Chương 20: I call it falling into the gutter.

>>George. One word of caution before you get these memories delivered. >>We have explored the theme of George-as-lump-on-log before, but I have been wondering if your lack of discernible personality is related to your lack of discernible memories. >>After all, we come into this world blank slates—tabula rasa, as 'twere—like little balls of unformed clay. Maybe you're kinda stuck in the blank slate stage right now, but perhaps you won't always be.

As you get your memories back, maybe you'll reclaim some of those keystone moments that made you not only less boring but the strong, bold hero and father that you undoubtedly were. >>Or… maybe it goes a different direction. We could be about to watch you totally break bad. After all, early indications show that you were not in the running for Mr. Congeniality or Father of the Year.

>>For instance, what happens if you discover you did some time in the slammer in your previous life and had to make some dubious compromises to make it on the inside? At first, you vowed that you would hold onto the last shreds of your irrelevant integrity. But, next thing you know, you had to become some bad man's boyfriend, and the cascade of moral turpitude continued from there. Suddenly, you are shivving strangers in the food line and sitting with the naughty boys in the yard, trading favors for cigarettes.

>>Actually, never mind. All that would be pretty adaptive, considering your current circumstances. >>Ok. I'm officially rooting for the inmate scenario now. >>Anyway… >>I could also be way off base here. It's probably nothing. Maybe once we get some coffee in here you will perk right up. Who knows? Happy remembering!

"Nod. I can't tell if you are my funny, super helpful parasite friend or just an asshole." >>What can I say? I am great. I contain multitudes. Instead of responding, George purchased several memories at once. Purchased: Random Memory The sound of music and the smell of stale beer hit George as soon as he opened the door, carried on a wave of cool air. A girl was already on stage, and even though it was only late afternoon, it might as well have been midnight in the club. The music filled the space.

A few men watched from the scattered tables. The Ruby Room was that sort of place. George edged inside and let the door close behind him. He scanned the room but could only see the girl on the stage in front of the lights. As he stood there, the whole memory flooded back into his mind, and he wanted it to stop, but it didn't. He stepped deeper into the room and wandered toward the bar, letting his eyes adjust and looking for a single face. George sat down at the furthest stool from the stage.

The bartender set a napkin in front of him and asked him what he wanted. He raised his voice and asked for a beer, for appearance's sake. When it arrived, he didn't drink from it but turned the wet glass around in circles with his fingertips. He still hadn't touched his beer when the girl on stage gave way to another girl. Then another.

"Who are you looking for?" The woman behind the bar asked him. She looked like she was in her late thirties and had piercings in both raised eyebrows. She was looking at him with an expression that made him think he was in trouble for something.

"Pardon?" George said.

"You're not drinking. You're not watching the girls. You are dressed like a guy trying to disguise himself as somebody supposed to be here," she said.

"You look like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. So, are you a dad or an uncle?"

"A dad," George said with a shrug.

"OK. You tried calling and got nothing. You tried texting and got nothing, so you figured you'd come down and see for yourself," she said.

"Can I give you a piece of advice?"

"I think I'm going to get it whether you have permission or not," George said.

"Take a hint," she said.

"Go home. It doesn't end well." George looked at the girl who was currently on stage. A man with a six-inch grey beard who looked like he could have been her grandfather was proffering her a folded dollar.

"Do you have kids?" George asked. One of those pierced eyebrows shot back up again, and she said, "Sure do. Two of them."

"A girl?" George said. This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

"Both girls," she said. George nodded toward the stage, where the man with the bandana was pushing one of the dollar bills into the dancer's waistline while she stroked his beard and blew kisses at him.

"Would you let your girls work here?" George said.

"It is my club. What do you think?" she said.

"Madame, I couldn't possibly begin to guess the answer to that question," George said.

"Look. I don't know who your daughter is, and, to be honest, I don't want to know. But I can tell you why she won't return your calls and texts," she said.

"Can you, now?" George said, finally taking a drink.

"Yes, I can," she answered.

"It is that little word 'let.' What makes you think you can let your daughter do anything? I don't employ any minors, so I know your daughter isn't underage. That means she's old enough to choose her way, just like all my dancers."

"That isn't dancing?" George said, pointing a finger at the stage.

"It's called stripping."

"It is called making a living," she said.

"I call it falling into the gutter," George said.

"I'm surprised you can see us at all from that high horse," she said.

"I was giving you advice earlier, but now I'm telling you. Get out. I don't want you upsetting any of my girls. Goodbye."" Your girls?" George said, but she only stared at him. He raised his hands as if surrendering and said, "Sure." He pushed away from the bar and walked to the door. Outside, the sun was setting, and the California summer heat hit him. The sun had turned the whole horizon pink while he was inside.

