“Yeah, yeah. Can I stay at your house? Maria told me it was nice. A true blue bachelor pad! We could have a great weekend together!”
“Not on your life. You’re going straight to a hotel.”
“You piece of shit,” Dad mumbled under his breath.
“It’ll be five-star. I promise.”
“Oh? So now you’re too good to have your own father at your home?! Ashamed I might sit on your precious ten-thousand-dollar toilet and break it?”
“It’s actually a really nice john. Black marble… heated… a real fucking piece of art.”
“Ohhh, isn’t that special, Mr. Fancy Pants? You got to live with me, rent fuckin’ free for eighteen years! I paid for those damn karate kangaroo and chop suey classes of yours! I paid even for that summer you spent goofin’ off at that camp and got kicked out when you snuck out of your cabin, went skinny dipping at two in the morning, and was found makin’ out with one of the girls. We received no refund.”
“Her name was Laura. Beautiful girl, but she had a vicious overbite that was being corrected by braces, which caused a bit of a challenge for fellatio. Let’s just say by the time we were caught, it had become a search and rescue mission. I was eternally fucking grateful. And so was my dick.”
“You’re sick, ya know that? What about when I paid for that car accident ya had? You know, the one where you and your brother were high as fuckin’ kites and ran right into an off-duty cop of all people! You were giggling the whole time!”
“It was weed! Blame Leonardo. I’d never done it before that night.”
“You’re the eldest! Putting the blame on your brother… Shameful.”
“Ya act like I was snortin’ coke. ‘You smoke crack, don’t ya?! It kills your brain cells, son. It destroys your brain cells!’ I had no idea you were Principal Joe Clark, Dad! You do kinda favor Morgan Freeman. The Italian, uptight version.”
“Thank God you were a minor or there’s no way you would’ve been allowed to practice law. I paid for the—”
“Relax, okay? It’s not about money, Dad.”
“What’s it about, then? What are you afraid of? That I’ll see your elite collection of alien probe butt plugs and tin foil hats for all of you and your mother’s insane conspiracy theories?!”
“You’re crazy, man.” Nixon laughed so hard, his face was hot.
“A damn hotel! Shovin’ me in a corner like I’m some naughty child that spilled the milk! I’m gonna raid the gotdamn mini-bar, ya hear me, Nixon?! I’ll tear that place inside out! No alcohol, but I’ll drink every ten-dollar can of flat soda that’s in there to be had!”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t come over, Dad. I’m saying you can’t stay the night. Now, be honest. You know if we spend too much time together, we argue. We butt heads.”
“Oh, grow some hairy balls, would ya?! Wanna call Dr. Phil? We argue? So fuckin’ what. I argue with everyone! You’re not special.”
“I don’t argue with everyone. I refuse.” He made a right turn, debating on whether to pick up a bite to eat on the way home or just throwing a frozen meal in the microwave. “It shortens your life. That’s why your blood pressure is sky high and you have to take those little pills. In a hotel you go, all expenses paid. I’ll even let you have a little shopping spree while you’re here. A new watch, coat, whatever. Get you looking snazzy.”
“You can’t pay me off! Buy my silence!”
“Why is it every time you open your mouth during this conversation you sound like a sound bite from some action-packed movie where the hero has been tied to a chair and is being interrogated? You’ll never take me alive!” Nixon’s head hurt with all the laughter.
“Yeah? Well, I’ve got something for you, Nix. I know what I’ll do to you as soon as I get back in town, you muffin-headed fucker!”
“…What will you do, Dad?” Nixon took a minute to ask that question, what with all the mirth bubbling inside him.
“I’ll hire a gotdamn stripper or two, give ’em your credit card number, and tell ’em to have the time of their lives! They’ll go blow your hard-earned savings on heroin, a pimp with a limp named Earl, and the rest on medicated itch cream for their pussy, as well as hemorrhoid pads. Can’t forget those!”