Boomer_A Novel by Daniel Torday

Author:Daniel Torday [Torday, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B079DVXVKD
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2018-09-18T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THE SECOND REQUEST REGAN made was more or less the opposite of the one regarding Natalia, and it came as a surprise: she said that while it might not seem the most intuitive move after having been visited by the feebees, she thought Cassie should keep in contact with Mark Brumfeld. Cassie and Regan had just gone to a movie at the BAM Cinemas in Fort Greene. They went to a showing of the second Godfather, where they were annoyed when the person behind them talked through the first half hour of the movie until Cassie turned around to shush them and saw it was John Turturro sitting with his teenage son, explaining all the complicated relationships to him throughout the movie. When she turned back, instead of annoyed she was giddy with the iconic Brooklyn experience—“John fucking Turturro is behind us,” she whispered to Regan.

“Fuck him and his baby boomer smug face,” Regan said.

The giddiness Cassie felt turned to discomfort. She got up to use the bathroom and when she came back Regan wasn’t sitting in their seats anymore—Cassie had to squint in the dark for three minutes of the Michael-Corleone-in-Sicily scene before she found her six rows closer to the screen. Afterward they went up to have dinner in the BAM Café. Corrugated tin covered the ceiling maybe twenty feet above their heads. They sat so that they both had a view out the three-story windows onto the fits and starts of traffic on Flatbush. In the cacophonous room they could barely hear each other, but it was one of Cassie’s favorite spots in the whole city. It was one of those venues that made Brooklyn seem superior to Manhattan, as if in the past decade something had flipped cultural currency from the island and down to the western end of Long Island, where they now sat. Across the avenue the sign on Junior’s awning was the same neon orange it had always been, touting the same cheesecake it had always touted. But BAM’s façade had just given up scaffolding it had carried for what felt like years, a teenage mouth free of braces, and inside the café its patrons were all newly chrome. Let the Manhattanite baby boomers who could afford it have the Met, have the Frick, the Guggenheim, the Flatiron Building, Central Park. Cassie and Regan and their generation had BAM Café, had Rumble Seat music, had the Barclays Center, the new waterpark in Prospect Park. They had the youth and they had the numbers. They were ugly but they had the music.

At the back of the room a funk band played. It was rumored Vernon Reid would join them on guitar by the end of the night. Cassie had ordered locally sourced lamb shank, and Regan was eating pumpkin risotto. They talked about a couple new attacks that were all over the news that week: A Boomer Boomer had attempted yet another vandalism of Bob Weir’s house, but this time the Marin County Police Department was prepared.

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