The Club Is Open Until 8:00Pm

Gerard's POV

I felt like breaking down right there in the parking lot. After seeing her that way, It was a miracle that I didn't. I was sitting outside on a bench, the sun warm on my skin, trying to calm my nerves with a cigarette. An older couple was staring at me, watching me. Finally, the man wondered over to me and sat next to me. "You want one?" He offered me a cigar. I shook my head. "Who is it?" I looked at him and for some reason, I felt like I could tell him everything.

"My daughter."

"What's wrong?"

"Her vocal cords ripped. She can't talk."

"How old is she?"

"15."

"I remember when my daughter was in the hospital. She was not that much older than yours. I wasn't there for her much when she was growing up, and after her illness, I wanted so badly to be by her side."

"I wasn't there for mine either."

"Reasons?"

"I left when she was 3, to go to college. I didn't know how to be a dad, and I was scared of not being able to take care of her. She's been living with in a foster center ever since. I think the worst thing is she doesn't even believe me when I tell her I'm her dad. " I confided. He nodded, slowly, thinking over my answer. "You should try giving her something to believe. Old home videos would be good. Solid, if you will. She'd have a hard time not believing them." He suggested. There are videos. Tapes that Lynnea wanted to make just to keep record and to look back on.

His wife waited impatiently for him to return to her side. He excused himself, and wished me a, "Good day, son. And good luck." I smiled as I watched him leave and stumble into the hospital.
I looked at my hands. I had been clutching my cell phone so tight, that my knuckles had turned white and shaky.

...

I decided that she should be here. In the hospital for her daughter. I checked in at the Plaza, asking for a Lynnea Du Pont. The manager had said she was having lunch in the restaurant. Sure enough she was. The concierge pointed out her table and I walked in the 5-star restaurant wearing paint-smeared jeans and a Iron Maiden t-shirt. Today was supposed to be 'work on my art day' until all this happened.

Lynnea was aware of my presence the moment I sat down across from her. "What the hell are you wearing?" She asked eying my shirt. "Never mind that." I told her. "Gerard this is a 5-star restaurant, you can't just walk in wearing anything." She sent. I rolled my eyes. "You know, I don't remember you being this condescending." She narrowed her eyes. "What are you hear for anyways?" She asked. "Monet's in the hospital." I said. She nodded. "And..."

I leaned back. "'And...' Aren't you at all worried about her? I am. She's having surgery done on her vocals." Lynnea shook her head like she didn't know what I was trying to get at. "And...that's my problem how?" She asked. My mouth dropped. "Fucking God! You're her mother for Christ sakes." I said. She gently folded her menu and leaned back a little in her chair. "I'm Sorry, I can't help you. I did what I came here to do and I'm leaving tomorrow."

"She still doesn't believe us."

"That's not my fault. Maybe if you had been around more."

"You're so not blaming this on me."

"Take it how ever you will, but I can't stay here any longer."

I could tell that her mind was made up. I pushed myself back out of the chair, crumpling up the table cloth and scattering forks and spoons. "Fine. Leave. I don't care, but Monet might. Maybe you should visit her once before you leave. Think of her for once in your life." I sent and left.

I couldn't believe how much she had changed.