Parts 16-30

Part 16

When Marilyn Morrissey was depressed, she liked to listen to Turn on the Bright Lights, the first album by Interpol. It was a secret she'd never admit -- even in 2006, Interpol weren't cool unless you were 13 -- but one which she indulged in freely, and even frequently, as Marilyn Morrissey was frequently depressed. At her most depressed, Marilyn liked to forgo her usual benzos routine in favor of red wine, which seemed more sophisticated, and very ex-patriot. Thus, this was how Patrick McKee found her on Thursday night -- noticeably sloppy, lips purple, blaring "PDA." "There was some guy by here today looking for you," said McKee, after knocking several times, and hollering through the door, until Marilyn finally heard and turned down the music. "Older guy, tee-shirt, baseball cap...know anything about it?" "Not Josh Stadt?" asked Marilyn, hopeful, and McKee shook his head. Marilyn paused, sipping her wine, and offered McKee a glass. He declined. "Honestly, I have no idea who it could be," said Marilyn. "What did you tell him?" "I didn't tell him anything," said McKee, "other than that you live here, which he seemed to already know, and that I didn't know when you'd be home. The whole thing was a little odd." "Well, thanks for passing along the message," said Marilyn drunkenly, and Patrick exited, and she turned up "PDA" once more and shut the door.

Interpol live, 2005, Photo by Andrew Kendall.

Reid Pinkin, meanwhile, was frustrated. He was frustrated that all potential leads on the King and Queen Nation were stagnating, and that he still hadn't found out Jesse's source. He was also frustrated because El-Rey kept bugging him to "do something" about the rat at the Sandlot -- ever since El-Rey had been punched in the face, Weinstein had banned him from all furtive missions. Reid had asked El-Rey many a time how he expected him to go about finding said perpetrator, short of kidnapping an informant, and torturing them until they told -- a method that Reid regarded with both skepticism and discomfort -- and El-Rey, predictably, had no suggestions. But both were convinced that Bree and Marilyn knew more than they were letting on -- after all, the Meatball WAS tuned in to the bar's inner-workings, and Bree and Marilyn seemed to work hard/play hard -- a combo that often went hand-in-hand with drugs. Reid worried that Bree was onto him -- her pointing him out at the Sandlot was a good clue -- and he wanted to try to reach out to Marilyn before his cover was blown. Thus he found himself reluctantly turning to his brother El-Rey, who Marilyn would be less likely to recognize, and arranging a meeting between them the following night.

Hipster torture - from toothpastefordinner.

If Reid Pinkin was amorphous and nondescript, El-Rey Pinkin was the exact opposite. Tall, burly, and a little chubby, El-Rey clocked in at about 6 feet, 200 pounds -- big enough to be a football player, if only he wasn't always tripping over his own feet. Needless to say, El-Rey was NOT Marilyn Morrissey's type. Nevertheless, Reid had developed a plan for making sure the two crossed paths. El-Rey would wait vigilantly in front of Marilyn's building until she came outside for a cigarette. (Reid's observations taught him that while Marilyn was not a regular smoker, she would usually indulge in at least one smoke per night.) While there, El-Rey would ask for a light, and then pretend to recognize her from Menstrual Mustache. He would ask a few questions about the band, then comment about the Sandlot's reopening and pump her for details. It was a foolproof plan, and Reid was confident that even his oafish brother could pull it off. Thus, he armed El-Rey with a wireless mic (to record the conversation) and a skull cap, and sent him off to wait it out in Bushwick.

If El-Rey Pinkin were an animal, he'd definitely be a raccoon.

Reid's plan would have gone swimmingly well, had not Marilyn decided to spend the following Friday night at Bree's. It was exactly one week since the Sandlot's grand opening -- one long, tumultuous week -- and Thomas Sandleby was working, and Jesse Milkovich getting some long needed R&R, and Bree and Marilyn decided to take it easy and have a girl's night in and watch movies and smoke pot. Marilyn left for Bree's place straightaway after work -- she already had a toothbrush and contact solution there -- and didn't return to Bushwick until around noon the next morning. By that time, El-Rey Pinkin, who was a bit slow on the uptake, if dedicated to a cause, had been waiting nearly 18 hours, high as fuck on cocaine and more than a little pissed off. The second that Marilyn set foot on the premises, El-Rey's Marilyn-sensing neurotransmitters went into overdrive, and without even thinking, he raced towards her charging, picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. "What the fuck?" yelled Marilyn, and "Hey, put me down, you asshole," but El-Rey barely noticed, his muscles operating on autopilot, and before he knew what was happening, he had stuffed Marilyn into the backseat of his car and was off driving. "Let me out, you fucker!" Marilyn screamed, and "Where the fuck are you taking me?" but El-Rey paid no attention and continued driving, unsure himself as to his destination. .

Part 17

As El-Rey Pinkin's kidnapping of Marilyn Morrissey had been completely unplanned, and not thought-out in the slightest, it should come as no surprise that the burliest of Pinkin cousins made some rather large mistakes. To start, he had kidnapped Marilyn in the middle of the day, in front of dozens of people. To be sure, many of them had merely looked away (as is common in Brooklyn), but a few had seemed concerned, and surely at least one had called the police. Second, Marilyn was completely unencumbered -- other than being locked in a car with El-Rey Pinkin -- and had both her cell phone and a tube of pepper spray with her, the former of which she used to immediately call 911 -- "Hi, I'm being kidnapped from my apartment right now by some asshole dressed in black, only he's a moron and didn't take away my phone or tie me up or anything -- No, this is not a joke!" and latter of which she dangled in front of El-Rey's face (but not too close), taunting "let me out right this instant or I'll spray this in your fat face!" (not wanting to actually spray it while she was in the car, lest it should get in her own face as well.) Upon hearing these threats, El-Rey Pinkin panicked. "Uh...hold on," he said, and called his brother for help.

Kidnapped -- fo' realz.

Reid Pinkin was not happy to be receiving a call from El-Rey, particularly after he heard his brother's first sentence. "Yo Reid! So I got the chick with me right now, what should I do with her?" In the background, Reid could hear kicking and screaming. This was not good. "What do you mean you have her with you?" asked Reid, irritated. "Did you kidnap her? I told you not to lay a finger on that girl! You're gonna get all our asses fucked." "Uhhh, I don't know," replied El-Rey, flabbergasted. "I saw her come out of the building, and I just grabbed her, you know, and put her in the car with me, but now she's all yelling and calling the police and shit and I don't know what to do." "El-Rey!" yelled Reid in disgust. "Let her go. Pull over right the fuck now, and let her out. Seriously. Right now. You better do it." "Uhhh...ok", said El-Rey, and turned slowly back towards Marilyn, unlocking the door. "You're free to go, I guess," he said. Marilyn sneered and him, getting up slowly. "You know you're really an asshole," she said, exiting the vehicle, then snaking her hand around the door, and filling the car with noxious pepper fumes. "I hope you rot in hell!" she added yelling, then took off down the street.

Pepper spray: making eyes bleed since 1960.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the line, Reid Pinkin was trying to figure out what was going on. "El-Rey!" he yelled, and he could hear his brother crying. "EL-REY!" he yelled louder, and his brother shouted back into the phone, "I can't see! My eyes! They're burning! That skinny bitch sprayed some shit at me and my eyes are burning! I need help!" Reid Pinkin sighed. It was his own fault for trying to employ his idiot brother. "Where are you?" he asked. God, what a disaster. El-Rey kept moaning. "Bushwick Ave, I think," he finally offered, and Reid sighed again. "Alright, wait there, I'll be right over," Reid said. "In the meantime, don't breathe a word about this to anyone."

Freedom Square, Bushwick

Walking home, Marilyn Morrissey was steaming. She couldn't believe it. She had just been kidnapped! In broad daylight! By an idiot who didn't have a fucking clue what he was doing and had to call a friend for help! What rot. (At the same time, a tiny voice in her head rejoiced: thank god he was an idiot! what if you were kidnapped for real? that was scary!, and I wonder if this has anything to do with the random fellow looking for me the other day.) As soon as she returned home, Marilyn sat down and composed the following blog for the Meatball:

This afternoon, I was randomly and unsuccessfully kidnapped by a White male stranger dressed all in black, wearing a skull cap, outside my Bushwick apartment. The man grabbed me and threw me into the back of his old ('90?) blue Buick Station wagon (Jersey plates) without attempting violence. When I threatened to call the police and attack him with pepper spray, he became noticeable flustered, and called his friend "Reed", who thankfully suggested he let me go. I wasn't injured, and I did manage to douse the fucker with pepper spray before leaving him paralyzed on Bushwick Ave, near the Key Foods. He was about 6 feet tall, and well-built, with a fat face and seedy eyes. I have no idea why he attempted to kidnap me -- but any information would be useful. Let's get this fucker off the street!

Two hours later, the post was picked up by Gawker -- and before long, Marilyn had a slew of potential tips and clues -- and at the other end of town, Weinstein Pinkin was fuming. .

