Hobby of yours?
Let me guess, you're the author?
No. I just... I felt compelled, really.
I mean, you have to admit it's a little unfair.
You know, you have all the copies of that one book
and not a single copy of the critically-acclaimed,
New York Times noteworthy Silent Day, edited by yours truly.
So you're an editor at Gitlin & Stern?
Associate, actually. But yes.
Hopefully, if this book hits, I will be promoted to full editor.
Then I'll get invited to fabulous, upscale cocktail parties.
And guess who's gonna be my plus one?
You should take this up with Archie Knox,
the editor-in-chief of Stratharen Publishing.
- I know who Archie Knox is. - Well, if you did,
you know Mr. Knox personally inspects every single window display in Manhattan.
And if he sees your insignificant book
occupying his author's significant space,
I guarantee you'll spend the rest of your pitiful career
editing Teletubby books.
Put those books back!
Why not use a pen?
Maybe then you wouldn't change your mind so much.
You know what? Hell with it. Taxi!
Chloe! I'm here!
- You are totally late. - I know.
- I'm sorry, I was totally stuck in traffic. - Uh-huh.
Do you have any idea what standing in front of a library could do to my reputation?
You used to love libraries. Remember in school?
I think you had sex in one.
Why are we here?
Because I'll never make full editor until we start mixing with the oligarchs.
Okay.
And he is one of them.
- That's Archie Knox. - He's cute.
He's a legend in my business.
My Aunt Hilda used to hang out with him in the '70s.
She said that he was so charming, dogs used to follow him around.
Makes sense. Dogs follow dogs.
Okay, everybody.
Tonight's my great pleasure to introduce
Mr. Archie Knox.
Mr. Knox has been Mickey Lamm's editor for 25 years.
Without further ado, I'm going
to let him introduce his author.
Everybody, Mr. Archie Knox.
Make sure that you read this with food.
- Not on an empty stomach, okay? - Thank you.
Is there anyone special I can make it out to?
Oh, that's okay, you don't have to sign it.
I'm not gonna read it anyway.
Well, I think that qualifies you as the brightest person here.
Here you go.
- How about you? - You could...
Stop flirting, Mickey. She's much too pretty for you.
There he goes again. He's stealing my groupies.
You can make it out to Brett.
Let me guess. Your novelist father named you after
Brett Ashley in The Sun Also Rises.
My father's a doctor.
But yes, I was named after that character.
My brother's named Ethan.
After Ethan Frome.
Well, as I always say, better to be named
after a sensuous 1920s flapper than...
A tragic, desperate man with an ugly scar across his forehead.
Exactly.
Now, Brett, what are you doing here among the literati?
I work at Gitlin & Stern.
Really? You know, I knew Jake Gitlin and Bob Stern years ago
before they killed each other in a duel.
- That's just industry lore. - Not at all.
If memory serves, they were both on
horses and charged right at each other.
Used copies of Les Mis¨¦rables as weapons to bludgeon one another to death.
- I heard it was Brothers Karamazov. - Impossible.
Gitlin and Stern were both Francophiles.
They would never use a Russian novel as a murder weapon, it's too literal.
- Are you... - Starving.
I will have the cr¨ºpes suzette. Thank you.
She's too young to be having dessert first,
so would you bring her the ni?oise
salad and I'll have the steak frites.
Very good, Mr. Knox.
I apologize, that's so rude.
- Is that one of those... - My BlackBerry.
It's reminding me that I should be reading a manuscript right now.
- You don't have one? - No.
It can fix your whole life.
Two ex-wives and a spiteful daughter cannot be "fixed" by a
BoysenBerry.
Archie, darling!
Margaret. Margaret, I want you to meet my friend Brett,
a rising star at Gitlin & Stern.
Archie.
I'm planning on throwing a party for Mickey
when he wins the Pulitzer Prize for fiction.
Isn't that a bit premature?
Margaret has predicted 35 of the last 40 winners in fiction.
Thirty-six.
Maggie the Greek. By day, a critic extraordinaire.
By night, a Park Avenue bookie.
I'll be calling you next month to tell you all the details.
In the meantime, try to be a good boy
and don't keep the little gazelle up past her bedtime.
Come on, darling.
Leon.
Wait, was that really Margaret Paddleford?
No, it was Norman Mailer in a dress.
Have a Twizzler?
Anyway, the author's complaints
are making the process unbearable.
I mean, he's whining about the cover art,
he's complaining about our choice of release date.
He even hates his publicity photo, which, incidentally, was retouched
to make him look like Dorian Gray.
Ask to be taken off the project.
I'm the one who brought the manuscript in.
I can't bail now.
Malt ball?
I'm a diabetic.
Sorry.
Just standing in this place is making my feet tingle.
You were about to offer some advice?
