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A fic-review of the magazine’s centennial celebration
Jean
Claude Parnan, 32,
arrived at JFK Airport
from Paris. It was his
first time in New York
City. During the
flight, he sat next to
Brenda, 28, a
photographer and a
Tribeca resident. The
Frenchman had come to
New York to try to make
a life for himself as
an actor, and being
seated beside Brenda
–an
American– felt
like a stroke of luck:
a chance to improve his
English.
The
two started a
conversation, and
although JC
(let’s call Jean
Claude this way) is
often mistaken for Gen
Z, like Brenda, both of
them have an
appreciation for old
movies, songs, and
books. The conversation
turned to Billy Wilder,
Bing Crosby, Claudette
Colbert, Irving Berlin,
Frank Capra, Cole
Porter, Virginia Woolf,
Bogart & Bacall,
Thomas Wolfe, and other
icons. After much
discussion about the
world of these artists,
they ended with a
voraciously passionate
French kiss.
Brenda
lived in a
rent-stabilized
apartment with her
roommate, Claire, who
was 24 and had a
successful career as a
model for a famous
brand. The conversation
and the kiss were so
good that a strong
chemistry arose between
them, and she extended
the meeting by inviting
JC to go to her
apartment. “And
your friend?” he
asked. “Claire
stayed in Paris for
work,” she
replied promptly.
“I was with her,
but I’m returning
to New York because
I’m going to
cover a vernissage at
an art gallery
exhibiting The Fun
Colors of
Basquiat.”
JC,
who had booked an
Airbnb in Jamaica,
Queens, texted his host
to say he’d be
arriving later and went
with Brenda to Tribeca.
There, she opened the
door, and he was
impressed by the
charmingly decorated
style of the place,
with art objects, a
large movie poster of
Jules and Jim by
François Truffaut,
bookshelves filled with
Shakespeare, Beat
poetry, and several
books from the Lost
Generation. A shabby
sofa helped create the
ambiance of a film noir
setting, complemented
by a coffee table with
some editions of The
New Yorker scattered on
it.
Brenda
turned on a stereo
playing “The Girl
from Ipanema” by
Tom Jobim and told him
to sit on the sofa as
she went to her room.
JC
sat down, and while
waiting for her, he
picked up a copy of The
New Yorker and began to
leaf through it.
Absorbed in the
magazine, he suddenly
saw another woman
emerge in front of him,
a beautiful blonde who
was completely naked,
holding a gun and
saying, “Will you
fuck me or prefer to
die?”
At
that moment, JC was
completely terrified,
and, not knowing what
to do, he simply stared
at the naked blonde as
zillions of lustful
thoughts filled his
head. After all, he was
a Frenchman, and, as a
good Parisian, he left
The New Yorker on the
coffee table, got up
from the sofa, and,
looking deep into her
eyes, said calmly,
“I want to fuck
you right now!”
The blonde responded,
'Let’s go
wild,' and shoved
him, sending him
reeling. He lost his
balance and fell
backward. His vision
went completely dark,
but he could hear Tom
Jobim playing
“How
Insensitive” on
the
stereo.
As
soon as the song ended,
he opened his eyes, and
the naked blonde girl
was no longer there. He
looked around and
realized that he was no
longer in
Brenda’s
apartment either. JC
was in an unfamiliar
room, with a strange
man staring at him. So
many things rushed
through his mind. He
didn’t speak; he
only thought something
like: “Where am
I? What the fuck is
this place?”
TO BE CONTINUED.
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