Part 18

When Thom Sandleby heard the tale of Marilyn's kidnapping, he called an emergency meeting for himself, Marilyn, Bree and Jesse at the Sandlot, 11:00 Sunday morning. The joint was closed, so they'd have total privacy, plus Jesse insisted that meeting at the bar would help jog their memories of suspicious circumstances and occurrences that took place there. Jesse, while worried, was also too tired to think straight, and had been eating pot brownies for the past 2 days in order to ween himself off the opium routine. Now, he was feeling slightly loopy, and preferred not to think about the grand disaster that lay in front of him, as it might disrupt his trip. He was trying to be concerned, but really he didn't want to be here... He could just up and go, he knew, move to another place like he had so many times before. It had been more than 3 years in Brooklyn already -- a decent spell, by any account -- and the people were getting dull; the neighborhood was getting shifty -- nobody was real anymore; everyone was just a version of themselves -- Jesse's head swirled with ideas. Still, he felt some loyalty to Thom as a friend, and wanted to help him out.

"Everyone was a version of themselves" -- Versions of Doug Marsh, Starlight Ballroom 4/06

Marilyn Morrissey, in the meantime, had gone through all the responses to her blog post, looking for helpful clues. Most of them were useless -- "Dude sounds like a douchebag" and "Does it really count as kidnapping if they let you go 5 minutes later?" but one sounded promising:

I might be totally off the ball here, but I believe, Marilyn, as a former employee of the Backlot, that I have seen this man and this car before -- I don't know his name, but I am fairly certain he has a drug connection...

--Sazz

Sharauna "Sazz" Tuttle was a former Back Lot bartender, who quit over a year ago to go back to law school (as everyone, it seemed, was doing these days.) Marilyn didn't know Sazz well, but she was an old acquaintance of Jesse's (and actually, more than an acquaintance, as it turned out) and Jesse promised to try and hunt her down after they'd dispersed. "Do you think we should contact the police?" asked Bree, ready to call her father up and work a connection, but Jesse, who had dedicated his life to promoting anarchy, bristled at the thought. The police were useless in this situation, he said, and contacting them would only draw attention to all the drug use and shadyness going down at the bar. Secretly, Jesse hated it when his friends turned to Mommy and Daddy to solve problems. He too had rich parents, but he never took advantage of them...or really even talked to them at all, for that matter. "Alright then," Thom declared. "Let's keep vigilant, and be on the lookout for any suspicious activity. Bree, Marilyn -- I don't want you walking home alone. And for all of us -- let's watch what we bring into this place. We don't need any more undercover cops busting the joint." "Thank you, Dictator Yorke," said Jesse sarcastically, but really, he was just glad not to be in charge.

Trust-funders? What trust-funders? According to the NY Times, frugal is the new expensive.

Jesse Milkovich did call Sazz Tuttle later that afternoon, even though he didn't want to. His brief tryst with her had ended badly over a year ago, and he was pretty sure he was a factor in her decision to return to school. She was an artist when they met -- a recycled-materials jewelery-designer -- and within a few weeks of dating Jesse had already suggested they move in together and start an art commune and sell wares out of their basement. This bothered Jesse, who was mostly fiercely independent, and for a few days afterwards, he avoided Sazz, then broke it off abruptly. He had spoken to her only a few times since their break-up, and each time, it had been awkward. To start, he hated lawyers (what was less anarchistic than defending the law?) and Sazz especially bothered him because her heart wasn't in it. But she also, it appeared, had information, and Jesse Milkovich wanted to help... Thus, he reluctantly dialed her digits, and after a short, but pleasant enough phone conversation, Sazz agreed to meet him the following morning at Freemont Coffee to discuss Marilyn's bizarro kidnapping and offer any potential leads.

Recycled materials. Aren't they precious?

It goes without saying that meeting a former flame -- even if it was just a one-time deal -- is always slightly uncomfortable. Marilyn Morrissey came to this realization after meeting with Todd, and even Jesse Milkovich, the fast-talking, fast-moving bad boy from South Africa, who had dated dozens of chicks, and pursued dozens more, felt weird about hanging out with Sazz. After you've seen someone naked, and listened to them divulge their soul (or in Sazz's case, secrets ambitions for a jewelry empire), it's hard to look at them the same. The heart is funny this way. Of course, Jesse Milkovich was nothing if not a showman, and nerves were the furthest thing from his face as he strolled lackadaisically into the coffee shop the next morning. Sazz was already waiting, looking killer in a royal blue tunic and braided flip-flops. Not quite lawyer apparel, but he wasn't complaining. She rose from her seat upon seeing him enter. "Jesse!" she called. "Sazz!" he called back. He sat down beside her. "Long time no see," he added, and "How goes it? How's law school?" Sazz smiled knowingly. "Fuck law school," she said. "We have more important matters at hand." .

Part 19

Josh Stadt, meanwhile, had heeded Marilyn's warning about McKee's mysterious "morphine" concoction. A smack addiction, he knew, would be bad news, and he was really trying this time to get this life in order. Still, he was curious what else McKee had to offer, and thus arranged a meeting with him the same Sunday the Sandlot meeting took place. Patrick McKee, mostly cold and unfriendly, with a shrewd mind for business, was not one to show his hand, and thus when Stadt asked him what other drugs he had, he shook his head and responded, "well, what do you want?" And Stadt had paused. "That shit that Marilyn's on...that she was on last week at the Sandlot opening, when she fainted," he said. "Give me some of that, whatever it is." And now it was McKee's turn to pause. Did he tell Josh what Marilyn was taking, or would that be some sort of breach of landlord privacy? Really, he knew, he could give Josh anything at all and say Marilyn used it, and for a second he considered trying to sell him some more morphine... "Alright," said McKee finally, reaching for a small unmarked bottle in his desk drawer. "Oxascand," he said. "It's an anti-anxiety drug. I gave Marilyn a few the other night before the show." Josh nodded. "Thanks a lot man," he said, and reached for his wallet.

Drug dealz: like this, if these kids weren't 14.

Josh had had problems with downers in the past -- he once took too many at a friend's house and was in a coma for 3 days -- although all he remembered was the sensation of floating -- but that was mostly Klonopin, and Xanax, and whatever kids at shows were carrying back in the day -- Oxascand was a different chemical, he knew, and besides, he needed to calm down and relax before his date that evening. His date, if you will, was with Marcus Roy, a tiny, 22-year-old, pixie-ish waif of a man, with golden hair the color of the gods and big, sparkling eyes. He had met him at a gay bar after hooking up with Marilyn (who made him want to do something very gay) and had asked him out a few nights later. Their first date had gone smashingly well -- walk in Central Park, drinks in Manhattan -- and at the time, Josh had enjoyed the kitschy, romantic-comedy-ness of it all -- even angst-y rockstars like to revel in irony occasionally. What's more, Marcus claimed he had heard of but never heard Fraggle, which made Josh sigh with relief -- Marcus could admire him as a rockstar, without asking embarrassing and uncomfortable questions about his music. Now however, for whatever reason, Josh wasn't feeling it. But Marcus was gorgeous, and a sparkplug for sure, and so he popped a few benzos, threw on some skinny jeans, and headed out, eager to try anything for a pick-me-up...

Marcus Roy: like Zac Efron, only gayer. (Yes, it's possible.)

They say if Brooklyn were its own city, it would be the 4th largest in the country (just edging out Phoenix and Philadelphia.) Nevertheless, at times it felt impossibly small, especially when you consider that the same people hung out at the same places time and time again -- and thus it should come as no surprise that when Josh and Marcus walked into the Urban Saloon Sunday night to catch a fledgling band called Tapes'n Tapes, the first person they saw was Marilyn Morrissey. Marilyn was covering the show for the Meatball, hanging solo near the front when the pair strolled in. Immediately upon seeing them, her face went white. Her immediate reaction was to run and hide, but the venue was small, and pretending not to notice them would be even more awkward than saying hi...so she threw out a casual "what's up?" and watched in horror as they strolled over. "Marcus, this is Marilyn," said Josh to his date. "Marilyn, Marcus." Marilyn stood motionless for a second, staring Marcus up and now. She knew Josh was gay, and that from the beginning she never had a chance...yet still... It hurt.

Threesomes: inherently awkward.

Sazz didn't know a whole lot about El-Rey Pinkin, but here's what she did know: She had seen El-Rey at the Back Lot a couple of times, usually with a man she identified as Dan Bernstein, who she was pretty sure was dealing to Linelli and Jess Smidge. After Jess had been arrested, she had called Sazz from jail (they were friends) and told her to watch her back around Bernstein; someone was ratting people out left and right. Jess made no mention of El-Rey, but Sazz regarded him with suspicion as well...they were all tied up in the same ordeal... "I only wish I knew his name," she said finally, looking Jesse straight in the eye. "Well, you know, it's a start," Jesse replied. "Any information is better than none at all." "It sounds like bullshit," she offered. "Definitely some bizarro shit." And then, without giving Jesse a chance to respond, she launched into -- "Hey, so, I know this meeting is supposed to be about the kidnapping, and I hate to go off-topic here, since I know it's all important and very scary and whatnot, but I have to say...law school these days is really wearing me out, if you know what I mean, and really, more than anything, I'm looking for a quick fuck." She paused. "You interested?" she said, glancing down quickly, and then back up. "No strings, I promise." Jesse was taken aback. "Are you seeing anyone right now?" he asked. This was an important question to ask before deciding whether to sleep with someone. "Nope!" chimed Sazz. She smiled. Jesse's brain tagged this request as possibly dangerous, but he decided to ignore it. After all, it had been weeks since he'd been laid, and Sazz was looking good... "Well...yes then!" he replied. "Of course. How could I say no to a request like that? You just tell me when and where, and I promise: I''m there." .