Well, when it comes to writers, there's only one rule. Patience.
Of course, if that fails, I know a very discreet hit-man
who would spread the body parts all over Jersey.
Serves me right.
My Great Aunt Hilda once told me never take a job whose sole purpose
is to make people feel imperfect.
Sage advice.
Hilda?
What did you say your last name was?
Eisenberg.
Dear God! You're not related to...
- I'm her grand-niece. - Hilda Eisenberg?
- Yes. - I adored Hilda!
You know, the first time I met her was at Bot¨ªn's in Madrid.
It was Hemingway's favorite restaurant, famous for its suckling pig,
and Hilda got incredibly drunk
and she bet me that she could punt the pig carcass
across the entire length of the dining room, which she did.
Won a hell of a lot of pesetas. I used that in my book.
- You wrote a book? - One.
Years ago. It's on Amazon's endangered species list.
Dear Hilda. She was the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.
Let me see your face.
I can see her in your eyes.
This is me.
You live in Hilda's old apartment?
- You've been here? - Many, many nights, yeah.
Her parties were legendary.
Well, she left it in the family and I have temporary custody.
I have a boyfriend.
I have a goldfish.
Well, then...
Is he in there? The boyfriend.
No. Actually, he's...
He's over there.
- Papaya King? - Europe.
He's finding himself.
Why did he have to travel 3,000 miles to find himself without you?
What do I know?
Good night, Pumpkin.
Good night.
Hey. - Good morning, Brett.
Uh-huh.
Okay, so what's the cost difference between
a partial ocean view and a full ocean view?
Excuse me?
Let me speak to my boss and get back to you. Damn!
Why are you in my office?
I knew no one was gonna tell you, but I'm not gonna get stuck with it.
- Am I fired? - Just go up to your boss's office
and speak to Faye. She'll explain everything.
- Who's Faye? - Reservations, please.
Oh, it feels good. The burn. The burn feels good.
Can you give me a hand here?
- You must be Katie. - I'm Brett.
Oh, right. The one with the office. Well, Brett, it's nice to meet you.
I'm your new boss, Faye Faulkner.
Yes. That Faulkner.
- What happened to Dorrie? - Dorrie's dead.
Metaphorically speaking, of course.
You see, Dorrie was the victim of her own futile search
for something that no longer exists.
A great novelist.
Sorry about your office, by the way.
My assistant Jason needed some privacy
to make sure the transition went smoothly,
but I'll be sure you get it back in a week or so.
Sure. It's no problem.
In the meantime, just go about your work
until the evaluation process ends, hmm?
Okay.
Oh, wait. One more thing.
Faye Faulkner.
Jean-Claude.
It's a private invitation to a Bergdorf sale tonight.
Forty off. Enjoy.
- What happened? - Dorrie got fired.
Damn it. After I spent a year 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.
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.
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...
Mail box 107. One new message.
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.
Holy shit.
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.
Don't be silly, I'm just feeding a hungry child.
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?.
Thank you.
You're not drinking?
I'm an alcoholic.
- 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.
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.
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 to seduce a young girl?
Seduce? Why would I want to do that?
Think about it. What would the point of that be?
What would be the point of seducing you?
Stop by if you change your mind.
Any time of the night or day.
Surprise!
Ted!
God! When did you get back?
Just a couple of hours ago.
Well, why didn't you tell me? I could have met you at the airport.
Well, I wanted to surprise you.
You did.
I had to make sure you were being a virtuous,
God-fearing,
woman
while I was on the front.
Know what I really missed?
Your grilled cheese.
It's Archie.
I left a little present for you at your favorite book store.
Hope you don't mind.
Jed, I...
- I think there's someone else. - Huh?
There's someone else!
Jesus, B, there's no one else.
Okay, look, I might have hooked up with a chick in Sweden,
but I swear it was temporary insanity. I was reading too much Strindberg...
Jed, for once in your life, listen to me.
Okay? I'm telling you that I met someone else.
Quit fooling around. I really missed you...
No, you didn't.
In six months I got one postcard.
From Sweden.
Now I know why.
Come on, Brett, you can't just dump me like this.
Look how romantic I'm being?
- Come on, give me a chance. - I gave you a chance!
And you know what you did?
You went to Europe without me.
Will you at least put me up for a few weeks? Till I find a place?
On the couch.
For me or you?
You ready?
Did Van Gogh have one ear?
I just need to get my bag. I'll be a second.
You're pretty chipper for a girl in mourning.
Mourning? Over Jed?
Give me a little more credit than that.
Oh, really? I thought for sure you'd be upset.
Is that the only decent excuse for a visit? Relationship trauma?
Well, you guys have been together for over a year.
Six months of which he spent in Europe
suffering from a peculiar form of Stockholm syndrome.
