Big Man the Book

Clarence and Bill Goldman sat on stools in the Oyster Bar at Grand Central Station eating that days take from Watch Hill Rhode Island.

“These are the best so far,” said Clarence.

“Who am I to argue,” said Bill knocking one back and chasing it with a sip of beer.  “Oysters and cold beer are perfect.  Few things in life are perfect but that combination is one of them.”

“Yeah,” said Clarence.  “Like peanut butter and jelly.”

“Corned beef and cabbage.”

“Lucy and Ricky.”

“My dick and Angelina Jolie.”

“Salute,” said Clarence raising his glass.

They clinked and drank.

It was only 11 am on a Tuesday so they had the place to themselves.  They watched people walk by though the take-out window across from where they sat.  A few people stopped to look in and a few less looked at the menu but nobody ordered anything the whole time they were there.

Clarence and Bill had been friends for about ten years.  They were introduced by Mike Lupica who was a fan of both and knew that they’d hit it off.  Bill was not a fan of Bruce per se and hated going to concerts.  His relationship with Clarence was based on the fact that he liked him.  It was simple but unusual.  After a while most people who know Clarence ask him for something.  Very often that something is access to Bruce.  Other times it’s money or tickets.

“There are no free tickets,” I have heard him say.  “If I give out one free ticket I’ll be broke in a year.”

In fact, the members of E-Street have their own private service to deal with ticket requests from friends and relatives.  There are no free tickets.

Even I have asked him for an autographed photo.  It’s almost impossible to have a relationship with somebody that famous without becoming an annoyance.

But Bill Goldman had never asked for anything.  He and Clarence would meet for dinner or a drink or both whenever the big man was in New York and they would simply enjoy each other’s company.  Conversation was easy and they talked about everything under the sun.  They told each other jokes and laughed even if they’d heard them before.  Bill eventually did listen to some of the music and didn’t like it very much.  He did like Clarence’s ‘Peacemaker’ album and played it a lot when he sat in his study not writing.

Lately that’s what had been happening.  He no longer felt the energy or the need to write fiction.  “Buttercup’s Baby” remained largely unwritten and no new Morgenstern material had materialized.  He secretly felt that it might be over.  But he had felt this way before and he had been wrong.  Time cured almost everything.  The problem was it killed everything too.  He didn’t know if he had enough time to see a new one through.  It wasn’t a lack of ideas, he had a thousand ideas, but he felt uninspired.  Not writing becomes a habit that’s as hard to break as writing.

Clarence read all of Bill’s books that he could find and enjoyed them all.  He had resolved to track down the out of print stuff but kept forgetting to put Lani on the case.  He loved the non-fiction stuff about Hollywood and Bills adventures in the screen trade.  But he’d also read a wonderful book called “Father’s Day” about a Jewish songwriter with an Irish name.  It had become one of Clarence’s favorite books.  He’d read “Magic” and “Marathon Man” of course and also the one that he’d started with “The Princess Bride”.  For his last birthday a friend who knew what a fan he’d become gave him a copy of “Brothers” a hard to find sequel to “Marathon Man”.  It opened with a man on an island getting himself back into shape.  Getting himself ready for something that would be coming.  Clarence loved it.

“Of all the first lines you’ve written which is your favorite?” asked Clarence.

“Oh I don’t know,” said Bill.  “I’m kind of partial to the first line of ‘Control’.”

“I haven’t read that,” said Clarence.

“It’s hard to find,” said Bill.  “But there are copies around.”

“I’ll find it,” said Clarence.

“If you do I’ll sign it for you,” said Bill.

“What’s the first line?” said Clarence sipping his beer.

“If there was one place in this world Edith never expected trouble, it was Bloomingdales,” said Bill.

Clarence laughed and shook his head.

“That’s good,” he said.  “I may have to borrow that.”

“Be my guest,” said Bill.  “I’m not using it.”

“What was the first line of ‘The Princess Bride?’” asked Clarence.

“This is my favorite book in the world but I’ve never read it.”

“Yes,” said Clarence.  “I’ve been meaning to ask you something about that book.”

“Go ahead,” said Bill.

“At the beginning of the book you go on this long thing about your overweight son and how you get the book for him and then figure out he hasn’t read it and so on right?”

“Wow,” said Bill. “I’m not only flattered that you read it but that you remember it.”

“Oh I remember it,” said Clarence.  “I don’t remember what I had for lunch yesterday but I remember reading the “Princess Bride.”

“I’m honored,” said Bill.

“Good,” said Clarence.  “You buy lunch.”

“My pleasure,” said Bill.

“I actually read it out loud to my wife at the time,” said Clarence.

“I’ll be damned,” said Bill.

“So my question is,” Clarence continued.  “That was written, what thirty to thirty five years ago?”

“Something like that,” said Bill as he reached for and slid another oyster into his mouth.

He tilted his head back, closed his eyes, smiled and sipped some beer.  Eyes still closed.  Still smiling.

“So my question is,” Clarence repeated, “What happened to your son?  How did he grow up?  What is he doing now?  And did the book have the kind of profound affect on him that it did on me?”

“No, it most certainly did not,” said Bill.

“Why are you so sure?” asked Clarence.

“Because,” said Bill. “I don’t have a son.”

“What happened to him?” said Clarence half turning on his stool.

“Nothing,” said Bill.  “He never existed.  I have two daughters but I never had a son.”

“So nothing in here is true?  No S. Morgenstern?   No Florin?  It’s all bullshit?”

“How can a few facts turn something you’ve loved all these years into bullshit?” asked Bill.  “The book remains the same.  It is as you read it the first time.”

“I see what you mean,” said Clarence.  “I just thought it was a true story.  At least the true story parts of it.”

“Sorry,” said Bill.  “But if it makes you feel any better my Father’s name was Clarence too.”

“Really?”

“Emmis,” said Bill raising his right hand.  “I swear on the life of my son.”