The Man Who Wasn't All There by David Handler (book recommendations website TXT) 📕

Always has. ‘I don’t want either of you to get sick. You know how susceptible Lulu is to sinus and bronchial problems.’

‘Hold on, you’re going to keep her locked in here with me?’

‘I am.’

‘But she mouth breathes. It’ll be like taking a bath with a seal.’

‘Darling, Lulu loves you so much that she suffered serious wounds to her front paws to save your life. Are you honestly going to deny her the care she needs?’ I had no comeback for that one. There was no comeback. So I began to undress. Again, Merilee had to steady me. ‘You look thin,’ she observed fretfully.

‘I’ve written more than a hundred new pages since you left. I’ve done nothing but work.’

‘Have you been eating?’

‘I do forget to eat lunch sometimes, now that you mention it. But I have dinner every night at Tony’s.’

‘Still, you’re nothing but ribs and collar bones. You haven’t been this thin since … you’re not snorting nose candy again, are you?’

‘Never again, Merilee. I swear to you on my mother’s grave.’

‘Your mother’s still alive.’

‘I do smoke a Chesterfield after dinner when we walk home from Tony’s.’

‘You’re smoking?’

‘Just that one cigarette a day. I’m in character. Totally back to being me in 1975. I listen to the same music, dress the same way. Surely you of all people can understand what I mean. I even repaired my old cigarette lighter, Grandfather’s Ronson Varaflame. And it’s a good thing I did. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have been able to see a thing when we were trapped down in that tomb.’

She considered this carefully as the tub continued to fill and the bathroom became steamier and more powerfully scented. ‘Are they good?’

‘The new pages? They’re good.’

‘And are you finding your work space … satisfactory?’

‘Merilee, that office is like a dream, I swear. Every morning I sit down at the writing table, look out at the park and think I’ve actually become the man I always wanted to be – all except for the part about you being in Hungary.’

‘Well, that’s not forever. Or at least I certainly hope not.’ The tub was full. She turned off the water. ‘I may just keep you two company for a few minutes. That long flight dried out my sinuses, and if I catch a cold I’ll have to loop all of my Budapest dialogue when we move on to London to shoot our interiors. How’s your balance? Do you need help getting in?’

‘I can manage,’ I assured her as I eased myself slowly into the scalding hot water.

‘Breathe deep,’ she commanded me, perching on her dressing table chair.

I breathed deep. ‘This eucalyptus oil makes it smell like one of those Russian bathhouses on the Lower East Side. We should be playing pinochle and drinking schnapps.’

Actually, it felt great. My head was definitely stuffed up from that damp root cellar, and my body felt stiff and achy. I could have lived without the bonus steamy scent of the Fulton Fish Market, but we do have to accommodate the mouth breathers whom we love.

‘So what’s wrong with the movie, Merilee?’

‘Who says there’s anything wrong with it?’

I didn’t bother to answer her.

She fell silent for a moment. ‘I truly don’t know. The script’s as tight as a drum. The director is inventive, quick-witted and easy to get along with. We have a terrific cinematographer. The locations really look like photographs of Paris in the twenties. Mel has been a dream to work with. He has great energy. The entire ensemble does. But when I look at the dailies Brett just doesn’t feel real to me. She feels fake. In fact, it all feels fake.’

‘Have you considered the source material?’

‘It can’t be the source material. The Sun Also Rises is one of the greatest novels of the twentieth century. Ernest Hemingway was a giant of American literature.’

‘Says who?’

‘Says everyone.’

‘Who’s everyone?’

‘Literary scholars, critics … everyone.’ Merilee shook her head of long, beautiful golden hair at me. ‘Where are you going with this?’

‘There’s a precious handful of writers whom I reread every few years just to remind myself what great writing is. Hemingway isn’t one of them. He wrote some terrific Nick Adams short stories when he was first starting out. His prose was natural and clean. But then his ego took over and he became a pretentious macho gasbag. His characters bear no resemblance to real people. Try leafing through For Whom the Bell Tolls some time. The dialogue’s so stilted that it’s laugh-out-loud funny. He excelled at being a colorful personality – Papa Hemingway – but to me he’s the most overrated novelist of the twentieth century.’

She looked at me in stunned disbelief. ‘Are you telling me that The Sun Also Rises, which everyone with the exception of you considers a literary masterpiece, is doo-doo?’

‘Did you read it when you were in college?’

‘Of course. Everyone did.’

‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Not really.’

‘That’s because it’s crap. I’m sorry, doo-doo.’

‘Darling, why didn’t you say anything before I took the role?’

‘Because it’s an A-list project with a top director and you were incredibly excited. Besides, you never know when lightning will strike. My advice to you is that if Brett doesn’t seem real then make her real. Don’t give up.’

‘I won’t,’ she said with quiet determination. ‘But I have a truly bad gut feeling about this one.’

‘I’m sorry, Merilee.’

‘No need to be. Most of what I pour my heart and soul into fails. That’s the nature of my business.’

‘Mine too. And there’s no joy to be had if we don’t take risks.’

She excused herself and returned a few minutes later with a teapot filled with boiling water that she dumped into the tub to generate more steam.

After that, she left Lulu and me in peace to our herbal aromatherapy. It was so soothing that I may have dozed off for a few minutes. When she returned a half-hour or so later she helped me out of the deep tub with a hand under my arm – she’s nearly six feet tall and incredibly strong –