“Hey, Earth to you.”
I smiled at Veronica. “Sorry. Just wanted to—.”
“It’s not going to burn,” she said. She moved to me, taking my hands in hers. “Are you okay?”
“I’m better than okay,” I told her. “I think maybe that’s what scares me.”
She didn’t say anything, but I saw the confusion on her face. She just waited.
“I’m way better than okay. I’ve got a great job. I have an amazing girlfriend. I rent an awesome apartment, and I live five minutes from the most exciting city on the entire planet. I’m so terrific it’s completely ridiculous, and what more do I need? I wrote a decent book I’m proud of, and I gave it to you, but now—I could pursue it more. I could send it out again and again, but what’s the point?”
“Sharing it. Because somebody’s going to want it. You know they’re going to. They’re going to line up for it,” she told me, and there was such conviction in her eyes. God bless her, she believed in me not just at the moment it felt like no one else did but rather and perhaps importantly when it didn’t feel like there was a whole lot to believe in.
“Doesn’t mean I have to give it to them. Doesn’t mean I have to put everything I have into everything I do and constantly worry about how people are going to receive it. I don’t have to do that. I’m totally happy not doing that.”
“But you can’t just give it up.”
The world swam, then. You know those moments so big you can feel them? Not just all around you but in you? The moments that make your head feel lighter, or heavier? Or maybe if you consider a super-saturated solution in a beaker and then imagine the single grain around which solute crystallizes in a hyper-intricate lattice of shimmer and strength? That was how I felt right then, like something solidified in me, like I had tipped over. “I think I already have. I haven’t written pretty much anything in a while. I thought I needed some time to replenish the well, but I’m not sure that’s true anymore. I’m not even sure there is a well anymore. I don’t remember the last story I thought of.”
“So you want to just walk away? It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
“It’s what I always used to want. Maybe it’s time to want other things. I told you, I’m really rather happy. I’m not sad. I’m not angry or hurt or dejected. I’m actually totally okay with it.”
“So that’s really it, then? You get just one letter, and you decide no more? You get one person who says not that it’s not good but rather that she’s not sure about marketing it, and you’re done? Because really, that’s not a reason to give up. It’s a setback, but it’s a small one. Look at the kinds of things all the great ones faced. Shakespeare had a wife and kids hundreds of miles away, but he stayed where he needed to be and wrote the greatest plays ever. Beethoven started going deaf and couldn’t hear his music anymore, so you know what he did? He cut the damned legs off his piano and put it on the floor, and then he pressed his ear to the wood while he pounded the keys so he could feel the vibrations of the strings and the chords through the floorboards. You get one damned letter that says hey, sorry, you’re good but I’ve got a bunch of clients already, and you’re ready to quit?”
Part of me wanted to argue it wasn’t that easy, that it wasn’t just the one letter, that it’s letter after letter after letter from agent after editor, but I couldn’t, because the rest of me had clamped shut. The rest of me heard her mention Beethoven and Shakespeare, deafness and families, and thought of Angus Silver. I thought of walking into that surreal office, and I thought of the chance he’d offered me to be with Veronica if only I would give up writing. I had tried to cancel our appointment the morning I’d begun working for the Weinsteins, but I remembered the disconnection message—
but something stuttered there. Like a skipping record, like it wanted to think of something else, something more, but couldn’t leap over the scratch.
I worked the memory like one might work a stray something caught in a back tooth, my mental tongue fidgeting and plying and coaxing. I think maybe Veronica took my sudden, somewhat stunned silence for the beginning of agreement, though, because she said, “You can’t give up. It’s your dream. It always has been,” and finally the record cleared its throat and the memory came full and clear and terrifying, and here and now I circle back around to—
Chapter Eleven, which was skipped before
Popped the cap and reached for a tumbler before I decided against it, brought the bottle to my lips and took a long, slow pull of it. Heavy enough to be a meal on its own, and I remembered how it had affected me nearly right away, and I thought maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe that would take my mind off of . . .
Well. Everything, really.
So sweet and strong, so full and bright. I don’t know if I meant to chug it, but I wouldn’t have been able to, the bubbles tickling my throat, but the strange thing, the odd thing, was that even after I had glugged down two, maybe three swallows and pulled the bottle from my lips, it didn’t appear as though I had drained any liquid from it. It appeared freshly opened.
I drank and drank again and again, but still the liquid remained in full.
So surprised was I by this miraculous turn of events, this neverending bottle of beer, that I took out my cell to call Angus’ office. I thought they should know what they had given me.
Brigid picked it up after two rings. “Good evening. How are you?”
“How am I? I’m—,” I started to say great, but then I thought of my conversation with Veronica. I hiccupped. “I’ve seen better days, Brigid, and speaking of seeing, do you know I can see you when we talk? Very first time you picked up the phone I imagined you in my head—.”
“I’m sure that’s not uncommon. You’re a writer, after all. You must be used to an active imagination.”
“No but it was more than that. More than that. It was like—it was like I could see you. But not creepy see you, like from a hidden webcam or something. Because I’m sure you’re not under surveillance or anything.”
