Read Online Domestic Violets by Matthew Norman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Matthew Norman
Ads: Link
getting restless. They want this book to be over and done with. It’s been a tough road though. Tougher than it’s supposed to be.”
When I was a kid, I took this literally, and would sometimes sneak into his office when he was gone and look for the “men upstairs.” I’d search his closet and under his bed, convinced that they were hiding from me.
“I read about you on the Web today. Even in the middle of a full-blown financial clusterfuck, you’re still getting press.”
He takes another sip and then the last hit of the joint. “It makes this next book that much more important. I can’t follow the Pulitzer with a dog. They’d never forgive me for it. Either way, at least it’ll get Zuckerman off my back. Nicholas’s been holding the Pulitzer over my head for years, the arrogant bastard. I should take out an ad in the New York Times and congratulate him on being one of the finalists. Do you think that’d be too snide?”
“Publicly showing up a literary icon in a major American newspaper? Seems gentlemanly enough.”
“You’re right. He’d take it too seriously anyway. That’s the thing about Zuckerman, he’s a talented son of a bitch, I’ll give him that, but he has no sense of humor. He still hasn’t forgiven me for calling him the most boring writer in America three years ago. Clearly I was only joking.”
It’s been a while since I smoked pot, and things in the room seem misshapen all of the sudden. The pictures on the wall are crooked, and the pattern in the throw pillows is beginning to vibrate. “Jesus, where did you get this stuff?”
“Good, isn’t it? It’s a special blend from Colombia. Or maybe Peru. I can’t remember. Somewhere like that.”
I rise to leave, warm and a little giggly. One hit off a joint and I feel like putting on my pajamas, eating an entire bag of Doritos, and watching a Will Ferrell movie. “All right, Cheech. Dinner’s in ten minutes. If you’re not down there, I’m giving your spaghetti to Hank.”
“Yes, sir,” he says.
Before I leave to go find some Visine and change out of my work clothes, I stop. “So, who is she, anyway? You’re not screwing around with Veronica Stewart again are you? I don’t think that’d be a very good idea.”
He’s smiling at me, this old cad in yesterday’s clothes. “What are you talking about?”
“The new girl, Dad? Who are you in love with now?”
Talk of women has brought some color back to his face, and he sits up. “Once again, son, you’ve managed to expose my tragic flaw.”
“Really, there’s just one?”
He grins. “Don’t you get it by now, Tommy? I’m a writer. I’m always in love.”
Chapter 9
A nd here I am again, looking at myself in the bathroom mirror.
They’re like loaded guns, these pills, and my eyes are red and everything in the room that’s supposed to be white is now bluish. These are both normal side effects, according to the box, so I shouldn’t worry. An abnormal side effect, one that I hope to avoid tonight, is a four-hour boner.
I check my hair and mess it up a little. Then I spray some cologne in the air and quickly walk through it. This is what teenage girls do before the big dance, but I don’t want to smell like I’ve been in the bathroom blasting myself with cologne.
Shirtless, I examine my chest and biceps before dropping to the floor for fifteen quick push-ups. The last five are harder than I imagined they’d be.
The blood, moving through my body now, has added some definition where definition should go, at least a little, and I feel suddenly awake and tingly with sensation.
“You look good,” I tell my reflection. “Hot?” But this last part comes out with a question mark at the end. I’ve never been good at sales.
My heart feels strange in my chest, like it’s beating through mud, but these are the risks a man takes sometimes in the name of sexual competence. It’d be an embarrassing way to die, though, felled by a heart attack with an absurd
When I was a kid, I took this literally, and would sometimes sneak into his office when he was gone and look for the “men upstairs.” I’d search his closet and under his bed, convinced that they were hiding from me.
“I read about you on the Web today. Even in the middle of a full-blown financial clusterfuck, you’re still getting press.”
He takes another sip and then the last hit of the joint. “It makes this next book that much more important. I can’t follow the Pulitzer with a dog. They’d never forgive me for it. Either way, at least it’ll get Zuckerman off my back. Nicholas’s been holding the Pulitzer over my head for years, the arrogant bastard. I should take out an ad in the New York Times and congratulate him on being one of the finalists. Do you think that’d be too snide?”
“Publicly showing up a literary icon in a major American newspaper? Seems gentlemanly enough.”
“You’re right. He’d take it too seriously anyway. That’s the thing about Zuckerman, he’s a talented son of a bitch, I’ll give him that, but he has no sense of humor. He still hasn’t forgiven me for calling him the most boring writer in America three years ago. Clearly I was only joking.”
It’s been a while since I smoked pot, and things in the room seem misshapen all of the sudden. The pictures on the wall are crooked, and the pattern in the throw pillows is beginning to vibrate. “Jesus, where did you get this stuff?”
“Good, isn’t it? It’s a special blend from Colombia. Or maybe Peru. I can’t remember. Somewhere like that.”
I rise to leave, warm and a little giggly. One hit off a joint and I feel like putting on my pajamas, eating an entire bag of Doritos, and watching a Will Ferrell movie. “All right, Cheech. Dinner’s in ten minutes. If you’re not down there, I’m giving your spaghetti to Hank.”
“Yes, sir,” he says.
Before I leave to go find some Visine and change out of my work clothes, I stop. “So, who is she, anyway? You’re not screwing around with Veronica Stewart again are you? I don’t think that’d be a very good idea.”
He’s smiling at me, this old cad in yesterday’s clothes. “What are you talking about?”
“The new girl, Dad? Who are you in love with now?”
Talk of women has brought some color back to his face, and he sits up. “Once again, son, you’ve managed to expose my tragic flaw.”
“Really, there’s just one?”
He grins. “Don’t you get it by now, Tommy? I’m a writer. I’m always in love.”
Chapter 9
A nd here I am again, looking at myself in the bathroom mirror.
They’re like loaded guns, these pills, and my eyes are red and everything in the room that’s supposed to be white is now bluish. These are both normal side effects, according to the box, so I shouldn’t worry. An abnormal side effect, one that I hope to avoid tonight, is a four-hour boner.
I check my hair and mess it up a little. Then I spray some cologne in the air and quickly walk through it. This is what teenage girls do before the big dance, but I don’t want to smell like I’ve been in the bathroom blasting myself with cologne.
Shirtless, I examine my chest and biceps before dropping to the floor for fifteen quick push-ups. The last five are harder than I imagined they’d be.
The blood, moving through my body now, has added some definition where definition should go, at least a little, and I feel suddenly awake and tingly with sensation.
“You look good,” I tell my reflection. “Hot?” But this last part comes out with a question mark at the end. I’ve never been good at sales.
My heart feels strange in my chest, like it’s beating through mud, but these are the risks a man takes sometimes in the name of sexual competence. It’d be an embarrassing way to die, though, felled by a heart attack with an absurd
Similar Books
