Daddy laughs too and says, “Yeah, it’s real ghetto.” I like this moment, because it feels like we are friends. I place the beer I brought on the table. Daddy’s dog, a friendly pit bull, puts his head on my leg for attention and petting. (I like the feel of his soft, white chest hair.) Daddy Pete smells clean, like soap, and I imagine his hair is damp, though I can’t tell for sure. I make some small talk about the view and muse aloud about what direction we’re facing, I have a terrible sense of direction and am always turned around. After indulging this conversation for a short time, Daddy leads me back inside, into a room. It might be his room, there’s a bed in the room, and a sofa and a television, and a cross on the wall, it’s a large room, but there’s nothing personal inside it and it’s very uncluttered. Maybe it’s Daddy’s room and maybe not. As I’m thinking about this, Daddy tells me to stand up. He always tells me to stand up, I’m not sure why. He tells me I look cute, “So cute,. Still, it was Xmas Eve. Where would be open?I was only in town for a few weeks, late December business turning into pleasure. I had talked my company into paying the hotel bill for the week between Xmas and New Year, as it was cheaper than flying me to Scotland first class and back. I gave her the address of the hotel, and told her to organise a towncar to pick her up at seven pm. I had no need to know her address in Brooklyn and wouldn't expect her to tell me. I arranged with the doorman to pay the car cash when it arrived. With a generous tip for the car and himself. I had also told her to tell some friends where she was going, who she was seeing - I sent some selfies for her to pass on - so that she felt safe meeting a complete stranger. And I also let her know that she could stand up and walk away if at any point she thought I wished her harm or if she felt at all uncomfortable - and I would pay her taxi home. Without question. My doorman accomplice called me down to the lobby.
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