He stood there watching it for a minute before digging his keys out of his pocket and walking toward his car.

"Dad?" He turned. Kat stood twenty feet away. Though he had come to see her, he wasn't sure what to do now that she was in front of him. He slowly waved to her, and she shrugged and raised both arms as if saying, What are you doing here? He walked over to her car. He was going to hug her, but she made no motion toward him, so instead, he only said, "You're blonde now." Kat ran a hand through her hair and swept it to one side. She wore a t-shirt with a cartoon character he didn't recognize.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I'm in town on business," George said.

"You wouldn't answer, so I thought I'd come."

"To the strip club where I work?" she said.

"How did you even find out I work here?"

"I…" George began, but he trailed off.

"It has been a long time since I've seen you. I just thought we could talk."

"My shift starts in twenty minutes," she said.

"You have ten." She walked past him toward the entrance, and he followed after her. When they were inside, she waved at the woman behind the bar, and George threw her a sardonic wave, too. She only stared back at him. Kat walked them to a booth in the corner and sat down.

"So, what's up? Why did you come?" she said.

"I'm doing fine, Kat. Thanks for asking."

"I'm Kate," she said.

"Not Kat."

"Blonde and Kate. Got it," George said.

"Eight minutes left," Kat said.

"Is that what you came to say?"

"No," George said.

"I'm sorry. Your hair looks fine. It looks great." He paused.

"Kat, I… Kate. I heard you were working at this bar, and I knew I would be in town this week, and it's been what, two years?"

"I don't dance here, Dad. I work behind the bar."

"That's not what I mean. I know you will do whatever you want with your life. Is it a little weird to be here as your dad? Sure," George said.

"Then you shouldn't have come. That's pretty much the message I was sending by not responding to your texts," Kat said.

"Christ, Kat. Why is it always a fight with you?" George said.

"I just wanted to see you, to say hello, and to… apologize."

"Well, you have five minutes left," Kat said.

"I sure would be curious to hear that apology."

"You aren't making this easy for me," George said, but she only looked at him blankly.

"I'm sorry for what I did."

"And what was that?" Kat said.

"I'm sorry that your mom and I split up. I'm sorry that I moved away. I'm sorry that your childhood was so hard. Jane and I certainly didn't plan on much of the last 15 years happening."

"But life was so crazy back then, and it seemed like you kids were never happy no matter what I did," George said.

"And then you became so… so sharp, and when you decided to live with your mom full-time, it felt… well, it hurt. I guess I'm saying that it was hard for me too."

"So. As a part of your apology, you would like me to apologize… too? Kat said. George shook his head.

"That's not what I'm saying." Kat said, "I guess I can't blame you if you're a little rusty. You never apologized for shit when we were growing up. It was always your way or the highway." George started to speak, but she cut him off.

"Do you remember that time during my freshman year when I stayed out past curfew, and you waited up in the living room for me to get home? I tried to sneak upstairs, but you turned on the light and made me sit on the couch while you fucking reamed me out. I remember you standing over me, shouting and pointing at me while I cried and said I was sorry over and over again. I was fourteen, Dad. Fourteen."

"I do remember," George said.

"I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"Do you know what happened that night? I had this crush on an older boy, and he asked me to meet him at a party at Jean's house. I followed him around like a little puppy all night while he talked to his friends and other girls. Then, I turned around, and he was gone. He barely said a word to me. My ride was gone, too, so I walked home. I didn't know the way, and I got lost. And what happened when I finally got home? Did Dad notice that his daughter was crying? Was Dad happy she was home safe? No.

Dad was angry because she broke the rules."

"I'm sorry, honey," George said.

"Do you know how often I think about that night?" Kat asked. George shook his head.

"A lot," she said.

"I think about it a lot."

"I really am sorry, Kat," George said.

"Time's up, George," Kat said.

"Kat… Kate. I'm still in town for a few days. Let me take you out to dinner tomorrow night," George said. He saw her look past him and slightly nod her head in his direction. He looked back and saw the owner of the club staring at him from her place behind the bar. She left the bar and disappeared into the back. A moment later, a large man approached their table and said, "It is time to leave, sir."

His arms were covered in tattoos, and one that looked like the skull of an ape stood out prominently on the side of his neck.

"I'm having a conversation with my daughter," George said.

"I'll leave when I'm ready."

"That isn't how it works," the man repeated. He grabbed George by the upper arm and pulled him to his feet.

"Get your fucking hands off of me," George said and pulled his arm out of the man's grip. He looked across the table at his daughter.

"Are you really going to let this guy throw me out?"

"Up to you," Kat said.

"The door is right there."

"Jesus, Kat," George said, but she only gave him a shooing motion with her hand. He stood up, and the bouncer took a step toward him. George held his hands up and said, "I'm going." As he walked away, the memory ended.