All You Could Ask For A Novel - By Mike Greenberg Page 0,106
Deal-breaker if you are seated next to an attractive stranger on an airplane and he makes very pleasant small talk, then pulls out an iPad and watches porn?”
Samantha smiled. She looked awfully pretty today. “How much effort does he make to conceal the porn from you?”
“What difference does that make?”
“I feel like if he wants you to see it then he is a pervert and trying to gauge if you’re interested in something quick in the bathroom. But if he’s hiding it . . .” She thought about it for a moment. “No, you’re right, he’s out, porn on an airplane is an Absolute Deal-breaker.”
“Does it make any difference what kind of porn it is?” I asked her.
“I don’t think so.”
“So, soft-core stuff is just as bad as bestiality?”
“It’s not as bad,” she said, “but he’s out just the same.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “Okay, I’ve got one more great one for you. I was up all night thinking about this one. How about if you’re dating a guy and you’re having a discussion about the parameters of the relationship and he asks if you would consider it cheating if he got jerked off by a male massage therapist.”
I treasured the look of horror on Samantha’s face. “OUT!” she screamed.
“Why is he out?” I asked.
“Because why is he even thinking about that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s just trying to be prepared for any situation that may arise.”
“He’s out,” Samantha said definitively. “That is an Absolute Deal-breaker.”
“I figured you’d say that,” I told her, “because you’re a pretty tough judge.”
I looked at my watch. One hour remaining. The hours pass awfully slowly in this room. The days can sometimes fly by, and every now and again the minutes move quickly, but the hours are eternal. I was trying to think of another deal-breaker when Samantha mentioned a name I hadn’t heard in a long time.
“I met someone who knows you,” she said. “Brooke Biltmore.”
You don’t forget Brooke, neither the name nor the girl. Brooke was the most social girl in Greenwich, legendarily so. We didn’t have girls like Paris Hilton in my school, but Brooke was the closest thing. She was a year behind me, and she was iconic, fashionable and friendly, and beautiful and sweet. The boys adored her, the faculty worshipped her, the younger girls idolized her, and even the girls who envied her had to grudgingly admit she had it together.
I am ashamed to admit it, but the very idea that after all these years Brooke Biltmore remembered me was a little exciting. I guess we never really do leave high school.
“Where did you meet her?” I asked, nonchalant as I could.
“In Greenwich.”
“Details?”
“Her kids are patients of Andrew’s. It’s a long story, but I met her and she seemed around your age so I dropped your name and she totally remembered you,” Samantha said.
I had to work to keep the pride from showing on my face. “How does she look?”
“She’s gorgeous,” Samantha said, with no hesitation.
“She always was.”
“You can tell.”
“And obviously she’s married with kids and still lives in Greenwich?”
“That’s right,” Samantha said. “She’s married, don’t know much about her husband, but she has twins, I’m not sure how old.”
I nodded. “Sounds right.”
“What was she like in high school?” Samantha asked.
“Exactly the same,” I said. “Gorgeous, with a successful husband and perfect-looking twins.”
“You strike me as the sort of person who wouldn’t care for a girl like that.”
“You are correct,” I said thoughtfully, “but to be fair, she was all right. There was something decent about Brooke that made it impossible to hate her. She was a good person. She was much more real than the average debutante. I’m glad to hear things have turned out well for her.”
Samantha got a strange look when I said that, one that suggested maybe things weren’t as good for Brooke as they sounded, but I didn’t ask. If she wanted to tell me she would.
“What did she remember about me?” I asked instead.
“She said you were really smart.”
That’s what I mean. That’s what I liked about Brooke. Do you think Paris Hilton could tell you which girls in school were really smart? Even if Brooke had more admirers than anyone else, she still knew I was the smart one.
“That’s nice,” I said. “Anything else?”
Now the look on Samantha’s face was even more uncomfortable, and I couldn’t read it at all. Maybe it was connected to Brooke not doing so well. I had to ask.