Chronically Metropolitan

"I whispered, 'I'm too young, '

"And then 'I am old enough.'

"Wherefore I threw a brown penny to find out if I might love."

Who is that?

That is Yeats.

Who the fuck is Yeats?

Oh, just a minor Irish poet.

Whoever the fuck that is.

Your ignorance is so infectious.

Oh, wait a minute.

Oh, my dear Lord.

Oh, Hannah, my love, well done.

Keep going. I want to hear the rest of it.

"Love is the wicked thing."

"There is no one wise enough to find it out.

"For he would be thinking of love

"Till the stars had run from the sky."

Disgusting.

Hot as balls.

Here, you want some of this?

Well, I'll try anything twice.

Here you go. Keep the change.

Thank you, sir. Welcome.

Fenton Dillane, my man! Irving, how are you?

Good.

How's the family?

Baby Lou?

Oh!

Baby Lou ain't a baby no more.

She's a three-year-old wrecking ball.

That Cali sun got you soft.

It's not that sunny in San Francisco. No?

Don't tell me you're a Nets fan now.

Come on, man, Knicks for life.

I gotta give Phil some time to build.

Man, it's really great seeing you.

Hey, man, good seeing you, too.

Don't be away so long, okay?

I got it from here.

You sure? Yeah.

Yeah. It's very pungent.

That means it's good. That'll be the usual.

How much do you have?

How much you need? Week's worth?

Mom? All right.

Fenton. This is a surprise.

Um... Wasn't expecting... You're home!

Yeah, new me.

What's up, buddy?

John.

Thank you, John.

Didn't think I wanted to be home for the latest?

I wasn't, uh, sure.

Oh, shoot. The sea bass.

Um, if someone's near the oven, would you shut it off?

What's good, man?

Things good in San Fran?

I haven't seen you in what, a year?

Yeah, I guess. Yeah.

Were you just selling my mom weed?

Oh, strictly at cost.

She smokes weed?

Oh, yeah.

No. Not a lot.

Sometimes.

Uh, listen, The Georgian's having people over tomorrow night.

Good ol' Georgian party.

Yeah.

Fenton, come say hi to your sister.

And there's someone I want you to meet.

Be right there.

Well, well, well.

Layla.

Welcome home, brother.

Fenton, this is my friend Ahmed.

Nice to meet you. Uh, okay.Hello.

Layla, would you be a dear and, um, open another bottle of wine?

Mmm-mmm. Oh, yeah. I'm on it.

Layla, let me give you a hand with that.

I can...

What is going on? What?

I mean, who is he?

He's a friend of Mom's.

They met at a Studies of the Far East Group at the Met.

And so, what? They go to museums,

they look at ceramics from the Khyber Pass?

If his presence is so offensive to you,

just give notice the next time you feel like visiting.

Wow. Are they, like...

Fucking?

Jesus, Layla.

I hope so.

But Mom's not Dad, so I wouldn't count on it.

It's big of you to come home for this.

Back for what?

You tell me.

What, back for Dad?

I wrote something I'm not sure I wanna publish.

What's going on, Fenton?

It doesn't work like that.

You don't get to leave the way you did,

and then come back and expect everything to be okay.

Because you just left, for a long time!

Yeah, you would too, if every New York asshole with a blog or a column

was comparing you to bags of douche or Alec fucking Baldwin.

They were just reacting to the what, Fenton.

Not the who. Mmm.

If you ever leave like that again,

I'm gonna kill you.

Seriously, I'm gonna kill you.

Okay. Never again.

Promise.

Layla, what are you, uh, studying in college?

Um, uh...

Lots of stuff.

It's really just a four-year delay to my unemployment.

Layla, are you still dating that guy with the, uh, red hair?

What was his name? Dick?

He had braces, yeah?

And a mullet? Mullet.

Fuck both of you.

And who are you dating right now?

I came back for Jessie.

Fenton.

Why don't we smoke some of this lovely purple marijuana

that you brought, John?

Mom. What?

You walked in on the deal. Let me see this.

Mmm!

Regardless, you could take pride in the fact

that this is some excellent shit.

Thanks.

I'll get it.

Hello? Hello, I'm from The Journal...

Really? Would you be able to call me?

We're eating dinner, you cocksucker!

Which cocksucker was that?

It's another one of those reporters asking

if I had anything to say about my father.

Happy you're back.

Ma, are you, uh...

You Okay?

Me? I'm fine.

Oh, you mean the marijuana.

It helps me relax.

Um...

Well, I wasn't talking about that.

Oh.

No, I just...

You know, about Dad.

Him? It'll be fine.

I was gonna go see him tomorrow.

Mmm. That's what you're back for.

Yeah, sure. You know, for Pop.

I'm working on something and could use his advice.

It's good to have you home.

You look thin.

So far, Fenton, these chapters... Wow!

I mean, they're hilarious.

I loved your story. The birthday party.

Really?

You know it forced me into exile.

I'm serious.

And this novel picks up right where that left off.

I feel like we know these people. That they exist.

And after the reception of the story, it's totally marketable.

Because we do it like one of those memoirs,

where we're not sure if what we're reading really happened or not.

But, James, this is fiction.

Of course it is.

Now, when do you think you'll be finished?

You're home!

Ah!

Look at this.

Front page.

Of course, the turds weren't interested when I won my National Book Award, but...

Was that girl that was just here...

She from the car crash?

Oh, yeah.

She's an excellent writer.

Well, this should be a lesson for you and your sister.

Always wear seat belts.

If I hadn't been wearing a seat belt,

you'd be standing over a headstone right now.

Why didn't you just leave Mom years ago?

I can't leave your mother.

She understands me.

This is humiliating.

Oh, I know. For all of us.

Oh, you don't know the half of it.

Well, then again, maybe you do.

This does contradict your public image.

Yeah, not only that,

the other girl's parents are suing me and the university.

All these young girls throwing themselves at me,

you'd think your mother would understand.

Keep it in your pants, Dad. Don't blame Mom...

No, no, no. I'm not blaming her.

I'm just saying it's not all my fault.

What the...