“You have put my mind at ease. And how may I help you this evening?”
“Help me? Help me. Oh, no, wait, I just wanted to tell you about this beer.”
“Your beer?”
“The beer you gave me. Because,” I took another long pull, then, “It’s totally awesome. I’ve been drinking it straight from the bottle—.”
“Oh dear.”
“But it never—it’s like I’m not drinking it at all.”
“But you are.”
I took another drink. “Oh, I am.”
“And how much, exactly, have you drunk?”
“I’ve no idea! Like none at all!”
“But you’ve drunk some.”
“Well, I’ve drunk some, sure. It’s good. This is good beer. Have you tried this beer? It’s really quite wonderful.”
“I have not tried that particular beer. Mainly because you are currently drinking it.”
“I’m currently enjoying it, too!”
Brigid laughed. “This I can tell.”
“But it’s good. I just talked to Veronica—do you know about Veronica? Angus knew about Veronica. Do you know about that?”
“I do not. Your business with Mr. Silver remains confidential.”
“Oh, right, okay, but Veronica is this girl I love? I mean, she’s gorgeous. So pretty. But anyway—I talked to her earlier. And after talking to her I kinda feel like maybe coming back to see you guys might be unnecessary and I wouldn’t want to waste your time.”
“I’m sure Mr. Silver would still like to discuss the matter with you. But if you spoke to this young lady earlier, perhaps it would behoove us to have you come in sooner, rather than later.”
“What, like now?”
“No time like the present after all.”
“After all,” I said, taking another sip. “Well. I mean, I live in Hoboken, so it might take me a while to get there—.”
“I’m sure it will be just fine. Can we expect to see you shortly?
”
“That’s what I mean. I’m not sure about shortly, but sure, I’m not doing anything,” I told her, and even as I said it I began to cross my apartment, stumble-fidgeting over stubborn locks that didn’t seem to want to cooperate with my nimble fingers, but then again they might have been too nimble right then. I managed to open the door of my apartment itself and I stepped through it to—
“Well that was faster than I would have expected,” Brigid greeted me. “You can go right in. Mr. Silver is expecting you.”
The office seemed brighter than it had earlier, and more surfaces shone. The light was near on glaring, in fact, and it lent to everything a strange quality as though the colors present had overstepped their boundaries and were crowding each other. The office took on a luminous but hazy quality, and as I crossed the lobby I looked up to notice a skylight I hadn’t seen earlier and the sight nearly blinded me.
Those enormous doors opened like I’d stepped on a supermarket sensor. Across from them, Angus stood facing his windowspace, on the display of which a cartoon Mario flipped and jumped through space.
I took a sip of my beer. “Wow.”
Angus paused the game, looked at me over his shoulder. “Ah, so nice to see you miboy. A bit sooner than I expected, admittedly.”
“Brigid tole me to come.”
“So she did, so she did,” he said, then noticed the beer in my hand and smiled. “Ah, you are partaking of the libations I provided you upon our last meeting.”
“Partaking . . .” I said, before I caught up to his meaning. “Oh! My beer. It’s good.”
“I remember. Why don’t you have a seat? Would you like to try my game system?” he asked, holding out to me, one in each hand, two plastic controllers joined in the middle by wire like toy nunchukus.
I looked at them. They presented a problem: if I wanted to take both, I had to set down my beer. I did so reluctantly. I held them as he had while I slunk down into the leather chair.
“You do quite enjoy your beer.”
I nodded, already more interested in the game. Mario smiled at me, then flipped around. I started to attempt to control him, but he immediately started gesticulating like he was having some sort of epileptic seizure, at which point I realized the controllers were as sensitive to movement as to button pressing. “What is this?”
“They’re going to call it a we.”
“We? Like you and me?”
“Two eyes,” Angus said, then, “On second thought, maybe a game isn’t the best idea,” and with that he gestured his hand to sweep it way, leaving in its stead an image of Times Square. People moving to and fro, the sun set and evening encroaching.
“Izzat—real time?”
“Perhaps we should eschew matters of temporality and physics in favor of the matter at hand, what say you to that?”
“Uhh,” I said, as always eloquent. I put the game controllers down and picked up my beer again, taking a quick swig.
“And by the matter at hand I mean your ladylove Veronica.”
“Ohohoh rightrightright! That’s what I was telling Brigid. Because she’s not my ladylove. I talked to her earlier. I basically told her everything—.”
“By everything I hope I don’t take you to mean you told her about either me or my offer. I offer confidence, and expect it in return.”
“Ohnono. I mean like that I’m in love with her. That everything. Totally different everything.”
“Very different, yes.”
“Probably not the best idea.”
“I suppose that depends.”
I took sip. “She told me I was like her brother—.”
“Then certainly not the best. Of that I am sorry. One of the truly tragic things about life is that you don’t get to choose whom you love, but perhaps even more tragic is that you don’t get to choose whom you don’t, either.”
