Suburban Girl Page #3

passed me over for his dental hygienist.

Maybe I can cheer you up. I got tickets

to a movie premiere tonight. Any interest?

Thanks, but Archie and I are going

to the Berkshires for the weekend.

What, is he too cheap to pony up

for the Hamptons?

Archie detests the Hamptons.

He says sitting on the LIE is

suburban chemotherapy.

This is top priority.

Faye wants a reader's report by Monday.

Have a terrific weekend.

Especially you. I haven't met you.

What is your name?

It doesn't matter. I like the whole denim,

plain-Jane thing. You into pornography?

Oh! I need coffee. Stat.

(UPBEAT MUSIC PLAYING)

ARCHIE:
How's the book?

BRETT:
Almost as bad as your music.

Faye's giving me everything

she doesn't want to read.

Mafia wars, Victorian epics,

Bridget Jones knock-offs.

If I get a celebrity bio,

I'm gonna drink bleach.

Want me to make some calls?

I'm kidding.

- I'm kidding.

- You're not funny.

ARCHIE:
I think you're just jealous of my hat.

(BRETT LAUGHS)

- Hey, Arch?

- Yes, doll?

- Who were you on the phone with?

- Elizabeth.

You told me that your daughter

refuses to speak to you.

I left her a message.

That's not what I mean.

Why today, while peeing in the bathroom

at Rooster's Burgers,

did you suddenly have the urge to call her?

Because it's her birthday.

Maybe you should think

about getting her a gift.

- Already did.

- What'd you get her?

A BoysenBerry.

You know, you never told me, not exactly,

why she won't talk to you.

Bless that girl, I think she would have

forgiven me anything.

The cheating, the drinking,

even the divorce.

But there's one thing

she would never forgive me for.

And that's that I didn't fight for her love.

I ran.

I think if I had just tried to get custody,

no matter how fruitless it might have been,

everything would be different now.

Thanks for telling me, Archie.

MAN ON PA:
Number 51, your order's ready.

I'll get the food.

What's the matter, kiddo?

I think I'm having

a work-related panic attack.

You want my help?

No.

- Okay.

- Please?

ARCHIE:
These are all for Faye?

BRETT:
Mostly.

I've actually read a lot of them.

I just couldn't make a decision

if they were good or bad.

So I re-read them

and then I got more confused.

Now I can't reject anything at all.

Well, it's perfectly natural to doubt your

judgment about doubting your judgment.

Let's see what you're reading.

"They did good rowing, Dave and Michelle.

"When she was pregnant with Carl,

he'd hit her once.

"Her body always assailed him

with ambivalence,

"wanting to possess it and yet repelled.

"Her marbled belly,

her engorged breasts had shamed him

"the way they tipped him into revulsion."

(LAUGHING)

You read this whole thing?

Twice?

Including the 50-page description of

the blizzard that covered all of Dublin.

It's sh*t.

It's by a writer who wants to be

the next James Joyce.

- What if he is the next Joyce?

- He ain't.

I can't just say that. I mean, Faye wants me

to write reader's reports.

You're an associate.

Why are you writing reports?

Okay. I want you to grab a pad, Eisenberg.

I want you to take a memo

and I want you to write this verbatim.

This writer wants to be

the next James Joyce, comma,

maybe he is, comma,

but I can't get past the first chapter.

Period.

That's it?

And then what do I do

when Faye complains?

Tell her that writing reports is not

an efficient use of your time.

(WHISPERING) It's not an efficient use

of your time.

Next batter.

Secrets Will Rise by Steven Freeberg.

I'll be up all night.

Now, that is sexy.

- Come on!

- No!

ARCHIE:
There's nothing wrong

with your judgment.

CHLOE:
Alcoholic. Diabetic.

More than twice your age.

And you still are really considering

moving in with this guy?

I know, it's nuts,

but when I'm with him I feel like...

Like a better version of myself, you know?

Funnier, smarter, sexier.

So you gonna bring him home

to meet your dad?

Why not? They can talk

about retirement plans and golf.

(LAUGHS)

What if he just starts making out

with your mother?

Or has a stroke.

Just keels over in

the middle of Thanksgiving dinner?

Don't let her scare you off.

Older men are a great bet.

Assuming, of course, you can ignore

the ex-wives and bratty kids.

Did anyone ask for your opinion?

- No.

- Down.

Anyway, I have a hunch there's nothing

I can say to stop this madness.

Well, you know what they say.

"Tell a girl she can't have something..."

- "She wants it even more."

- "She wants it even more."

(ARCHIE CLEARS THROAT)

Snooping already?

Who are they?

Every woman I've seriously dated

for the last 25 years.

Collecting them all in one book?

It's a little self-congratulatory,

don't you think?

Lauren, an ex-girlfriend of mine,

put this together for me.

I can't ever imagine being secure enough

to do that.

There's a strange phenomenon here.

As you get older,

the women keep getting younger.

Oh.

That's Lauren. Right there.

- That's Lauren Hutton.

- Most certainly is.

Here's Elizabeth's mother. Here.

- Your first wife?

- Yeah. We met at Princeton.

I was a professor, faking my way

through a class on Borges.

And she came into my office one day

and said she knew that I was a fake,

but was in love with me nonetheless,

and I married her three months later.

What makes you think I want to hear

about your flock of women?

First of all, it's not a flock, it's a gaggle.

And second of all, this is my life

we're talking about here.

I see.

I got you something.

Oh, I hope it's what I want.

(BRETT CHUCKLES)

You might need these.

Oh, you're so mean.

"Thanks for letting me share your home,

XO, Brett."

XO.

The two-letter cop-out for those who are

too afraid to use the four-letter alternative.

Just open it.

Great Scott!

I've entered the 21st century!

(BLACKBERRY BUZZING)

I think it needs a Valium.

I sent you a text message.

- Click the wheel on the right twice.

- Here?

Yes.

What do I do now?

Read it.

Really?

On the stairs?

(SPEAKING JAPANESE)

- These notes are great.

- Thank you.

But the reader's reports you wrote before

were a lot more thorough.

Reports don't seem

like an efficient use of my time.

I guess notes are fine.

Now, I've just completed

my overview of Dorrie's acquisitions.

And it seems there's a book

she bought for you called Peanut Butter...

Peanut Butter Blues, by Leonard Putterman.

That's a pet project of mine.

That's quite an advance for a story

about people with arachnophobia.

Arachibutyrophobia.

- I beg your pardon?

- Arachibutyrophobia.

Arachnophobia is the fear of spiders.

Arachibutyrophobia is

the fear of peanut butter sticking

to the roof of your mouth.

(GIGGLES)

The book could strike a nerve.

Yeah.

Do yourself a favor.

Finish it up quickly and move on.

- Understood?

- Yes.

Did Archie tell you to say that?

That's what he used to tell me to say.

"Reports don't seem

like an efficient use of my time."

You going my way?

Hey, guess who called me today?

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