Almost Like Being in Love (32 page)

“Seventy-eight,” I muttered sourly.
Don’t turn to
me
for clues. What do I
look like—Annie Sullivan spelling ‚water‛ into your palm?!

“Seventy-eight,” she repeated with a forced simper. “And I’m organizing a reunion that I’m sure they wouldn’t want to miss.” At which point our unwitting adversary nodded appreciatively and uttered the four ugliest words I’d ever heard in my life.

“Oh. You mean Craig.” My insides collapsed on the spot. So much for the medley of reasonable explanations.

“Do you sell rat poison here?” I blurted.

FROM THE DESK OF

Gordon Duboise

Pop:

I’m running into a little snag. I thought it’d be more realistic if Craig had a boyfriend—but I think I’ve written myself into a corner. How do I keep Travis from giving up?

Also, if A.J. were to say to Gordo, “In the unlikely event I ever misplace enough of my marbles to marry you,” does it sound like she’s just yanking my chain or like she’s really hooked on him?

Read the pages and let me know. I’m at home.

Your Kid

ARGOSY ENTERTAINMENT

Literary Representatives

LOS ANGELES

NEW YORK

TORONTO

LONDON

Gordon:

1. Don’t worry about realistic. It’s only a movie. Besides, if these people were actually alive, they’d have been institutionalized by now.

2. Gordo and A.J. fell in love on page 7 of the outline when she called him an unappetizing pervert. Isn’t that what you intended? Even a studio nitwit ought to be able to spot it. She’s too bright to be single and he’s too extraordinary. They were made for each other.

3. Before Travis throws in the towel 'which doesn’t sound too likely, given how you’ve developed him), he and A.J. need to do a little investigating first. She could tail Craig to find out what his story is, and Travis could drop in on Clayton. Maybe they talk hardware. Or Travis pretends he’s building a house and needs a hammer. How the hell should I know? That’s your department.

This is the first time you’ve asked for my advice since 1967. If you made it a habit, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Pop

P.S. “Does it sound like she’s just yanking
my
chain?” Gordon, how much of this
aren’t
you inventing?

FROM THE DESK OF

Gordon Duboise

Pop:

Ooops.

Did you figure it out before you called Gordo “extraordinary” or after?

ARGOSY ENTERTAINMENT

Literary Representatives

LOS ANGELES

NEW YORK

TORONTO

LONDON

You’ll never know.

FROM THE JOURNAL OF

Travis Puckett

THE PUCKETT/DUBOISE DEBATES

TRAVIS: Me building a house?! There’s a laugh. Remember the time I tried to fix the toaster? California Edison blamed me for a three-state blackout!

GORDO: You’ve got until Monday to learn the terminology. Now shut up and go over it one more time. Split-level.

TRAVIS: Steps and an attic.

GORDO: A-frame.

TRAVIS: Point at the top.

GORDO: Ranch.

TRAVIS: Naked cowboys. What if he asks me about nails and wood?!

GORDO: T, it’s not like you’re really going to go through with it! Get him to talk about Craig. Find out how serious it is.

TRAVIS: This is the worst idea you ever had.

GORDO: No, it isn’t. Having sex with a witch doctor was.

FROM THE JOURNAL OF

Travis Puckett

I had to get out of that hotel room pronto, and it wasn’t just because of the icky aqua-and-mauve bedspreads.

In less than twenty-four hours, A.J. and Gordo had hopscotched from cat and mouse to “he’s-in-love-with-Kim, Kim’s-in-love-with-him”

without even landing on cute and nauseating first.
Who ever heard of
having dinner together in different area codes?!
Worse, when I tried to pry the receiver out of A.J.’s ear by alerting her that Giant was on channel 8, all she did was mumble, “I’ve already seen it,” before returning to AT&T

and my roommate’s idiosyncratic résumé—which included a fable about a blind date who’d allegedly requested permission to chuck oranges at his ass. (Her name was Cindy and they were actually tangerines.

Typically, Gordo was distorting the facts again.) Once out on the sidewalk, I grimly accepted the fact that my world had come to a premature finish, leaving me behind like so much flotsam. But I could handle it. Just because I’d been abandoned and discarded by those I’d trusted, just because I was wounded, bleeding, and lost without hope, just because my lover had found somebody else and I’d never get to tickle his belly button again, and just because my ex-best friend wasn’t able to come up with anything more erudite than suggesting I learn the finer points of barn raising, I could still watch out for myself. After all, Saratoga Springs sits smack in the middle of the most significant part of American history, and there were plenty of distractions at hand tailor-made for taking my mind off the futility of a twice-broken heart.

1.
Craig’s office building
. There’s a newsstand on the ground floor that sells chocolate chip cookies. This is probably where he buys them on his way back from lunch.

2.
Craig’s grocery store
. The old lady who owns it told me that Craig loves McIntosh apples. Bullshit. Craig
hates
McIntosh apples. They must be for the Abusive Shitball who sleeps on the other side of his bed.

3.
Craig’s pharmacy
. The condoms were on a rack right by the front door, so I didn’t go inside. Who needed the torment of speculation?

4.
Craig’s gas station
. There was a hunky little pump jockey whose eyes never left my 501s. If I ever find out he looks at Craig that way, I’ll kick his ass.

5.
Craig’s house
. It has two decks, a Jacuzzi, and a double-tiered patio, doubtless built by the Snarling Douchebag while he had Craig rope-tied in a closet. The bedroom takes up the whole second floor. What bitter crops are harvested there?