Part 20

Sazz actually, it turns out, was seeing someone: Ronald Harris, a fourth-year law student at NYU, unbeknownst to Harris's girlfriend (soon-to-be-finance), Rachel Lubovitch. Sazz wasn't normally the type of girl to fool around with a practically married man, but she was sick of law school and its slick professionalism and felt the need to rebel. She had met Harris over the winter at a "Young Lawyers" happy hour in Nolita -- both were standing outside smoking cigs, bitter that the Young Lawyers' Association couldn't have found a goddamn secret smoking bar, and had struck up a conversation about (what else!) the best places in Manhattan to smoke. Sazz intrigued Harris, who found her mysterious and disarming, and when they headed back into the bar, Harris asked if he could buy her a drink. Sazz didn't usually go for guys like Harris -- a clean-cut, curly-haired beauty with big eyes and dimples -- and before they spoke, she automatically assumed he was just another witty, charming trust-funder with nice clothes and unremarkable thoughts...and she hated to give in to that. But then Harris's phone rang and he answered it and said, "Hey cutie, I'm out with some friends now, can I call you back later?" and hung up and flashed a hue smile at Sazz. Almost on cue she asked, "Who was that?" "Ah, someone very special to me," replied Harris, grinning madly. "One of my favorite students."

2003: the year that changed everything for smokers. Image by the AP for CBS News.

At the time of his meeting with Sazz, Jesse Milkovich knew none of this, but he wouldn't be surprised later when he found it out. Him and his bar buddies a few years back used to call Sazz "Spazz" and motivated as Jesse was, he simply could not understand her energy. The energy, meanwhile, between Thom and Bree was electric. It had been not even 2 weeks and really, they didn't know each other well at all...but the idea they had of each other was enticing -- Sandlot owner / hipster nymph -- and those first couple of weeks both walked around infatuated, confident that if it didn't feel right yet, it would. Thom was enamored with Bree's beauty, and confidence...but Bree realized, one week in, that when she closed her eyes and tried to picture him, she couldn't remember his face. It was like Bree to think of people as ideas, rather than complete entities, and she chided herself for not remembering, and promised she'd pay more attention the next time they talked. Still, it was hard for Thom and Bree to discuss anything that mattered, because together, their heads were so high in the clouds, they couldn't grasp on to anything solid, and sentences and minutes turned into wispy puffs of air and time together made them feel like they were high... ...which of course was exactly what they were going for.

"Head in the Clouds." By Vampire-Zombie.

Marilyn Morrissey, meanwhile, had worked herself up into a frenzy, heart beating rapidly as she stood in the audience at the Urban Saloon, trying not to think about Josh and Marcus. Sometimes she thought she was destined to be hurt, that she had fucked it up with Todd and that nothing would ever be the same again. But the more she tried to push Josh from her brain, the more he came flooding in...along with Todd, and images of herself with both...and then her heart would beat more rapidly still and she'd have to stare at something in the distance to regain her cool. Josh, at that same moment, was feeling vaguely uncomfortable as well, embarrassed for Marilyn and awkward around Marcus...feeling slightly put-off and confused by the former and uninterested in the latter. When it came down to it, both Marilyn and Josh perpetuated their own misery, picking lovers who would never be right, and not allowing themselves to experience anything real. To a certain extent it made perfect sense...for both, art thrived on misery, and as much as the yeasayers claim that misery loves company...misery forced both Marilyn and Josh into solitude.

I shot this photo, of my friends Bryan and Chris, my freshman year of college. It is a portrait of solitude, although I admit it is also slightly hilarious.

But alas -- let us not forget about our villains (as if it wasn't clear enough) -- the slimy and bumbling Pinkin brothers. If Weinstein Pinkin had been in the Mafia, he probably would have shot El-Rey Pinkin in the back of the head for his botched crime, and made it look like a guilt-induced suicide for kidnapping Marilyn. (Mafia guys are slick that way.) But Weinstein Pinkin was not in the Mafia, and indeed was not much of a gangster at all, and thus when Marilyn's Meatball posting was picked up by Gakwker, Weinstein's advice to the guys was simply to "lay low" and not go out too much over the next couple of days. These things would die down, he assured them -- the good thing about Gawker was that 24 hours later, the story would be buried under tons of more recent clips, and in a few days, no one would read it at all. El-Rey hadn't actually harmed Marilyn, or stolen anything from her, so there was no way the police were getting involved, and most likely, if the story got picked up at all, it would be to lambaste the incompetent kidnapping buffoon who ended up with a face full of pepper spray. To a large extent, Weinstein Pinkin was right. .

Part 21

Not far from Brooklyn, in a small apartment in Chelsea, Rachel Lubovitch was getting ready for dinner with Ronald Harris. They had been dating for about 8 months now and Rachel, who was used to taking charge in romantic situations, was beginning to feel frustrated. At 29, she certainly wasn't getting any younger, and she wished more than anything that Harris would just hurry up and propose already. To some extent she blamed Thomas Sandleby for her maiden status -- if only he hadn't been such a deadbeat for so many years -- but mostly, she blamed herself. Looking back, Rachel regarded her 3-year relationship with Thom as dull and non-stimulating -- and now, she felt she needed to make up for lost time. Nevertheless, a week didn't go by where Rachel didn't think of Thom -- he was her biggest mistake, and she wanted to learn from him. Still, when Harris forwarded her the photo of Thom at the Sandlot opening, she couldn't help but feel jealous -- she didn't know anything about the Sandlot, but gathered from the photos that it was gathering spot for the young and the hip. Thom had always been cool (much cooler than herself) and staring at the photo, she found herself yearning for that lifestyle...even though law was infinitely more practical.

"a gathering spot for the young and the hip" -- I Love Factory NYC; image via lastnightsparty.com

In yet another part of town, Reid Pinkin was also longing for a lover: his ex-wife, Lisa. (Villians have feelings too you know.) He had met Lisa in 1994 while an extra on the set of Hackers --she was a wardrobe assistant who gave him one of his favorite hats -- and from then on out, it was true love. He was a mere 25 years old at the time; Lisa was even younger. They were both poor, and from struggling families, and together they explored the "glamor" of show biz (not so glamorous at all, it turned out!) and were married in a ceremony that included many hats...and gloves, and necklaces, and cuff links, and for 5 years it was bliss, until Reid led his curiosity get the better of him and tried smack...then quickly morphed into a degenerative addict. Now, he was ashamed of his past, and ready to move on, and displeased with the situation at hand. There was no future, he knew, in working the blow business with his dopey brother and ruthless cousin...and Reid Pinkin wanted more.

"many hats...and gloves, and necklaces, and cufflinks"

Meanwhile, back in Williamsburg, Josh Stadt had just returned from the Urban Saloon and was sitting on his couch making out with Marcus Roy. His heart wasn't in it 100%-- his head was clouded with thoughts of Marilyn, and solitude -- and more than anything, he wanted to prove to himself he did like Marcus -- or at least was willing to give him a chance. Luckily, this wasn't too difficult. He was drunk, and Marcus had a face that was instantly kissable, and a body that was lean and toned, like a tennis player. Josh turned his brain towards the sexual, and was all over Marcus -- who made love like an angel and overwhelmed the thrill-seeking rock star's sense of feeling, and self-control. Marcus was a notorious bottom, who frequented clubs like Barracuda and Phoenix, and got off on sleeping with semi-celebrities like Stadt. Yet even Marcus could feel something more in the encounter -- Josh made love with such passion, as if he were literally pouring himself into the moment...

"a notorious bottom, who frequented clubs like Barracuda and Phoenix;" photo by Dan Singer

Jesse Milkovich and Sazz Tuttle agreed to meet the following Thursday to "watch movies" and "talk" -- although really, both knew it was just a fuck date. A spontaneous dude in general, Jesse somewhat resented having the occasion mapped out -- where was the thrill in that? -- but he also knew that Sazz was a planner, and calling her up randomly one night and asking for a quickie would most likely bring on shrieks, hysteria, and way too much overall confusion. If he wanted to play ball with Sazz, he had to play by her rules. Sazz, meanwhile, viewed their date as a conquest -- she had convinced Jesse Milkovich to kowtow to her wishes -- and felt delightfully in control. Sazz liked to think of herself as an independent woman, but Jesse, more than a year back, had made her feel crazy -- like some overactive, overjealous, overplanning bitch -- and she didn't want to feel like that at all. Sazz needed closure -- and she was fairly certain one last fuck was all it would take. .

