She marched up the steps to the house, wondering why she kept wanting to hurt Jake, wanting now only to go home, take a Seconal, and go to sleep.
They didn’t talk on the drive home. The only words that came out of either of their mouths happened when Jake wheeled into the circular driveway of their house in the canyon and they spotted the red Porsche.
“Oh, no,” said Jake.
“Jesus Christ,” said Ginny.
Jake pulled up next to the Porsche, and they both got out. Silently they walked to the front door. Jake turned his key in the lock, the sound of rap emanating from within. They stepped into the foyer. To the left was the family room. Brad was sprawled across floor pillows, tapping his fingers on the Aubusson rug to the beat of the CD.
“How the hell did you get in?” Jake barked over the noise.
Brad turned and waved. “Yo, Pops! How’s it goin’?”Even from the doorway Ginny could see that Brad was shitfaced.
“Leave him alone, Jake,” she said. “Let’s go to bed.”
Jake stalked into the room and snapped off the CD player. “Get up,” he commanded his son. “And get out of my house.”
Brad rolled to one side. He had on torn, tight jeans, and the buttons on his white shirt were undone, revealing his muscular chest and taut stomach. As he turned, his gold chains clinked together. Nice body, Ginny thought. Too bad he’s such an asshole.
“Is that any way to talk to your only son?” Brad chided.
Ginny could see Jake was fuming. Something, maybe everything, about Brad always touched his anger button.
“Give me the key,” Jake demanded.
“What key?”
“The one you let yourself in with. Hand it over.”
Brad laughed. “Don’t have a key, man. Never needed one yet to get where I wanted to be.”
“How’d you get past the security system?”
“I know the code, man. I lived here for twelve years, remember?”
“I changed the code.”
Brad shrugged. “Big deal. I cut the wire. So sue me.”
Jake reached down and grabbed him by the arm. “Get up. And get out.”
Brad grabbed Jake’s other arm. “Hey, man, take it easy.”
Ginny sighed and walked to where they were, locked in their perpetual father-son battle.
“Jake, let go. Brad, knock it off.”
The two men looked at her.
“Love the dress, Mommy,” Brad said. “Where’s the rest of it?”
Jake released his grasp and slugged Brad in the face. He fell backward, letting go of Jake’s arm.
Ginny put her hands on her hips. Her cheeks felt flushed. “What do you want, Brad? Why are you here?”
Jake turned and walked to the fireplace. He stood with his back to the room, his shoulders tight. Brad sat up and touched the spot where Jake had connected with his face.
“My old lady threw me out,” he said quietly.
From the fireplace Jake gave a loud guffaw.
“I needed a place to crash tonight.” He looked toward his father. “I thought I could depend on coming home.”
“You should have thought again,” Ginny said, trying not to stare at the dark hair on his chest that curled around his tight, excited nipples.
“Besides,” Brad continued, “I wanted to talk to him about a little business proposition.”
Jake turned toward his son. “What kind of trouble are you in now?”
“Believe it or not, none. I’m trying to go straight, Dad.”
Jake laughed. “Seems like I’ve heard that before.”
Ginny walked to the low moire sofa and sat down, the hem of her dress riding high on her thighs. She crossed her legs. Brad looked at her, then dropped his eyes to her crotch. From his vantage point on the floor, Ginny knew he was seeing more than his father would have approved of.
Brad turned back to his father. “I’ve got a chance to open a restaurant.”
Jake leaned against the marble mantel, looking exhausted. “And just what the hell do you know about restaurants?”
“Betty’s husband owns one. I’ve been running it for the past two years.”
Jake’s and Ginny’s eyes met.
“Who’s Betty?” Ginny
They didn’t talk on the drive home. The only words that came out of either of their mouths happened when Jake wheeled into the circular driveway of their house in the canyon and they spotted the red Porsche.
“Oh, no,” said Jake.
“Jesus Christ,” said Ginny.
Jake pulled up next to the Porsche, and they both got out. Silently they walked to the front door. Jake turned his key in the lock, the sound of rap emanating from within. They stepped into the foyer. To the left was the family room. Brad was sprawled across floor pillows, tapping his fingers on the Aubusson rug to the beat of the CD.
“How the hell did you get in?” Jake barked over the noise.
Brad turned and waved. “Yo, Pops! How’s it goin’?”Even from the doorway Ginny could see that Brad was shitfaced.
“Leave him alone, Jake,” she said. “Let’s go to bed.”
Jake stalked into the room and snapped off the CD player. “Get up,” he commanded his son. “And get out of my house.”
Brad rolled to one side. He had on torn, tight jeans, and the buttons on his white shirt were undone, revealing his muscular chest and taut stomach. As he turned, his gold chains clinked together. Nice body, Ginny thought. Too bad he’s such an asshole.
“Is that any way to talk to your only son?” Brad chided.
Ginny could see Jake was fuming. Something, maybe everything, about Brad always touched his anger button.
“Give me the key,” Jake demanded.
“What key?”
“The one you let yourself in with. Hand it over.”
Brad laughed. “Don’t have a key, man. Never needed one yet to get where I wanted to be.”
“How’d you get past the security system?”
“I know the code, man. I lived here for twelve years, remember?”
“I changed the code.”
Brad shrugged. “Big deal. I cut the wire. So sue me.”
Jake reached down and grabbed him by the arm. “Get up. And get out.”
Brad grabbed Jake’s other arm. “Hey, man, take it easy.”
Ginny sighed and walked to where they were, locked in their perpetual father-son battle.
“Jake, let go. Brad, knock it off.”
The two men looked at her.
“Love the dress, Mommy,” Brad said. “Where’s the rest of it?”
Jake released his grasp and slugged Brad in the face. He fell backward, letting go of Jake’s arm.
Ginny put her hands on her hips. Her cheeks felt flushed. “What do you want, Brad? Why are you here?”
Jake turned and walked to the fireplace. He stood with his back to the room, his shoulders tight. Brad sat up and touched the spot where Jake had connected with his face.
“My old lady threw me out,” he said quietly.
From the fireplace Jake gave a loud guffaw.
“I needed a place to crash tonight.” He looked toward his father. “I thought I could depend on coming home.”
“You should have thought again,” Ginny said, trying not to stare at the dark hair on his chest that curled around his tight, excited nipples.
“Besides,” Brad continued, “I wanted to talk to him about a little business proposition.”
Jake turned toward his son. “What kind of trouble are you in now?”
“Believe it or not, none. I’m trying to go straight, Dad.”
Jake laughed. “Seems like I’ve heard that before.”
Ginny walked to the low moire sofa and sat down, the hem of her dress riding high on her thighs. She crossed her legs. Brad looked at her, then dropped his eyes to her crotch. From his vantage point on the floor, Ginny knew he was seeing more than his father would have approved of.
Brad turned back to his father. “I’ve got a chance to open a restaurant.”
Jake leaned against the marble mantel, looking exhausted. “And just what the hell do you know about restaurants?”
“Betty’s husband owns one. I’ve been running it for the past two years.”
Jake’s and Ginny’s eyes met.
“Who’s Betty?” Ginny
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