Jameson Hotel - the Dark Suite Series: Parts One, Two & Three (19 page)

“Why don’t you send
me a couple grand this year to make up for being such a shitty father?”

I laugh. “You’ll get
the usual. Now put your mother on the line, would you?”

“That’s what I
thought you’d say. You know, I don’t want to talk to you anymore tonight
anyway. You’re a dipshit.”

“Call me that again
and I’ll send someone to your house to smack you upside the head.”

“Yeah, that’s right,
cuz
you can’t come out here yourself.”

“You know...” I
exhale, again. I do that often when the two of us speak. “You’re going to
inherit this hotel one day, it’d be nice if you could come out so we can talk
to one another face-to-face instead of shouting over the phone. Think about it.
I’m not the one against us having a relationship.”

“What? Hell no.
You’re not sticking me with that
thing
.
You pocketed a ton of money when you left Vegas. Give me that, not the hotel.
When are you kicking the bucket anyway?”

Christ. That was a
telling reaction. No response to us working on being father and son, all he
mentioned was my money.

A thought flashes
through my head of my son cutting me in half with one of his swords. If things
continue as they are, I could see that actually happening one day. That’s
terrible, I know, but everyone has wicked thoughts now and again and my son
really knows how to stir them in my head.

I need to get those
weapons away from him now that he’s losing control. He started collecting
swords when he was in his pre-teen pirate phase. It was cute at the time, like
you’d picture a child from the ‘50s dressing up in a cowboy outfit and shooting
his BB gun at neighborhood squirrels, only Jack used to slice and dice cacti in
Vegas with his Authentic Pirate Cutlass. That chapter in his life was
short-lived and a year later he decided he would rather be a ninja, so I got
him an assassin short sword which my ex bitched about because he kept
‘surprising’ her with it in the house. He’s quite sneaky. And now, now the
little twerp talks about killing zombies, something I know nothing about. I
bought him a ‘zombie gutter’ last Christmas, like he asked. It’s much shorter
than the other swords and is something I’d probably enjoy using myself, only
I’m not a teenager obsessed with the dead, or the living dead, or whatever he
imagines them to be.

Jack’s always been
civilized with the weapons, displaying them in his bedroom more than putting
them to any real use, but I’m beginning to worry as he gets older that his
behavior could change. Hell, his behavior
is
changing. Something I didn’t think all that much about until now. I guess
someday I’ll receive the
Most Asinine
Parent of the Year Award.

“I’m really sorry,
Jack. I’ll make it up to you some day, but not with money.”

“Is your cell next
to your ass?
Cuz
those words aren’t coming out of
your mouth.”

“Put your mother on
the fucking phone and have a fun-fucking-
tastic
birthday, you little prick.”

He hangs up and I
immediately call their landline, but he hangs up a second time. I try my ex’s
cell and thankfully, she picks up after a few rings.

“I can’t believe you
forgot to wish him a happy birthday, Mark. That was one of the most
inconsiderate things you’ve ever done.”

“We need to discuss
getting him some help.”

“Why?
Because he hurt your feelings?
Boohoo. Look, he’s a good kid
who stays out of trouble and has high grades. I’m not concerned...”

I laugh. “Did you
hear what he said to me?” I know she did. “He needs to show a little respect.”

“Says the man who
didn’t remember his own son’s birthday. You’re the only person he uses that
language with and seriously, can you blame him? You’re the one who needs some
therapy, not my son.”

“Our son.”

“
My
son!”

“Mark? Do you have any...
”
Jules pokes her head in my office, but stops when she sees
I’m on the phone. “Oh, sorry.”

“Wow, that one
sounds young,” my
ex
says. “A blonde with big tits,
right?”

“Stay out of my
private life.”

“And you stay out of
ours!” She ends the call in haste.

“Uh,” I grumble.
“What did you need?” I spin in my office chair to face her and see her hand is
raised for me to follow her back upstairs.

“Everything okay?”
she inquires on our way to my bedroom, her ass still red from my belting before
dinner and in need of attention.

“Fine.”

“I came down for
ice, but you don’t have any in your freezer.”

“This
is
a hotel. You know there’s an ice
machine in the hallway.”

“I didn’t feel like
getting dressed.”

“You need it for you
ass?”

She nods and tries
to turn far enough to see the area then looks at it in my full-length mirror.
“It’s been throbbing, you brute.”

“I’m not sorry.”

“I don’t need an
apology, I want you to fix it. Or kiss it.”

“No.” I step into my
bathroom, looking for some lotion. “I think I’ve kissed your ass enough over
the past couple of days. Is that why you wanted the ice?”

“Yes.”

“A warm bath would
be better than ice cubes. How about some Dream Cream instead? I use it for
sunburn,” I say, reading the label. “It’s supposed to be good for irritated
skin.”

She lies on her
stomach and rests her head on the pillow, waiting for me to spread it on.

“Seriously? You want
me to pamper you?”

“Yep,” she says,
short of hesitation. “A man who pampers himself with something called Dream
Cream should be able to pamper his woman too.”

“Fuck.”

“Please?” she
whines.

I sit next to her
and cake it on. “Don’t turn over. I don’t want it all over my sheets.”

“But the crusty cum
I’m laying on is okay?”

I ignore her as I
massage the lotion gently over the red marks. It looks worse now than it did
earlier. I really need to stop being such a hard ass to her soft ass.

She has such
beautiful skin. One small mole is on her left cheek, but no other marks, scars
or even a slight discoloration can be seen anywhere.

“It rubs the lotion
on its skin,” I whisper.

She’s quiet for a
moment then groans. “Oh god, Mark, please. No horror movie references tonight,
okay? I’ve had enough of that shit for a while.”