Part 22

Wednesday night, Ronald Harris had a "seminar" in the evening, and so Rachel Lubovitch, who usually went over to his place for dinner and Law and Order (educational AND dramatic), found herself with some free time. "Go do something fun!" insisted Harris, and Rachel initially recoiled, then decided, you know what, I will, and called up her classmate Cass Ingel (6 years her junior, and one of NYU's only down-to-earth freshman) and said "Bar-hopping tonight, my treat?" and prayed Cass, who seemed always busy, would accept. She did. "Where are you headed?" asked Harris, getting ready to head out himself, and Rachel just shrugged and replied "Beats me!" But after Harris kissed her on the cheek and closed the door, she picked up her phone and dialed Cass again, imploring "So, I know it's kinda out of the way...but how do you feel about riding the J Train tonight? There's a bar I'm itching to check out in Brooklyn..."

le train J. by Aya Rosen

When Rachel Lubovitch and Cass Ingels sauntered into The Sandlot Wednesday evening, Rachel wasn't sure what to expect. For one, they had a hell of a time finding the bar (Brooklyn can be overwhelming if you've never been there before) and Rachel was nervous that the scene would be dead, or that Thom wouldn't be around, and that she'd feel awkward and out-of-place. Really, she wasn't sure why she was even going in the first place -- she had no real interest in Thom, or Williamsburg -- but the same forces perhaps that drove Todd Braje to come see Marilyn, or Sazz to hook up with Jesse drove Rachel as well, and she found herself traveling across the city to Thom. As she headed for the door, her heart was beating wildly, and she tried to calm it, telling herself, Relax. It's just Tom. (He still had no 'h' in her mind) You've talked to him a million times about nothing in particular...he's not an intimidating or even particularly special guy. Still, Rachel knew, people change, and this time was different. The last time she had talked to Thom he had been begging her to take him back...now she had come seeking him, and more than anything, she was afraid he would completely reject her. Luckily for Rachel, she didn't have too much time to ponder such thoughts, because as soon as she opened the door and stepped inside, she immediately spotted him, sitting on a bar stool next to a petite blonde.

"Still, Rachel knew, people change"...sometimes morphing into animals!

"Rrrrrrachel?" stuttered Thom, upon seeing her walk in. It had been 6 years since he'd seen her last, but he would recognize that face anywhere...the face that had taunted him for years. "Tom!" said Rachel. There was an awkward silence. "Um, I read about you and this bar on the internet, and I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd stop in." It was only half un-true, she told herself. "Um...wow" said Thom. He could feel beads of sweat popping up on his forehead "When did you move to New York?" he asked nervously. He glanced instinctively at her finger to see if there was a ring. There wasn't. "About a year and 8 months ago," said Rachel. There was another silence; Rachel broke it. "Umm, Thom!" said Rachel, gesturing towards Cass, who stood behind her. "This is my friend Cass." Cass reluctantly stepped forward. "Hi Cass," said Thom, reaching to shake her hand. He nodded towards Bree, who was beside him, silently fuming about this chick who seemed to render Thom speechless... "This is Bree," said Thom. Rachel recognized her right away as the girl from the photo. "Nice to meet you Bree," said Rachel. She giggled. "Is that Brie like the cheese?" Bree smirked. "Exactly like the cheese," she remarked.

A tree grows in Brooklyn...with brie leaves.

When Jesse Milkovich rang the doorbell at Sazz Tuttle's apartment Thursday night, he half-expected her to answer clad in lingerie, or holding a riding crop. Yet she was fully-clothed, looking lithe and summery in a white tulle top and brown shorts. "Jesse!" exclaimed Sazz, rushing forward to hug him. "I'm so glad to see you! I hope you are hungry, because I have a vegan chili just coming out of the oven. There's a pinot noir open on the counter; help yourself to a glass. Are you feeling political? I rented Dr. Strangelove from NetFlix. I figured you'd appreciate the anarchistic messages." Jesse smiled. It was just like Sazz to make a huge ordeal out of everything. "Well don't just stand there, pour yourself some wine!" said Sazz, flashing him a huge smile. She tapped him lightly on the butt. "Come on! Chop chop!" said Sazz. And Jesse helped himself to some wine, and vegan chili, and sat on the couch next to Sazz and watched Dr. Strangelove and spooned...and about 20 minutes from the end, when the Doomsday machine is about to go off, and all 3 of Peter Sellars' characters have begun to go crazy, Sazz Tuttle peeled off her shirt and turned towards Jesse with an even bigger smile and said "Take me!" And Jesse Milkovich did. .

Part 23

Thomas Sandleby, Bree Dawson, Rachel Lubovitch and Cass Ingels stood awkwardly around the entrance to the Sandlot a few minutes longer, until Cass decided to take charge of the conversation. "I love your boots!" said Cass Ingels to Bree, gesturing towards the latter's red seude ankle boots. "Those are Marc Jacobs, aren't they?" Bree smiled. They were, and she was grateful to Cass for pointing it out. The boots were one of her signature items....AND they made her look classy in front of Rachel, who she gathered was Thom's longtime ex. She nodded. Cass Ingels squealed. "Ohhh, I am so jealous!" she said. She smiled at Bree warmly. "I really wanted to get my degree in fashion, but Mom and Dad said they wouldn't help out unless I did something 'with a future'... so I ended up in law school." She laughed, and hung her head. "I'm totally a sellout," she said. Bree Dawson chuckled appreciatively. "Hey you know, you go into law and sometimes you get to defend celebrities. Or you know, look into a man's eyes and ask him if he killed someone. It's exciting stuff!" Bree smiled even wider -- even though she knew she would rather burn her Marc Jacobs boots and clothe herself in flannel for all entirety than get a law degree. But she had already decided to be nice to Cass -- because she was a fan of MJ, and possibly even the Meatball -- but mostly because she was standing with Rachel, and Bree figured if she was super nice to Cass, it wouldn't matter if she was a little rude to Rachel...even though she was going to try her absolute hardest to be nice.

Pharrell, MJ, and Kanye West -- to quote Gawker, "Oh, wow, is it spring already? Must be, since the seasonal "Marc Jacobs is getting MARRIED!" rumors are now upon us" (Read it here.)

As Cass and Bree struck up a conversation about fashion and law, Rachel Lubovitch turned awkwardly towards Thom. "So...Thom. What's up?" she asked. She laughed nervously. "Uhhh..." said Thom. His heart was racing. This is what you've been waiting for! he thought, to show Rachel up; to show her you're better than ever, but her very presence was making him feel weak, and uncomfortable...he had worked for so hard for so long to get over Rachel, who had basically told him he was a worthless, lazy asshole...and here he had bought a bar, and was well-respected among his friends and in the community...and all of a sudden, with Rachel around, those feelings of inadequacy came flooding back... "Nothing, nothing's up." He shook his head rapidly. "Um, I am the owner of this bar...and I work part time for this little indie zine." He looked around frantically, then grabbed Bree, and pulled her towards him. "And THIS..." he said, hugging her tightly. "This beautiful chick here is my girlfriend, blogger extraordinaire, Bree Dawson. Isn't she lovely?" Bree pulled away and attempted to give him a glare, but really she couldn't help smiling. She was glad Thom was paying attention to her, and had identified her as his girlfriend in front of Rachel...she was worried he would slough her off or ignore her, like many of her exes had done in the past. Meanwhile, Rachel Lubovitch faked a smile. "Well, you always did have good taste in women," she joked. She turned towards Cass. "I think Cass and I going to check out the beer selection you got going on here," she added. She took two steps towards the back, sat down a bar stool, and gestured for Cass to follow. "Come tell me more later tonight, when you're not busy running this place." "Ok," said Thom, relieved the conversation was over.

Jud Mongell, former business partner of the late, great, Heath Ledger, at Five Leaves, in Brooklyn. Ledger and Mongell planned on owning the bar together. Photo by Trevor Collens for WAToday.

Everyone in New York City was getting laid that night except for Marilyn Morrissey. Thomas Sandleby and Bree Dawson would have amazing sex later that night (their first time! how precious!) and Rachel Lubovitch would return home to Harris and take her frustrations and aggressions out on him. Josh Stadt was fucking Marcus Roy, and Sazz Tuttle was soon to be fucking Jesse Milkovich...and only Marilyn was alone, as always. Later that evening, after moping around watching Project Runway re-runs (These designers suck, thought Marilyn; I could do better myself), she knocked on Patrick McKee's door for benzos and a pick-me-up. She had been McKee's tenant just over 2 years, and as much as she assumed her landlord was a dirty no-good-nick, who probably didn't shower, and was only looking out for his own interests in the end, she had grown quite accustomed to the old scuzzball, and looked forward to his bits of jaded wisdom. Tonight was no exception. McKee answered the door, shook his head, and nodded her in, handed her a baggie of 10 pills and grunted, "what's up kid?" "Oh, nothing," moaned Marilyn. "Just wallowing in my own perpetually single misery." McKee guffawed. "I hear you darling. The dating pool out there is a fucking disaster zone." He paused, as if deciding whether or not to continue, then went with it. "You know kid, my buddy, who I met through this uh, online poker game that I do...he got me hooked on this online dating service, and let me tell you: that shit fucking WORKS! I must've went out with 5 women in the past month or something..." He smiled, then looked down quickly. "Anyway, you should give it a try." "Heh," said Marilyn. "Maybe I will."

The dating pool is a fucking disaster zone...just like the bus station.

