“Yes, it does,” he says, looking out the window. “This man is an addict. He wants drugs and only drugs, that’s all he can feel. But slowly, his addiction changes into something else, something much more sinister. He finds himself wanting other things, horrible things, and he has to struggle with those wants and those cravings. What do you do when what you need the most is wrong, suit? Do you deny yourself? Do you find some facsimile of the thing, a morally gray version of the real horror you’d prefer? How far do you go to silence the screaming need in your skull? That’s my movie. That’s why I played poker with those lovely gentlemen and why I bought their drugs and why I took it all.”
“The explains the raccoon insanity from the other day,” I grumble and he smiles in return.
“Tell me something, suit. What do you want?”
“I want to take you home and never think about you again.”
“That isn’t true.”
“I want to make this movie.” I glance at him in the mirror again and he’s listening like this is the most important thing in the world. “I want to bring another Cowan film to life.”
“That’s what I want too. See, suit, we’re not so different.”
“I’m not willing to take crack for this movie though.”
“Maybe not, but in some sense, I think you are. At least I’m betting you’ll show me just how much youwant. Not the cold, calculating want, not the ugly, stained, pathetic image of want society projects into our brains. But real want, raw want. You’ll feel it.”
I go quiet then and don’t speak for the remainder of the drive. He doesn’t either—he falls asleep and snores gently as I wind my way to his Main Line mansion.
What do I want? It’s a question I don’t ask myself enough. There are things in my life that make me satisfied, that bring me short bursts of joy, but what do I reallywant? What do Ilike? I’ve always been envious of people with intense hobbies, who are lifelong collectors of games or furniture or whatever. Who read only one kind of book because theylovethat book, or who knit and love knitting, or who know their aesthetic inside and out.
I envy those people, because I find myself liking everything, and when you like everything, you don’t like anything enough.
I park in Cowan’s driveway and kill the engine. My hand drifts to my abdomen and stays there. The only sounds are Cowan snoring and the wind blowing through the trees nearby.
What do I want? What do I really want?
This movie.
Not to be pregnant.
But also to have this baby.
What do I want?
“Well, that was a nice drive.” Cowan yawns, stretches, and kicks open the door.
“Wait, Mr. Cowan—”
He ignores me and shuffles out toward the house. I roll down my window and yell after him.
“Hey, Cowan!”
He turns, smiling. “Yes, suit?”
“Don’t misuse movie money again, do you hear me? And you’re signing the goddamn paperwork.”
“Whatever you say, suit.” He salutes me and walks off.
I watch him go, tingling with anger, before I shoot off a quick text to Baptist.Meet me at Heart.
Chapter5
Baptist
“He did fuckingwhat?”
I stare at Blair through a haze of red rage and try to keep myself under control but I’m pulsing with the sudden and very intense need to hunt down Tony Cowan and murder him. I could easily blame it on the fucking raccoons.