Slaves of New York by Tama Janowitz Read Free Book Online Page B

it up. There is nothing Bruce can do that doesn't turn to gold.
    One day Bruce has a surprise for you. "I'm going to take you on a vacation, babe," he says. "You know, we were born to run." You are thrilled. At last you will get that trip to Europe; you will be pampered, you will visit the couture houses and select a fabulous wardrobe, you will go to Bulgari and select a handful of jewels, you will go to Fendi and pick out a sable coat. You will be deferred to, everyone will want to be your friend in the hope of somehow getting close to Bruce.
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    "Oh, Bruce, this is wonderful," you say. "Where will we go?"
    "I bought a camper," Bruce says. "I thought we'd drive around, maybe even leave New Jersey."
    You have always hated camping, but Bruce has yet another surprise—he's stocked the camper with food. Dehydrated scrambled eggs, pancake mix, beef jerky. "No more fast food for us," he says.
    You travel all day; Bruce has decided he wants to visit the Baseball Hall of Fame. While Bruce drives he plays tapes of his music and sings along. You tell him you're impressed with the fact he's memorized all the words. "So what do you think?" he says. "You like the music?"
    Though your feet hurt—Bruce has bought you a pair of hiking boots, a size too small—you tell him you think the music is wonderful. Never has a greater genius walked the face of the earth.
    Unfortunately, Bruce is irritated by this. The two of you have your first fight. "You're just saying that," Bruce says. "You're just the same as all the rest. I thought you were different, but you're just trying to get on my good side by telling me I'm brilliant."
    "What do you want from me?" you say.
    Bruce starts to cry. "I'm not really any good," he says.
    "That's not true, Bruce," you say. "You mustn't feel discouraged. Your fans love you. You cured a small boy of cancer just because he saw you on TV. You're up there with the greats: the Beatles, Christ, Gandhi, Lee Iacocca. You've totally restored New Jersey to its former glory: once again it's a proud state."
    "It's not enough," Bruce says. "I was happier in the old days, when I was just Bruce, playing in my garage."
    You're beginning to find that you're unhappy in your life with Bruce. Since Bruce spends so much time rehearsing, there is little for you to do but shop. Armed with credit cards and six bodyguards (to protect you from Bruce's angry women fans), you search the stores for some gift for Bruce that might please
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    him. You buy foam coolers to hold beer, Smurf dolls, candy-flavored underwear, a television set he can wear on his wrist, a pure-bred Arabian colt. You hire three women to wrestle on his bed covered in mud.
    Bruce thanks you politely but tells you, "There's only one thing I'm interested in."
    "Me?" you say.
    Bruce looks startled. "My music," he says.
    To your surprise you learn you are pregnant, though you can't figure out how this could have happened. You think about what to name the baby. "How about Benjamin Springsteen?" you say.
    "Too Jewish immigrant," Bruce says. "This kid is going to be an American, not some leftist from Paterson."
    "How about Sunny Von?" you say.
    "Sunny von Springsteen?" Bruce says. "I don't get it. No, there's only one name for a kid of mine."
    "What?" you say, trying to consider the possibilities. Bruce is sitting on the couch, stroking his guitar. The three phones are ringing nonstop, the press is banging on the door. You haven't been out of the house in three days. The floor is littered with boxes from Roy Rogers, cartons of White Castle burgers, empty cans of Coke. You wonder how you're going to fill up the rest of the day; you've already filed your nails, studied the Sears, Roebuck catalog, made a long-distance call to your mother.
    At last Bruce speaks. "I'm going to call the kid Elvis," he says.
    "What if it's a girl?" you say.
    "Elvis," Bruce says. "Elvis, either way."
    You fly to Hollywood to try to find his real wife. Finally you track her down. She's working as a