Chapter 9
I have the cat (Thunderball) and the house on Plimpton Avenue. I have the half empty bottles of alcohol in the dining room, hidden in your great-aunt’s dry bar. I have that Oriental rug we bought in SoHo a few years ago. You remember the one: immaculate stitching around its corners, beige and a rose madder hue, four hundred dollars. I have the china, the queen-sized bed, and the matching coffee mugs we purchased somewhere in New Mexico, fresh out of the kiln and painted by a female artist who claimed she was one of the Aztec Indians from generations before.
Now, I don’t have you.
Men in their thirties with beards talk about things that men in their twenties with rippled stomachs don’t. For instance, do we visit each other’s aunts after the arguments, separation, and divorce? D
