Rosie by Anne Lamott

Author:Anne Lamott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction/General
ISBN: 9781742583983
Publisher: UWA Press
Published: 2009-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

James arrived one drizzly evening with an envelope in the pocket of his jeans. “I got rejected at Putnam’s,” he said when she opened the door. He was brooding; she looked consolingly at him, felt as she did when Rosie suffered—it made her so sad—but a small voice in her was relieved, glad he had been rejected. She led him to the living room and felt so sad for him that she even found his green zip-up sportshirt endearing.

“The editor there said it was stupid and badly written and boring and he hoped I would die.”

“Let me see.”

James scowled and retrieved the envelope huffily. He thrust it at her, as if daring her to read it. The letter read: “Thank you for letting me take a look at your work. I’m afraid it’s not right for us at this time, as we already have two autobiographical novels by men on our upcoming list. My main problem with your writing is that the humor is overdone, it’s too show-offy. But please let me see your next book, and good luck. You have a lot of talent.”

“Where’s the part where he hopes you die?”

“You have to read between the lines.”

“I bet it’s a wonderful book.”

“It’s a piece of shit.”

“Do you want a drink?”

“Yeah.”

Elizabeth went to the kitchen. There was a half-empty bottle of J&B in the cupboard, from which she poured two stiff shots (one was an inch stiffer until she took a big bracing sip). She carried them to the living room, sipping on hers as soon as he could see her; the sip legitimized the whiskey on her breath.

Elizabeth was up to many tricks these days. For instance, now there was always a pint of whiskey in the study closet in case she needed one or two supplementary sips, or in case James was not there for the night. Sometimes it made her remember the scene in The Lost Weekend, Ray Milland’s second bottle of rye, hidden in the chandelier, its shadow on the ceiling, but she knew she was nowhere near as far gone. This second bottle business was just a phase, but her secret frightened her: a furtive aristocrat who pushed wrapped empty pints down deep in the garbage can. She was drinking too much in the terror that James would find out how much she needed to drink.

But though, granted, a long one, it was a phase, so it would end.

“Here you are.”

He exhaled and began to rave. He was having an episode.

Why would anyone care about his version of things? He had no talent, no story to tell. It would be discovered that he was not nearly so bright as his grades and banter suggested. He was going to have to get a job.

He was turning out like his father, was in fact becoming his father, and would consequently grow fat and bald and would need bypass surgery.

One of his molars was abscessed. He would need an expensive crown, and he was running out of

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