Mercy Page #3

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"I felt"-

"I felt as if I was reading

the diary of a young girl

in high school minus the depth."

What the f***?

- Would you stop?

Who cares?

Was it written by a woman?

- Huh?

- It was.

Written by an angry woman.

Please, stop.

Stop.

- Mercy, Mercy...

Son of a-

Mercy.

Mercy.

- What?

- I have to go.

- I thought we were-

- Thank you.

- Excuse me.

Dr. Anderbakke is gonna

be arriving in 20 minutes.

He's VIP, and I need that

to be taken care of.

- Hey, Margaret.

- Hi.

- Can I ask you

a really big favor?

- Who is it?

- Room service.

- Well, hello.

- Do me a favor, if you could,

and explain that.

- How do you mean?

- How do I mean?

Well, you didn't tell me

you were a critic.

- I told you I was a writer.

- But you're not a writer.

You're a critic, a critic

doing a piece on my book,

which you also failed

to mention.

- So?

- So you lied.

- I didn't lie.

I just avoided

telling you something.

- Well, that's the same thing.

- Well, I disagree.

- You wrote this

because I hit on you,

and you thought

I was repulsive.

- Uh, wrong again.

- Well, then explain.

- I didn't think

you were repulsive.

- Then why the bashing?

- Because I didn't like

the book.

- No, I don't buy it.

I propositioned you.

You felt disrespected,

and then you wrote this,

this filth.

- Well, for your information,

when I met you,

I'd already handed in my review.

And I didn't lie.

I just avoided

telling you what I did

and what I had done

for obvious reasons.

- Fine.

- Didn't like the book.

- Fine.

- Nothing personal.

- Great.

- I'm sure you'll be fine.

Mercy, huh?

- Mm-hmm.

- You know what?

You call yourself a writer,

right?

Then you stand to be judged

like the rest of us.

Am I right?

- I suppose so.

- Then I would like

to criticize you.

- Well, I think you've done that

already.

- No, no, no, in depth.

- Oh.

- Yeah, I would like

to discuss with you my book.

- Hmm.

Okay.

- Okay?

- Yeah.

Okay.

- Available any time

this evening?

- I could be.

- Is this a date?

- A date?

No.

No.

- Fine.

- Wait a-

Sh*t.

- I mean, all weekend long,

I'm sitting in my room,

curled up in a little ball,

praying to God

that she would just call

and say, "I'm sorry"

and that everything's

gonna be all right.

Then all of a sudden,

my prayers are answered.

She calls and does just that.

Now what?

I'm supposed to just pretend

like I don't give a f***?

Tell her I can't speak to her?

Something's just wrong

about that.

You know, it's, like,

sacrilegious or something.

It's like

I'd be f***ing with God.

I mean,

I ask him for something,

and then when he gives it to me,

I turn it down.

It's like smacking God

in the face.

You can't smack God in the face.

I don't even know why,

and I know I shouldn't,

but I trust her.

For some reason or another, man,

I believed her.

I don't know what it's like

to shoot dope or anything,

but that's what it felt like.

The sweat dried up.

The pain went away.

It's like I could feel her.

You know,

her voice through the phone

was like this intravenous

injection of some medicine

that made my bones work again.

I mean, they weren't working.

You know,

I woke up the other day,

fell on my face.

You know, 20-something years

of a task that seemed so simple,

out the window.

One foot in front of the other

became, like,

this f***ed-up Rubik's Cube,

and there I am,

facedown on my hardwood floor

trying to figure it out.

I just don't want to look back

on my life with regret.

I don't want to be stubborn

and then

at the end of the day

feel like

I should have done the thing

that I felt like doing

in the first place,

but my pride or ego

got in the way.

Then what?

It's too late,

she's gone,

and guess what, man?

It's your own stupid fault.

But at least I have my pride?

F*** that.

Pride's overrated,

and pain's a son of a b*tch.

I think

I really love this girl,

and I think

she might be the one.

I mean, people make mistakes.

- Excuse me for a second.

What the hell's

the matter with you?

- What do you mean?

- Where are you at?

- I'm just thinking.

- Well, please, share.

- Hello?

- No disrespect, Erik.

I clearly know

what it is you're thinking.

- Do you guys think

I have depth?

- Sure, you got depth.

What does that mean?

- I went on a date last night.

- Really?

- It didn't start as a date,

but then it turned into a date.

Really, really beautiful woman.

She's a critic, and she, uh-

she hated my book.

- Mm, f*** her.

- Well, yeah, but she made

some interesting points,

something about life experience

and how it lacked truth.

"Love without love," she said.

It's funny, you know,

usually when women speak,

I can only hear the teacher

from Peanuts.

But with her, I just-

I don't know.

I heard her and listened to her

for hours and hours.

We talked about other stuff,

not just the book.

- Okay, I'm going home.

- Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

Wait a minute.

Listen to me for a second,

okay?

Listen, Erik, you can talk

till you're blue in the face,

and there's nothing

he or I can say

that's gonna influence you

even a little bit.

So stop it.

You know what you're gonna do

at the end of the day,

so just shut up and do it.

You really think

you love this girl?

Then what the f***?

Give it another shot.

Did I just say that?

It's not gonna work.

She's a woman.

You're a man.

F*** her.

Don't ever call her ever again.

That better?

- When you gonna see this girl

again?

- Don't laugh at me, or I'm

gonna take that rose back.

- You wouldn't.

Thank you.

- Get you a drink.

What do you want?

- Uh, you're kidding, right?

- I'm not trying

to get you drunk

and sleep with you.

We're gonna watch

The Outsiders,

'cause it's a sin

you've never seen it,

and then I'm gonna take you

back to the hotel.

I swear to God.

What?

You've lived here

for five years.

- Oh, um, simplicity.

- Oh.

Simplicity.

I see.

Is that what it is?

Well, I think you need to

complicate things immediately.

It's so cold in here.

- Cold? You want heat?

I got heat.

- Oh, no, not temperature cold.

I mean empty cold.

I mean, it's such a cute place,

but you could really do

with some color.

You know, some life,

some things.

I'm sorry.

Am I offending you?

- No.

Drink?

- Yeah, water's great.

Thanks.

Is that even a real stove?

I mean, each to their own

and everything,

but how do you live?

- Well, um, I eat out a lot.

And I stay at hotels

a lot of the time,

and I have really bad taste

in furniture.

- Oh.

I see.

That's cute.

- Have a seat.

- Well, I think you have

a wonderful place.

- Thank you.

Thank you very much.

My purse.

- You okay?

Your purse?

- You all right?

- Yeah.

Sorry.

- Don't be sorry.

You all right?

Yeah.

I'm severely asthmatic.

Bad air, too much exercise.

Anxiety.

And sometimes

they just come out of nowhere,

which is great.

That's the cutest thing

I've ever seen in my life.

No, I'm sorry,

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