Wednesday, October 03, 2001

An excerpt from the discarded first-draft of The Novel

Julie whirled around the catch the waiter's attention and then, failing that, called to his departing back, "Another, please!" She was down to the ice of her third gin and tonic and I was still nursing the Bud Light which had arrived tepid and was rapidly approaching undrinkable.

Satisfied her cocktail was on its way, she returned her attention to me.

"Brad, look me straight in the eye and tell me you're happy."

"I can't do that."

"Aha! I knew it!"

"No," I said, exasperated that the subject of my presumed deep depression had come up for the third time in as many hours. "I mean I can't look you in the eye. My contact lenses are still burning."

"It was an accident. How could he know you were going to look down just then?"

"That's not the point," I protested. "Rushing up in a crowded store, shouting the name of a cologne and then squirting me with scented napalm is not the best way to endear me to your product."

"You're changing the subject. What's wrong?"

"Jesus, Julie, nothing's wrong!"

"Bradford Lee Graham, I've known you for almost ten years. I can tell when you're unhappy. It's no good trying to lie to me. I didn't come all this way just to get lied to, you know."

That much I did know. What I didn't know was why Julie had come to St. Louis. Since she'd up and moved to Chicago five years ago, I could count on a surprise visit every three or four months. Never a phone call or letter announcing her imminent arrival, just a knock on my door and an invitation for drinks.

One Friday shortly after her move, I'd come home from work to find Julie and her boyfriend sprawled asleep on my couch. To this day I have no idea how they managed to get into my apartment.

"Look," I said, fingering the neck of my beer bottle and studying its label in detail, "I'm not lying. I've never been very good at it anyway. But I'm not unhappy either. Maybe I'm just..."

"Just...?" Julie prompted.

"Maybe I'm just not very happy."