The Gum Thief (16 page)

Here's my final thought: how come there are only a tiny number of planets orbiting the sun?
If
you were to take all the planets and squish them into a ball, it'd still only be one-billionth the size of the sun. Brother, I mean, why not have no planets at all?
If
you're going to have planets, have a thousand of them for every star!

DD

ps:
Can you stress the importance of education with Bethany? I'll sell the condo in a flash to pay for it, so don't let her plead poverty.

Thank you, Roger.

Glove Pond

"You weren't going to serve us dinner."

"That's not true."

"Do you have a surprise platter of cold cuts and Danish cheese concealed in the den? Or do I hear a rotisserie broiling Cornish game hens in the garage?"

"No need to be snarky about it."

"So you admit it!"

"We were going to feed you dinner."

"And that dinner would have been what ...
pan

cakes?"

Some of the more brazen weevils were scampering across the counter and reboarding the mothership. "I was going to make crepes. "

"You
what?"
"Thin, perfectly shaped crepes-elegant yet substantial-filled with a marmalade reduction."

"You liar. You don't have any marmalade. I checked out your fridge.
It
might as well be abandoned in a vacant lot."

"I was going to borrow marmalade from our next-door neighbour. Last spring they borrowed all of our jams and jellies for a toast party, and they owe us. How was I to know the pancake mix was a haven for vermin?

Now my plans are dashed. Perhaps you could spot me a hundred dollars for Chinese food."

"You're nuts."

Like an elderly man dying in his sleep, the furnace suddenly stopped. The fridge stopped humming. No cars drove by the house. Kyle stared at Steve.

Steve said, "Think of Brittany and Gloria. They deserve something better than tap water for dinner, don't you think? Please, look into your heart and think of them."

Kyle considered this. "You manipulative old soak. Okay, whatever. This is a college town-they always have good takeout. Do you have a Yellow Pages?"

Steve walked to a side table, picked up the phone book and handed it to Kyle.

"Chinese or pizza?" asked Kyle.

"Chinese," said Steve. "You get more leftovers and they last longer." "Fine." Kyle ordered Chinese food and then joined Steve in the living room.

Steve stood at the bottom of the staircase, looking up. "Here come our ladies." Kyle looked up. "Brittany?" Brittany had been radically transformed through cos
metics and wardrobe. What had once been a prim, orderly face was now a voluptuous Hollywood mask, with carmine Cupid's bow lips, turquoise eye shadow
a
la Cleopatra, thick, juicy false eyelashes and skin as pale and flawless as a
pre global warming Vermont ski slope
winter mountain slope. Gloria had loaned her a platinum blonde wig of near drag-queen grandeur,
one that might suitably have been worn to the launch of a
Queen
Mary
voyage circa 1961
. Her little black dress had been replaced with a strapless rouched ivory-coloured silk body-hugger-Marilyn Monroe being photographed for
Life
magazine. Within the gentle glow of a room lit mostly by unreplaced dead light bulbs, Brittany now crackled with movie star energy.

"Hello, Kyle."

"Whoa."

"Hello, Steve," Brittany said. "Are we eating soon?"

Gloria was behind Brittany. "Now
this
is a woman. Forget today's trampy little sluts walking around in dental floss and fabric scraps-a
real
woman has verve. A
real
woman leaves chaos in her wake."

Kyle said, "Brittany ... what are you
doing?"

Steve interrupted: "Take
that,
Julie Christie! Take
that
Charlotte Rampling!"
Take
that,
Natalie Wood! Take
that,
Sophia Loren! [Vema Lisi.) Angie Dickinson?]

Kyle turned to Steve. "Who on
earth
are you talking about?" He turned back to Brittany. "Brit, you look like a gold digger from a Cary Grant movie." He cupped his right hand to his ear: "Hey, I think there's a rich plutocrat in the kitchen who'll give you a fifty to visit the powder room."

"Thank you for supporting my new look, Kyle. And screw you. This is fun."

Steve wolf-whistled.

"Thank you, Steve." Brittany walked into the living room as Gloria plucked invisible dander from Brittany's shoulder. She sat on the sofa. "I needed a change-and I need a Scotch. Steve?"

"Coming right up."

Gloria asked for a Scotch as well. Kyle said, "Jesus,

do you people
douche
with Scotch? I can't believe you."