Yeah.
Why? Don't you think we should've stayed together?
Well, how I felt about Jed is totally irrelevant.
Even more so now that you two are no longer an item.
You know, I think I've met someone else. He's a little bit older.
That fast, huh?
- He's an editor. - Hey! Here they are.
He used to be friendly with Aunt Hilda.
He is really more of a friend, though.
Have I ever told you that you've perfected
the art of parental non-interference?
Well, the Hippocratic oath is very clear. "First, do no harm. "
Especially to daughters.
So, what else do we absolutely, positively have to have?
- Oh! A pair of Gucci shoes. - Oh! How about a shower curtain?
Even better.
Now, you promise me that you're gonna have your building super put those up.
With or without batteries?
- I love you. - I love you too, honey.
What is it, honey?
I just miss you, Daddy. That's all.
I know.
Shut up.
Well, what have we here?
Looky what I got.
A final copy of the Jane Shanning book you edited.
No way! I've been reading so much lately,
I almost forgot I was an associate.
Hey, guys.
What's the matter?
No acknowledgment.
Six months editing a book on penguins and I get nothing.
Don't feel bad. An author I once worked with
passed me over for his dental hygienist.
Maybe I can cheer you up. I got tickets
to a movie premiere tonight. Any interest?
Thanks, but Archie and I are going to the Berkshires for the weekend.
What, is he too cheap to pony up for the Hamptons?
Archie detests the Hamptons.
He says sitting on the LIE is suburban chemotherapy.
This is top priority. Faye wants a reader's report by Monday.
Have a terrific weekend.
Especially you. I haven't met you. What is your name?
It doesn't matter. I like the whole denim,
plain-Jane thing. You into pornography?
Oh! I need coffee. Stat.
How's the book? Almost as bad as your music.
Faye's giving me everything she doesn't want to read.
Mafia wars, Victorian epics, Bridget Jones knock-offs.
If I get a celebrity bio, I'm gonna drink bleach.
Want me to make some calls?
I'm kidding.
- I'm kidding. - You're not funny.
I think you're just jealous of my hat.
- Hey, Arch? - Yes, doll?
- Who were you on the phone with? - Elizabeth.
You told me that your daughter refuses to speak to you.
I left her a message.
That's not what I mean.
Why today, while peeing in the bathroom at Rooster's Burgers,
did you suddenly have the urge to call her?
Because it's her birthday.
Maybe you should think about getting her a gift.
- Already did. - What'd you get her?
A BoysenBerry.
You know, you never told me, not exactly,
why she won't talk to you.
Bless that girl, I think she would have forgiven me anything.
The cheating, the drinking, even the divorce.
But there's one thing she would never forgive me for.
And that's that I didn't fight for her love.
I ran.
I think if I had just tried to get custody,
no matter how fruitless it might have been,
everything would be different now.
Thanks for telling me, Archie.
Number 51, your order's ready.
I'll get the food.
What's the matter, kiddo?
I think I'm having a work-related panic attack.
You want my help?
No.
- Okay. - Please?
These are all for Faye?
Mostly.
I've actually read a lot of them.
I just couldn't make a decision if they were good or bad.
So I re-read them and then I got more confused.
Now I can't reject anything at all.
Well, it's perfectly natural to doubt
your judgment about doubting your judgment.
Let's see what you're reading.
"They did good rowing, Dave and Michelle.
"When she was pregnant with Carl, he'd hit her once.
"Her body always assailed him with ambivalence,
"wanting to possess it and yet repelled.
"Her marbled belly, her engorged breasts had shamed him
"the way they tipped him into revulsion. "
You read this whole thing?
Twice?
Including the 50-page description of
the blizzard that covered all of Dublin.
It's shit.
It's by a writer who wants to be the next James Joyce.
- What if he is the next Joyce? - He ain't.
I can't just say that. I mean,
Faye wants me to write reader's reports.
You're an associate. Why are you writing reports?
Okay. I want you to grab a pad, Eisenberg.
I want you to take a memo and I want you to write this verbatim.
This writer wants to be the next James Joyce, comma,
maybe he is, comma,
but I can't get past the first chapter.
Period.
That's it?
And then what do I do when Faye complains?
Tell her that writing reports is not an efficient use of your time.
It's not an efficient use of your time.
Next batter.
Secrets Will Rise by Steven Freeberg.
I'll be up all night.
Now, that is sexy.
- Come on! - No!
There's nothing wrong with your judgment.
Alcoholic. Diabetic.
More than twice your age.
And you still are really considering moving in with this guy?
I know, it's nuts,
but when I'm with him I feel like...
Like a better version of myself, you know?
Funnier, smarter, sexier.
So you gonna bring him home to meet your dad?
