Man Gone Down by Michael Thomas Read Free Book Online Page A

Grandpa.”
    â€œAre they coming to see your show?”
    â€œOh, no,” She scoffs, losing the teeth. The waiter comes with the drinks. The astro-kids are doing backflips. He sets them on the table.
    â€œShould I start a tab?” He asks rhetorically.
    â€œYes,” she says, surprising both the waiter and me. She starts on her martini, then stops. She raises her glass.
    â€œSorry. Here’s to family.”
    I hold mine up as well. “Cheers.” We drink. I can feel the cool tingle of her vodka on my lips, the warmth on the roof of my mouth, the olive’s dull fruitiness, the point of the spirits on my tongue, and the incongruity of the heat and ice in my throat.
    â€œI got this show—whatever—on a total lark. Someone else backed out.” She looks at me as though I should say something, about either the show or her family. I don’t. I wonder if the waiter’s spiked my drink.
    â€œSo how’s that crazy boy of yours? What’s he calling himself now?”
    â€œX.”
    She spits out her drink. “I’m sorry.” She dabs at the spittle with her napkin. “That’s hilarious.” She sighs and gives me her teeth again. “What does Claire think of that?”
    â€œShe calls him X.”
    â€œWhat’s that about?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. I imagine she already has one. I first saw her on the street, pregnant, one hand resting on her tummy, with her man, waiting for the light to change. I was alone and she was anxious and he kept his head down, the way many white men do when they’re with a black woman and they encounter a black man—as though I cared. I would see them later, walking around with their stroller. She would smile at me when she was alone. She brought her girl to the same kiddie gym classes and the same kiddie art classes that Claire brought X to, although she never talked to Claire, never even acknowledged her until I showed up one day. And then there were inquiries and invitations—she let Claire pass on my ticket.
    She looks off dreamily to the monitor above my head. She smiles. A few seconds later I see why: One of the astro-girls has grown to enormous size. She throws a spinning crescent kick to the side of a space monster’s head, which sends him into orbit—all while singing. She bends down and rips the top off a space cage, where I assume the space monster has incarcerated her pals.
    â€œSchool starts soon?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œHow do they like it?”
    â€œCecil loves it. I suppose his brother will, too.”
    â€œIs it worth it?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œThe tuition. The homogeny?”
    A new video has started. Three brown women of varying shades and hair texture are in leather thong bikinis dancing on what looks to be a panzer tank. They’re out of step because they’re moving to the beat of the previous song. Finally, their beat kicks in. They’re still out of sync, but it’s a little better. They start shaking it.
    â€œEven if we could afford it, I don’t know if I would do it—you know?”
    â€œX likes to be naked.” I look down from the video. “They’ll let him be naked. All day.”
    She shakes her head. “What about your other son?”
    â€œHe’s doing fine.”
    She’s ready for another drink and signals the waiter. Her arm is unusually long for her body, but she extends it gracefully—the dark skin complemented by her sleeveless pink top. Her shoulders are the same size as her breasts. She senses me looking at her. I look back up at the monitor. A college-age white kid with heavy sideburns and a Brooklyn Dodgers cap gestures spastically at the camera. In the background the girls are still shaking it. The video cuts to a close-up of one of them. She’s stunning. My butt gets warm. I look down. Judy or Jane has had prior knowledge of the flesh parade and has