The Longest Week Page #7

Conrad, can we talk

about this later?

I'm in the middle of a session.

I don't care.

I'm getting worse.

Beatrice broke up with me,

and I got hit by a truck.

Look at me, I'm a mess.

Why do you think that is?

Your bad advice.

Conrad, I've been your therapist since

you were nine years old.

Indeed... I think

it's all that bad advice

that made me the bad person

I am today.

It's going to take a very long time to

recover from this.

Farewell.

Perhaps he had the wrong office.

Hypothetically speaking,

do you think someone

could have a Napoleonic complex

without being particularly short?

I don't believe so.

What would you call

this hypothetical person then?

An egoist?

Egoist.

I think I'm an egoist.

I've never told you this before,

but... you're a horrible writer.

I know.

After several years of deliberation

and public speculation,

Conrad had finally finished

his sophomore effort.

His inability to complete the novel

had simply stemmed from his lack of

understanding its central character.

Of course, the central character

was himself.

The book was published in the spring

and received mixed reviews.

"He proceeded to wave goodbye

to Abigail as if routine."

"For he was convinced

that this was not the last time"

"that they would ever see each other."

"Harold went on to keep

the empty apartment"

"as sort of a metaphor

for the void left by Abigail."

"He told no one of its existence."

Thank you.

How do you respond

to the criticism

that your novel

is inherently derivative

of the works of Fitzgerald

and Edith Wharton?

Thank you.

Mr. Valmont, I'm sorry,

but I found the book and

the central character adolescent

and his problems

grossly inconsequential

by modern social standards.

Don't you find his change at the end

slightly contrived

and, frankly, sophomoric?

I completely disagree.

I find him quite likeable

and his change rather significant.

Yes.

At a matinee performance of

"Les Caprices de Marianne",

the play which the once tightly knit

group had all seen together,

Dylan ran into Beatrice

for the first time

since her split with Conrad.

This was not a coincidence, however,

for each had mysteriously received

a ticket two days prior.

Conrad had sent the tickets

in an attempt to pay penance

for his actions the previous week.

The two then went to a small bar

in the West Village

to speak about the play.

They both enjoyed it

and had seen it with a nostalgia

for their old times together.

They made love that night

and have been together ever since.

Dylan finally read Jane Austen's

pre-Victorian classic,

"Sense and Sensibility".

He found it neither sentimental

nor unrealistic

but actually quite relatable.

Soon after their encounter

outside the Hudson Playhouse,

Beatrice gave up

her modelling exploits

and formed a jazz ensemble

with Dylan.

They achieved moderate success

and were happy.

Consequently,

they both put on 15 pounds.

Conrad and Dylan continued their weekly

conversations over squash

and, for the first time, Dylan won.

Conrad saw this as a sign of change.

Dylan, however, merely felt

a sense of satisfaction.

Conrad would go on to donate

a large portion of his wealth

to various charities

and philanthropic endeavours.

Unfortunately,

it took losing everything

for Conrad to finally appreciate

the economic stability he once had.

He wasn't going to take it

for granted this time.

I really despise the whole idea

that by being over-privileged

and well educated,

that one has to live up

to certain lofty expectations.

For one, you have to live

under the proverbial shadow

of said father and/or namesake.

Two, lofty expectations

can only lead to failure?

And three, more scientifically

and mathematically speaking,

if your parents were a great success,

I think a betting man would say

that the chances

of lightning striking twice,

especially in consecutive generations,

is very slim.

You do realise you're talking

to your chauffeur?

Touch.

After the lukewarm reception

of his second novel,

Conrad began to spend more time

in the country

to focus on the work,

for it was only there

that he felt at ease.

It appeared Conrad's allergies

to grass and clean air

had been completely psychosomatic.

He began to reflect back

on his week with Beatrice

and thought of the old adage,

"'Tis better to have loved and lost than

to have never loved at all. "

Conrad reluctantly agreed, for

he still thought of Beatrice often.

At the ripe age of 42,

Conrad Valmont

was finally growing up.

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