I walk into the kitchen and open a beer. By the time my wife and kids return from a trip to the zoo, I’m thoroughly drunk.“Go to your room, girls....I need to talk to your father.” Uh-oh. Whenever she refers to me as their ‘father,’ I know she’s mad.“Awe, come-on, babe,” I slur, trying to turn her mood around. “Why don’t we lock the door, and have a repeat of yesterday afternoon?”“Because you’re drunk,” she scolds me. “What happened to you? It isn’t like you to get drunk in the middle of the. I raised my glass toKevin's picture."Cheers, my darling!" I said, then threw back the whisky,wincing as it seared my throat.I walked over to the French windows and stared out into at thedriveway, where my BMW was parked on the drive, and out overthe garden where Max, our gardener was tending the manicuredlawns of the half-acre of land our neo-Georgian manor housestood in. It took both mine and Kevin's salaries to afford it,the lavish salaries of a TV star and his high-flying corporatelawyer. More

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