“Asshole,” she muttered.“The hat,” he said.“Really?”“Yea.”She pulled off the hat and let her hair drop. He took it from her and checked it before placing it on the table.“And the glasses?” he said.“What, am I hiding shit behind my sunglasses?”“What if it’s our sunglasses?”“It’s not.”“Obviously, I can’t take your word for it. Plus, for identification purposes…”She cursed and pulled off her sunglasses.Here it comes, she thought. He’ll recognize me now.But Mike said nothing as he placed the Versace shades on the table.“All right, have a seat again, dear.”She plopped down again.Maybe I’m in the clear, she hoped.“Jackie,” he said. His eyes squinted. His brow furrowed.Dammit. “Oh!” he said.“No,” she began before he even said anything.“Jackie Rose,” he said.“I-I, no, I’m not, I just look like, shit—”He leaned back on the table. “I saw your last movie, Miss Rose. It was all right.”“Great,” she groaned. Her face brightened. “Are you a fan, by any chance?”He shrugged. “It was a braindead. I was sitting around the kitchen table with my wife Kim. I had a bourbon in front of me and I was looking for any excuse to avoid the inevitable. My wife was no help. Heck, she had the easy part. "Look, Mike is eleven already. He is going on twelve. You know you have to do this." She started. "I know, I know." I said, "But, does it have to be tonight?" "What are you going to do, wait till he is in college?" She asked rather sarcastically. "No, I just, um..." "Look, he is an eleven-year-old. You know he is showing some interest in girls. He is just dying for information. He needs it from you, his father." She said flatly. "You're right, baby. I'll go in there right now," I said. I hated it when she was right. I finished my bourbon and walked into Mike's room. I closed the door behind me. Mike was sitting on the bed sorting through some baseball cards. "Mike, we need to have a little talk," I started. "About what, Dad?" "Um, the birds and the bees," I stammered. I had no idea why they.
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