The Longest Week

I think that there's

something wrong with me.

For some reason, I find that

the girls that I like as human beings

I'm not sexually attracted to

and the ones that I am

sexually attracted to

I don't particularly

like as human beings.

And on the rare occasion

when one falls in both categories

they usually have

a boyfriend or a husband

and Lord knows I've got enough of that

bad karma to last me a lifetime.

These are classic

Freudian symptoms, Conrad.

Haven't you ever read

about defense mechanisms?

Actually, I've always considered

myself more of a Jungian.

The phone's ringing again!

Would you stop talking?

You stop talking.

Alright.

Morning.

Afternoon.

Yes, it's Conrad Valmont.

What?

But I've lived here since birth!

This is Conrad Valmont.

Conrad was the son

of a Parisian entrepreneur

and a Caledonian debutante.

His father, Jean-Louis Valmont,

owned the Valmont Hotel

as had his father

and his father before him.

Their country home in Great Neck

was the pantheon

of summer gatherings.

On the eve of his 51st year,

Jean-Louis took Conrad's mother

to the south of France

on what was to be

a weekend excursion.

It had since turned into

a lavish escapade around the world

lasting nearly three decades.

Over the subsequent years, Conrad

was raised by the Valmont's staff.

His chauffeur Bernard

had taken Conrad

to a Parisian brothel

for his 13th birthday

as a sort of rite of passage

into polite society.

It was a family tradition.

At present, he was working

on his magnum opus -

a great New York novel

in the tradition

of Fitzgerald and Edith Wharton.

It was widely speculated

as to where he was

in the process of writing it.

When asked, he would simply reply...

I'm in the gathering stages.

Conrad had been

in the "gathering stages"

for several years now.

Last week Thursday,

Conrad's parents had capsized

and had become stranded on

a small island in the Mediterranean.

Having to spend numerous

days together

without the distractions of wealth

and a transient lifestyle,

they'd come

to a simple realisation

they didn't particularly

like one another.

Conrad's parents were to divorce

by the week's end

and neither wanted

to continue paying

for Conrad's extravagant lifestyle.

Hence, the Valmont board of trustees

had requested hotel security

to escort Conrad

from the premises by 2 PM.

Bunny, please

make yourself useful.

Get some more cigarettes, please.

Hey!

What?

I'm hungry.

I'll be right there!

I don't understand. What do you mean

they won't accept the charges?

Did you tell them it was

Conrad Valmont? Hello?

What are you smiling at?

Nothing.

Come on, Bunny. Bernard, please

take us to the Belleville Cafe.

I'm... I'm sorry. I can't.

Hey, it's me! I'm gonna

have this sorted out in no time.

I can't. I mean,

it's orders from the boss.

I'm sorry, Connie.

Can you do me a favour?

Name it.

Can you take care of

Napoleon while I'm gone?

Of course.

This is lame!

I'm gonna go.

No, Bunny, wait, wait,

wait, wait, wait, wait.

Listen.

Can I borrow some cash for a cab?

No?

I'll be in touch.

Conrad chose to ride the subway

a convention he rarely took up

since he had learned how

to hail a cab at the age of seven,

but it was on this rare occasion

that he first saw Beatrice.

Her unassuming beauty

struck him at once

and as his eyes gazed down

he couldn't help but notice she

was reading "Sense and Sensibility".

Immediately Conrad reasoned

she could be no older than 19

and would easily be moulded

into a girl of his liking.

Of course, there was always

the outside chance

that she was merely

a Jane Austen fan.

But Conrad quickly

ruled that out on a hunch.

Herein lies the eternal question

is it a grocery list

or her phone number?

It was at that moment

Conrad realised

he was going to see her naked.

I think I'm in love.

Conrad, you've only just met her.

I know.

Is she attractive?

Yes.

You know, you have an unhealthy

obsession with female beauty.

I don't care.

Maybe you should try

dating more homely women.

I don't think so.

Take it from me, someone who's

been married for 25 years, Conrad

inner beauty doesn't age.

You're just saying that

because your wife is unattractive.

Conrad.

Yes.

What are you going to do?

You have no home.

Move in with Dylan, of course.

How about money?

I need some. Thank you. Yes.

Conrad, I'm not your accountant.

I'm your analyst.

Well, I'm certainly not

going to travel downtown

and work for 10 hours a day

for the best 20 years of my life

doing some dull, unimaginative work,

certainly non-altruistic work.

No, thanks.

Conrad, there's

an interesting case study

a colleague of mine

did a few years back.

The subject was a young

German woman

who had been diagnosed

with a brain tumour.

It rendered her witty, charming

and quite likeable to most.

Are you trying to set me up?

Though she possessed all

the aforementioned attributes,

her life was actually

completely artificial.

She had no meaning, no emotion,

not a care in the world.

She seemed

utterly blissful to an outsider,

but her friends and family

were worried, even horrified.

German neurologists called it

"Witzelsucht".

"The joking disease".

But eventually a dissolution set in

and her life was left empty.

Are you saying that

I have a brain tumour?

Conrad's analyst had given

Conrad a low-interest loan

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