"Kyle, be quiet. We're talking about me, not you. And speaking of me, I'm
sick
of being me. I'm sick of my job and I'm sick of my point of view and I'm sick of the interior voice in my head that never really changes from one year to the next."

"You hear voices?" Gloria asked.

"You know what I mean, Gloria-we all have it that little voice that debates which bridge to take to get to work in the morning, the voice that narrates a book in your head when you're reading. And I'm just so sick of it! So tonight I'm Elizabeth Taylor."

"You look ravishing," said Gloria.

"Here's a Scotch."

"Thank you, Steve."

"Scotch, Kyle?"

"Brother. "

Kyle looked annoyed and Steve said, "Why so snippy? And besides, alcohol seems to be a big theme in your work. On page one of your new book, the main character's already hitting the bottle."

"What the hell-you read part of my new book? Is that where you were?" Brittany looked at Steve. "Steve-did you plunder Kyle's manuscript from his satchel and read part of it?"

Steve was caught.

Kyle shouted, "I can't believe this-you stole a copy of my first chapter?"

"Don't be testy," said Steve. "We're both writers. Is it wrong to want to share tips on craftsmanship with a peer?"

"How did you even know I had it with me?"

"I told him, Kyle."

"Why'd you do that?"

"How could it hurt? And you could use the advice of someone other than me." "I like your advice." "Have you ever wondered, Kyle, what sort of burden

your need for feedback puts on me? I have almost no free time, and when I do get some it's all totally sucked into your bottomless well of writer's neediness." She looked at her two hosts. "I tell you, there are chapters lying around the house like autumn leaves. Everywhere. Always. On the couch. On the stove. On the toilet. In the car. On the Stairmaster. In the breakfast nook. On the
floor-especially
on the floor. You'd think we decorated our house with an electric fan and a Staples gift certificate." She turned to Gloria. "And all of these chapters are shingled with Post-it Notes, all of them highlighted in yellows and pinks and blues, and every little Post-it Note is asking me what I think or what I suggest."

Gloria thought,
What's a Post-It Note?

"Fine," said Kyle.

There was a pause. They could all hear each other sipping their drinks as they watched passing car headlights zoom up the living-room walls, only to vanish on the ceiling. Kyle broke the silence. "So-Steve-seeing as you read it and all, what did you think?"

"I think there's Chinese food coming soon," said Steve.

"Good," said Gloria, making no effort to fetch plates

or cutlery.

"What about the book?" Kyle asked. "I
!mow
you've

read part of it."

Steve paused. What
did
he think of Kyle's book? All of the pop culture references had been totally lost on him, and with all of the technology it discussed, Steve had felt like he'd been reading a NASA manual on how to fix a lunar rover. However, "I do think you tapped into something universal," he said. "The not wanting to get out of bed aspect of the first chapter. The notion of no longer wanting to go on with life and wondering what possible benefit could come of decades and decades of life past one's prime when all of life's big strokes have been made, when one is left only with regrets and no options.
That
I liked-the sensation that grief is like a werewolf that moves into your house one day and never leaves, and every time you open a door or round a corner, it's there, lying in wait."

"Really?" said Kyle.

"Yes," said Steve.

"Huh."

"You see," said Brittany, "it's not so bad getting another opinion." "You're right," said Kyle. Everyone sipped, and then Brittany changed the sub
ject. "In the closet I saw a football," she said. "Do you two have children?"

Although technically nothing was happening, the room came to a stop. Steve and Gloria darted eyes at each other. Gloria said, "Urn, yes. We have a lovely child."

"Yes," said Steve. "A lovely, lovely child. Just one." "How interesting," said Kyle. "Boy or girl?" Steve and Gloria made eye contact before Steve

answered, "A boy." "He's never mentioned on your book jacket flaps,"

said Brittany. The doorbell rang. "Dinner's here," said Steve.

Bethany

Roger; Unlike Brittany, I don't mind test-reading your book at all! In fact,
Glove Pond
is now officially a part of my life, and I'd like to share it with other people, but who ... Kyle? He'll never be the reading type. My other fellow Shtooples inmates? No way-this is too special. So that leaves my mom.

I wish I had something
1'd
made that I wanted to keep special for myself, Roger. You're lucky-you have the book. My only writing class ever was a disaster. I chucked out almost everything the afternoon I returned home from the last one. Sheer disgust. Golden lining: at least my couple of years of toil at the community college allows me course credits if I go back to study nursing as a "mature student." Yes, I'm still thinking about it.