I move closer to her
ear and say in my deepest, eeriest voice, “it rubs the lotion on its skin or
else it gets the hose again.”

She laughs, kicking
her feet against the mattress. “Stop it!
Silence
of the Lambs
was horrifying.”

I continue caressing
her soft flesh, moving up her back, all the way to her neck.

“Oh, and hey,” she
turns her head, looking back at me, “why is all your music so old school?
Haven’t you updated your iPod in like the past ten years?”

“Funny.” I smack her
ass, causing her to shudder. “You didn’t look at my playlists.” I stand,
needing to change what she has on. “There’s no way I can fall asleep to this,
it’s too heavy. If we have to listen to music, at least let me put on Norah
Jones.”

“Norah? Men don’t
listen to her. Did your last girlfriend put her on there for you?” she laughs.

“I haven’t had any
girlfriends since my divorce,” I remind her, turning off the light and
spreading out on the bed.

“Yeah, I forgot...
you know, Norah’s another oldie.”

“Shut up about the
music, Jules, or I’ll just turn it off. You didn’t need it to fall asleep
yesterday and I’m sure you weren’t playing it every night in your car.”

She’s silent, but
only for a minute, as usual. “You forgot your son’s birthday?”

“I’d rather talk
about music.”

I pull the comforter
over our legs and stare into the darkness, the only light coming from my
stereo. With my hand resting on Jules’ warm back, I can feel her slow
breathing. She’s relaxed and seems happy, which makes me happy.

“You’re shutting
down on me again,” she whispers. “I’m trying to start a conversation about
something other than sex.”

I feel filthy, but
I’m too damn tired to shower after a day of cleaning my boat, talking to my
staff and other work related business, two rounds of pussy, and the argument
with my son.

“Are you ignoring
me?”

My free hand
massages the stubble along my chin as I think of what needs to be accomplished
tomorrow morning before the massive influx of guests arrive for the marathon.

“I guess you are.”

It’s going to be a
busy day and this place will be packed. I’m sure a few people will try to crowd
into the rooms in order to save money.

“If I sigh really
loud will you talk to me?”

That’s pretty normal
when big events like this one take place in town. The Jazz Festival each year
is the worst in terms of the drunken unruly sorts. These athletic types aren’t
as bad. Hell, either way, a packed hotel brings in a shitload of money,
especially in the evening when people crowd the hotel bar.

“I love how easy it
is for you to snub me,” she says.

“I was thinking.”

“About?”

The room’s cold
tonight. I pull the comforter further up, trying not to smear the lotion off
her ass. I have a lot of laundry to do soon.

“Do you do laundry?”
I ask.

“What the fuck,
Mark? No. That’s what’s on your mind? Fucking laundry?”

“You’ve got to think
about it sometime.”

“Argh, come on. What
goes through that head of yours? You must be thinking about other things.”

“Nope. I’m a shallow
bastard, just like you mentioned at dinner.”

“So that’s it? I was
right when I asked what you guys do for fun and no one answered. Everybody
ignored me because there isn’t anything?”

I feel like being a
total dick. She knows that’s not true. “I like money, pussy, and more money,
then more pussy. Toss some liquor into that mix as well. Those are the best
things in life.”

A melodramatic sigh
fills the room causing me to laugh. “Those items are high on my list, but I
have a few other amusements in my life. You know? And I do think about other
things, only most aren’t all that pleasant. My father and my brother-in-law are
always circling inside my head, but I’m not going to discuss my thoughts about
them with you. It’s private. Also, when I say I enjoy pussy, I’m referring to
being with you, and not just to fuck. I plan on keeping you around for as long
as possible, but when I get tired of you, I’ll bury you under a layer of cement
in my garage like my father used to do with his ‘objects.’”

She kicks me and
makes another dissatisfied grumbling sound. “Good, now I’m an object. I guess
that’s a step up from being a pussy.”

I was hoping I
didn’t need to say how much I enjoy being with her like I did earlier; she
already knows I want her in my life. Women don’t need to hear loving crap
vomiting from a man’s mouth all the time. Yes,
loving
crap. Those two words can, and do, go together. And that’s as
intimate as I’m going to get right now, considering the mood I’m in after
speaking to Jack. Besides, women fall for men who are dark and sinister over
the pansy types who bring flowers, or worse, romantic greeting cards home. A
woman will toss the latter by the wayside.

“I love you too,”
she whispers.

“That’s not what I
said a moment ago.”

“Yes, I think you
did.” She turns and twists her fingers through my hair. I’ve adjusted to the
darkness and can see her spirited eyes inches from mine. “I doubt you’ll ever
admit you killed Roland because of me. And it could just be a big coincidence.
My mind might be in a world all it’s own when it comes to what happened to
him,” she lies. I can sense that she’s sure I did it, but she probably needs to
talk it out, like she does with everything. “Daydreaming and being okay with
the possibility that a man would do such a thing is something I’m still
processing. And perhaps it is some weird fantasy... to be involved with a
dangerous man, to be in precarious situations, to have actual blood on my
hands... it’s all about taking a chance and experiencing something no one else
in this town ever will come to know in his or her lifetime... an escape from
the mundane world.”

I brush a strand of
hair over her shoulder and take her hand in mine. “This isn’t a fairy tale,
Jules.”

“No,” she pauses,
“but if what I think happened, did, then your love for me was plastered across
the front page of the local paper like a man who paid for a romantic message to
stream behind a plane. That’s what you did. You said it. You shouted it at the
top of your lungs for the entire city to hear, yet it will forever remain a
secret between us.”