6.
Craig’s lake
. Directly across the street from their front yard, it’s ringed by maples and elms and picnic-green grass. He and The Lump probably sit by the shore on summer nights, ruminating—assuming that Craig is allowed to speak at all.

7.
Craig’s car
. He drives a blue Miata with rainbow plate holders.

And on the front seat there’s a CD.
Damn Yankees
. '“Smerko, play the ‘Miles and Miles and Miles of Heart’ song again.

Pleeeeeeeeease.”( The Nut-Log probably owns a Bronco.

8.
Saratoga Museum/Benedict Arnold’s boot
. It’s a moldy old shoe.

Big fucking deal. What does that have to do with Craig?!

If Alexander Hamilton could invent a country and then get himself shot
in a duel for something he believed in, the boyfriend thing ought to be a no-brainer. Especially without an asshole like Aaron Burr in the picture. Isn’t
this what you’ve been teaching us?

NOW you’re acting dopey enough to be in love.

This is what you have a life for.

Falling hard for somebody makes you do things you never thought you’d
do before. Like pulling off an A in History or finally facing the truth about
yourself. Craig’s the one, Travis. Get him back.

Split level: steps and an attic. A-frame: point at the top. Ranch house: remember the Ponderosa…

Dear A.J.,

Whenever he threatens to call it quits, expect him to come through.

It always happens—as long as you don’t argue with him. Example of what
not
to do:

TRAVIS: My world just ended.

YOU: Like hell it did.

Example of the best way to get him off his ass:

TRAVIS: My life is over. Think I’ll go hang myself.

YOU: There’s a rope in the closet.

It’s like lighting a fuse. And if he starts using words like “futile” and

“flotsam,” watch out. He’s about to launch the counterattack.

The next time we plan dinner, hang up on me if I suggest Chinese again. The cordless phone– chopsticks combo just doesn’t work. 'By the way, I still have eight spareribs left. Want me to FedEx them?) And maybe you want to think about picking candles that are more romantic than votives. I used the ones in those bell-shaped glasses, and all we were missing on this end was Johnny Mathis singing to us. I got the feeling you were holding out for the pope.

Four things: (1) The rattle under the hood is because the latch dried out. Shpritz it with a little WD-40 and it’ll go away. I promise. '2( You were right about the temperature on Saturn. (3) Your mother doesn’t have Alzheimer’s—it’s just the after-effects of the stroke. When she says

“I have a hurricane in my purse,” it may not make sense, but it means she’s healing. Remember when she could hardly talk at all? How much would you have paid for one of those hurricanes then? (4) The kid on the Good & Plenty commercial was named Choo-Choo Charlie.

My father called me extraordinary. And you were the one who convinced him.

Love you,

Gordo

P.S. When I gave you a hard time about the Pop-Tarts, you knew I was only joking, right?

Dear Gordo,

I didn’t convince your father—your father convinced
you
.

Beaver’s still out sightseeing. Ask him to send you his list of hot spots. If Craig McKenna ever becomes a national icon, guess who’s got the first Greyline franchise all sewn up? By tonight we can probably expect snapshots of the Toilet Craig Pees In.

Up until three days ago, I’d have closed the books on this one. Craig has a significant other and I don’t believe in miracles. Right? Then what the hell am I doing in Saratoga Springs with a certifiable (though appealing) fruitcake and a long-distance boyfriend I haven’t even met yet? Beats the shit out of me. So on Monday while Beaver’s getting his ass into hot water with Clayton, I’ll stake out the law firm and see what happens. Why not? If it works, I’ll buy a trenchcoat and marry Lauren Bacall. Then we can all go picket that Dr. Laura idiot.

Four things: (1) Your aspersions on my blueberry Pop-Tarts scarred me for life. Can’t you tell? (2) Are you sure about the Saturn thing?

Because I made it up on the spot. '3( If you hadn’t waited until the last minute to suggest candles, I’d have had time to shop. Ever browse 7-Eleven for mood lighting? It was either votives or a road flare. (4) You were never really an unappetizing pervert. You were a beguiling one.

This afternoon I checked in with my mother expecting more hurricanes and other natural disasters, only to have her begin the conversation with “How’s Gordo?” You’re the first new thing she’s remembered since the stroke.

Keep your fingers crossed that Craig’s not a lost cause after all.

Because if there’s a way out of this, Beaver’ll find it. Maybe we should take lessons from him.

Love you too,

A.J.

FROM THE JOURNAL OF

Travis Puckett

Hating Clayton was going to require a lot more work than I thought.

Even if I’d been blind to the pecs and the arms and the chest and the ass—which I wasn’t—there were still a couple of other small matters that couldn’t be overlooked: the coffee and the donuts '“You do business with a Jew from the Bronx, you don’t go away hungry.”(, the instructions to his secretary (“I got somebody very important here—no calls.”(, and the gold mezuzeh around his neck '“Grandma Ida gave it to me when I was 14. It never comes off.”(. For two days I’d been rehearsing “sullen”

and “hostile,” but after five minutes in his office I knew I was going to flunk my finals before I’d even gotten to the essay part.

“Talk to me, Travis,” he insisted, leaning against the corner of his desk with his legs spread, like Apollo posing for the cover of Advocate Men.

“What kind of house are you looking to put up?” Since all of my available synapses were being utilized to keep from staring at his massive thighs, I couldn’t remember a single thing Gordo had taught me.