The Longest Week Page #3

allowance from your parents

doesn't mean you can just do nothing

for the rest of your life.

First of all, I'm writing

a novel, as you well know.

Secondly, your statement

is completely subjective

and lacking any substantive facts.

You're walking down

a very dangerous road, my friend.

What road is that?

The road to Fantasy Land.

And when you take

a trip to Fantasy Land

you should always

have a return ticket.

I don't even know what that means.

At some point you're gonna have to

come to the same realisation I did.

What's that?

The rest of the world is never gonna

love you as much as your parents do.

Weren't you adopted?

I don't understand why

you're interested in this guy.

He's just another

philandering affluent type

doomed to chronic alcoholism,

perpetual adolescence

and death by syphilis.

He probably sits around all day

drinking Tom Collins

and just performing acts

of mental masturbation.

That is such an unfair generalisation.

He's not like that!

For your information,

he is writing a novel.

Aren't we all?

So I'm thinking about taking it

to the next level with Beatrice

and actually asking her

out to dinner tonight.

Bad move.

Why?

You just saw her last night.

You don't wanna crowd her

and make her think you're too eager.

Definitely wait.

How long?

I don't know, Dylan. A day at least.

Really?

Yeah, really.

Beatrice.

Yes, that's my plane.

I never understood why someone

would want to be a vegetarian.

I mean, do you really

love animals that much?

No, no, no, I just hate plants.

You eat fish, though, right?

Why?

All the vegetarians eat fish.

Well, I'm a Pisces.

What's that got to do with it?

I don't eat my own kind.

Beatrice, tell me,

what is it like being a model,

all those people staring at you?

It's like any other job innocuous

and demoralising. But it pays well.

I'm serious. Tell me about yourself.

All I know is that

you do frequent the subway

and you read Victorian

and pre-Victorian literature, right?

Come on. I wanna know...

I wanna know your fears.

I'd like to know your hopes.

I wanna know political ideologies

and sexual preference.

I don't care what order.

That's a lot of information

for a first date.

That's true.

How about you?

What is like being born with

the proverbial silver spoon?

Alright.

Well, you know,

it's like any other job.

It's innocuous and demoralising,

but pays really well.

Beatrice was different.

As their conversation continued,

the two spoke of French cinema

and classic literature.

He tried to be witty,

to make her laugh

and for a moment

she resembled a statue,

a bust of an Aphrodite that he could

only remember its gentle eyes

but not where

the statue itself had been.

Shall we go have a cigarette?

OK, yeah.

Conrad often became attached

to the idea of something

and not to the actual thing itself.

So what is your novel about?

I'm not so sure. I'm still

figuring that part out.

I want you to try this.

Why? What is it?

This is... It's a Valmont Executive.

It is my family's brand.

It's only the rarest and most exquisite

cigarette in existence.

That is pretty great, isn't it?

It sort of tastes

like any other cigarette.

What about the smell, right?

The smell?

It smells like any other too.

I mean, maybe I'm missing... something.

You don't get it.

You just don't get it.

I'm gonna take two, then.

That's good. That's healthy.

As the day wore on,

Beatrice was playing hard to get.

Conrad's pseudo-intellectual banter

was wearing thin

and so he decided

to proceed to plan B

get her drunk.

I know you don't drink, but they

make an incredible Tom Collins, OK?

How often do you come here?

Every once in a while.

Here you go, Mr. Valmont.

Lucky. Cheers.

Cheers.

It's weird how nobody

dances anymore, you know?

That's funny coming from

someone who's not dancing.

I don't dance.

You know, you're nothing

like Dylan described.

Why? What did he say?

He said you were self-inhibited

and that you didn't drink.

Well, a woman

can wear many hats.

Yeah? What does that mean?

It means a woman can be inhibited

and conservative with one man

and virtually the opposite

with another.

Boy, even socialist regimes

wait until their demise

before they admit such insincerity.

Well, I'm not a socialist regime.

I'm a woman.

You play that thing?

A little bit.

Can you play me a song?

No.

Come on. Please.

. Sorry.

Beatrice!

I'm not in the mood.

Are you gonna make me beg?

Maybe.

Come on. Please?

Just one.

Beatrice loved the way

Conrad walked into a room,

the way he waved his hands

in the air every time he heard Bach,

the way he read her excerpts

of Fitzgerald's

short fiction before bed,

the precision with which

he made a Tom Collins

and a single Windsor knot...

...his infallible wit and charm

and the way he used words

like "haberdashery".

But most importantly

Beatrice loved the way

he looked at her.

Conrad loved the way

Beatrice walked into a room,

how she laughed at his jokes

no matter how convoluted

or juvenile they seemed,

the way she bit her lip the moment

before she played the piano,

the softness of her skin,

the yellow in her eyes,

the mole on her thigh.

But most importantly,

Conrad loved to look at her.

Unfortunately, there were still

two unavoidable problems

Dylan, and that Conrad was broke,

but most importantly

that he was lying concerning both.

Have you ever noticed

that when people become happy

they pack on a few extra pounds?

What are you trying to say?

No, no, no, no.

Nothing about you, angel.

No, no. I'm just...

I'm making an observation.

Are you saying that

all fat people are happy?

Not at all. No.

I'm merely stating that there

are two categories of fat people.

There is happy fat and there is...

...just fat.

No, no, no! Please!

Just give me a little space.

I am trying to cook, you know?

It's not natural.

Hey, that water's brown.

That can't be healthy.

That's how I like it.

Really?

Yeah.

Want me to get that?

Nope.

Well, how am I supposed

to wash my hands?

There's egg all over them.

Hello. Hey, Dylan.

No, not doing anything.

Tonight?

Yeah, can you

hang on one second?

He wants to take me

to the theatre tonight

and he wants me

to bring a date for you.

I'm not that good of a liar.

I sincerely doubt that.

No, I'm sorry. We can't...

I... I can't.

You did? That's so nice of you.

OK, well, then,

I'll see you at seven.

OK, 'bye.

There's nothing I could do.

This is a bad idea.

I don't understand why

you and Dylan always have to get into

these prepubescent competitions

of which he always loses.

I resent that.

You know I make a conscious effort

to stay out of all forms

of competition with him.

Well, your track record

proves otherwise.

Well...

This girl's important.

Let me know if there's

anything I can... I can do.

Have you heard anything? I can't

get anyone to return my calls.

Rumours. Just rumours.

I don't wanna get into details,

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