Jay McInerney - Bright, Precious Days

“I thought it was your decision.”

“Under normal circumstances, yeah, but these are extraordinary times. Everybody’s scared shitless. Nobody knows what’s happening next. Credit markets freezing up, banks going under.”

“Well, we’re reprinting Jack’s book every other week, five thousand a pop. And what if I told you Salon and McSweeney’s are both coming out with pieces on Jeff next month? I’ve never seen anything like this. Sales are doubling every six months.”

“Can’t hurt. What about the movie?”

“You’d have to ask Corrine about that.”

“You guys talking?”

“We communicate. Logistics. Bills.”

“I mean — about your marriage.”

“Couple of summits, a few fraught phone calls.”

“Have you thought about counseling?”

“She has. I don’t really see the point, and I certainly never thought I’d hear you recommend it.”

“Look, man, I know you’re hurt and angry. But we all know you belong together. It’s not like you’ve been — excuse the phrase — lily white through all these years. You need to forgive her.”

“Easier said than done. How am I ever going to trust her again? When she says she’s going to a business dinner, or a baby shower? How am I supposed to forget that she lied to me repeatedly?”

“Like I said, she’s not the first, or the only one.”

“I never loved anyone else.”

“What makes you think she loves this guy?”

“Because she won’t deny it.”

“See, she’s honest to a fault. I don’t think you need to worry about her lying to you again.”

“What are you guys doing over there?” Veronica called out.

“Seriously, though,” Russell said, “if we don’t make this deal, I’m well and truly fucked.”

“Hey, man, I hear you. Our monthly nut’s higher than my salary. Without Veronica’s paycheck, we’re going to burn through our savings pronto.” He drained his glass and held it out for a refill. “Carpe diem, I say. Let’s see if a black motherfucker can get elected president.”

—

Soon they were talking about the meltdown. Veronica said, “If the Fed had stepped in and backstopped Lehman, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Or if Lehman hadn’t been so reckless,” Russell interjected.

“Granted there were bad decisions, but J.P. Morgan and AIG were reckless, too, and they got bailouts.”

“If I go to Vegas and lose my life savings,” Russell said, “should my fellow taxpayers cover the losses?”

“That’s a dumb analogy,” Veronica said.

“I think it’s a perfectly good one.”

“That’s so simplistic. There were so many factors at play.”

“Sure, like greed, stupidity, incompetence.”

“Russell, please,” Washington said. “No need to get ad hominem.”

“I’m just saying it wasn’t some confluence of impersonal market forces that wrecked Lehman. It was a whole bunch of bad decisions made by people who worked there.”

“Are you implying that I’m greedy, stupid and incompetent?” Veronica asked.

“No, only there has to be some accountability.”

“Whoa! Shut the fuck up,” Washington said, reaching for the remote control.

“ …the State of Ohio, ” Brian Williams was saying, “ and can you name one that was fought over with more force? ”

“What? Who got it?”

“Obama.”

“That’s huge,” Washington said. A quick check of other stations confirmed the call, including a brief stop on Fox News, where a rueful Brit Hume commiserated with Karl Rove, who seemed stunned.

“Ohio was key,” Russell said as they waited for new results. “Along with Pennsylvania, I think we’ve got it.”

But Washington wasn’t ready to concede victory. “Let’s see what those crackers in Virginia do.”

“You can’t say that about the state of Jefferson and Madison.”

“Both slave owners. Two honky hypocrites.”

“The latest polls had Obama ahead in Virginia,” Veronica said.

“Those rednecks really won’t admit it’ll be a cold day in hell before they vote for a black man,” Washington said. “And you got those Hillary Democrats sulking, sitting out the election. How about you, Russell? Did you get over your sulk and vote for the brother today?”

“I’ve got nothing against Obama. I just thought Hillary was better-qualified.”

“Better a white chick than a black dude any day.”

“Are you accusing me of racism?”

“Why not? What makes you so special?”

“I’m tired of you always being right because you’re not white.”

“What the fuck’s that mean?”

“Hey, shut up, both of you,” Veronica said. “Listen.”

“ An African-American has just broken a barrier as old as the republic, Brian Williams announced. “An astonishing candidate. An astonishing campaign. A seismic shift in American politics.”

“God damn, ” Washington said. “Is that shit even possible?”

Veronica embraced him, even as he continued to stare at the screen in disbelief.

Russell, too, was stunned. He’d grown so accustomed to thinking of himself as representing the minority opinion in his homeland that it was hard to believe that a majority of his fellow Americans had chosen as he had.

The kids poured in from the bedrooms, cheering. It had been weeks since Russell had seen his own kids so buoyant.

Washington advanced on Russell and crushed him in a bear hug. Through the open windows could be heard the sounds of celebration from West Broadway, which blended with those from the crowd in Chicago’s Grant Park, coming from the television set.

“I wish Mom was here,” Jeremy said.

Storey said, “You’ve been texting her all night.”

“You wish Mom were here,” Russell said.

“Don’t be a dick, Russell,” Washington said.

After listening to Obama’s speech, they went down to the street to mingle with their neighbors. The kids found some of their former classmates; Jeremy and Mingus disappeared and came back with sparklers. A heavily freckled young woman who walked her fox terrier in the morning when Russell was taking the kids to school threw her arms around him, alarming the dog, who started barking.

“Isn’t it amazing?” she said. “I’m Zoe, by the way.”

“I’m Russell. Pleased to meet you.”

“Stop it, Zeke. He’s our neighbor.”

Like nervous laughter, the cheers and cries of victory echoing through the streets of Manhattan and beyond seemed to him to mask a deep sense of anxiety. The prosperity of the past two decades appeared to be coming to an end and the country was still at war. It was hard to believe that any individual of any color could lead them out of the dark woods into which they’d stumbled. But for the moment, Russell and his friends and neighbors were willing to believe.

—

Corrine called shortly after midnight.

“Isn’t it amazing?”

“It is.”

“It gives me hope.”

“We could all use some of that.”

“I spoke to the kids earlier.”

“I know.”

“Is there any hope for us, Russell?”

“I guess anything’s possible.”

“Can I see you soon?”

“Soon. Maybe.”

THE CITY WAS HOLDING ITS BREATH. It seemed as if a seismic event was in progress, shifting the tectonic plates beneath the island, toppling monuments and sucking rivers of wealth into the sewers. Billions had somehow disappeared. One heard rumors of overnight cash transactions, of Picassos and Southampton beachfront homes dumped by investors to make margin calls, of moving trucks arriving at town houses in the middle of the night.