Tears on a Sunday Afternoon Read Online Free PDF

table.
    “Only a man would get caught up with a lesbian. You should have known by the way she looked at your dick that she preferred pussy. I realized that from the first time I met her. Why did you think she kept her eyes focused on you? Do you think it was because she was so much in love? No, my friend, it was the only way for her not to stare at women.”
    “When did you meet my wife?”
    “Is that important?” she asked.
    “Maybe.”
    “It’s terrible living at home, isn’t it? On one hand, there’s your son whose blood runs in you. On the other, your wife and her abusive lover whom you despise. Poor Donald; he doesn’t even own the car he drives. Is that enough?” she asked.
    “If there’s more, feel free to continue,” I said, looking at her empty plate. It seemed like the entire world had me undressed.
    “It’s time,” Donna said, eyeing my half-eaten sandwich.
    I pushed my plate toward her. “On second thought, take this bullshit home to your husband.”
    Donna’s face became contorted. “You ready to go upstairs?”
    “What’s upstairs for me?”
    “Freedom for you and your son; if you play your cards right.”
    “The cost?”
    “Maybe nothing; maybe everything. It’s your choice. You can get up and walk out right now and continue to live life as usual. Or you can go up to the room with me and take a chance at freedom. I’ll be in suite 531.” She drank the rest of the water and motioned for the waiter to come over. She signed for the check and walked out of the restaurant.

    The elevator took me to the fifth floor. Donna and I had never been to this hotel but, in the relatively short time it had been open, I had been here on five occasions; each time with a different woman. The last time had been with Nicole, a doctor at Kings County Hospital in Brooklyn. Nicole had recently moved to Clinton Hill and, after numerous dates with men labeled “assholes” by her, we had connected at the newly opened Susan’s Cafe on Flatbush Avenue.
    My shoes sank down into the plush red carpet as I exited the elevator. Arrows pointed both right and left with various ranges of room numbers. Suite 531 was the last room on the right; next to an exit door. As I walked down the hallway, I wondered exactly what Donna had in mind for me. I knocked three times on the door and waited. I had never been nervous about entering a hotel room, but there was something different that day. It seemed that I would be expected to do more than stick my dick in a piece of pussy.
    “The door is open. Come in and lock it behind you,” I heard Donna say through the thick door.
    I turned the knob and walked in. The light in the hallway reflected against a mirrored closet. I stopped and glanced at myself in the mirror. My stomach felt a little pudgy from the meal, but it was not reflected in the mirror. I ran my fingers through my hair before proceeding. The living room had a desk and two sofas. There was an additional table with four chairs; for meetings, I assumed. I heard two women’s voices coming from behind a closed door located on the left side of the room.
    Donna’s voice, the softer of the two, came from behind the doors. “We’re in here.”
    I pulled the door open and stepped into the bedroom. Donna was seated on the bed in a short nightgown that didn’t cover much. Her back was against the headboard and in her hand was a full glass of what I presumed to be liquor. Her long legs extended off the bed into the lap of the same white woman that I had seen the first time Donna and I had fucked at her job. The white woman’s glass was half-empty. I looked over at the bottle chilling in the bucket. It was a bottle of Dom Perignon and next to it was a glass filled with ice.
    Donna extended her hand toward the white woman. “Donald, this is Kathleen.”
    “Donald, Donna has told me so much about you,” Kathleen said, pushing out her right hand to mine.
    “Is that so?” I said, taking her hand and kissing it.