"Girls who smoke, fuck," said Karen, looking up from a book.
"Girls who smoke, fuck."
"*You* don't smoke."
"I could. I did."
"I smoked before I started fucking," said Maria.
"Yeah, but you knew you *would* fuck. That's the thing."
"You think?"
"It makes sense. I mean, how else can a girl announce it?
It's either that or you tatoo 'I fuck' on your forehead."
"That takes a lot of the mystery out of things, don't you
think?"
"No. It's not 'Girls who smoke, fuck you', it's just that
they fuck. Period. Actually, the very fact they do smoke and are
not fucking you is where a lot of their power comes from."
"You're so reactionary, Karen. You would set women back a
hundred years, like those Virginia Slims ads."
"I think I was born too late anyway. Could you just imagine
me as a Victorian?? In a corset??!! With lots of intricate stays
and laces. Heh. Guys can hardly figure out bras. I'd love to see
one struggle with a corset for a while. Maria, why did you start
smoking, anyway?"
"Oh God. That was a long time ago. I don't know. To be more
interesting, to be sexier..."
Howard said, "People smoke because it is a sure, approved
method of suicide."
"Who--"
"Vonnegut."
"I don't know. If I smoke, it's usually because I know for
the next six or seven minutes, I know *exactly* what I'm gonna be
doing. I won't be bored. I'll be--"
Vh-1 was playing that Clapton song. Lightweight, minor-
league stuff, but MTV just would not stop playing it."
[Would you know my name, if I saw you in heaven?
Could it be the same, if I saw you in heaven?]
"It's a pretty song, but you know, it's much funnier if you
replace every 'heaven' with 'Trenton'."
[ Cause I know, I don't belong, here in Trenton. ]
He was right. It *was* funnier.
"Well, what if I'm an actress, and I have to smoke for a
part?"
"Maria, honey. If you're an actress, you fuck. The cigarette
doesn't really--Besides, why would you *need* to smoke if you
didn't fuck, anyway."
"I have no idea what you mean."
"A lot of Catholic girls smoke."
Paul came over.
He was my best friend in ninth grade then he moved away.
Twelve years later he happened to be tending bar here in
West Philly. We hang out at the unemployment office and we'll
write together sometimes.
"Hey, Rich," said Paul, "did I ever tell you about Seth?" He
lit a Marlboro and found an ashtray.
"Seth?"
"Kid in my high school. When I was a senior he was a junior.
He took the SAT's. Got 1600. Then, he kinda disappeared. He was
a major geek so no one really missed him. But there were rumors
and shit about how he'd gone nuts and had tried to kill himself,
but most of us figured they'd moved away somewhere. Well, it turns
out, that at night, he would take a screwdriver and drill holes
into the wall next to his bed. He'd scream into these holes and
then plug them up with spitballs. And all night he would hear his
screams coming back out at him."
"Despite the spitballs?"
"Yup. And he tried to kill himself by jumping out of his
window."
"Oh my--"
"Rich. He lived in a rancher."
"1600?"
"You gotta love it."
"Paul, what do you think of this?" said Karen. "Girls who
smoke, fuck."
"Heh. I got no problem with that."
"Rich," said Karen, "tell me something about Howard."
"Hey," said Howard.
"All right, what do you want to know?"
That Ozzy Osborne song, 'Mama, I'm coming home' was on MTV.
Paul grabbed the remote and muted it.
"You know," said Paul, "Almost every song they play on MTV
that has the word 'mama' in it would be much funnier if the changed
every 'mama' to 'mommy'."
"My God," said Maria, "you're right."
Paul unmuted the television and Karen tucked a foot under her
and said, "Something I don't know, something adorable, something
embarrassing, anything..."
Howard stretched out on the couch and Karen was playing with
his face.
"All right. When we were little, like until I finished grade
school, we would always watch cartoons with my dad on Saturday
mornings. He still loves then, especially Inspector Gadget. Well,
it would be my dad on the right side of the bed, me on the left,
and How in the middle. But here's the thing: Howard would usually
conk out by eleven or so and take a nap. But he couldn't fall
asleep in my parents' bed unless my dad was holding his foot."
Karen giggled.
"I don't remember any of this," said Howard, turning red.
"He'd say, 'Hold my foot, hold my foot.' and my dad would. I
think he felt like he needed to be anchored in that big bed,
because he could sleep even if my dad was just holding a toe. But
if my dad let go, Howard would wake up and be very scared, like he
was drowning. I remember him saying, really quickly, 'Hold my
foot, hold my foot'. That the kind of thing you're looking for,
Karen?"
But they'd already disappeared.
