The Only Living Boy in New York Page #4

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You attack all the senses.

You went a little aggressive

on your signature scent,

strong on the vanilla.

You mentioned a boyfriend,

then complained of a bad date.

You confuse him,

make him wonder.

The sex.

Ooh, the sex.

The sex surprised you both.

He was just walking you home

after dinner.

I mean, Jesus, you're not

the other woman,

he's not a cheating husband.

"No, this isn't something

that we did, that is something

that happened to us."

But what? Could it be love?

Well, nobody wants

to acknowledge that

so soon in the game,

but the stars are crossed

and people

are gonna get hurt and...

"We've done a bad,

bad thing, Ethan,"

so, f***, it must be, right?

All of it was just bullshit...

calculated and manipulated...

from that first lie

about your bad dreams.

'Cause I'm-I'm...

I'm pretty sure...

That you sleep like a baby.

You are quite the storytell...

Where have you been?

Bathroom. Drank too much.

I have to

interrupt now, because, uh...

I have to go home.

I'm uncle buster.

- Let's get out of here.

- I'm Casey's father's brother.

They haven't even

cut the cake.

F*** the cake. Let's go.

What?

- Come on.

- Walter's not here

- because...

- You smell like vanilla.

He's doing two to five.

It's no secret.

As you all know,

two to five for doing

the right thing,

for believing in the poetry

of the constitution.

I have only a few thoughts.

Drama.

The dramatics

of marital romance,

staying together.

Like the gypsy told me,

the poems

written in life lines

are never guaranteed.

They get busted up.

Tomorrow begins new poetry.

Another romance that will

explode from time to time.

Poetry of married people

like the Aurora borealis.

Strewn like stars in the sky,

and the drama

of your lives begins.

Chapter after chapter.

Stories.

Books.

Revolutions, as I know,

will come.

I've seen many.

Lived through them.

They play in

the least expected places,

so get ready.

Casey understands Howard.

Howard... knows Casey.

No.

No, not yet.

There's always mystery.

You both know that.

You both know it isn't perfect.

Excitement,

trust and struggle,

and the unknown privacies

that keep us together.

Glue of struggle.

I raise my glass.

The fragile glass

we stomped on and shattered

and will forever

be putting back together,

like the puzzles

we first worked as children,

learning to be patient,

searching for what fits.

So many puzzles.

So many books in this room.

And I talk too much.

Let's dance.

So I have to go to this

career counselor.

Uh, my father

set up the appointment.

Why don't you

go into journalism?

You ran

the high school newspaper.

No, that doesn't

interest me anymore.

And you won that

advertising prize in college.

- You could do that.

- Uh, how do you know all this

about me, huh?

How do you know all this?

- I know everything.

Everything about you. -You do?

- Okay, um, yearbook committee.

- Uh-huh.

- President of the debate club.

- Yeah.

Arts editor

of the high school newspaper.

Second single

on the tennis team.

Very impressive, Thomas.

Huh.

Your father has

all your awards on his desk.

It's so awful.

Oh, that's awkward.

F*** the career counselor.

All right, here's something

you don't know.

That nobody knows.

Okay.

I wanted to write.

- Huh.

- Hmm.

I used to write all these

things when I was younger.

A bunch of letters

from my dog to, like,

the mailman and the vet.

And eventually I...

Came up with a collection

of essays called

"Mary Jane vs. Everything."

Which I was

incredibly proud of.

And, you know,

i show 'em to my dad.

What did Ethan say?

"Serviceable."

Ouch.

Yeah. "Serviceable."

That was his exact word.

Nothing special,

just serviceable.

He seemed pretty angry

after reading them, though.

Well, I want to read them.

- You do?

- Yeah.

- You can't.

- Why not?

'Cause I threw 'em out.

Oh, that's so sad.

- That's so sad and lonely.

- Mm.

That's good.

Really?

Yeah. What word

did your father use?

"Serviceable."

I disagree.

I think you've got talent.

But your father's a publisher

and I'm just some...

Strange neighbor, so you're

gonna go with serviceable, huh?

- Johanna wanted to read 'em.

- Oh, right.

But I don't know if I could...

Those visions of Johanna.

I think about her...

all the time.

Maybe it's love.

Uh...

Love is hard to determine.

Uh, people think

they're in love,

and it's something

completely different.

You know, infatuation,

the righting

of childhood wrongs,

you know, companionship. Um...

Have you ever been in love?

Yeah. Once.

Who was she?

Oh...

She was this woman I knew.

She was taken by someone else,

a dear friend.

We had a profound connection,

but she was his girl.

It was a mess.

So what did you do?

Oh, I left

the scene of the crime.

You ran away?

Uh, well, at the time,

i called it an adventure.

But hindsight turned it

into something else,

which is what hindsight

inevitably does.

Yeah, I ran away.

I'm gonna take this.

Leave you with your heart on.

With my hard-on?

Heart. Your heart on.

You know what, maybe,

in hindsight,

I'll feel guilty about Johanna,

but right now I don't.

It's not cut or dry.

Congratulations, Thomas.

Your world is

becoming contextual.

Who the f*** are you?

Hey, dad.

What's up?

Sit down.

Is everything all right?

Is mom okay?

Sit down, Thomas.

Is there anything

you want to tell me?

No.

No, nothing.

Mm-hmm. Anything I should know?

No.

Thomas...

You blew off

the career counselor.

Hmm?

I told you how hard it was

to get that appointment,

and then you just

don't show up?

- Whoosh. Gone.

- Right.

Um, um...

I should've called.

- Mm-hmm, you should've called.

- I'm sorry.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry, too.

Come work here.

Hmm? Work here.

You like to read.

I've been conflicted

about giving you a job here...

nepotism and all that

bullshit... but screw it.

You can start

under the junior editors,

you know, learn something.

- No, thank you.

- Why not?

I mean,

what's wrong with learning

- the publishing business?

- Nothing.

It's fine. It's just it's...

Serviceable.

W.F.?

I just want

to get my essays back.

Hey.

Thomas.

I was in your apartment.

You're Julian stellars.

Mm, my nom de plume.

You've had 12 books published.

You don't have

much mass appeal,

but you don't seem to mind.

Hard to find

a picture of you anywhere.

You're an alcoholic

who spends most afternoons

drinking in the Brooklyn inn.

And you're probably

the only person that I've met

that's actually, actually been

to an opium den.

- And I've been googled.

- Mm-hmm.

I didn't read it.

Your new manuscript.

Well, Thomas,

i appreciate that.

So, um...

when you said

i had talent...

It was a professional opinion.

I don't know, man. I...

You've experienced the world.

I just live here in New York.

New York is the world.

I haven't done much

with my life.

You've had sex

with your father's mistress.

I'd say that's something.

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