Conversations in B Flat

"What you going to do with a B.A. in theater, Harry?"

"I have no idea."

Wipe your ass with it? Snicker, snicker.

"Are you going to get a job or continue in school, Harry?"

"I have no idea."

Wake up and smell the coffee, dream boy.

"So what are you going to do with your life, Harry?"

"I have a few ideas."

Like, ahhhh...maybe do something bohemian, live abroad, get an earring. 

"Go into business, Harry. Make some money. Do that and everything else will fall into place," sayeth cousin Joey Prager.

"I'd like to write."

"You want to write? Write orders. Write enough orders, you can write anything you like."

"Yeah. Maybe?"

"Maybe what, Harry? Maybe what?"

I wish I knew. I wish I knew.

"Harry. You're all grown up, time to jump on the train of life or get left behind. Just remember this, no money, no honey..."

"...blah blah blah...this guy is killing me..."

"What are you drinking, Harry? It's on me."

"A double of anything."


****


A few days later hanging out in the basement with Harry's best friend, Finkie.

"Why would you listen to your cousin, Joey Prager? He's such a prick!"

"Who says I'm listening, Finkie? I'm just telling you what he said."

"And coincidentally, the next day you applied for an MBA."

"I still have to write my GMATs and get recommendations..."

"For business school, Harry, for business school. When have you ever expressed an interest in business?"

"What about our comic stand, Finkie? By age six, I was already buying and selling."

"And what a head for business. We bought the comics for twenty-five cents and sold them for a dime."

"But we read them first. We got our money's worth."

"Put that in your MBA application, Harry. I can even give you a recommendation, because you made all the  money. I never saw my share of the profits."

"What profits? We sold at a loss."

"You know what, Harry? Maybe you will do well in business. You've always had a streak of larceny."

"I like to think so."


****


Outside Dutchie's Music Emporium on a Saturday:

"Stiff?..Stiff Rosenfeld!..Man, it's been a while."

"Indeed, Harry Starr, indeed."

"So like, what're you up to these days, besides using the word indeed ?"

"Well, first of all, I'm a different person."

Harry eyeballed Stiff from head to toe. "Looks like Stiff." Harry sniffed him. "Smells like Stiff...pee-yew!" Harry touched Stiff's shoulder, then licked his finger. "Sho" 'nuff tastes like Stiff...Holy mama -- it's Stiiiiiii-ffff!"

"Still working the same routine, Harry. Whatsa matter, no new material since the old camp days?"

"You're new material, person formerly known as Stiff Rosenfeld,"

Stiff dipped his hand into his breast pocket, plucked out a business card and handed it to Harry.

"Don Roosevelt, Chartered Insurance Broker. Don Roosevelt? You?"

"Yeah, that's me, youngest broker in the company. Don Roosevelt, a name that will take me into the innermost corridors of power. Sounds better than my old Sheldon Rosenfeld name. I'm in to self-improvement and if that means tinkering with a few letters in my given name at birth, then so be it."

"I agree with you, Stiff. But I can still call you Stiff, can't I? You were after all, a walking-talking erection back at Camp Maniwake."

"Proud to report that I have the old chronic boner under control. I'm involved in a pretty serious relationship with my girlfriend, Tammy."

"Does she call you Don?"

"Actually no, but we've been going out for two and a half years now. We even have our own baby-talk names. I'm Mookie and she's Shmookie...Oops, embarrassing. Why did I say that?"

"Don't worry, Mookie, I'm with you. Everyone should be able to name themself. Why accept some ridiculous name your parents gave you?...I always wanted to change my name to Dash Riprock...Speaking of Dashes, are you still close to Stevie Dash?"

"Not really, Harry.  In fact, we haven't spoken in over a year. Stevie couldn't respect the fact that I changed my name. He said I was being "inauthentic." The judgmental asshole. Then his sister is getting married and he addresses my invitation to the wedding as Shlomo Rosenfeld, my Hebrew name. He thinks he's making a point."

"Maybe he was just trying to be funny?"

"Maybe he's just a jerk."

"Maybe you're right..."

"Yeah."

"He never called back," Harry muttered. "He never called back."


****


Harry was lying on the corduroy couch in his basement and watching Jeopardy. Finkie barged in -- no knock, no doorbell. So Finkie.

"Harry, Harry," Finkie said, gasping for air.  "Stevie Dash...Stevie Dash..."

"Is he dead?"

"No, no, not at all...Stevie Dash just won first prize at Cannes in the student film category."

"...!"

"Harry? Harry? Are you okay?"