A thief breaks into a house with her only exit being the way she broke in. Inside the house is everything she could ever want. For each item she puts into the bag she is carrying, the exit shrinks…
“I sit and write about worlds that only have meaning for me,” he pauses, regards the interviewer. “Is it any wonder that my books do not appeal to anyone?”
She called him and had said, after the scene in the restaurant where she threw the ring in his face, “Okay, I’ve thought it over. I’ll marry you.”
“I only want one thing.” She says, rolling the lit end of her cigarette along the edge of the bench. “A friend that I can fuck every once in a while, without further attachments.”
“Daddy, why do you get mad when the tv doesn’t work?”
“98 percent of men just want to go in there and bust a nut as quickly as possible.” He opened the door and they stepped out onto the street. “The other two percent make her cum before they even stick it in.”
“And it was okay to put my father into a nursing home?”
…Even when she takes an item out of the bag, the thief finds out that the exit does not go back to its original shape. When she puts the item she just took out back into the bag, the exit closes even more…
“After work, Daddy needs a little time for himself, son.”
“Good.” He said and then hung up before she could say another word. He turned on the lamp and looked at the engagement ring, smiling to himself.
“She can’t have much time left anyway. What’s the big deal?”
She eyes a black man crossing the street when she adds, “Why do men always want more than that?”
Outside, near Times Square, he said, “And anyway, all these women that bitch about these losers they’re with deserve it. The ones that fell in love with the jerks that just want to get themselves off.”
The interviewer scratches her head. “Do you mean to tell me that you have bought over ten million copies of your own book?”
…The thief approaches her exit and with every step she takes, there is a humming sound which grows louder. Before she is even close enough to touch it, the sound is a piercing wail. She jumps back into the center of the room…
He then went off in a mocking tone, high pitched in the middle of Times Square, ” ‘He doesn’t take his time, oh, He doesn’t know how to please me, oh, I love him but I’m not satisfied’, oh GOD . . . they make me sick.”
“Yes,” he replies, embarrassed smile on his lips, “Yes, I have. They’re all in this warehouse I bought with the royalties.”
“The woman survived getting hit by a car when she was eighty! Who’s to say she won’t live for another five years?”
“But Daddy, you fall asleep after tv.”
He rubbed the ring against his forehead until the diamond broke the surface of his skin. He couldn’t have been happier.
She puts the cigarette out on the bench as she turns to him and asks, “Well, what do you think a relationship should be?”
…In the center of room in a house filled with everything she could possibly imagine, she whispers, “I’m fucked…”
“Well, that’s because Daddy’s tired son, and he has a long day ahead of him tomorrow.”
“I find that rather hard to believe,” the interviewer says, “I’ve read your book.”
“I don’t think you want my opinion on that,” he says, avoiding her eyes, watching now a blond woman pass right in front of them. “You really don’t want to hear it.”
They started to cross Broadway, but the light changed. Stranded on an island in the middle of Broadway and 6th avenue, he said, “The funny thing is, that women would rather blame men in general and not accept that they themselves are at fault. They picked these assholes and decided to fall for them. They can’t accept that they’re bad judges of character.”
He sat up and a drop of blood from his forehead fell onto the ring.
“I know honey it’s going to be hard, but she has no place left to go. Your father at least had your sister.”
…The thief hears her own voice echoing throughout the house. Drifting and getting fainter and fainter each time: I’m Fucked, I’m fucked, i’m fucked…
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I believe you,” he says, “but tell me the truth: You picked it up only after it was on the bestseller list, right?”
Not bothering to wipe the drop off, he picked up the phone and called her, holding the ring gently.
“My sister? My sister? My father had not spoken to my sister since she eloped! You knew that and still you convinced me to put him into a home. ‘We can’t afford it, Who would stay home and take care of him?’ Do you remember that? Do you?”
An older Hispanic man stops and asks for a light. He gives the man a book of matches. She then insists, hand on the bench as she leans closer, “Come on, tell me. How do you think it should be?”
“They would rather be treated like shit, than have someone that not only cares for them, but expects them to believe in themselves.” He said. The light changed and they crossed 6th ave.
“Are you going to play with me since the tv doesn’t work?”
…A minute or so after the echo of her voice has died down, the thief hears: who’s there, Who’s there, Who’s THERE…?
“That’s not the point. You just don’t want her because she never did approve of you, right? The woman is ninety-three years old and you’re out for revenge, right?”
“Daddy’s got to go to sleep now son. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Well,” he looks at her. Pale face, small round lips, little blush, brown eyes, black hair full of curls. “Isn’t it supposed to be two lovers that can also be friends?”
It was her answering machine that picked up. He slipped the ring on during her message. At the tone, he said, “Where are you?”
The interviewer says defensively, “But it is a good book.”
They reached the other side of 6th. He added, “So fuck them.”
…Pacing in a narrow circle, the thief wonders if she should reply or not…
An Asian couple kiss as they signal for a cab. An older model stops for them, but a man swipes it. The couple laugh, kiss again, and wait for another. “So you agree with me?” she asks.
He leans forward. “Only because 10 million copies were bought. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this interview.”
“Do not try to turn this around. We can’t have your mother here. It is the same thing as it was with my father. We couldn’t then and we damn well can’t now.”
“Are you going to fix the tv Daddy?”
His friend asked, as they walked further west, towards 7th avenue, “So what are we supposed to do?”
It was a long time before he hung up the phone. The ring just fit on his pinky.
…On a whim, the thief puts one leg into the bag. She hears heavy steps approaching. The exit widens by half a foot…
“What are we supposed to do?” he laughed as they came up on 7th, “Crash and burn baby, crash and burn until we find the right one.”
“Your mother is going to call the electrician in the morning.”
“I can not believe you are saying this. How can-” RRRINNGGG
“It’s one thing to want to fuck your friends,” he says, watching a young black woman sit a few feet away. “And it’s something else when the person you think of as your lover is also your friend.”
The interviewer asks, “So you’re basically saying that the literary public consists solely of mindless sheep?”
“No,” she replied, “I was home. I just didn’t hear the phone.” She told him this after he had been waiting for three hours. The engagement ring was still on his finger.
…Inside the bag like she was in a potato sack race, the thief hops to the exit. There is no hum, but the door bangs open as the owner bursts in. The thief waves good-bye as she jumps through her exit and it magically seals shut behind her.
He called her a liar and slammed the phone down despite her pleas. After noticing how well the ring looked on him, he decided to keep it for himself.
“That was my aunt. We don’t have to argue anymore. She died.”
“You can’t be my Daddy. You’re a couch potato.”
“Yes,” he nods his head. “That’s exactly what I think about the quote unquote literary public.”
“You’re wrong. There’s no such thing as love, and since there isn’t, then there’s no such thing as lovers,” she also checks out the black woman. “That’s all bullshit. There’s sharing, there’s intimacy. That’s what it is when it’s between friends. That’s real.”
As they turned up 9th avenue, his friend said, “Not much of a choice.”