so. Art and Commerce, at opposite ends of the hall.”
“They’re not as crass as all that, Mom. Maybe Dave is, but Suri wants more. You read the first draft of his script.”
“How about your script?”
“I gave it to him. He promised to read it. Once we’re done with this project.” I watched my mother run her hand along the closed lid of the piano. “It’s got to seem like a terrible waste,” I said, “me giving up on music after all those years. The money you spent on lessons. Not to mention the four years of college tuition.”
“If this is about Mrs. Brody’s daughter, forget I mentioned it. And forget money. You’re looking for something. I get it, honey. I do. It’s not music, and that’s fine. You’ll find it. Whatever it is. Whatever end of the hall it’s on.”
The realtors wanted nothing to do with me. My income did not meet most landlords’ minimum requirements, and my credit history revealed a long and contentious battle with my college lenders to collect monthly payments.
“What am I going to do now?” I was at Viktoria’s, in her kitchen preparing a dinner omelet while her dog snuffled at my crotch.
“You could stay here with me and Sammy. We’d love that, wouldn’t we? Oh, wouldn’t we? He could be our little slave, cooking and cleaning for us while we went about our business.” It actually didn’t sound bad at all.
I took the potatoes out of the oven, which I’d tossed with a little oil and rosemary and set up on a high rack to broil under some aluminum foil. I divided these on the plates with the eggs, which I set down on her rickety Ikea table. Viktoria opened the gate and let the puppy roam. “I think he can be trusted by now.”
I shook some ketchup into a small dish and set it between us for dipping our potatoes. I demonstrated.
She clapped. “Yay, like normal people!” She forked a potato and blew on it. “You really should be proud of yourself,” she said after a few bites. “I usually don’t eat, but this smells so good. My parents would be shocked.” Despite this claim, she only made it through a quarter of the omelet. Most of her potatoes remained untouched. It occurs to me now that on top of her other troubles, she might have been anorexic as well. I had no experience with this, as all the women in my life were good eaters. She was very thin, her hips narrow, her breasts the buds of a prepubescent girl. Her stunning beauty was not a voluptuous one but rather the angular, androgynous beauty of a runway model. Thin limbs that extended out to her very fingertips. Clumsy, but the clumsy of a swan on dry land, of Annie Hall. It wasn’t her breasts you noticed or her rear end. Itwas the graceful hollows, the scoop of her clavicle, the dimpled backs of her knees.
Viktoria lit a cigarette and dropped the match onto her plate, where it sizzled. I cleared and upon returning was struck by the distinct stench of dog shit. Viktoria smelled it, too. We followed it to its source.
On the little entryway rug, Sammy had left a wet-looking pile.
“Oh you stupid fuck!” Viktoria screamed at Sammy, who sat shivering on the bed.
5
NOVEL
A RTHUR AND PENELOPE HAD BEEN expecting me. “Here,” Arthur said, handing me a stack of paper held together with a binder clip. “Tell me what to do with this.”
“Him? You’re giving it to him? What does he have to do with this?” Penelope was holding a glass of white wine. She said, “Put that down and let me get you something to drink. It’s good cheap Fumé.” She left the balcony and went into the kitchen.
Arthur said, “Don’t put it down. Don’t put it down. I’m asking him a question, Penelope. One that you don’t seem to have the nerve to answer.”
She returned with two glasses and took a sweating bottle from the dining room table and poured some wine into each. She handed one to me and one to Arthur. “I’m assuming you want.” Her right hand was swaddled in gauze. “Work related,” she said when
“They’re not as crass as all that, Mom. Maybe Dave is, but Suri wants more. You read the first draft of his script.”
“How about your script?”
“I gave it to him. He promised to read it. Once we’re done with this project.” I watched my mother run her hand along the closed lid of the piano. “It’s got to seem like a terrible waste,” I said, “me giving up on music after all those years. The money you spent on lessons. Not to mention the four years of college tuition.”
“If this is about Mrs. Brody’s daughter, forget I mentioned it. And forget money. You’re looking for something. I get it, honey. I do. It’s not music, and that’s fine. You’ll find it. Whatever it is. Whatever end of the hall it’s on.”
The realtors wanted nothing to do with me. My income did not meet most landlords’ minimum requirements, and my credit history revealed a long and contentious battle with my college lenders to collect monthly payments.
“What am I going to do now?” I was at Viktoria’s, in her kitchen preparing a dinner omelet while her dog snuffled at my crotch.
“You could stay here with me and Sammy. We’d love that, wouldn’t we? Oh, wouldn’t we? He could be our little slave, cooking and cleaning for us while we went about our business.” It actually didn’t sound bad at all.
I took the potatoes out of the oven, which I’d tossed with a little oil and rosemary and set up on a high rack to broil under some aluminum foil. I divided these on the plates with the eggs, which I set down on her rickety Ikea table. Viktoria opened the gate and let the puppy roam. “I think he can be trusted by now.”
I shook some ketchup into a small dish and set it between us for dipping our potatoes. I demonstrated.
She clapped. “Yay, like normal people!” She forked a potato and blew on it. “You really should be proud of yourself,” she said after a few bites. “I usually don’t eat, but this smells so good. My parents would be shocked.” Despite this claim, she only made it through a quarter of the omelet. Most of her potatoes remained untouched. It occurs to me now that on top of her other troubles, she might have been anorexic as well. I had no experience with this, as all the women in my life were good eaters. She was very thin, her hips narrow, her breasts the buds of a prepubescent girl. Her stunning beauty was not a voluptuous one but rather the angular, androgynous beauty of a runway model. Thin limbs that extended out to her very fingertips. Clumsy, but the clumsy of a swan on dry land, of Annie Hall. It wasn’t her breasts you noticed or her rear end. Itwas the graceful hollows, the scoop of her clavicle, the dimpled backs of her knees.
Viktoria lit a cigarette and dropped the match onto her plate, where it sizzled. I cleared and upon returning was struck by the distinct stench of dog shit. Viktoria smelled it, too. We followed it to its source.
On the little entryway rug, Sammy had left a wet-looking pile.
“Oh you stupid fuck!” Viktoria screamed at Sammy, who sat shivering on the bed.
5
NOVEL
A RTHUR AND PENELOPE HAD BEEN expecting me. “Here,” Arthur said, handing me a stack of paper held together with a binder clip. “Tell me what to do with this.”
“Him? You’re giving it to him? What does he have to do with this?” Penelope was holding a glass of white wine. She said, “Put that down and let me get you something to drink. It’s good cheap Fumé.” She left the balcony and went into the kitchen.
Arthur said, “Don’t put it down. Don’t put it down. I’m asking him a question, Penelope. One that you don’t seem to have the nerve to answer.”
She returned with two glasses and took a sweating bottle from the dining room table and poured some wine into each. She handed one to me and one to Arthur. “I’m assuming you want.” Her right hand was swaddled in gauze. “Work related,” she said when
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