The Longest Week Page #2

in St Barts thinks it's fashionable

I get the swift kick.

Swift kick? I thought

you broke it off with her.

I did, but still...

So Henri over at the gallery

set me up on a date last week.

That bad?

You can always tell

what somebody thinks of you

by who they set you up with.

Is it wrong to be aroused

by a bunch of 17-year-old girls

running around with knee-high socks

and polyester shorts?

Well, I guess that's a decision every

man has to make for himself.

But yes. Obviously, yes.

Conrad needs a girlfriend.

No, no, no, we don't

need girlfriends.

This is not the time

for girlfriends.

This is the time for us

to read and to write

and to have deviant

fetishistic sex with prostitutes.

Please! This from

a serial monogamist.

You've never even

been with a prostitute.

I understand that.

If you'll indulge me,

I'm going through a rough break-up.

I need to have certain reassurances

about the prospect of bachelorhood.

Look alive, look alive.

You need a new goalie?

Don't make eye contact.

Hey, mister,

give us back our ball!

Interaction is inappropriate.

I can play!

No, you cannot.

We should move.

They're like little veal.

So I met a woman

a couple of weeks ago.

I don't know. I can't

get her out of my head.

What happened to "the prospects

of bachelorhood"?

I know.

I just find it

completely, overwhelmingly

tedious and unnerving.

So tell me about the girl.

What are the details?

Well, she's like

an ingnue in a Chekhov play.

You know, one of those overly

romantic, virtuous types,

completely self-inhibited,

doesn't drink,

didn't have sex until she was 21

and read the bulk

of the Victorian classics.

Jesus! Sounds like a real keeper.

She is. She really is.

I'm in way over my head.

Is she attractive?

She's a model.

If I ever lost my fortune

and was completely disinherited,

could you ever see me

as a struggling bohemian artist type?

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

That reminds me

do you want to come with me

to the cocktail benefit

at the Woodruff Modern tonight?

Nope.

Come on!

You know I don't like those things.

It'll be fun. You can...

Probably not.

Then you can meet the ingnue.

Is it a date?

Not exactly.

We do this thing where

we don't really go out together.

We just call each other

to make sure the other's

gonna be at a certain place

at a preordained time and...

Adorable.

...we just happen to

bump into one another.

It's... less pressure.

So do you wanna come

to the cocktail party?

Well, I'll need a cocktail first.

Are you wearing perfume?

No, it's a new cologne

that I'm wearing for my date.

Why? What do you think?

Well, I think it smells like perfume.

No.

The woman at Bergdorfs

told me that it's unisex.

And you wanted to smell

sexually ambiguous?

Good evening, and welcome

to this evening's benefit.

I must say I am more than thrilled

to see so many familiar faces.

Enjoy the complimentary

hors d'oeuvres and champagne

and, remember, make a donation!

Cheers.

This is Beatrice Fairbanks.

Beatrice had attended

a rather strict etiquette school

on a biweekly basis.

In doing so, Beatrice

had been quietly instilled

with a certain Victorian idolatry,

a paragon of virtue.

Beatrice had been

forced at a young age

to learn the works of Bach, Chopin

and other masters

of classical music,

though secretly she had

always wanted to play jazz.

Oddly, Beatrice had opted

to become an editorial model...

C'est bon, c'est bon.

It's OK, it's OK.

...an occupation that only

heightened her insecurities.

Beatrice was a finn believer

in mystics, psychics and the occult,

which ran counter

to the debutante norm

which favoured

incessant psychoanalysis.

What does it mean?

So, what do you think of my cologne?

That's you!

You probably didn't get a good...

It's a little feminine.

The woman at Bergdorfs

told me it was unisex.

Hi. She was clearly lying.

He smells pretty, doesn't he?

Um, Beatrice,

this is my 'friend' Conrad.

Conrad, Beatrice.

We've met.

Just briefly.

On the subway.

Subway?

I gave him my, um...

Scarf.

She gave me her scarf. It was cold.

I'm gonna need that back from you.

OK. I'll give it to you.

I can get it from you...

to give to her.

- I'm gonna... I think I see foie gras.

- Yep.

- Want some? Duck?

- No.

Take your time.

He's... That's so nice of you.

Obviously I've got

a target on my back.

I didn't even know it.

I didn't even know it.

And listen to this.

My mistress says

she doesn't want to have sex

because she's afraid

she'll get pregnant.

I told her at the rate

we have intercourse

the only way that's going to happen is

from immaculate conception.

Didn't you say she was on the pill?

Yeah, yeah, she is,

but she says she's afraid of the 1%

and, besides, she wants to get off, it

gives her mood swings.

Awful. Just awful.

You already have a wife that

doesn't want to sleep with you.

Touch.

Honey, have you met, um...

Don't you find that the...

...the virtuous ideals

of the Victorian authors

are somewhat unrealistic

and sentimental?

No, not at all.

And as the century went on,

the scope of the genre

became far more complex.

You do realise that the moniker

of 'Victorian literature'

ranges from the Bront sisters

to Kipling?

Yes.

Have you ever actually

read any of their books?

No, but I'm...

...I'm heavily considering it.

She wouldn't have left. She...

she asked me to say goodbye, so...

There she is.

Hey.

Hi.

So where... where you heading now?

I have to go to bed.

I have work in the morning.

Yeah, me too. I'm gonna...

So what are you

working on these days?

Nothing in particular.

I'm open to ideas.

You sound very ambitious.

Actually, I am in

the gathering stages of a novel.

It is to be one of the great

New York novels

in the tradition

of Fitzgerald, Edith Wharton.

You've been in the gathering stages

for over a decade.

Well, all good things take time.

I rushed my first novel.

I don't want to suffer

the same pitfalls

as my predecessors

with my sophomore effort.

"Rushed"? I don't think

you finished your first novel.

And I'm pretty sure it can't

qualify as a sophomore effort

if you don't finish your first book.

You finish...

Nonetheless, everybody knows

that there are certain pitfalls

associated with a sophomore effort

that I simply want to avoid.

Period.

Avoid it by not doing it.

Dylan!

Well... goodnight.

Goodnight.

Don't you try anything.

I won't.

Don't try anything.

I won't.

Don't.

I...

Nearly 30 minutes had passed

and Beatrice could still feel

a rush from Conrad's flirtation.

Don't try anything.

I won't.

Not this one.

Dylan...

...I won't.

Don't try anything.

I won't!

The two friends' competitive nature,

which had spanned

nearly three decades,

stemmed from the simple fact

that each not only envied the other,

but wanted secretly to be the other.

Neither one ever spoke of this.

You know just 'cause

you're almost 40

and still getting a weekly

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