The Gum Thief - Douglas Coupland [20]
“Novel number two: Less Than Fewer. Forced. Anticlimactic. Emotionally arid and repetitive.”
“Nonsense. Critics compared it to Henry James.”
“Yes,” taunted Gloria. “If I remember correctly, an embalmed Henry James—inasmuch as words can be embalmed.”
“Jesus, Gloria,” shouted Steve. “Why do you have to be so caustic?”
“Novel number three: Gumdrops, Lilies and Forceps.”
“That was a good book!”
“Yes, well, whatever. Novel number four— Eagles and Seagulls—the story of my family, which you pilfered as easily as if it were a pack of gum.”
“Not true. Merely because its heroine has copper- tinted kiss-curls like your mother’s does not mean I strip-mined your family for material.”
“If you need to believe that, then please do. Let’s discuss novel number five, Immigrant Living in a Small Town, which began your final decline into the creation of meaningless compost mounds of spew.”
Steve removed his hand from the door handle. “How dare you! The Times Literary Review called it a masterpiece of miniaturization. ‘A Five-Year Plan of the Microscopic.’”
“What have you written lately, my dear?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, is it that important to you that I be the one to answer the door?”
“Yes, it is.”
The doorbell rang again.
They looked at the door as though it were a coffin, with two bony claws about to crash through in pursuit of living souls upon which to feed.
“You know I’ve had writer’s block for a long time, Gloria.”
“Open the door, Steve.”
“Yes, dear.”
Steve did.
DeeDee
I don’t understand the human heart.
Only pain makes it grow stronger. Only sorrow makes it kind. Contentment makes it wither, and joy seems to build walls around it. The heart is perverse, and it is cruel. I hate the heart and it seems to hate me.
Roger, you stay away from my daughter. She tells me you’ve been writing letters or something back and forth. Well, put a stop to that right now. She could be the only member to escape the curse of my loser family, and I won’t have you stepping in and setting her on the road to failure. Bethany has not had an easy life, and much of that is my fault, and somehow she’s managed to rise above it. She lives at home and is the only thing that keeps me going. I dread the day she leaves, because once she’s out that door, I’m out the door too, except my body is left behind, here in this crummy condo, forever wondering what it was that walked out the door with Bethany.
She was a quiet child, and I used to think it was because she was smart and had ideas too large to put into words, but now I think she kept quiet to avoid having to engage in her mother’s sordid life.
After she leaves, I’ll have way too much time on my hands and will have no choice but to accept the fact that the chance of my falling in love again is zero. When did I reach that point? A few years ago?
I know the moment I finally understood it. It was that night at Denny’s with you. It was like I saw myself at the next booth, sixty-eight years old, eating breakfast alone at three in the afternoon, using a coupon for a discount, with the only thing on my horizon going back to my condo to wait for my next meal.
So it’s not like I haven’t been thinking of you since that date. But when I do, I think about The Void. About loss. You may or may not deserve this, but that’s what I see. You may well be the male equivalent of me—a certain age, a grocery list of bad decisions—whatever. Stay away from my daughter. She has a nice healthy thing maybe going with some guy there—Kyle?—and I don’t want you messing with that. Act your age. Go get hammered at some bar. But leave my daughter alone.
DD
Glove Pond
Gloria smiled at her guests. “Kyle Falconcrest! An honour to have you here in our charming, gracious home.”
“Thank you. This is my wife, Brittany.”
“Hello.”
Steve said, “I’m glad you could take the time to visit our small, modest university. Can I get either of