from Luke’s hands and gazes at it with a kind of wonder.
“Holy shit,” he says. “A lobby card from Becky Sharp !”
“Yeah,” Luke replies, in the same breathless tone of awe.
“Excuse me,” I say, “I hate to interrupt, but who the fuck is Becky Sharp ?”
Jeff glares at me. “ Becky Sharp just so happens to be the very first feature film made in Technicolor.”
“Yeah,” Luke adds, though he doesn’t look at me, keeping his eyes squarely on Jeff. “And in 1935, starring the amazing Miriam Hopkins.”
“Miriam who?” I ask.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Jeff tells me. “Miriam Hopkins is very big for true film fans, one of the forgotten greats.”
“Well, in fact,” Luke says, reaching into his bag again, “look what else I have.” He pulls out a videotape in a battered cardboard slipcover. “I’ve got one of Miriam’s last appearances—on the TV show The Outer Limits .”
Jeff takes the videotape and inspects it. “ The Outer Limits ! That was a great show. Sometimes even better than The Twilight Zone .”
“I agree,” says Luke. “Do you know both Geraldine Brooks and Sally Kellerman appeared on it?”
I laugh. “Are they favorites of true film fans, too?”
Luke eyes me. “For true fans, Henry, the people on the screen can sometimes seem like your best friends.”
“But why,” Jeff asks, lifting his eyebrows at Luke, “are you carrying these around in your backpack? You don’t want that lobby card to get damaged.”
“I know,” the boy answers. “But I just don’t feel comfortable leaving it back in my hotel room. If the maid found it…”
Jeff hands the precious relics back to Luke. “You’re staying at an inn?”
Luke nods. “Until I can find a permanent place.”
I notice the smile creep across Jeff’s face. “You’re planning to move here?”
“Yes, so I can…” Luke’s voice trails off.
“So you can what?” Jeff asks.
“Oh, please,” I say to Luke, impatient with this little charade, “just tell him.”
“So I can write.” The boy blushes. “Like I have any business saying that to you.”
Jeff beams. No one on the entire planet is more susceptible to flattery than Jeff O’Brien. It’s impossible to lay it on too thick with him. He just laps it up like a pig eating slops.
“A writer, huh?” Jeff smiles. “Well, Provincetown can be a wonderful muse…”
“So I’ve heard.” Luke carefully returns Becky Sharp to his backpack. “And your novels are a big reason why I’m here.”
“I’m flattered,” Jeff says.
“No, really, I mean it.” Luke returns his eyes to Jeff with a passion that exceeds anything I saw yesterday while we were having sex. “Your work has had such an influence on me. Your words…they’ve changed my life.”
That’s when I stand up, grip the sides of the table, and puke all over both of them. Diet Coke and bits of fried clams rain down on their heads.
Okay, so I imagine that part. But for the moment, anyway, the fantasy allows my stomach to stop lurching.
“That’s awfully sweet of you,” Jeff’s saying. There’s a moment of eye-holding silence that leaves me feeling utterly invisible. Finally Jeff asks, smiling warmly at Luke, “Would you like me to sign your books?”
“ Would you?”
“Sure,” Jeff says.
What a guy. So magnanimous.
Luke produces a pen from his backpack. Is there anything he doesn’t keep in there? Jeff opens the first book to its title page, pausing to think before he writes. Then, suddenly, without warning, he reaches down and pulls his T-shirt up over his head, revealing his defined pecs and abs. “Damn,” he says, “it’s so hot out today.”
“It is so not hot out today,” I say, unable to keep quiet.
But I’m ignored. Luke is mesmerized as a shirtless Jeff O’Brien signs his books. What our esteemed author writes, I don’t know, and in truth, I don’t care to know. But Luke reads each inscription in turn,
“Holy shit,” he says. “A lobby card from Becky Sharp !”
“Yeah,” Luke replies, in the same breathless tone of awe.
“Excuse me,” I say, “I hate to interrupt, but who the fuck is Becky Sharp ?”
Jeff glares at me. “ Becky Sharp just so happens to be the very first feature film made in Technicolor.”
“Yeah,” Luke adds, though he doesn’t look at me, keeping his eyes squarely on Jeff. “And in 1935, starring the amazing Miriam Hopkins.”
“Miriam who?” I ask.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Jeff tells me. “Miriam Hopkins is very big for true film fans, one of the forgotten greats.”
“Well, in fact,” Luke says, reaching into his bag again, “look what else I have.” He pulls out a videotape in a battered cardboard slipcover. “I’ve got one of Miriam’s last appearances—on the TV show The Outer Limits .”
Jeff takes the videotape and inspects it. “ The Outer Limits ! That was a great show. Sometimes even better than The Twilight Zone .”
“I agree,” says Luke. “Do you know both Geraldine Brooks and Sally Kellerman appeared on it?”
I laugh. “Are they favorites of true film fans, too?”
Luke eyes me. “For true fans, Henry, the people on the screen can sometimes seem like your best friends.”
“But why,” Jeff asks, lifting his eyebrows at Luke, “are you carrying these around in your backpack? You don’t want that lobby card to get damaged.”
“I know,” the boy answers. “But I just don’t feel comfortable leaving it back in my hotel room. If the maid found it…”
Jeff hands the precious relics back to Luke. “You’re staying at an inn?”
Luke nods. “Until I can find a permanent place.”
I notice the smile creep across Jeff’s face. “You’re planning to move here?”
“Yes, so I can…” Luke’s voice trails off.
“So you can what?” Jeff asks.
“Oh, please,” I say to Luke, impatient with this little charade, “just tell him.”
“So I can write.” The boy blushes. “Like I have any business saying that to you.”
Jeff beams. No one on the entire planet is more susceptible to flattery than Jeff O’Brien. It’s impossible to lay it on too thick with him. He just laps it up like a pig eating slops.
“A writer, huh?” Jeff smiles. “Well, Provincetown can be a wonderful muse…”
“So I’ve heard.” Luke carefully returns Becky Sharp to his backpack. “And your novels are a big reason why I’m here.”
“I’m flattered,” Jeff says.
“No, really, I mean it.” Luke returns his eyes to Jeff with a passion that exceeds anything I saw yesterday while we were having sex. “Your work has had such an influence on me. Your words…they’ve changed my life.”
That’s when I stand up, grip the sides of the table, and puke all over both of them. Diet Coke and bits of fried clams rain down on their heads.
Okay, so I imagine that part. But for the moment, anyway, the fantasy allows my stomach to stop lurching.
“That’s awfully sweet of you,” Jeff’s saying. There’s a moment of eye-holding silence that leaves me feeling utterly invisible. Finally Jeff asks, smiling warmly at Luke, “Would you like me to sign your books?”
“ Would you?”
“Sure,” Jeff says.
What a guy. So magnanimous.
Luke produces a pen from his backpack. Is there anything he doesn’t keep in there? Jeff opens the first book to its title page, pausing to think before he writes. Then, suddenly, without warning, he reaches down and pulls his T-shirt up over his head, revealing his defined pecs and abs. “Damn,” he says, “it’s so hot out today.”
“It is so not hot out today,” I say, unable to keep quiet.
But I’m ignored. Luke is mesmerized as a shirtless Jeff O’Brien signs his books. What our esteemed author writes, I don’t know, and in truth, I don’t care to know. But Luke reads each inscription in turn,
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