Thursday evening, Reid Pinkin approached his cousin Weinstein Pinkin, and tried to quit as job as righthand man. "I don't want to do this shit nomore," he said, slamming down his baseball cap on the couch. "Ever since this fucking kidnapping, I'm so goddamn nervous. Plus I don't want to be in the drug business nomore...I want to go back to the silver screen, and my wife." "What the hell has gotten into you?" asked Weinstein incredulously. "Are you on smack again, you fool?" His shook his head towards Reid. "Your wife left you years ago, and you can't go back to the silver screen. No one's gonna hire a convicted drug addict who DOESN'T have mass Hollywood appeal. You're just a pain in the ass to work with." He gave Reid a look; Reid knew he was right. "You're stuck with me, making a buck or two the hard way. It's not an easy job, but someone's gotta do it." "I don't know man, I feel like I hit a wall," replied Reid. "Plus, people are on to me. I gotta go make an honest living or something..." He trailed off. "Aww, listen to me Cuz," said Weinstein, patting his cousin on the back. "Us Pinkins have always had it tough. But we survive because we stick together. Look at your poor, stupid brother. He'd be in prison years ago, if it weren't for us. And you yourself were in jail -- I pulled you outta rehab and gave you an opportunity because you're my family. I need you man. And no more kidnappings -- I promise. Although that was your stupid fucking idea anyway, you vapid actor," said Weinstein, giving Reid a stern look. He could never trust anyone to stick with it, he thought to himself. "Yeah, alright," said Reid. "But once we find this damn rat, and get Milkovich's source, I'm outta here, for good." He looked at Weinstein briefly in the eye, and then away. "I'll help you pick a good replacement," he mumbled, then stumbled out of the room. .

Part 24

The next time Josh Stadt ran into Marilyn Morrissey, both were flying high on benzos. And Marilyn Morrissey could tell.

"Marilyn!" said Josh, sauntering up to her at the Sandlot. "Josh!" said Marilyn, delighted and surprised by the welcome. "What's up?" "Dude, I heard about your kidnapping," said Josh. "Total bummer!" "Agreed," said Marilyn. She giggled. It was weird hearing Josh Stadt say "total bummer!" "So, are you gonna press charges or what?" asked Josh. He smiled. "Nah," said Marilyn, nonchalantly. "At this point, I'm ready to get over it." "Yeah, I hear you," said Josh. "Shit can be tough." He paused. "Hey, you doing anything this week? You should come by and listen to me play some new jams I've been working on for Fraggle. Good stuff. It's Marcus I think. He's been inspiring me to write more upbeat tunes." Marilyn smiled. "Yeah, ok," she said. "I'd like that. I got some stuff of my own I've been working on." It was a lie, but it didn't matter. "Alright, great!" said Josh. "It's a date!" He slapped her five, and turned around. "See you on the flipside MM!" As he walked away, Marilyn couldn't stop grinning. Well, maybe we can be benzos addicts together, she thought.

Total bummer, dude!

Meanwhile Sazz Tuttle was trying to convince herself that her two "meaningless" relationships were just that: meaningless. Ronald Harris, she knew, was looking to get engaged to his girlfriend, and Jesse Milkovich...well. She got the feeling that the only reason Jesse agreed to see her was because she promised: no strings attached. If only! It should come as no surprise that after fucking Jesse Milkovich, Sazz Tuttle did not feel "vindicated', like she had hoped. She felt like she wanted more. Don't call him, don't call him, don't call him, she told herself, but then she thought, what the hell, if he gets weirded out and never wants to speak to you again it won't be any different than it was two weeks ago. What a weirdo. A hot weirdo though. Sazz Tuttle had no self-control, and thus she dialed Jesse's digits. No answer. Did she leave a message? Eww, no, that would be weird. I know, a text message! Sazz bit her nails as she typed, crickets 2nite. come!. Crickets was a sort of new age hipster bar in Brooklyn Heights. It was totally Jesse's vibe. She pressed "Save as draft" to save the message for later. Don't want to look desperate! Meanwhile, across town, Jesse Milkovich was staring at his phone, noticing that Sazz had called. He sighed, annoyed (or was it intrigued?), and shoved it back into his pocket. On the one hand, he didn't want to get involved with Sazz again; he knew she was a raving lunatic; on the other hand, he wasn't seeing anything else at the moment...

Crickets: tasty with pasta

Of all the bars in the city, Reid Pinkin felt most comfortable at the Sandlot. He had spent so much time there the past couple of years, spying on people and executing shady transactions, that it pretty much felt like a second home. So it was only natural, the evening after he told off Weinstein Pinkin, that he would retreat there. But no being a creepster, he told himself. I'm done with that shit. Nevertheless, Reid Pinkin was a creature of habit, and walking into the bar, the first people he noticed were Marilyn Morrissey and Josh Stadt. Upon seeing Marilyn, he let out a groan, and dove for an empty booth. But his ears remained perked up. "This here's my girl, MARILYN," said Josh Stadt to a total stranger, slapping the young Morrissey offspring on the shoulder, in a move very similar to the one Thomas Sandleby had used on Bree Dawson the night before. "Me and her got an UNDERSTANDING!" Josh Stadt was spiraling out of control, and everyone could tell. An understanding, thought Reid. He dropped his elbow to the table to ruminate on the UNDERSTANDING a while longer.

"Josh Stadt was spiraling out of control, and everyone could tell." Out-of-control in New Zealand. Photo by this guy.

The following Tuesday, while Rachel Lubovich was at the library studying for an exam, Sazz Tuttle was hanging out at Ronald Harris's apartment when the young lawyer placed a phone call for some coke. And who should show up but Dan Bernstein, El-Rey Pinkin's old Backlot buddy, and Smidge and Linelli's old dealer. Sazz recognized him right away. Her heart skipped a beat. Now I have a reason to call Jesse Milkovich! was the first thing she thought. Dan gave her a funny look and her heart stopped pounding altogether for a moment as she realized that this dude was still in business while her best friend was doing a stint in the clinker. Her lower lip curled up in a snarl. "You two know each other?" asked Ronald Harris, concerned, catching the look that passed between them. Dan Bernstein waved it off. "Ah, we used to hang out at the same bar back in the day," he said. He nodded towards Sazz. "How are you doing?" Sazz gave him a shit-eating grin. "Great, fancy seeing you here" she replied, and remained silent while the men stepped into the other room to transact. You'll never guess who just walked into the room...Dan Bernstein! she texted in a message to Jesse. Send! Things were just about to get a little more complicated. .

Part 25

"So, how do you know Dan Bernstein?" asked Sazz Tuttle of Ronald Harris, offhandedly, as soon as Bernstein was out of the apartment. Harris gave her a look -- he could tell Sazz was in one of those moods where she was difficult and wanted to know everything. It pissed him off -- he had to deal with this shit from Rachel all the time of course -- but he wasn't supposed to be getting it from his girl on the side. "Friend of a friend," grunted Harris. "Guy I went to law school with, hung out with a few times. Don't really know him too well." It was an attempt to avoid conversation, and Sazz could tell. She thought more about Jess Smidge, and it made her want to punch him in the face. Stupid goddamn liar! "I'm outta here," she said, jumping up and heading for the door. "Sazz! Stay!" protested Harris half-heartedly -- this pissed Sazz off even more. He could at least pretend to be upset! But really, she was barely thinking of Harris at all -- all she was thinking was I finally have an excuse to see Jesse! And indeed, she did. Jesse Milkovich wasn't usually one to pick up his phone -- he was busy, and that was what voice mail was for -- but when he saw Sazz Tuttle was calling, he decided, Aw, what the hell. He had just received Sazz's text message, and knew she was probably bursting at the seams with information. If he answered now, he could successively survive a conversation, without having to do nearly any of the talking... "Jesse!" said Sazz, as soon as he answered. Breathless, as expected. Jesse realized that Sazz had full plans to use this kidnapping "mystery" as an excuse to call him as often as possible, which kind of just made him want to be done with the whole thing. "What's up? Are you doing anything?" she continued. Actually, Jesse Milkovich was standing outside Freedom Square, having just spent the past 20 minutes chatting up a pretty girl interested in Tie-Rack. She was a photographer, she said, and Jesse had slipped her a card, saying they were always looking for freelancers. But to Sazz he said, "Nope, nothing. Tell me about Bernstein." "Ohmygod, can you believe it?" screeched Sazz. "Dan Fucking Bernstein! Still selling blow. Kidnapping innocent bloggers." "Where did you see him?" asked Jesse. "Did you talk to him?" "No, not really," replied Sazz. She bit her lip. "He was over a friend's house. I left before I could really get any info. And my friend was kinda being a jerk about telling me how he knew him. I mean, what an asshole, right? I mean, Jess is in fucking jail, and this bozo wouldn't even tell me how he knows Dan!" Sazz was angry. Jesse, on the other hand, was confused. "Wait, so you didn't even talk to him?" he asked. What was the point of this conversation anyway? "No," admitted Sazz. "But I saw him! He's still in business!" She was starting to lose him... "Uh huh," said Jesse. He paused. "Well listen, Sazz, I'm actually out in Freedom Square right now working the Tie-Rack crowd and shit...but uh, thanks for calling me! I'll let you know if I hear anything," he threw in for good measure. "Well...ok," said Sazz, disappointed. "I'll let you know if I hear anything too." "Cool," said Jesse. "Later." "Bye," said Sazz, and she heard the phone click. She looked around. She was standing outside of Harris's apartment still, trying to decide where to go...

