Free THE POLITICS OF PLEASURE by Mark Russell Page B

her head with the resolution of a vegan offered bacon rashers for breakfast, her long black hair swishing about her shoulders. She looked horrified by her friend's devil-may-care attitude. 'No way babe, and I advice you to flush that crap down the toilet.'
    'Well, I'm gonna try it.' Michelle jumped up from her seat. Without a backward glance, she marched into the kitchen.
    Haslow swallowed a sleeping tablet and brushed his teeth. He retired to the bedroom, slipping between the rumpled covers of his unmade bed. He checked the bedside clock: 9:58 pm. His mind still animated from his decision to leave work and travel; hence the need for a sleeping tablet.
    He relaxed as more of the medication took hold. Time loosened its grip and his head sank deeper into the pillow. Worldly concerns fell away like unwanted baggage ... Before long his bedside phone beeped like the implacable trill of an alien insect. He grumbled at being disturbed and reached for the receiver.
    'Hello?'
    'Hi, Roderick.'
    His brother Peter.
    Now of all times? Haslow swallowed hard, the effect of the sleeping tablet weighing down on him like the debilitating gravity of a giant planet. He was too drowsy, too not himself by half, to have to deal with his brother. God, why now? If only he could slide down a wondrous tunnel to a world more of his liking, but of course no such fanciful escape presented itself. He sighed, and words tumbled from his mouth like an impetuous throw of dice on a craps table, 'My, my, Mr Miami. What a surprise.'
    'I'm sure it is. Listen, I'm coming up to DC on the weekend and I thought we should get together on Saturday night and have a brotherly reunion over a few drinks.'
    Haslow fought against the sedating medication, for fear of losing his grip on the situation, which was growing more dream-like by the minute. Of course Peter had proposed meeting before, but of all nights for him to it was this one – the same night Haslow decided to quit his job of fifteen years. Sweeping change was in the air, but could the middle-aged chemist, so set in his ways, take advantage of it? It seemed a big ask as he lay crumpled in his bed.
    'Are you still there, Roderick?'
    Haslow worked air into his lungs. With diminishing faculties, he decided to engage (at least in a cautious, partial manner) the unknown world of his brother – a world he'd kept at arm's length for most of his adult life. 'So where will you be staying?' He couldn't believe what he'd asked.
    'I'm not sure yet. But I'll leave the number on your machine. You still have one?'
    'No, um, Madeleine took it.' He pumped his rapidly deflating brain into action. 'Listen, I'll be out tomorrow night.' And with a bit of romantic luck , he mused, possibly the whole goddamn night. 'And maybe Saturday night too,' he lied, now prepared to discourage.
    'Okay, no problem. I'll leave my hotel number with Clarence McGuire. Remember him from the orphanage? I know you still see him. He owns that joint on Ninth and – '
    'Yeah, I know where it is,' Haslow cut in. Clarence “Chubby” McGuire's insolent mouth had often got him in trouble with the orphanage brothers, not to mention in fights with fellow orphans. Haslow kept contact with McGuire by sometimes dropping in at the D.C. piano bar the balding Irishman had owned and operated for more than a decade.
    'So ring me Saturday evening, around six.'
    Haslow cringed as his mouth formed the following words, 'All right, I'll call you then.'
    'Okay, I won't keep you any longer. Until then, Roderick.'
    Haslow replaced the handset and dropped back on the pillow, his eyelids sliding shut like iron shutters. So, he mused groggily, a blind date at Goldman's tomorrow night, and a come what may with my brother the following evening. Hmm, it's shaping up to be one helluva weekend ...
    Goldman sat cross-legged on his bed. The inclement weather outside hadn't let up. Ragged clouds scudded across the gray sky and light showers persisted alongside shifting winds. The chemist