To: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>
Fr: Holly Caputo <holly.caputo@thenyjournal.com>
Re: Did you see that?
I’m getting married, but I’m not DEAD. My God, who knew that under that mild-mannered Oxford lurked a chest of such exquisite proportions? Did you notice the abs?
Holly
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To: Holly Caputo <holly.caputo@thenyjournal.com>
Fr: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>
Re: Did you see that?
They were slightly hard to miss. Don’t you think he was showing them off just SLIGHTLY by ripping off his shirt and diving in like that? I mean, DIVING?
J
___________________________________________
To: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>
Fr: Holly Caputo <holly.caputo@thenyjournal.com>
Re: Did you see that?
Well, he’s been working, while the rest of us were just out here lounging around. I think he just got frustrated and gave up, turned off the Blackberry, and went for it. I didn’t catch anything “stagey” about it.
Wow, look at him go. That’s a lot of laps. He must really be annoyed about something—or somebody— to be swimming that fast.
Holly
___________________________________________
To: Holly Caputo <holly.caputo@thenyjournal.com>
Fr: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>
Re: Did you see that?
He’s ruining my afternoon of total relaxation. How can I relax when someone is exercising that hard in front of me? He’s making me feel guilty about all that pasta I had at lunch.
J
___________________________________________
To: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>
Fr: Holly Caputo <holly.caputo@thenyjournal.com>
Re: Did you see that?
He’ll stop soon. Oh, see. There you go. Oh, look, how sweet. He’s coming to sit by YOU, Janie! Itold you he likes you. Maybe even as much as PETER does.
Holly
___________________________________________
To: Holly Caputo <holly.caputo@thenyjournal.com>
Fr: Jane Harris <jane@wondercat.com>
Re: Did you see that?
I hate you.
J
Travel Diary of Jane Harris
Travel Diary of
Jane Harris
Why are men—and boys—so weird?
I mean, they certainly LOOK nice enough, for the most part. Cal Langdon, in particular, though it GALLS me to admit it. I mean, look at him, sitting there in that lounge chair, with the sunlight winking off the drops of water still clinging to his golden body hair.
Oh my God, I can’t believe I wrote the words golden body hair .
Still, not like he’s got so much of it. Just enough, really.
Just enough to make me wonder how much more he’s got, you know, below the waistband of his shorts.
I can’t believe I wrote that EITHER!!!
Still. It doesn’t matter how good they look—and just how, I’d like to know, does a guy whose job entails sitting behind a desk, typing stuff, get such defined biceps?—men are still weird.
Seriously. Just look at what they’re doing now. The Modelizer, Mark, and Peter are having this totally in depth—and boring—conversation about the Hubble space telescope and dark energy—whatever that is—and they are WAY into it. I mean, as much into it as Holly and I get when we’re talking about ER .
They’re going on about how dark energy—whatever it is— fills up most of the universe, along with dark matter, and how no one knows what either of those things is (which is a bit of a relief, since, um, I was thinking I’d missed something), but they seem to think it’s responsible for the anti-gravitational force that is causing the universe to expand, rather than contract, the way everything else does, when gravity pulls on it.
Hello. Don’t they realize they’re in ITALY? Can’t they shut up for FIVE MINUTES and enjoy the way the light is trickling through the green leaves as the sun sinks down, dappling the pool and veranda in golden half-light? Or the way the setting sun seems almost to create a mist across the patch worked hills, making them seem blurry to the eye—except for where the outbuildings on them are silhouetted against those great big purple clouds built up behind them, the aftereffects of a fleeing storm?
THAT’s what they should be talking about. The miracles of nature right in front of them. Not some stupid dark energy, billions of miles away.
Oh, great. Those clouds, that I thought were fleeing? They’re headed this way. It’s going to rain in a second.
Aw, screw it. It’s time for dinner anyway.
___________________________________________
e-mails
To: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>
Fr: Joan Langdon < joan.langdon@artintucson.com joan.langdon@artintucson.com>
Re: Mary
Hi, Calvin! It’s me, Mom. I don’t know where you are right now—are you still in Riyadh? I know you were on Charlie Rose — one of my neighbors told me. But of course I missed it, because you know I don’t own a television—so you must have been back in the US for that.
I did buy your new book. It was very long.
But they have it in the window at Books-A-Million, so I’m sure you’ll sell lots of copies.
Anyway, I hope you’re well, and not working too hard… but knowing you, I’m sure that’s the case. You were always such a workaholic. Remember in high school, when you were so determined to get into Yale? Your dad and I couldn’t understand it. What’s so wrong with a state school? We went to one, and didn’t turn out so badly.
But you got your way, in the end. As always. Well, I mean, you got in. Too bad they wouldn’t give us enough financial aid to let you go. But hey, you turned out all right! Looks like Ohio State didn’t hurt you too much!
I myself am doing extremely nicely—I have a show at the Tucson Senior Center next month, featuring my latest series of “lint people.” I really think these latest pieces are going to put me on the map in the art world. I see myself as a sort of middle-aged, female Matthew Barnye. You know, the artist who made a name for himself with Vaseline sculptures?
I can’t tell you how good it feels, Cal, to finally be expressing my creative side. I felt so STIFLED all those years I ignored the artistic part of me. I really hope you’re finding a way to let your own creativity flow, Cal. I know some people call writing art, but what you write… well, I don’t think nonfiction counts. You’ve always looked down on your sister and me, I know, calling us “flakes.”
But there’s nothing “flakey” about creative expression, Cal. Nothing at all.
Speaking of your sister, I was wondering if you’d heard from her. I only ask because I had the oddest dream last night, in which you, your dad, and Mary and I were trapped on a frozen pond, and the ice had begun to crack. Oddly, you were the only one who managed to pull yourself to safety.
So I was just wondering if you knew if Mary was all right.
That’s all.
Mom
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To: Cal Langdon <cal.langdon@thenyjournal.com>
Fr: Hank Langdon < hank.langdon@expat.net>
Re: Hey
Hey! Whaddaya think? I got myself online! Yeah! I know! It’s a miracle!
So when are you coming for a visit? I got an extra set of clubs. The courses here ain’t bad at all. Well, you know, except for the spics. But you can’t escape the spics in Mexico City, let me tell you!