So I sat around my son’s apartment in the Quarter for the afternoon and we danced around each other like so many fathers and so many sons have done since almost the dawn of time. Or, I guess since we were now doing it, since the literal dawn of time. Myra slept most of the afternoon, Michael wandered through New Orleans numerous churches, and Emily looked through Cain’s photographs until well into the night. I guess it was about 11:30 when Cain stood up, looked at me, and headed towards the door. Myra met me at the door.

“Do you want me to go with you?” she asked.

“No. It’s probably going to be a scene of biblical proportions, if you’ll pardon the pun, and I don’t think the most presence of the most recent mother of my child will help soothe the savage breasts of the first mother of my children.”

“You know the quote only has singular breast, right?”

“Yeah, but given the establishments where we’re looking for her, I figured the more the merrier.” I tried to keep it light, but she could see in my eyes that I wasn’t looking forward to this.

“She’ll forgive you. I did.”

“Yeah, but I had only left you for a couple of decades. Multiply that times a hundred or so and that’s the kind of grudge Eve’s toting.”

“It’ll be okay.” she lied.

“I know.” I lied right back, and we shared that rueful smile that people share when they know they’re selling a great big steaming pile, and they know the other one isn’t buying, but it’s what they’re expected to say and do, so they do it anyway.

“Wow. You guys are cute. Aren’t they cute, Cain? Was he this cute with your Mom?” I turned and saw Emily standing next to Cain at the door, a tank top that verged on the obscene stretched across her chest and a tattered pair of jeans tapering down to a pair of bright red cowboy boots.

“What are you wearing? And where do you think you’re going? If you think you’re going with us, particularly dressed like that, you’ve got another think coming young lady.” I only get all Ward Cleaver when I have daughters of a particular age range. Namely from about 6 months to 65 years old.

“They’re called clothes, Dad, and they took the place of fig leaves a while back. And I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am.” she said simply, as though there was no argument even conceivable.

“Emily. How should I best put this? Oh hell no you’re not. I am not taking my youngest child into a strip bar on Bourbon Street at 1:30 in the morning.”

“One: why not? It’s not like it’s the first pair of tits I’ve ever seen. In case you didn’t notice, I have a pair of my own, so they’re less than impressive to me. And Two: you are my father, and the father of the human race, and for that I respect you, but you don’t get to play dad after missing 23 birthdays and then randomly showing up on a stolen Harley in the middle of the afternoon. So pick your jaw up off the floor and let’s roll. I’ve got a feeling you’re going to need me tonight, for moral support if nothing else.” I closed my mouth with an audible snap, and walked over to the door where she stood with Cain.

I looked back at Myra and Michael. Myra was leaning on Cain’s fridge smirking at her precocious daughter, and Michael was sitting in an armchair with an inscrutable expression on his face. I hate inscrutable angels. “You two going to suddenly decide to come along, too?” I asked.

“No thank you, I’ve still got some recovering to do. I’m not as young as some people that were drinking with you two degenerates.”

“I’ll pass. I can happily avoid delving into the absolute gutter of humanity.” With Michael’s endorsement ringing in my ears, we headed out. It was a nice enough night, and Cain and I were big enough to make ourselves not look like prey for anyone with less-than-honorable intentions between his apartment and the ongoing party of Bourbon Street. Big Daddy’s wasn’t the sleaziest place in the Bayou, but it wasn’t exactly a champagne room, either. With a huge sign on the street advertising “LIVE SEX SHOW” and proclaiming it “TOO EXTREME TO SHOW – COME INSIDE” it wasn’t making much happen on the subtle side of life. I downed the last of the mega-beer I had bought from one of the street stalls and followed Cain and Emily inside.

It was decorated in typical strip club chic, dark so you wouldn’t notice the stretch marks and the ocassional needle track, with mutli-colored dark carpet to hide the presence of blood and other fluids. There were a couple of small side stages and one long runway that dominated most of the center of the room. A bouncer who looked like he ate small children with hummus for breakfast stood by the door and checked IDs. I don’t know where Cain got his, but my fake IDs have always been immaculate, and ridiculously expensive. Emily was the only one of us with a real government-issued ID that had her actual birthdate on it, and Bluto spent a lot more time trying to look down her shirt than he did checking her age. We took a table in a corner, and I noticed that Cain made it a point to check for escape routes and sit with his back to a wall when we all sat.

“Paranoid, son?”

“Sometimes it’s a good idea to know where your exits are. Check that – it’s always a good idea to know where your exits are. And a guy I used to play cards with taught me not to sit with my back to a door.”

“Really? You were there? Then?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t pretty. Got Hickock droppings all over my favorite jacket. Some things just don’t come out of suede, Pop.”

“What are you boys talking about?” said a voice in my ear. Not a particularly euphonious voice, but obviously female. I looked up to a flat-chested stripped with a face like a horse. Before I could tell her to buzz off, she had wormed her lace teddy-wearing way onto my lap where her bony ass immediatelystarting to dig deep into my left quadricep.

“We were just having a little conversation, honey. A private conversation.” I replied, hoping she’d get the hint and find a drunker target. But she was either desperate or brutally dense, and she didn’t budge.

“Well my name’s Sandy. What’s yours?” Horse-faced girl replied, without any inclination to move. I glared daggers at Cain, who was leaning back in his chair quietly smirking at me, and Emily, who was smothering her giggles in a Cosmopolitan. This night was not going well, and it started to spiral absolutely out of control when I heard the DJ announce “AAAANNNNNDDDD NNNNOOOOOOOOWWWWWW, ON OUR MAIN STAGE, PLEEEEEAAAASSSSSEE WELCOME…EEEEEEEEVVVVVVEEEEE!” And with that, the woman I first gave my heart to, the woman I’ve loved since the beginninng of the world, the woman I helped create the human race with, stepped out onto a runway to shake her mostly naked body for an audience of drunken rednecks, swamp rats and frat boy douchebags.

If you enjoy this post, or just want to make sure you don\'t miss a new release, please take a second to support me on Patreon!