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Previously…Ernest
Hemingway stood up, put
his hand on JC’s
shoulder, and said,
“I never got a no in
my entire life.”
JC, feeling like an
outfielder who had dropped
an easy ball, could only
think, “I get
it—this is a
nightmare. Or I’m
dead. Or I’ve fallen
into the multiverse.
At that moment, Charles
Addams opened the door,
fixed his eyes on Ernest
Hemingway’s hand on
my shoulder, and blurted
out: “What an
incredible hand, Mr.
Hemingway! Every time I
see your hand, many ideas
come to my mind. Maybe one
day I can create something
with it.” Then
Dorothy Parker approached
Mr. Addams and said,
“Mr. Ross wants
everyone in his
room.” Lillian Ross,
visibly upset, replied,
“Dottie, I
can’t…
I’m busy with these
gentlemen.” Dorothy
answered, “He said
it’s about his
pen.”
JC interrupted,
“Pen?” Dorothy
continued, “Yes. He
found his pen, but he
needs everyone in his
room.” She added
that Hemingway and John
Huston were exempt from
the meeting and ordered
the French detective and
Charles Addams to follow
her.
In Harold Ross’s
office, Mr. Ross sat at
his desk and looked around
at everyone in the room:
Dorothy Parker, Roald
Dahl, Lillian Ross, Roger
Angell, Charles Addams,
James Thurber, E. B.
White, several writers,
employees, and JC. Mr.
Ross picked up his pocket
watch and said,
“Let’s wait
for him.” Seconds
later, a handsome man with
golden-brown hair entered
the room, wearing a white
flannel suit, a silver
shirt, and a gold-colored
tie. Mr. Ross, sounding
almost like an MC,
exclaimed, “Please
welcome F. Scott
Fitzgerald.”
The renowned author
of Gatsby took from his
pocket the famous pen that
had disappeared and handed
it to Mr. Ross.
“Yesterday, I had
lunch with Mr. Ross at the
Algonquin Hotel, and
through carelessness,
while writing some poems
and notes for articles, we
ended up swapping our
pens. I only realized what
had happened when I got
home and Zelda noticed I
was carrying a different
one.”
The two pens were
identical, and both were
gifts from famous figures:
Chaplin had given one to
Mr. Ross, and Babe Ruth
had given the other to Mr.
Scott. At that point, JC
looked around the room and
said, “What the fuck
have I got to do with this
shit?”
Suddenly, a loudspeaker
voice from Paris Airport
announced, “Boarding
for American Airlines
flight AA45 to New York is
now beginning at gate A39.
We invite passengers
needing special assistance
and families traveling
with young children to
board now. Please have
your boarding pass and
identification ready.
Thank you.”
JC looked up, trying to
figure out where the voice
was coming from, but when
his eyes returned to the
people from The New
Yorker, he realized he was
sitting in the departure
lounge at Charles de
Gaulle Airport in Paris,
and that his flight to New
York was receiving its
final call. JC, who was
reading a commemorative
edition celebrating 100
years of The New Yorker,
got up, tucked the special
issue under his arm, and
joined the line that had
already formed in front of
the boarding gate.
As soon as boarding began,
he noticed that Brenda
(the Tribeca girl he had
met at the beginning of
the story) was farther
ahead in line, also
boarding for New York. He
approached her and,
somewhat awkwardly,
managed only to say,
“Hello.”
Brenda looked at him
seriously and asked,
“Do I know
you?”
END
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