Why not? They can talk about retirement plans and golf.
What if he just starts making out with your mother?
Or has a stroke.
Just keels over in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner?
Don't let her scare you off. Older men are a great bet.
Assuming, of course, you can ignore the ex-wives and bratty kids.
Did anyone ask for your opinion?
- No. - Down.
Anyway, I have a hunch there's nothing I can say to stop this madness.
Well, you know what they say.
"Tell a girl she can't have something... "
- "She wants it even more. " - "She wants it even more. "
Snooping already?
Who are they?
Every woman I've seriously dated for the last 25 years.
Collecting them all in one book?
It's a little self-congratulatory, don't you think?
Lauren, an ex-girlfriend of mine, put this together for me.
I can't ever imagine being secure enough to do that.
There's a strange phenomenon here.
As you get older, the women keep getting younger.
Oh.
That's Lauren. Right there.
- That's Lauren Hutton. - Most certainly is.
Here's Elizabeth's mother. Here.
- Your first wife? - Yeah. We met at Princeton.
I was a professor, faking my way through a class on Borges.
And she came into my office one day and said she knew that I was a fake,
but was in love with me nonetheless, and I married her three months later.
What makes you think I want to hear about your flock of women?
First of all, it's not a flock, it's a gaggle.
And second of all, this is my life we're talking about here.
I see.
I got you something.
Oh, I hope it's what I want.
You might need these.
Oh, you're so mean.
"Thanks for letting me share your home, XO, Brett. "
XO.
The two-letter cop-out for those who are too
afraid to use the four-letter alternative.
Just open it.
Great Scott!
I've entered the 21st century!
I think it needs a Valium.
I sent you a text message.
- Click the wheel on the right twice. - Here?
Yes.
What do I do now?
Read it.
Really?
On the stairs?
- These notes are great. - Thank you.
But the reader's reports you wrote
before were a lot more thorough.
Reports don't seem like an efficient use of my time.
I guess notes are fine.
Now, I've just completed my overview of Dorrie's acquisitions.
And it seems there's a book she
bought for you called Peanut Butter...
Peanut Butter Blues, by Leonard Putterman.
That's a pet project of mine.
That's quite an advance for a story about people with arachnophobia.
Arachibutyrophobia.
- I beg your pardon? - Arachibutyrophobia.
Arachnophobia is the fear of spiders.
Arachibutyrophobia is the fear of peanut butter sticking
to the roof of your mouth.
The book could strike a nerve.
Yeah.
Do yourself a favor. Finish it up quickly and move on.
- Understood? - Yes.
Did Archie tell you to say that?
That's what he used to tell me to say.
"Reports don't seem like an efficient use of my time. "
You going my way?
Hey, guess who called me today?
- I don't know. Who? - Elizabeth.
The first time in two years. Man,
she must have really loved that gift.
- I guess so. - You know what I was thinking?
I would get us all tickets to go to the Jackson Browne concert.
- What do you think? - Who?
Funny, that's exactly what she said.
You know, Archie, if you want to take your daughter to a concert,
maybe you should ask her who she wants to see.
Look, I know this is awkward. You being the same age and all.
But I thought if you would come with us,
maybe I wouldn't bungle the whole evening.
You know what I'm saying?
I don't think that's such a good idea.
Hey.
- I don't get it. - Go on. Try it on.
What's wrong with what I'm wearing?
It's... It's perfectly fine.
"Perfectly fine?"
My friend just won the Pulitzer Prize.
Would you indulge me?
I like what I'm wearing.
My father bought me this dress. I spent three pay checks on my shoes.
He's infantilizing you a bit, just a little bit. I mean, it's a little...
...asexual.
You'd prefer a crotchless teddy?
Look, that dress says, and very lucidly, I might add,
that you're an associate editor from a small imprint
who just got off the bus from Cherry Hill, New Jersey.
Don't make fun of my family.
How could I make fun of people I've never met?
Archie, why are you picking on me?
- Look at this dress! - I see it!
Where is Brett?
Where did she go? What did you do with her?
I want my Brett back.
Archie, darling, come in, come in!
You remember Brett.
Well, yes, of course. Hello, dear.
Good evening, Miss Paddleford.
Stunning dress!
Perhaps next time you'd like to wear open-toes.
It's so much more appropriate with d¨¦collet¨¦. Don't you think?
Archie, you have to come with me immediately.
One of your secret admirers is here and she insists that she meet you,
or her life will be empty.
I think she likes you.
Sid, there's someone I want you to meet. Sidney!
Hey, there. - Hi.
Can I get you something?
Yeah. I'm looking for a drink that I can completely make a fool of myself with.
Coming right up.
I'm scared. - But just think, Mickey.
Now you are among the likes of men like Steinbeck
and Updike and Bellow.