Contents ( 85)
- Contents
- Part I
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Part II
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Part III
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Seventy-One
- Seventy-Two
- One
- Two
- Reading Group Guide
- A Conversation with the Author
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
He nods and considers this.
“What brand was it?”
“Jameson,” I reply, remembering clearly.
“Well, that was the problem. You didn’t go top shelf.” He points to my glass. “What you’re sipping right there is Charbay Release III. Four hundred bucks a bottle. If that was the first thing you ever drank, you’d be an alcoholic by now.”
I take another sip and confirm my taste buds aren’t sophisticated enough to appreciate the liquid flowing over them. It tastes good, but four hundred bucks good?
“Well, thank god for Jameson,” I say.
We sit there and soak in the heavy silence. There’s no tension, exactly, but it’s not quite comfortable. Like being under a blanket that’s both scratchy and cozy.
After a minute or so passes, he says, “What are your vices, Rose?”
“My vices?”
“Yes, your vices.”
I’m stumped by the question. Not because I can’t think of any answers but because my father is the one asking me. I think about it a few seconds more, then raise my glass and tilt it side to side in front of him.
“Alcohol is not your vice, Rosie. You drink, but you’re not a drunk, far as I can tell. An important distinction. You don’t smoke, at least not that I’ve ever seen. Probably don’t gamble. Truth is, I don’t know you very much as an adult. I’m just wondering what it is that you regret about yourself.”
I push back in my chair, making myself smaller. “That’s a hell of a question. Especially given our…past.”
“I don’t see much value in small questions.”
“That I believe.”
“Okay, I’ll start then,” he says. His voice is so calm, so smooth, just that same tone he always has. Stern and reassuring at the same time, the voice of quiet authority. “I like women too much. I see a pretty lady, and I just want to sweep her off her feet. And by that, I mean screw her.”
“God, Dad.”
“Just being honest with you. The thing is, I never meet an attractive woman I want to spend time with outside the bedroom. Other than those moments, I just want to be alone.”
“So that’s your vice?”
“That, and I have an insatiable need to conquer everyone I deal with in my business. I guess that’s the pattern. I see a pretty company, I want to buy it and then sell it off in pieces. Companies and women. I just want to have my way with them. Then, the second I get what I want, I feel nothing.” He takes a sip, allowing the alcohol to linger in his mouth for a few seconds before swallowing, chasing the numb. “Pretty much nothing at all.”
“Well, that’s depressing,” I say. “So what’s the point of it all, then?”
“Exactly,” he answers. “What the point?” My father rises, walks over, and pours himself another. He’s always been a heavy drinker, but I can’t say I’ve ever seen him drunk. The alcohol just settles deep into his bones, fortifying rather than unsteadying him. When he sits again, he says, “It’s like I’m chasing some feeling I haven’t experienced in a long time, and I can’t even describe what that feeling is anymore. I don’t know if I’ll ever catch it again, but I keep trying. I do believe that’s the definition of insanity.”