Page 8 of Guitars and Cages

“Oh yeah, and gave me hellfire and brimstone about how you and that dump of yours looked when she dropped by,” Morgan said. “So what’d you do with the kid for the night, anyway?”

“Got Tina to come up and watch him,” I told him and watched him frown.

“That groupie chick who lives in your building?”

“Yeah, don’t know no one else who could watch him.”

“You coulda brought him here,” Morgan said.

I laughed, trying to picture the look on Kimber’s face if I took her kid to a bar. Angry rhinoceros about covered it.

“You shoulda told me you didn’t have a better plan than Tina; I’d have set him up in the apartment upstairs. He’d have been fine there and one of us coulda checked on him every hour, taken him some food. That Tina ain’t gonna cook for him.”

“I fed him before I left,” I said. “Kimber would kill me if I brought the kid to the bar, the way she carried on about me drinking in front of him.”

“Already talked to her; she don’t mind if you bring him here when you’re working, long as he stays upstairs and I don’t let you have nothin’ to drink.”

“Wish she’d a told me that,” I griped. “She’s got me looking for a real job.”

“You need a real job, kid; I been telling you that for a year. That band of yours ain’t serious. You could do better than that if you tried,” he pointed out for the millionth time since I’d joined them.

He was right, but I wasn’t in the mindset for change.

“Those buddies of yours who play over at Dalton’s, I heard them on the radio the other day. That could be you if you work hard enough.”

“Ain’t never gonna be me, Morgan. I ain’t that damned good.” I sighed, staring at the top of the shiny wooden bar.

“Whatever you say, kid. You’re forever telling yourself that; guess you don’t want it bad enough to try.”

“Save it, Morgan.”

“Need a new girlfriend, too, if you ask me; that Tina chick gets around and you know it.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Not hard enough,” he said, and I just threw up my hands, hoping to avoid a lecture. “You start asking her to babysit she’s gonna get the wrong idea, might even start thinking you need her there more often.”

“I know, I know. I can handle it.”

“Can Rory?”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“That kid, I doubt he knows anything about junkie chicks and their moods. What’s he gonna do if she decides to pop a couple pills while she’s watching him? Or run down and grab a bottle and pass out drunk on your couch?”

I hadn’t thought about that. I mean, her eyes had been clear; she hadn’t been high when I knocked.

“When I left she was sober,” I said, lamely.

“That was then; how do you know what she’s doing now?” he asked me, shaking his head as I sighed again. “You gotta start thinking, Asher! That kid ain’t got no one but you right now.”

“I know, but I didn’t ask for this, either, Morgan. I ain’t dad material.”

“Whoever thinks they are?” Morgan asked with a chuckle.

To that I could only shrug, because I didn’t know, nor did I particularly care. My old man had never had much use for his kids; hell, he’d been gone more than he’d been home. I couldn’t think of a single thing he’d taught me that I could teach Rory, though I had to admit that the man across from me had taught me and my brothers a million and one things I could pass along if I were so inclined. Not sure if I was; I was still kind of hoping one of the other three would pick up his phone and volunteer.

“My point is that right now you have the chance to find out,” Morgan went on, ignoring my silence. “So take the time to see. Take the kid somewhere fun, talk to him, get to know him, toss the ball in the park, bring him over to my place for a BBQ. Just leave the skank at home, all right? She’s the last thing you need.”

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