
When she got to the cab, she said, “I’m so sorry—”
“It’s really late. Let’s get out of here.”
She went in first, and then he slid in beside her and slammed the door shut.
Hard.
“Go, go, go,” he barked to the driver—a Russian who spoke with a thick accent. “Take the 405 to the 101 east that turns into the 134. Take that to the 5 south until you hit the 110 south. Get off at 1st.”
“Hokay.”
“We need to get there in a half hour.”
“That is impossible.”
“Do it and I’ll make it worth your effort.”
“You the boss.”
The driver punched the accelerator and pitched them backward. Yasmine let out a slight gasp, but he ignored her. He sat back in the bench seat, fuming inwardly, his folded arms across his chest.
“I’m sorry,” Yasmine told him.
He didn’t answer. Then he said, “What took you so long?”
“I told my mom I gave back the tickets. So I had to wait until my mom and sisters left for shopping and Michael Shoomer’s party. Then I had to
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