Free The Book of Jonah by Joshua Max Feldman Page A

twitches of an old habit—fading penile muscle memory, he thought with a smile. He could focus now—fully, and in full sincerity—on Sylvia. He swallowed the last of the Scotch, and in its satisfaction imagined he tasted a satisfaction with life in general. He went into the kitchenette and poured himself another glass.
    He leaned against the stovetop (he might have checked if it was on, if he had ever turned it on) and scrolled through the numbers on his phone, eager to share his good news, his good mood. His father, a fund-raiser of indeterminate title with the Democratic Party, was in London on business that week, and it was two in the morning there. He would be in bed at this hour, likely, Jonah guessed, having eaten a lavish dinner with consiglieri of the Labour Party, likely with a woman lying beside him, either brought to London, or met in London, or, for all Jonah knew, the London girlfriend. Ever since his divorce from Jonah’s mother decades earlier, Jonah’s father had had many romantic partners, and they were not easily kept track of. Jonah briefly considered calling his mother, but only briefly. She ran a catering business, which, to hear her tell it, had been only one canceled wedding away from bankruptcy for the last decade. She tended to take news about his career as an opportunity to describe the trials and tribulations of her own. She acted as though he didn’t respect what she did, which had never made any sense to him until he realized that his father didn’t respect what she did. Jonah’s parents had a habit of making him a proxy for their complaints about each other.
    His landing a major case that put him on a partner track was also not the sort of news he felt he could share with his law school friends, not without sounding arrogant: Most of them were at competing firms and had exactly this goal for themselves. Philip Orengo might be truly happy for him—but he would express this by telling him that BBEC was a corrupt multinational responsible for countless abuses in the developing world and Cunningham Wolf had now gobbled up the last of his immortal soul.
    Eventually he came to the number of his cousin Becky. She was a cousin on his father’s side, was in her early twenties, had moved to New York a couple of years previously to take a job as an assistant at a record label. He didn’t see her as much as he should have, but he liked her, had always gotten along with her when their families gathered for holidays or weddings. She showed some of the free-spiritedness of his father’s side of his family. He called her.
    â€œJonah!” she cried enthusiastically when she answered.
    â€œHow’s it going?” he said.
    â€œI can’t believe you called!”
    â€œNo, I know, work has been…”
    â€œI was positive you’d forget my birthday.”
    â€œCome on, we’re family,” he said, improvising. “Happy birthday, Becky.”
    â€œAw, thank you, Jonah! You’re coming over tonight?”
    He stared at the black face of his microwave, as if some recollection could be summoned there. Had he seen an Evite to a birthday party? “Yeah, I was thinking about it. What’s the address again?”
    â€œThree ninety-one East Fifty-third Street, between First and Second Avenues. Just call me when you get here, we might be up on the roof.”
    â€œThree ninety-one East Fifty-third, between First and Second. I’ll bring champagne.”
    â€œThat’d be perfect,” she said. “I know everyone’s going to show up with beer, but one of Aimee’s friends is bringing a keg.” He thought it was possible he’d heard this Aimee mentioned before, but wasn’t sure. “We already started pregaming, so come over whenever you want. I’m already so drunk, Jonah.” He heard someone shout her name. “I’ll see you,” she said, and hung up.
    He carried his glass of Scotch