Chronically Metropolitan

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1

"I whispered, 'I'm too young, '

"And then 'I am old enough.'

"Wherefore I threw a brown penny

to find out if I might love."

Who is that?

That is Yeats.

Who the f*** is Yeats?

Oh, just a minor Irish poet.

Whoever the f*** that is.

Your ignorance is so infectious.

Oh, wait a minute.

Oh, my dear Lord.

Oh, Hannah, my love, well done.

Keep going.

I want to hear the rest of it.

"Love is the wicked thing."

"There is no one wise

enough to find it out.

"For he would be

thinking of love

"Till the stars had

run from the sky."

Disgusting.

Hot as balls.

Here, you want some of this?

Well, I'll try anything twice.

Here you go.

Keep the change.

Thank you, sir.

Welcome.

Fenton Dillane, my man!

Irving, how are you?

Good.

How's the family?

Baby Lou?

Oh!

Baby Lou ain't a baby no more.

She's a three-year-old

wrecking ball.

That Cali sun got you soft.

It's not that sunny in San Francisco.

No?

Don't tell me

you're a Nets fan now.

Come on, man, Knicks for life.

I gotta give Phil

some time to build.

Man, it's really great

seeing you.

Hey, man, good seeing you, too.

Don't be away so long, okay?

I got it from here.

You sure?

Yeah.

Yeah.

It's very pungent.

That means it's good.

That'll be the usual.

How much do you have?

How much you need?

Week's worth?

Mom?

All right.

Fenton.

This is a surprise.

Um... Wasn't expecting...

You're home!

Yeah, new me.

What's up, buddy?

John.

Thank you, John.

Didn't think I wanted to

be home for the latest?

I wasn't, uh, sure.

Oh, shoot.

The sea bass.

Um, if someone's near the

oven, would you shut it off?

What's good, man?

Things good in San Fran?

I haven't seen you

in what, a year?

Yeah, I guess.

Yeah.

Were you just selling

my mom weed?

Oh, strictly at cost.

She smokes weed?

Oh, yeah.

No. Not a lot.

Sometimes.

Uh, listen, The Georgian's having

people over tomorrow night.

Good ol' Georgian party.

Yeah.

Fenton, come

say hi to your sister.

And there's someone

I want you to meet.

Be right there.

Well, well, well.

Layla.

Welcome home, brother.

Fenton, this is my friend Ahmed.

Nice to meet you.

Uh, okay.Hello.

Layla, would you be a dear and,

um, open another bottle of wine?

Mmm-mmm. Oh, yeah.

I'm on it.

Layla, let me give you

a hand with that.

I can...

What is going on?

What?

I mean, who is he?

He's a friend of Mom's.

They met at a Studies of the

Far East Group at the Met.

And so, what?

They go to museums,

they look at ceramics

from the Khyber Pass?

If his presence is

so offensive to you,

just give notice the next

time you feel like visiting.

Wow. Are they, like...

F***ing?

Jesus, Layla.

I hope so.

But Mom's not Dad,

so I wouldn't count on it.

It's big of you

to come home for this.

Back for what?

You tell me.

What, back for Dad?

I wrote something I'm not

sure I wanna publish.

What's going on, Fenton?

It doesn't work like that.

You don't get to leave

the way you did,

and then come back and expect

everything to be okay.

Because you just left,

for a long time!

Yeah, you would too, if every New

York a**hole with a blog or a column

was comparing you to bags of

douche or Alec f***ing Baldwin.

They were just reacting

to the what, Fenton.

Not the who.

Mmm.

If you ever leave

like that again,

I'm gonna kill you.

Seriously, I'm gonna kill you.

Okay.

Never again.

Promise.

Layla, what are you,

uh, studying in college?

Um, uh...

Lots of stuff.

It's really just a

four-year delay to my unemployment.

Layla, are you still dating that

guy with the, uh, red hair?

What was his name? Dick?

He had braces, yeah?

And a mullet? Mullet.

F*** both of you.

And who are you

dating right now?

I came back for Jessie.

Fenton.

Why don't we smoke some of

this lovely purple marijuana

that you brought, John?

Mom.

What?

You walked in on the deal.

Let me see this.

Mmm!

Regardless, you could

take pride in the fact

that this is some

excellent sh*t.

Thanks.

I'll get it.

Hello? Hello, I'm

from The Journal...

Really? Would you be

able to call me?

We're eating dinner,

you cocksucker!

Which cocksucker was that?

It's another one

of those reporters asking

if I had anything to say

about my father.

Happy you're back.

Ma, are you, uh...

You Okay?

Me? I'm fine.

Oh, you mean the marijuana.

It helps me relax.

Um...

Well, I wasn't

talking about that.

Oh.

No, I just...

You know, about Dad.

Him?

It'll be fine.

I was gonna go see him tomorrow.

Mmm. That's what

you're back for.

Yeah, sure.

You know, for Pop.

I'm working on something

and could use his advice.

It's good to have you home.

You look thin.

So far, Fenton, these chapters...

Wow!

I mean, they're hilarious.

I loved your story.

The birthday party.

Really?

You know it forced me

into exile.

I'm serious.

And this novel picks up

right where that left off.

I feel like we know these people.

That they exist.

And after the reception of the

story, it's totally marketable.

Because we do it like

one of those memoirs,

where we're not sure if what we're

reading really happened or not.

But, James, this is fiction.

Of course it is.

Now, when do you think

you'll be finished?

You're home!

Ah!

Look at this.

Front page.

Of course, the turds weren't interested

when I won my National Book Award, but...

Was that girl

that was just here...

She from the car crash?

Oh, yeah.

She's an excellent writer.

Well, this should be a lesson

for you and your sister.

Always wear seat belts.

If I hadn't been

wearing a seat belt,

you'd be standing over

a headstone right now.

Why didn't you just

leave Mom years ago?

I can't leave your mother.

She understands me.

This is humiliating.

Oh, I know.

For all of us.

Oh, you don't know

the half of it.

Well, then again, maybe you do.

This does contradict

your public image.

Yeah, not only that,

the other girl's parents are

suing me and the university.

All these young girls

throwing themselves at me,

you'd think your mother

would understand.

Keep it in your pants, Dad.

Don't blame Mom...

No, no, no.

I'm not blaming her.

I'm just saying

it's not all my fault.

What the...

Are you writing?

Yeah, I wanted to talk to you

about this publishing...

By the way, those bastards were just

waiting to tear apart your story.

They had it out for you.

They wanted to tear your story

apart right from the beginning.

It's just the way it is.

Sons of b*tches.

Anyway, I'm glad you made

it down here for this.

You've been off the radar

for quite a long time.

I look good here.

That's a damn good

picture of me.

I saw Dad today.

You know, if we had any sense,

we'd just leave him there to rot.

Have you seen Dad cry?

No. That's so random.

Why?

I don't know.

Just thinking.

Well, you shouldn't.

You already know

he's a f***ing prick.

Enough.

Whatever.

I'm going to

The Georgian's tonight.

You are?

Yeah. He's having a party.

Why don't you come?

I thought you hated him.

I do.

What?

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