Suburban Girl Page #3

kissing her cellulite-riddled ass.

Oh, the news gets even worse.

She's been replaced by Faye Faulkner.

Oh, God, no. My friend worked for Faye

over at Viking. She quit after a week.

Told me she'd rather work for Al Qaeda.

She's not wearing any underwear.

She probably slept her way over here.

Seaver, not every successful woman

uses sex to get ahead.

The pretty ones do. The ugly ones can't.

BRETT:
You should see the idiot they put

in my office.

I'm stuck in this cubicle.

Well, it's just Dorrie was the one

who hired me in the first place.

She even thought I could make editor

by the end of the year.

Now that she's gone every one

of my projects could be in jeopardy.

ROBERT:
Well, let's see what develops

in the next few weeks.

No reason to panic yet. Okay?

- Okay. I love you, Daddy.

- Love you too, honey.

Some dude called for you.

What?

One of your calls got misdirected.

Some dude named Jughead,

or Archie. He left a voice mail.

I might have saved it. I don't...

VOICE MAIL:
Mail box 107.

One new message.

ARCHIE:
It's Archie.

You sound hungry

on your outgoing message,

so I decided to cook you dinner tonight.

8:
30. 159 East 61st Street.

See you then. Oh, don't forget a chaperone.

(CHUCKLES)

Holy sh*t.

How do I look?

No chaperone?

I switched cars. I think I lost him.

How about a tour?

This is my daughter's room.

- She likes Coltrane?

- Only since she was three.

Who's that?

That's Milan Kundera.

I knew that.

- Master bedroom.

- No, thanks.

I'll be up soon, darling.

(LAUGHS)

Don't be silly,

I'm just feeding a hungry child.

BRETT:
And the next day she was gone.

Dorrie was the closest thing

I ever had to a mentor.

So now you have to take your marching

orders from the likes of Faye Faulkner?

Well, she's a Brit, but claims to be related

to the quintessential American author.

Maybe I should change

my name to Brett Bront.

(ARCHIE LAUGHING)

Thank you.

You're not drinking?

I'm an alcoholic.

(CHUCKLING)

- You're not joking.

- No.

I'm sorry.

I did it again.

I'll have three years sober this May.

I'll be three years legal this May.

(BOTH LAUGHING)

So...

Who's this On the Road fella of yours?

- Jed.

- Jed?

That's his name? Jed?

Does he make you happy?

Sure.

You know Dante's definition of hell?

Give me a minute.

"Proximity without intimacy."

Dante never said that.

(LAUGHING)

Of course he did.

Didn't he?

Well, I'll be damned.

You're right.

Don't forget this.

What is it?

To answer that question would make this

beautiful wrapping job I did superfluous.

No, no, wait until you're alone.

It'll be more dramatic that way.

Is this all some sort of experiment?

To see how long it takes

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