‘Richard Onyango, everybody,’ said Kenneth, ‘and prints of his paintings will be for sale in the lobby at the Heron Court Hotel tomorrow afternoon, and Richard will be there to sign them, too. Another round of applause for Richard,’ said Kenneth.
‘That was very strange,’ I said to Boris.
‘Yes, indeed, very strange,’ he said.
‘But the paintings are strangely sublime.’
‘Amazing,’ said Boris. ‘I just don’t think anyone was expecting that at a discotheque.’
We laughed.
‘That guy might be the coolest man I’ve ever seen,’ I said.
‘Perhaps,’ said Boris. ‘He might be.’
‘If the prints aren’t overly expensive I’m going to buy a couple,’ I said.
‘Me too!’ he said.
Kenneth invited Boris and me to the VIP lounge, where a group of people were drinking and a DJ was spinning records.
‘I want to introduce you guys to my father,’ said Kenneth, and he brought us over to a handsome old gentleman sitting on a sofa with Kenneth’s sister and some others.
‘Baba,’ said Kenneth, ‘these are my friends Boris and John.’ He turned to us. ‘Guys,’ he said proudly, ‘this is my father, Ezekiel.’
We shook hands and it was clear Ezekiel’s eyesight was failing him, his corneas cloudy, his face kind. He seemed happy, handsome, purblind and smiling, his hands on his knees, his back straight, surrounded by family and friends.
Things were winding down and Billy Ocean’s ‘Get Outta My Dreams, Get into My Car’ played and Stanley sang along, dancing, and we all laughed. His sister Sharon popped her shoulders along to the song, smiling, and I was happy, too.
A bunch of people were heading to a club called Florida 2000, but I’d had enough to drink and was beat. Boris and I got on one of the shuttle buses back to the hotel.
Back in my room, I felt I was getting soft so I got down on the floor and did some push-ups and sit-ups. While doing some sit-ups, I heard a knock at the door and I wondered whether I was making too much noise. I opened the door and it was Melissa from North Carolina, from the bar.
‘Hey,’ she said and walked into my room.
‘Hey,’ I said. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I thought maybe you want to hang out,’ she said, pressing up against me. And she kissed me. And I kissed her back.
‘What do you think your girlfriend would say?’ she said. ‘What would Stacey say?’ she whispered in my ear.
‘All right, sorry,’ I said. ‘You have to go.’ And I opened the door to the room. She walked out. ‘Goodnight,’ I said. ‘And thanks for stopping by.’
‘Goodnight,’ she said and smiled, a bit devilishly, though also warmly, so I smiled back.