“Youknow I think—I think I always believed I’d end up with her, you know? Like maybe it was because I’m a romantic. Or I’m over-confident. Or maybe I’m just a damned fool. Or maybe, maybe they’re all the same thing and I’m all of them at the same time and I just don’t know the difference. I don’t know a lot of things anymore,” I said, taking another sip.
“Have you considered my offer?”
I nearly choked, which meant I couldn’t answer right away.
“But—she said . . .”
“Oh, believe you me, make no mistake, I know what she said.”
“But—how—?”
“How do I know, or how can you be with her?”
“I don’t . . .”
“I knew what she was going to say before she thought about saying it. I know what she’ll keep saying. And right now, you’re sitting here in my office because I can change that.”
“What, like you can cast a spell or something?” I asked, relieved my tone came out a little disgusted because I wasn’t certain I’d felt that way. “Like magic.”
“Come now, my boy, what isn’t magic? I’m only talking about what you want.”
“But how . . .?” I think I was going to ask how he was going to do it, because I think I might have thought it made a difference. I’ll never find out, though, because that’s where my question stopped, and Angus was waving his hand anyway. It was a small gesture, not necessarily dismissal, but neither far off.
“You don’t need to worry about how. You just need to make a decision and let me worry about the rest. That’s it. So now tell me you want to be with her, or leave my office once and for all. What’s it going to be?”
I wanted to get up. I thought I was going to. I thought I would get up and leave, find my way the few blocks back to the train, back to my apartment, backbackback timelapse subway stations and mad-rushing tracks to emerge, finally, blinkingly, into the grey pre-dawn of Hoboken proper. I’d taken that train home so many times I could have done it on autopilot, and probably had, and I wanted to, right then. I swear I thought I would.
But I didn’t move.
I watched Angus as I took another drink from my beer. Who knows how much I’d drunk by then? And then I realized something. “You already know.”
He smiled coyly. “I knew before you ever walked into my office. I knew before I gave you my card. Hell, you want the truth of the matter, I knew before you and Veronica ever even met.”
“But how could you?”
“My boy, there are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
“You shouldn’t go around underestimating people’s philosophies. And how is that even fair?”
“Forgive me, I thought this was war.”
“What?”
“Sorry, did I just say war? Love. I meant love. And what’s fair to do with that? Is it fair you love a girl who doesn’t love you in return? Is anything ever fair?”
“Sometimes.”
“Perhaps. But for all the other times, there’s me.”
“But then what’s the point?” I tried to keep the sudden anger out of my voice, but I was only mostly successful in doing so. “Why go through all this if everything’s already set? What’s the point if you already know what’s going to happen.”
Angus smiled, standing. “I would have thought you’d have put it together by now. You’re so quick about everything else.”
“Put what together?”
“This,” Angus said, sweeping his hand to take in his whole office. “The point of it all. Why I might go to such trouble if I already know what’s going to happen, which has a rather simple answer, if you consider it even briefly.”
So I considered it briefly, sipping my beer as I did. Maybe the beer was why nothing came to mind. Maybe not. I don’t know. I shrugged.
“The point,” Angus said, “Is that while I may know what’s going to happen, you do not.”
Few things kill anger like confusion. “What?”
“I may know, but you don’t.”
“You’re asking me to make—.”
“I am doing no such thin
g,” Angus said, his tone brief. Not abrupt, and neither raised, but certainly more professional than it had been. He dropped the warmth, the friendship from his tone, like a businessman giving a presentation, or a salesman peddling his wares. “I’m merely asking you to tell me what you want. Don’t you know that? There’s no decision, no making choices. All there is, in fact, is one young man who loves to write and who has fallen in love with a special young lady, and all that young man has to do, all you have to do, is tell me what you want.”
“But I don’t know what I want,” I said. I didn’t realize how desperate he had made me feel, how anxious I was, until I said that nearly in a yell, my voice high and scared. “I don’t—.”
“Of course you do. You’ve known all along what you want. You just won’t admit it.”
“It’s not—that easy,” I told him, but my voice betrayed maybe it was and I just didn’t want to acknowledge it. Which scared me even more.
“No one said it would be.”
“So, what, I’m supposed to give up my words, my stories, the single thing I love to do most in the world? To be with her?” I kept my voice from breaking, but only just.
Because what I felt like I was about to do terrified me.
“You’re supposed to tell me what you want. That’s all.”
I tried to speak, but couldn’t. My mouth had dried, and I could feel my Adam’s apple bobbing in my throat. Every time I opened my mouth, nothing came out.
Angus put a hand on my shoulder. Comforting, perhaps, but also encouraging. Across from us, the window/display began to flash, cycling through images: the pyramids, Tokyo, the Sidney opera house, Parliament, Big Ben, Mann’s Chinese Theater—
Deserts and mountains, dreamt-of towers and dreamt-of oceans in dreamt-of lands.—
Angus’ voice, when he spoke, was calm. “Do you love her?”
I didn’t consider the question, didn’t hesitate. I nodded. “Yes.”
Meets Girl: A Novel Page 19