“Brunch”

“I called out for you, and you weren’t there.”

“I know.”

“Christ, Slade, are you ever there — here? Anywhere I need you to be?” “You know that’s not fair, Claudia.”

“Fair? Oh, give me a fucking break about fair. You fuck other women for money — and I’ve never given you so much as a silent treatment whenever you come in here smelling like some old hag’s White Diamonds; you just kiss me on the cheek like I’m a goddamned child and go into the kitchen. I can see those women on you. I feel them on your lips when they touch my skin. Don’t give me your entitled bullshit about ‘fair’.”

“Look around you, Claudia,” Slade snapped back. “Where’s your fucking crying and complaining when you’re hosting another get-together for your hoodlum friends onboard Papa Gateau? Where’s the whining and bitching when I come home and kiss your cheek; go into the kitchen, grab some orange juice and read my morning paper, and you follow behind me, naked, begging for me to make love to you? Oh, yes, that’s right. Only when I’m smacking your ass or pulling your hair. Or when you beg to be choked until tears fall. Dammit, Claudia — you swore you could handle this. Now, if you’d like to go back to the fucking Cape, be my guest. I’ll have Raul drive you.”

Claudia stood still, searching Slade’s eyes for the truth. They were both liars, but somewhere along the line…