off without so much as a hint of where he was going, leaving Patrick alone with Jenna. Both keeping their thoughts to themselves, and Patrick didn’t mind the chance it presented.
It’s a hot and cold running kind of life
, Patrick’s angels consoled him.
Every day, something new.
And in that spirit, Jenna surprised him as the first to open talks to the inevitable.
“I guess maybe it’s just the fascination that has me rightnow,” Jenna said. She was sitting behind Patrick and to his right. Her voice sounded deep and boundless in the thick heat. “I like psychology. The acting, cheerleading, all that nonsense, it’s always been extracurricular, and I’ve never really liked it, you know?”
Patrick nodded.
“I’ve always tried to see it as an experiment. I guess that’s what I’ve told myself. Just like what I’ve told myself for most of today…. You ever read
The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat
?”
“No.”
“Hmm.”
“It was the pool,” Patrick told her. He rubbed the glass over his brow. Set it down, and spread the water over the rest of his face. “It was just … how did he play that well? It’s not the things he’s forgotten, it’s all the things he can suddenly
do.
Smoking, drinking. Kelly doesn’t
drink.
Never has. How is it he suddenly starts, and how is it that when he does, he handles it like a full-blown alcoholic? Give a nondrinker two beers and they’re already slurring their words. Give Kelly a six-pack and
he’s
soberly quoting Shakespeare to the principal.”
“ ‘Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know,’ ” Jenna recalled. She dragged her chair around the table, over to where Patrick was sitting. Her cheerleading outfit had been traded for cutoffs and a thin light-blue T-shirt. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “That’s from
The Comedy of Errors
.”
“I know.”
“I was in that last year, over at the Playhouse.”
“That’s how I recognized the line.”
“I thought you guys …” Jenna sat up, pleasantly surprised. “Kelly had practice and a game that weekend.”
“Eh.” Patrick waved his hand in the air, trying to paddle past the subject. “I snuck away, managed to catch the opening.”
“You should’ve told me. Come up afterward, something like that.”
“I wasn’t with Kelly, so …” Patrick left it at that, hustled back to his original point. “So what do you think? About Kelly, how does that
happen
to someone?”
“It is possible,” Jenna said. “You’ve heard of Andy Kaufman, right?”
“Comedian, they made a movie about him. Jim Carrey, right?”
“Well, as far as
comedian
, yes and no … He was more of a performance artist.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means he liked to fuck with people.”
Patrick smiled nervously. “OK.”
“Maybe that’s a bad introduction, though. Andy Kaufman was a gentle soul. He was caring, soft-spoken, he never swore. He was a vegetarian, practiced Zen Buddhism. Didn’t smoke, didn’t
drink.
He slept around a lot, but come Christmas Eve, you’d never be able to find him because he would be busy going through a list of every woman he ever slept with, calling them up, and, in all sincerity, wishing them a merry Christmas.”
Patrick couldn’t help but be charmed. “Cool.”
“Then there was Tony Clifton.”
“Who’s Tony Clifton?”
“Tony Clifton was a character Andy Kaufman created. Tony was a Vegas lounge singer, the world’s worst performer. He was crass, couldn’t sing, made tasteless jokes, and generally left his audience feeling worse than when they came in. Andy would put on this ridiculous pink tuxedo. He’d put on a fake nose, mustache, hideous wig, and dark sunglasses. And he’d become Tony Clifton. Nobody ever saw him put on the outfit, nobody ever saw him take it off. Andy always insisted that Tony Clifton was another person entirely, and he played it to the hilt. Anytime Andy went on the town as Tony Clifton, he’d swear, treat people like
It’s a hot and cold running kind of life
, Patrick’s angels consoled him.
Every day, something new.
And in that spirit, Jenna surprised him as the first to open talks to the inevitable.
“I guess maybe it’s just the fascination that has me rightnow,” Jenna said. She was sitting behind Patrick and to his right. Her voice sounded deep and boundless in the thick heat. “I like psychology. The acting, cheerleading, all that nonsense, it’s always been extracurricular, and I’ve never really liked it, you know?”
Patrick nodded.
“I’ve always tried to see it as an experiment. I guess that’s what I’ve told myself. Just like what I’ve told myself for most of today…. You ever read
The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat
?”
“No.”
“Hmm.”
“It was the pool,” Patrick told her. He rubbed the glass over his brow. Set it down, and spread the water over the rest of his face. “It was just … how did he play that well? It’s not the things he’s forgotten, it’s all the things he can suddenly
do.
Smoking, drinking. Kelly doesn’t
drink.
Never has. How is it he suddenly starts, and how is it that when he does, he handles it like a full-blown alcoholic? Give a nondrinker two beers and they’re already slurring their words. Give Kelly a six-pack and
he’s
soberly quoting Shakespeare to the principal.”
“ ‘Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know,’ ” Jenna recalled. She dragged her chair around the table, over to where Patrick was sitting. Her cheerleading outfit had been traded for cutoffs and a thin light-blue T-shirt. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “That’s from
The Comedy of Errors
.”
“I know.”
“I was in that last year, over at the Playhouse.”
“That’s how I recognized the line.”
“I thought you guys …” Jenna sat up, pleasantly surprised. “Kelly had practice and a game that weekend.”
“Eh.” Patrick waved his hand in the air, trying to paddle past the subject. “I snuck away, managed to catch the opening.”
“You should’ve told me. Come up afterward, something like that.”
“I wasn’t with Kelly, so …” Patrick left it at that, hustled back to his original point. “So what do you think? About Kelly, how does that
happen
to someone?”
“It is possible,” Jenna said. “You’ve heard of Andy Kaufman, right?”
“Comedian, they made a movie about him. Jim Carrey, right?”
“Well, as far as
comedian
, yes and no … He was more of a performance artist.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means he liked to fuck with people.”
Patrick smiled nervously. “OK.”
“Maybe that’s a bad introduction, though. Andy Kaufman was a gentle soul. He was caring, soft-spoken, he never swore. He was a vegetarian, practiced Zen Buddhism. Didn’t smoke, didn’t
drink.
He slept around a lot, but come Christmas Eve, you’d never be able to find him because he would be busy going through a list of every woman he ever slept with, calling them up, and, in all sincerity, wishing them a merry Christmas.”
Patrick couldn’t help but be charmed. “Cool.”
“Then there was Tony Clifton.”
“Who’s Tony Clifton?”
“Tony Clifton was a character Andy Kaufman created. Tony was a Vegas lounge singer, the world’s worst performer. He was crass, couldn’t sing, made tasteless jokes, and generally left his audience feeling worse than when they came in. Andy would put on this ridiculous pink tuxedo. He’d put on a fake nose, mustache, hideous wig, and dark sunglasses. And he’d become Tony Clifton. Nobody ever saw him put on the outfit, nobody ever saw him take it off. Andy always insisted that Tony Clifton was another person entirely, and he played it to the hilt. Anytime Andy went on the town as Tony Clifton, he’d swear, treat people like
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