"Listen, now's really not a good time for me..."

About a week after their meeting at the Sandlot, and a full 2 weeks after their awkward drunken hook-up, Marilyn Morrissey visited Josh Stadt's apartment to chill and listen to him play some tunes. Considering they had really only started speaking less than a month ago, 2 weeks should have been adequate recovery time. But Marilyn was nothing if not constantly uncomfortable. "You all right?" said Josh, opening the door to his tiny Kensington studio clad in a tie-dye shirt and jeans (apparently Marcus was also influencing his fashion.) "You wanna smoke?" he asked, pulling a one-hitter and medicine jar of weed out of his pocket. "My treat!" Marilyn shook her head, then decided against it and said "Sure, hit me!" and sat down on the couch next to Stadt. He lit the end, instructed her to "pull" and as the smoke hit her lungs, she felt immediately relaxed, and cheery even. "Let's jam!" said Marilyn, picking up a tambourine and pair of drum sticks that lay idly by, on the floor next to Josh's guitar. "Just go for it, I'll follow along," she added, and Josh took a big hit himself, then nodded, picked up the guitar, and starting strumming A minor 7. "This is a song about Marcus," said Josh. "It's called, 'Enlighten me.'" "Well, enlighten me!" said Marilyn, and Josh smiled, and continued strumming, and together, they made beautiful music.

"Enlighten me!"

Of course, not all attempts to cure awkwardness would go so well. Rachel Lubovitch was still reeling over her strange encounter with Thom the week before, and wondering if there was any way she could put things at ease. Normally, when things were weird with friends -- someone made a snide comment at a BBQ, or accidentally flirted with a friend's ex-boyfriend -- she was very good about following up the next day with an e-mail or phone call, apologizing for any grievances and smoothing things over. But it had been years since she'd heard from Thom -- she doubted his e-mail address or phone number were the same -- and she was stewing about how to reach him when she had an idea -- I'll write him a letter! she thought -- addressed to the Sandlot -- and so she sat down to write: Hey Thom! It's me again, Rachel. I'm sorry if it's weird getting a letter (so old-fashioned) but I didn't have your phone number or e-mail and I figured, hey, what the hell. Probably this will get lost in the mail, and never make it to you. But if it does...I just wanted to say I'm sorry for any awkwardness the other night. I really just stopped by because I heard you owned the bar, and wanted to see how you were doing. You look great! Your girlfriend seems like a sweetheart. Anyway, I'm in Manhattan, at NYU law, so if you ever need legal advice, or anything of that sort, let me know! My boyfriend, Ronald Harris, is almost certified, so I'm sure he'd be willing to help you out. And it would probably be weird, but if you ever want to meet for drinks or anything...here's my email. (rachel.lubovich@gmail.com.) Hope you're well, R. .

Part 26

For once in her life, Bree Dawson was glad to find herself not at the center of attention. It's always calmest at the eye of the storm, she thought, and indeed, she felt privileged to be the eyes of the group -- both literally, through the Meatball, and personally, as friend and confidant to all. It made Bree proud to have such kooky and eclectic friends -- eclecticism was highly praised these days -- and she loved being part of a group that was more interesting than the rest -- artists, musicians, drug addicts, and crazy people. We should have our own TV show, she often thought, casting herself as the pretty, sane one. The ingenue! Bree Dawson wasn't normally a boyfriend kind of girl, but that was all changing with Thomas Sandleby. He was older, of course, and therefore easier to take seriously -- or at least compared with Jesse, who was perpetually young at heart, and philandering. Bree liked the way being with Thom made her feel -- like she was fulfilling some sort of grand relationship fantasy of summer brunches and sunset walks through Washington Square, maybe an Olsen twin or two commenting on her dress -- the living, breathing illustration of romance. It seemed like a very cool, very calm thing to do...

Cast of the Real World, Brooklyn. I'm guessing no one is actually from Brooklyn, except maybe the douchebag in the vest. And is one girl a midget? Are any of these dudes straight?

When Marilyn Morrissey returned home from her jam session with Josh Stadt, she was feeling good. So good in fact that when she logged on to her computer and found and e-mail from Bree -- Ahhhhhhh, I just took this quiz thinking about Thom and I switched from the Playstation to the Peach!, where the fuck are you, not on gchat!!! -- she laughed, clicked on "Start the Test," (even though she had taken it several times before, and already knew she was the Wild Rose) and then decided against it because something else caught her eye. OkCupid is online dating. Shutthefuckup. Marilyn Morrissey had read this phrase, located right on the main screen, maybe 10 times before (maybe more...she had taken this particular quiz a lot)-- but it had never really registered before. But then again...she was never really looking before either. But with McKee's words ringing in her ears (if he could book a date, surely she could!) and her insides ringing with Fraggle rock (oh god, was that the first time she realized that?) she thought, fuck yes, and clicked "Sign up now." It couldn't be any more disastrous than her life already was, right?

Says Yelp user Jeffrey-"Save the Ta-Tas" H -- "OkCupid for me (a gay male) seems like a joke. There are like 4 other dudes and they consist of a pirate (with eye patch), a troll, an ex-con, and a dude with a small arm."

When Jesse Milkovich swung by the Sandlot later that evening for a show, he relayed Sazz's Dan Bernstein sighting to Thomas Sandleby, who, gung-ho as he was a few days ago, seemed rather uninterested. "So, Bernstein's still on the loose? Whatever. I mean, he's a stupid cokehead asshole and all, but he never really bothered me." "But," said Jesse -- and why was he even bringing this up? -- "apparently, Sazz thinks he's friends with the dude who kidnapped Marilyn. Or something." "What an asshole," said Thom. "If he comes in here ever, I give you full permission to restrict his access to the show. Unless he tells us who kidnapped Marilyn, and makes them apologize." Thom was more focused on the Yankees game, on behind him. "Word," said Jesse. "Creaky Boards are playing tonight. You staying?" "Should I stay?" asked Thom. He always counted on Jesse to fill him in on stuff like new bands -- Jesse was a serious filter for indie rock bands -- he saw them all, took them all in, and spit out the best of the best, what everyone needed to hear. "Only if you want to," said Jesse, smiling. "I've got a date here tonight!"

According to some chick's Myspace, someone in this photo is in Creaky Boards.

My Self Summary, read the first part of the dating profile. Marilyn typed in, "The British fucking cousin of Morrissey, for realz", and uploaded a photo of herself in her softball costume flipping the bird to the camera. It was a classic rock star shot, in her opinion, and totally sick. Save! I bet there's no one else in all of Brooklyn on this damn thing, thought Marilyn, and seriously, I better not get some fucker like McKee, then passed out in her bead, imagining some shy poet -- preferably skinny and shaggy-haired -- asking her out for coffee, which would be awkward of course, but she could think of things to say beforehand...and when she woke up in the morning, there was already one new message in her inbox. She practically had a heart attack. .

Part 27

Marilyn Morrissey's first "response" to her ad was a piece of meaningless drivel: Hey baby wat up? u hot, text me at 919-4444-HOT and we'll make some magic *wink* Ugh, gross, she thought, hitting the delete button. Was this what it all was going to be like? She certainly hoped not. But as soon as she deleted the message, another one popped up: Grrr, sexy photo, lol. you can handle my bat, sister. Marilyn groaned. Even worse! Where do these guys come from, she thought. She glanced at the top of her screen. Next to inbox, it said: (3). Three messages! These OkCupid guys certainly don't waste any time! She sighed, then hit delete on message 2. The third message came up on her screen: I would expect the cousin of Morrissey would be British -- are you really his cousin, or just some sort of sad noir hipster with an affection for irony? Either way, I'm intrigued. I'm not really a Smiths fan -- but I am a fan of girls with a little 'tude. Are you dressing up as an American for Halloween? --Derek Charming, thought Marilyn, and I hope he's not fat. Wait a minute...is there a way to browse profiles on this thing?

lol, baseball

While Marilyn Morrissey was mastering the wide world of dating on OkCupid.com, Josh Stadt was floundering in the real world of dating. Specifically: Josh Stadt was starting to annoy the shit out of Marcus Roy, who did not find his drug-addled antics nearly as amusing as Josh did. Josh Stadt was semi-famous, Marcus knew, and like it not, he knew this allowed Josh some leeway. All famous people were a little crazy, he knew -- wouldn't he be crazy if he were famous? Marcus practically went crazy just thinking about it. Still, enough was enough! Josh had been popping benzos all week long, running around the apartment, singing at top volume and strumming his guitar loudly, wearing weird clothing, staying up all night -- it was out of control. "Josh, I can not take this any longer!" yelled Marcus one afternoon after Josh finished composing a "tribute" to Marcus, the lyrics to which went "Marcus Marcus, Farkus, Suckus! / Marcus is the Blarkness!" "Either this Oxascand goes, or I go!" threatened Marcus to Josh, then paused, and added, softer, "or you give me some of the Oxascand as well," and Josh Stadt smiled and remarked "well why didn't you ask me sooner?" and reached into the tiny pocket in his jeans and handed Marcus a pill. "Prepare to be blown away," he said.

crazy dancing.

