Starfire(86)

My father, bless his heart, started to move toward the round-faced man with the novel. Giggling, my mother grabbed his arm and directed him toward the flirty man with the black hair. I had no doubt he was Dalton’s father. The man seemed to be commanding the whole room from his seat in the middle.

The two blushing waitresses pulled out chairs for us before walking away.

I don’t know how he did it, but Dalton’s father managed to stare at both of their asses as the girls walked away.

He stood and reached his big tanned hand toward my mother. “The luscious Peaches,” he said.

She tittered predictably, then introduced herself, my father, and me.

“Where is my son, the handsome and legitimate actor?” the man asked loudly.

His breath carried a sample of the amber liquid also in his tumbler on the table.

I took my seat, smoothing down my purple skirt in an identical motion to my mother smoothing her own skirt, sitting next to me. My father chose the end seat of the table set for six, facing us from the head position and leaving an empty seat between himself and Dalton’s father.

“Dalton’s not feeling well,” I said. “He was exhausted from working on set all week—”

“Don’t I know what that’s like!” the man shouted proudly. And then, for several seconds, I’m sure all four of us imagined the forty-something man bouncing around on big boobs and round asses, plunging in and out of…

I tried to shake the images from my mind, but they were persistent. The next wave of horror was worse, when I noticed he had the same ears as Dalton, and the same nose and lips. I thought male porn stars were always average-looking, except for the gay stuff. Holy mothershit. Did he do gay porn? Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but now a whole bunch of very different round, bouncy things sprang to mind.

I rearranged the silverware in front of me and rolled the cloth napkin out onto my lap—as though an extra layer would make me feel less exposed.

“Dalton,” the man said, snorting around the name. “If you ask me, David is a fine name for a young man. Dalton isn’t a name, it’s just good branding. My son always had a keen mind for getting inside people’s heads, though, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” He grinned, as if to prove that he wasn’t being incredibly rude.

“He’s sleeping in the room, and I’m sure he’ll be rested by dinner,” I mumbled to my lap.

“How should I address you?” my mother asked sweetly.

He gave my mother a scandalous look. “You can call me Daddy.”

My father cleared his throat and pushed his chair back.

The man quickly waved his hand for everyone to calm down. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I’m used to the convention circuit, and it’s just my natural instinct to be friendly toward the ladies. My fans, they see me on screen, and they feel like they know me already, so I try to match their expectations. I apologize that I come across as too… friendly.”

“We’re going to be family,” my mother said.

My father cleared his throat, as if to say that last point was debatable.

“Call me Jake,” he said. “My real name is Richard, but I don’t care for people calling me Dick, unless the word Big’s in front.”

At this point, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I started laughing. Big Dick. Can you imagine? And my mother. And my father, his lips practically white from being pressed together so hard.

“Big Dick,” I said, between gasps for breath. In a moment, tears were streaming down my cheeks.

To my father, I said, “Dad, just ask him what kind of car he drives, would you? Someone, please. Be normal.”

My father took a breath, then asked, “Did you drive up here, Jake? We arrived in a plane, but I didn’t see another one back there at the dock. Just a few boats.”

“I’d love to have a boat,” Jake replied. “Everyone needs a hole to pour money down, especially in between wives.”

My father blinked and looked over at my mother.

“I’ll allow it,” she said, letting him know he could enjoy the joke without being taken to task for a smile later.

“Drove up in my Audi,” Jake said, moving on quickly to talk about his car.

By the time the waitress came to bring Jake a refill—“Make it a double, princess, and keep ‘em coming, because there’s nothing worse than the taste of melted ice.”—the two men were discussing gas mileage, and the cabin Jake had purchased from an environmentalist couple going through a divorce. Apparently, the cabin had solar panels and a wind turbine, and generated eighty percent of its own energy.