Chapters (60)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Personae
- I: Early Days
- One. Control
- Two. Doubt
- Three. Fate
- Four. Same
- Five. Fine Arts
- Six. In Loco Parentis
- Seven. Settling
- Eight. Neighbors
- Nine. Prospects
- Ten. The Lucky
- Eleven. Instruction
- Twelve. Same
- Thirteen. This Is a Pipe
- Fourteen. This Is Not a Pipe
- Fifteen. The Reason
- Sixteen. That Person
- Seventeen. Predictably
- II: Writing Teacher
- Eighteen. Early Poems
- Nineteen. Motivation
- Twenty. Allegory
- Twenty-One. Grief
- Twenty-Two. A Portrait
- Twenty-Three. Veils
- Twenty-Four. Soft Power
- Twenty-Five. Lists
- Twenty-Six. A Break
- Twenty-Seven. Elsewhere
- Twenty-Eight. Custom
- Twenty-Nine. Parity
- Thirty. Fortune
- III: Volta
- Thirty-One. Images
- Thirty-Two. A Very Interesting Young Man
- Thirty-Three. Letters
- Thirty-Four. We Prefer to See Ourselves Living
- Thirty-Five. Love
- Thirty-Six. The Iceberg
- IV: Your Best Reader
- Thirty-Seven. A Novelist
- Thirty-Eight. In Advance of the Broken Arm
- Thirty-Nine. Their Penultimate Encounter
- Forty. Détente
- Forty-One. Worlds
- Forty-Two. Recognition
- Forty-Three. Persistence
- Forty-Four. And Then
- Forty-Five. Mingling
- Forty-Six. You
- Forty-Seven. Persona
- Forty-Eight. Est et Non
- Forty-Nine. The Author
- Epilogue
- Afterword: The Libertine
- Acknowledgments
- About the Authors
Harry wishes Loudermilk would notice things, like the open book on his lap, the new kettle on the stove, the miniature cactus in neon gravel on the windowsill, things which were not transferred to this building by magic.
Loudermilk is stalking back to the kitchen. He asks if Harry wants a beer.
Harry gives a thumbs-up behind his head. He’s obediently reading.
Loudermilk returns. “Find anything?”
Harry accepts a PBR. He clears his throat and forces himself to declaim:
vivisepulture
fly-eyed flickers eventime and i wake you
tunis pheromone shallow lucency
should stop shunts fujiflex and i do not
not
Harry drinks.
Loudermilk grabs the paper out of Harry’s hand. “Shit!” He is laughing. “I knew it!” Loudermilk crows.
Harry asks what the celebration is about.
“You see this?” Loudermilk indicates a signature at the bottom of the page, A. Beans. “Anton motherfucking Beans. This homo sapiens was way, way up in my grill.”
“This person’s name is ‘ant on beans’?”
Loudermilk whips his recorder out of his shorts pocket, pops out the tape. He is trembling slightly, whether with rage or joy Harry does not know. “First, Harry, friend, you need to have a wee listen to what’s on here. However, let me offer you a preview: This dick-munch is not capable of writing! Not that I know anything about poetry, but I’m guaranteeing you that right now. He’s a liability.”
Harry informs Loudermilk that this disquisition, while certainly dramatic, is not very helpful on the fact front. He testily accepts the mini-tape.
Loudermilk frowns. “I’m trying to tell you, he’s onto me—onto us. It takes one to know one! What a mother-loving hack!”
“Guess I’ll try not to imitate him.”
Loudermilk drops into the chair next to Harry’s. “I’m just saying, dude, I happen to know how good you are, so let’s take advantage of that, am I right? Let’s mess with this cum-guzzler. How’s that for a mandate?” Loudermilk hands the xeroxed poetry back to Harry. He raises his beer. “Anyhow, cheers, dude.”
“Likewise,” Harry mutters.
Harry wonders exactly whose cum Beans is meant to be guzzling—is it, for example, the cum also contained in Harry’s “dumpster,” or is it more diversely sourced?—but decides he will reserve this question for a later juncture. He puts the poetry facedown on the floor under his seat, along with the mini-tape.
He and Loudermilk touch cans.
“By the way, so I went to the bank, dude?” Loudermilk takes out his wallet. “And I was thinking, after expenses, I give you like five hundred, first of the month? How’s that?”
Harry slowly nods.