"So, we met before you know," April said with a churlish smile as we were about to leave the upper level of Riverside Park and head for West End to get her a cab.
"No way. I would have remembered."
"It was at the premiere party for 'Fall.' We talked for two hours."
"We did not talk for two hours. I definitely would have remembered that. Did you like the movie?"
"Not my favorite. I love 'If Lucy Fell' though. My sister and I still quote it."
"No wonder I repressed you if you hated my movie. We might have a problem."
"I have to like all of your movies?"
"Pretty much, yeah. I mean, if you don't like my movies, you're not going to like me."
"Oh man, are you another 44-year-old-non-absorbing-narcissist-who-just-likes-to-hear- himself-talk?"
"That's a type?"
"Oh yeah."
"And you go out with a lot of them?"
"I seem to be lately."
"I've been asking you tons of questions about yourself."
"Not so much."
"That's bullshit. I know you went to Spence. I know you have a Human Rights Lawyer sister and that you are a huge fancy successful writer and live on the lower West Side. I know about your parents on Park Avenue where you grew up. Many things. And you're so full of shit. You're saying you don't care if I like your books?"
"I don't even care if you read them."
"I don't believe you."
"You like me. Who cares if you like my books."
"So you could love me even if you hated my movies?"
"Sure."
"Not me. If you're a sucky writer, we're done."
"Okay."
"Do you suck?"
"You'll just have to find that out for yourself."
"If I weren't such a non - absorbing - narcissistic - 44 - year - old - only - talking - so - I - can - bounce - off - of - you I would tell you what happened to me on this running path, but instead I'll just get you a cab so you won't be late for your dinner."
"And a pouter on top of it?"
"I'm not pouting. I'm just being conscientious of your time. Have you had any fun at all?"
"Oh shut up. I'm smitten." That's actually not what she said. I would have been in love with her if she had. What she really said was, "I'm here, aren't I?" And I wanted to throat punch her. I hate that. Just answer the fucking question. She sensed my displeasure.
"You like to do play-by-play don't you," she said, my vitriol building.
"No, I'm just not a secretive withholder." I had to summon all of my acting ability to choke out a sincere "I'm - just - joking - and - not - really - hating - you" smile.
"It's not called withholding if I've only known you for three hours. It's called not being a psychopath."
"With everything in the world that you're not allowed to know, I just like to know what I can know. So yes, if I don't get a read on something, I check in."
"And the fact that I've gone on a three-hour walk with you on our first date isn't any indication that I'm having fun. I need to say the words to you."
"I prefer it. Yes."
"Well you'll just have to let it unfold. It'll be good for you." I knew then any serious relationship with this girl was impossible. Well I actually knew in the first three minutes when, after the first harmless off-color joke I made upon picking her up outside her writing partner's building on 95th and CPW, she replied snidely with a disgusted look on her face, "No wonder you're still single at 44." Shit, she's 32 which is 70 in man years so she's one to talk but I let it go. Maybe she was nervous or had her period.
But by now, after the fifth time in three hours that my stomach alarm went off telling me to run for the hills, this chick was dangerous, I despised her. She made me sick to my stomach. I literally wanted to vomit. Choke her to death and smash her dead head in with a rock and then vomit onto her deadness. But being a fighter and wanting to champion that little spark of sweetness I did see in her that came out in between her radical projections and revolting judgments, I figured I could will myself in the other direction if I tried hard enough.
"I really like you." Like Lenny Bruce said, "Guys'll fuck mud." She smiled. "You do?" Her cheeks got red and she looked at me like she wanted me to kiss her. Maybe I don't loathe her.
"Yes. You're sweet," under that devil personality that makes it impossible for me to be around you, you self-centered, spoiled little cunt! Telling me I'm a fucking non-absorbing-narcissist!? If I hear one more pretentious fucking Upper East Side pontification about an Op-Ed piece in the Times come out of your machine gun mouth I'm gonna stab you in the eyes with the quills from an Australian Pine.
"You see those spiny pointy bunches on those trees? They're there so the Koala bears can't climb up the trunk of the trees and eat the leaves and kill the trees. They're called Australian Pines. I've been running on this path for twenty years and I never noticed them until I was arrested and put on a chain gang in the park a few years ago."
"What are you talking about?" She said, finally with real interest, only since it might eliminate me from the running as I'm sure a criminal record was out for any man she would consider long term.
"Oh sorry, I forgot. That would require another story about me, which I wouldn't want to risk at this point. And you're gonna be late. Let's get you a cab."
"No, I wanna hear. Tell me. Pleeeeeeeeeease." She was begging a little with a sexy smile. There was hope.
Posted by Eric Schaeffer at 3:00 PM