Simon Rich - Hits and Misses

HITS & MISSES

Simon Rich has written for Saturday Night Live and The Simpsons, and he worked on Inside Out for Pixar. He is the creator and showrunner of TV series Man Seeking Woman (based on THE LAST GIRLFRIEND ON EARTH) and the forthcoming Miracle Workers, starring Steve Buscemi and Daniel Radcliffe, which is based on his novel WHAT IN GOD'S NAME. His other collections include Spoiled Brats and The World of Simon Rich. He is a contributor to The New Yorker and BBC Radio 4.

Also by Simon Rich

Elliot Allagash

The Last Girlfriend on Earth

What in Gods Name

Spoiled Brats

The World of Simon Rich

Stories

SIMON RICH

First published in Great Britain in 2018 by Serpents Tail,
an imprint of Profile Books Ltd
3 Holford Yard
Bevin Way
London
WC1X 9HD
www.serpentstail.com

Copyright 2018 Simon Rich

The Foosball Championship of the Whole Entire Universe and The Book of Simon previously appeared in The New Yorker.

Illustrations by Ed Steed

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

A CIP record for this book can be obtained from the British Library

eISBN 978 1 78283 386 4

For my wife and daughter

It was understood that, when the baby came, Bens office would become the nursery.

Ben would miss his beloved writing room, but he knew he was making a relatively minor sacrifice. His wife, Sue, had spent the last two years taking stomach-bloating vitamins and getting poked in the vagina by an elderly Polish gynecologist. Shed quit Claritin-D and martinis. The least Ben could do was find some other place to write his novel.

Besides, by the time Sue gave birth, his book would almost certainly be finished. He was already up to the last chapter, and according to Pregnancy.com, the baby was still just the size of a small turnip. He had all the time he needed.

As he leaned back in his custom writing chair, Ben found himself daydreaming about his books reception. His novels so far had been modestly received, but maybe this one would take him to the proverbial next level. He pictured himself traveling the world, with Sue and the turnip in tow, on a glamorous international book tour. It was while he was reveling in this fantasy that he caught sight of his watch and remembered that he had somewhere to be.

Sorry Im late! Ben said as he hustled into the little white room. I was stuck on the subway for an hour.

Oh man, that sucks! Sue said. She kissed Ben on the forehead and he smiled, relieved that shed accepted his excuse.

You are just in time, said Dr. Kowalski as he squirted some goo onto Sues belly.

Sue turned to Ben and giggled. You ready?

Ready, Ben said. He squeezed her hand as a black-and-white image took shape on a nearby monitor. It took some getting used to, but before long, Ben was able to identify the babys legs and torso.

Whats that thing? he asked, pointing excitedly to a small white smudge.

Is penis! said the doctor triumphantly. It means you have boy!

Whoa! Ben said as he and Sue laughed with amazement. A boy!

Ben pointed at another blurry shape. What about that thing?

Is pencil, said the doctor.

Bens smile faded. Did you say pencil?

Or pen, the doctor said. Is too early to know at this stage.

What does it mean? Ben asked nervously.

Dr. Kowalski grinned.

It means you have writer!

That afternoon, Ben spent some more time on Pregnancy.com. He was surprised to learn that a fetuss profession was usually apparent by the sixteenth week of gestation. For example, if you could detect a hoodie in the sonogram, that generally indicated your child was a coder. If your fetus held a tiny plunger, he or she was most likely a plumber, and a gavel almost certainly meant judge. Statistically, writers were less common, although the odds went up significantly if one of the parents was an Ashkenazi Jew.

Ben reached into his pocket and took out the strip of black-and-white photographs Dr. Kowalski had given them. The images were pretty hazy (theyd agreed not to blow $1,400 on the exorbitant, non-insurance-covered 4-D option). But Ben could still make out a few details, including an open moleskin notebook. He couldnt read the babys handwriting. Still, he could sense the work was confident. There were very few scratch-outs, and a couple of sentences were underlined. Unlike his father, the fetus didnt seem to have any difficulties focusing.

Ben tossed the pictures into a drawer and slammed it shut, annoyed with himself for wasting the whole day. He turned on his laptop, opened his novel, and stared at the screen, watching the little cursor blink and blink. And blink.

The next day, Sues mother, Joan, drove in from Scarsdale. She was wearing a sweat suit and flanked by a pair of cowering teenage movers.

Start clearing out everything! she shouted as she flung open the door to Bens office.

Do we have to do this right now? Ben asked her gently.

Why wait? she said. The babys gonna be here before you know it.

She snapped her fingers and the movers jumped swiftly into action, packing Bens files into cardboard boxes. Ben could feel himself begin to panic. His book was a historical novela postcolonial epic about General Custers last stand. He couldnt finish it without his notes.

Please, he begged his mother-in-law. Im still using everything youre taking.

Youre going to have to get used to this, Joan said in a singsongy voice. Theres going to be a lot of changes around here.

Im aware, Ben said.

Instead of that desk, theres gonna be a crib, instead of that printer, theres gonna be diapers, and instead of your novels, theres gonna be his novels...

Whoa, whoa, whoa, Ben said, waving his arms in the air. We dont know for sure that the baby is a novelist. He could be any kind of writer. According to Pregnancy.com, theres a forty percent chance he ends up blogging.

Joan rolled her eyes, smiling. You wish.

Whats that supposed to mean?

She jabbed him playfully in the ribs. Youre jealous of the baby.

Ben forced a laugh. Thats ridiculous.

Relax, she said. Its normal for new fathers to be jealous. Dont worry. When the babys born, youll take one look at him and know just what to do

Im not jealous! Ben shouted. He flushed with embarrassment. He hadnt meant his denial to come out so aggressively. He shot the teenagers a mitigating smile, but they both avoided eye contact.

Look, Im sorry, he said. Im right in the middle of a chapter. Can we please just not do this right this second?

The movers turned to Joan for approval. She groaned histrionically and threw her hands up in the air. Okay, okay, fine, she said. But well be back.

Ben waited until they were all gone, then yanked open his desk drawer and held the sonogram up to the light. There was only one thought on his mind: What the hell was that kid writing?

I thought you said it was, like, fourteen hundred dollars? Sue asked as Ben rubbed her stomach with some almond oil.