Marilyn clicked on Derek's profile. This is my thinking beard, was the headline. Okay... Marilyn didn't particularly like beards -- too scratchy -- but Derek seemed alright looking. Under "looking for" he had listed: coffee drinkers, girls who read books in the park, long dresses, laidback chicks who can go with the flow and are always up for a good time. Marilyn Morrissey certainly wasn't a laidback chick (in fact, she took medicine for that) and she thought "long dresses" and "girls who read books in the park" sounded like something someone writes to seem romantic but doesn't really mean...but overall she was pleased. Derek didn't seem like too much of a weirdo, which meant perhaps not everyone on OkCupid was like guys 1 and 2. She wrote back (it was easier to be forward on the internet): I'm an Brit in an American's clothing! Of course the cousin of Morrissey is British. After all, I would know. (or would I?) I see you like girls with long dresses who read books in the park. Sometimes I blog from the park on my laptop. Cool enough? --M She let out a nervous giggle and hit the send button. This was turning out to be a lot more fun than she expected.

long dresses, books in the park...exactly like this.

Jesse Milkovich's date for the Creaky Boards show was none other than Lulu A. Quince (or so her email read), the adorable photographer he had meant just that afternoon. He had returned home after an afternoon of standing around outside to find a new e-mail in his inbox from her: Hey! Sorry if I seem eager here (I have no patience), but I really enjoyed meeting you and hearing about Tie Rack! If you'd be down, I'd love to meet up somewhere and hear more 'tails...possibly over beer? -Lulu (the photographer) And Jesse Milkovich had shot back, right away -- wanna stop by Creaky Boards tonight at the Sandlot? My treat. (I do the booking.) and Lulu had accepted. She was small, and cute as a button, and Jesse liked her attitude. He was excited to spend an evening with someone new...Jesse needed change, and he'd take whatever he could get. .

Part 28

Reid Pinkin had sworn off the drug business. Still, that didn't stop him from being curious about the very strange and fascinating group of scenesters he had spent the past two months learning about. Wednesday evening he was working the register at the Key Foods, scanning vegetables for spoiled hipsters that looked at him like a lackey, when who should appear in his check-out line but Josh Stadt and Marcus Roy. "Hey I know you," said Josh, placing a two-liter soda bottle, 4-pack of Red Bull and cantaloupe on the conveyor belt. It was 2 o'clock in the afternoon and the joint was mostly empty. "I've seen you at the Sandlot before. Cool place." Reid nodded. Play it cool, he told himself. Like an actor. "Crazy all the shit that's been going down there, huh?" said Josh. Marcus Roy was staring at the gum section, feet tapping, humming a tune. Reid glanced at him distractedly. Did he pump Josh for information, or just let him go? "Yeah, I don't know," said Reid. "I've been hanging out at that place for years, back in the '90s even." It was semi-true, if you dis-counted his stints in jail and the movie biz. "There's always something crazy going on there." "Word," said Josh, sliding his debit card through the reader to pay. Reid handed him his receipt, and he turned towards Marcus, gesturing for him to leave. "Well...see ya," said Josh Stadt, gathering up his bags and starting to head out...

Mmm, tastes like rock star.

"Wait -- Josh!" called out Reid. Josh Stadt turned around slowly, taken aback. Even though Fraggle was a semi-popular band, it always freaked him out a little every time a stranger knew his name. Reid exhaled nervously. Quick, think of something to say! "Uhhh...just wanted to say...I like your band! You guys rock! When are you going to be releasing a new album?" He sighed. Close one! Josh Stadt smiled. "I couldn't tell ya," he said, "but hopefully soon. Been working on some new stuff recently...it's gonna be great. I'll let you know when I got something good and -- hey, what's your name anyway?" He squinted and glanced at his name tag. "Reid," he said. "I'll make sure and let you know, Reid," and headed out. Reid Pinkin stood motionless for a second at the cash register, trying to take it all in. On the one hand, he was tempted to call his cousin, let him know he had an in with Josh Stadt and could gradually -- over time -- work information out of him...but on the other hand, he just wanted to lay low and enjoy this. Josh Stadt was the first person -- not counting Bree and Marilyn, who he was trying to swindle -- with whom he had had a real conversation in months, and it felt great. Plus there was something about Josh...he couldn't put his finger on it...something about his attitude and outlook that reminded Reid Pinkin a lot of himself. And maybe (just maybe!) more than anything, Reid Pinkin wanted to be his friend...

let's be friendz!

While Reid Pinkin was mulling over his run-in with a man 10 years younger, his cousin Weinstein was enjoying drinks and smokes with his friend and longtime confident, Dan Bernstein. "The scene around here is fucking dead," Bernstein was saying, sipping a scotch, no ice, from a highball glass on the roof deck of his Tribeca apartment. "I say we get out of Brooklyn, move downtown. Manhattan. NYU law. There's a fresh crop of fledgling lawyers out there with more money than they know what to do with out there, looking for a little nose candy." Weinstein Pinkin was skeptical. "But Brooklyn's our scene, man, always has been. I don't wanna step on the toes of 'em Village dealers that already got 'turf set up. Brooklyn is busted, but the air is clearing. Everyone's already forgotten about the shit that went down at the Backlot. We just stay outta there, like we have been, scope out some other bars. In the meantime, maybe we chase down this Jesse fellow and find out his source, maybe we don't. No skin off our teeth." Bernstein nodded. "I hear you man. But at the same time, young lawyer wants a sale, I'm not gonna deny him." He paused, and glanced around him. "By the way, did I tell you who I ran into the other day at one of said transactions? Fucking Sazz the spaz, sleeping her way through law school, or some shit." Weinstein laughed. "Fucking hippie cokehead," he said. "Some people just can't get away."

eek.

Marilyn Morrissey, awkward in real life, was absolutely reveling in chatting with Derek on the internet. What kinda blog do you write? I can dig it, Derek had written back to her message about laptopping in the park, and Marilyn and had responded coyly with I'd love to tell you, but my job depends on anonymity and Derek, intrigued, had shot back with, well how 'bout we meet in real life and I try to guess based on my impressions and Marilyn had paused...did she do it? what if it was a hoax...and called up Bree for reassurance who insisted, yes, go for it! and then waited a whole day and typed back: well...ok. you tell me when and where and I'm there. you'll recognize me as the Brit with attitude -- and sat back and waited for a response. .

Part 29

Jesse Milkovich, usually able to read people like a snarky NYC blog, was unsure what to make of Lulu. On the one hand, she was, undeniably, adorable, outgoing, gregarious. And yet at the same time there was something crass and flippant about her -- as if she wasn't quite sure she really wanted to be here, like she was liable to skip out at any moment for something better. It made Jesse nervous. He was used to girls fawning over him, thinking he was sexy and brilliant (which he was quite sure he was) and Lulu didn't fit that mold at all...she had skipped out right after the Creaky Boards show the previous week when her friend invited her to a loft dance party (to which she did NOT invite Jesse) and had ignored his text message the night after, waiting 2 more days to respond before sending a "wanna be my date at 400 tonite? I hope so b/c you are already on the list!" and Jesse, who had planned to take the night off and hang out at the Sandlot, deliberated for a while before catching a cab and heading uptown, quite certain that if Lulu was flaky, he could chat up another chick quite easily. Luckily, this was not the case. The second he walked into the door, Lulu spotted him and rushed over, exclaiming "you made it!" and "sorry I've been MIA lately," and "let's get this boy a beer!", introducing him to a half-dozen friends and flitting about merrily. And Jesse Milkovich was still unsure what to make of it.

Loft dance party...via Clayton Hauck.

While Jesse Milkovich was trying to decide how he felt about Lulu, Sazz Tuttle was waiting to hear back from him. It had been three days now since she'd heard from EITHER of her boys, and she felt depressed and unhappy just thinking about it. Two weeks ago, two boys. Now, none. She wasn't entirely surprised -- she knew her affair with Harris was a short-term thing, that he wanted to stop before his girlfriend caught on, and she suspected the incident with Bernstein had been just the excuse he needed. Still, Jesse had promised to call her if he heard anything else about the kidnapping, and she had heard nothing...so rather than call him herself (too obvious!) she decided she'd run into him "accidentally" (à la Rachel Lubovitch) by showing up at the Sandlot. It would be just like a date, only completely unplanned! Of course, the problem with not planning is that sometimes things don't work out as you expect, and as luck would have it, Sazz Tuttle showed up to the Sandlot the same night Jesse Milkovich was out gallivanting across town with Lulu. With no one to talk to except for Thomas Sandleby, who was stuck behind the bar anyway, and was too polite to tell her that Jesse didn't like her, really, she plopped down and let loose the whole torrid story of Harris, and Dan Bernstein, and Thom grunted and nodded, and zoned in and out, then finally said, "...wait a minute, what did you say this dude's name is? The one dealing with Bernstein?" "Ronald Harris?" said Sazz. "Yeah, Harris," said Thom. "I've heard that name before. I can't remember where."

Hello, I am your bartender. Care for a drink?

"What was the name of that dude talking to Marilyn's kidnapper on the phone?" asked Thom inquisitively. He scratched his head. "Could that have been it?" "That guy's name was Reed," said Sazz. "I'm pretty sure." She dug into her bag and pulled out a Blackberry, and started typing. "I have the blog post bookmarked. I'll bring it up." "Aha!" she exclaimed a few seconds later. "Reed, indeed. Harris is just some douchebag NYU grad student I met at a bar and have been sleeping with." "NYU grad?" sputtered Thom. He started sweating. Coud it be? "I think I know who he is!" he shouted. "Wait here," he said to Sazz, dashing out from behind the bar and into his office in the back. He returned 2 minutes later, breathless, holding a letter. "Ronald Harris," he spit out, eager, slamming the letter down on the bar, "is dating my ex-girlfriend from Buffalo. She goes to NYU law. He was cheating on her with YOU!" Thomas Sandleby's head was spinning. Why did everything have to be so damn incestuous? He didn't know whether to be happy that he had solved some part of this big, unusual mystery, or mad at Sazz for being a dumb slut involved with his friend Jesse, or elated that Rachel was somehow getting her just desserts, or sorry for Rachel, because really, she was a nice girl and didn't deserve to be cheated on by some slimy, cokehead lawyer... "Pardon me, I need a moment here," he said, turning away from Sazz. Derek lived not too far from Marilyn in Bed Stuy, and so he agreed to meet her at Triple Hook coffee shop, an indie joint on the Bed Stuy/Bushwick border. Let's do coffee first -- blind dates in bars always make feel like I'm on some bad reality tv show, Derek had written, and Marilyn had happily agreed. Now, walking up to it Saturday afternoon, she wished more than anything that she was drunk, and popped a benzo before heading in. Immediately upon entering, Derek rose to greet her. "Marilyn!" he exclaimed. He blushed slightly. "Hi, I'm Derek," he said, extending his hand. He was about 5'8", skinny, with light red hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose. Not exactly her type, but cute in a boyish way. She shook his hand weakly. "So...Marilyn Morrissey of the Brooklyn Meatball, right?" asked Derek, as they took seats near the window. Marilyn's mouth dropped open. "Sorry, didn't mean to seem creepy!" said Derek smiling. "It's just...you asked me to guess what blog you wrote for, and I knew you were the cousin of Morrissey...so I just googled Morrissey, Brooklyn, and blog and it came right up!" He paused, and looked down nervously. "I hope that wasn't weird." Marilyn didn't know what to say. It's cool that he looked me up! she thought. No one ever looked her up. "Oh, it's cool," she said shyly. "I would have done the same thing, if I had more to go on that just Derek." There was a flirty pause. "So uh, do you read the Meatball?" said Marilyn finally. "What do you think?" "Yeah, sometimes I do, it seems pretty cool," replied Derek, his voice trailing off. "I read about...are you the same Marilyn that got kidnapped? What in the world was that about?" .

Part 30

The first person Thomas Sandleby called when he ducked outside the Sandlot to relay the news of Sazz's story was his girlfriend, Bree Dawson. Bree didn't answer right away -- she was busy rocking out to Arcade Fire and reading Pitchfork (as is a blogger's duty) -- but called him back 15 minutes later enthusiastically, opening up with a cheery "Thom!" "Bree, I'm kinda freaked out right now," he responded. Bree was noticeably surprised. "Why's that?" she said. "Sazz, or whatever," said Thom, lowering his voice, and cupping his hand so no one could hear him. "...just came in here, telling me about some lawyer dude she was fucking, who bought coke from Bernstein, some old school dealer who used to hang here. Turns out, the dude is my ex-girlfriend, Rachel's, current boyfriend!" "Woah," said Bree. It was a lot to take in. She paused, and thought about it. "So he's cheating on her?" she said. "Yeah. And runs with a shady crowd." Thom exhaled loudly. There was another pause. "So you gonna tell her?" asked Bree, finally. "Tell her?" replied Thom, incredulous. "Are you insane? What do I tell her? 'Yo, your boyfriend sucks and is cheating on you. FYI." I'd sound like a jackass." "Well, whatever," said Bree. "Just forget about it. I mean, it's not like you hang out with her anymore. Sucks for her, but oh well." On the other end of the line, Bree Dawson bit her fingernail. All she wanted to hear about was Thom's ex-girlfriend! "Yeah, I don't know," said Thom. "I guess you're right." He looked behind him nervously to see if anyone was paying attention. "Anyway, sorry for bothering you. I just wanted to tell someone." He could sense hostility in Bree's voice, and wanted to drop it. Suddenly, he felt very alone. "Hey, no problem," said Bree, and then "Are you doing anything tonight when you get off? You want to come over?" Thomas Sandleby smiled. "Yeah, I might be up for that," he said. "I'll let you know how I feel."

"Suddenly, he felt very alone." My friend Gerard, alone on the beach (ignore the second person in the background), summer 2005

"So why do you think they did it? Revenge for a scathing blog post?" asked Derek, once Marilyn Morrissey finished telling him the story of her kidnapping. "Honestly?" said Marilyn. "I have no idea!" She giggled. "Maybe someone got really mad about something we wrote on our blog; maybe it was just a random act of violence. It all happened so quickly! And the details were kinda strange...12 o'clock in the afternoon, broad daylight, tons of people around. I'm waiting to find out it was some sort of large scale sociological experiment to see if anyone will stop a kidnapping in Bushwick these days. If that's the case, Bushwick definitely fails." She giggled again. Marilyn Morrissey was realizing that talking about her kidnapping was surprisingly easy, and even fun. "Maybe it's because you're related to Morrissey," suggested Derek. "You know, maybe someone who really really hates Morrissey, and credits him with inspiring Liars." He gave her an inquisitive glance, as it to say, I'm down with your cutting edge blog speak. Once again, Marilyn was taken aback, but smiled and continued. "I don't know man, why are people kidnapped these days? Extortion? Maybe. Drugs? Maybe they wanted to extort from my second cousin, which would be ridiculous, since I barely know him. Maybe it was drugs. Who knows?" "Tsk, tsk," said Derek. "Drugs will always get you into trouble." He looked down. "Seriously. That's why I'm straight-edge."

Google image result #38 for "Bushwick fail."

Marilyn Morrissey couldn't determine if he was joking or not. "Wait, really?" she asked. The straight-edge movement was either dying or dead, she thought, except among right-wing nut-jobs and recovering addicts. Maybe he was in rehab, she thought. "Yeah, I don't know, just something I believe in," said Derek, seemingly seriously. "Haven't done drugs ever, and drank only a couple of times, during toasts and maybe on New Year's or something." He made eye contact, then looked away. "Anyway, it's totally cool if other people drink or do whatever; I'm always down for a trip to the bar with people," he continued. "Just not my thing." Marilyn focused on closing her gaping mouth and forcing a smile. She felt like her eyes were going to bug out of her head. "Yeah, that's cool dude, I don't go out to the bars that much anyway unless there's a show going on," she said. It was a total lie, but it felt encouraging...yes, let's go out anyway, she was saying. Derek seemed relieved. "Welllll...I don't know about you, but I am long since done with my coffee," Derek said shyly, pitching his cup into the garbage behind him. He pushed his hair out of his eye. "Want to go for a walk through the park?" Marilyn Morrissey's insides were going crazy. She did NOT want to go for a walk in the park right now...she wanted to run home and maybe smoke a bowl and think about all that had happened. But she remembered Derek's profile...laidback chicks who can go with the flow... "Let's do it," she said, standing up and tossing her coffee cup into the garbage as well. This is going to be a brand new me...

you know what sucks for this guy? When he hits 21 and decides he isn't straight-edge anymore.

When Jesse Milkovich arrived at the 400 club, around 9 p.m., it was moderately crowded. By 11 p.m., it was pretty damn crowded, and by midnight, it was packed. Jesse hadn't been to a dance party like this in years -- not since him and Bree started hanging out -- and he felt slightly unhip having arrived so early. But Lulu and her friends seemed to have an in with the owner, who kept free drinks rolling all night...and by midnight, when the crowds were rolling in in droves, he was pretty tipsy, and Lulu, who had been pounding even more beers than him, despite being near 100 lbs, was fucking drunk. It was no matter. They had a great time dancing near the front, right next to the DJ, screaming witty banter over the music and making funny faces and looking hip-as-thou for the photographer, snapping away their every move. Just like in the good old days, thought Jesse, who had it been 4 years ago, would have asked Lulu back to his place for sure, maybe popped in some Aqua Teen Hunger Force and made out with her on the couch. But he couldn't pull the same shit at 26 that he could at 22. Once you hit 25, you gotta play it cool and let the ladies come to you, was the rule as he knew it (not that Jesse Milkovich really payed "the rules" any mind) and in general, he felt being elusive worked well. But Lulu was so damn elusive herself, it made him WANT to invite her back, or else he knew she might not come... "Hotness, fun times," said Jesse to Lulu when the DJs finally stopped spinning at 3 a.m., eager to either head home with Lulu or head home alone. The dancing and drinking was making him tired. "So what's next?" "Wellllll..." said Lulu, enunciating each syllable. "I'M heading down to Kiki Ann's, in Manhattan, where the party goes at LEAST until sunrise...I'd love it if you joined me. There should be all sorts of goodies for grabs there." She smiled sweetly, pulling her hands on his shoulders. Jesse Milkovich couldn't resist. Thank goodness for freelance jobs, he thought, and wrapped her tightly in a hug, kissing her softly in the mouth. "I go where ever you lead, my lady." .