Emerz Meets My Girlfriend

I'm looking for my own Toni, on the Internet, if that's okay with you, Emerz. "You're not the only one that can take down the nerd's hair and unleash the hipster," I said last time we spoke, a very one-sided conversation with a seemingly distracted Emerz and a strange squelching sound coming from somewhere.

I find a girl on craigslist who looks to fit the bill. She does the girlfriend experience, she says in her email to me. Just needs a hundred dollar donation. She's trying to put herself through art school. Not all of us just get whatever we want, I tell Emerz when he raises his eyebrow upon hearing of this stipulation. Not all of us drive candy-glossed European whips. Not all of us buy bling ironically. Not all of us can handle a full-time girlfriend's tics and habits, like the way Toni sometimes scratches her arm until it bleeds, or the way Toni never wears pants, or the way she is always snapping pictures of herself on her phone and then uploading them all over the place, or the sheer volume of ADD meds she inhales through her nose every time she goes to the bathroom, getting my Men's Vogue all orange and dusty, or the way she always asks the guy at Hollywood Video rambling questions about anime, or the way she made us watch those home movies of her and her friends riding around the Hamptons in a Jeep.

Some of us recognize necessary needs, and identify solutions, such as this girl from the Internet, Kenzie, with her Honda hooptie parked in Emerz' driveway, next to the candy-glossed Europeans, and the crisp scent of Menthol that follows her into Emerz' den, or the twenty pounds she seems to have gained since leaving the Internet and entering our lives.

Emerz tries to pulls me aside after everyone is settled and watching Friday Night Lights on DVR. "Wait a minute," I say, waiting for the spine-melting theme song to begin, waiting for Riggins in the rain, outside the bus, proving his worth. Emerz could stand to watch a little more Friday Night Lights, humble human drama that it is. Not all of us can meet our girlfriends in a pottery class our fifth year of college.

Emerz' Girlfriend

Her name is Antonia. Emerz calls her Toni. She's Julian Schnabel's goddaughter. Her father opens restaurants and his father-in-law closes them. Her father sails boats, her mother sinks them. They all have JDs but no one practices. She dropped out of Dwight because her science teacher was stalking her. She either designs jewelry or models it. She loves to take pictures of food, but rarely eats it. She has huge eyes that she must paint with a roller. She's not wearing pants, just tights and one of Emerz' striped Oxfords draped over her tiny frame. Emerz is wearing a Rehab Is For Quitters shirt, unironically.

Emerz and I leave Toni to her phone and the muted TV and go into the kitchen for Perrier and goat cheese. Emerz' house feels incredibly cold, and there's an oppressive citrus smell.

"Any questions?" says Emerz.

"Let me guess," I say. "She's a cutter?"

"No," says Emerz.

"Stapled stomach?"

"Nope."

"Recent Proactiv purchase?"

"No."

"Her brother just drowned? Recently sober? Recently off-the-wagon? Body dysmorphia? Sex addiction? Mormon? Pills? You write her papers? She borrows your car?"

"Well, all of the above, obviously," says Emerz, like, love ain't free.

Emerz' 25 Things

1.) I spell it "moslem." 2.) I have unlimited text messaging and anytime minutes 3.) I've never been to a museum 4.) One time I saw a guy drown and this other guy could've helped him but didn't, and then I invited the non-dead guy to a party at my house and put on "In The Air Tonight" really loud. And we all danced all night. 5.) There's a video of me online trying to use chop sticks 6.) I've danced with the devil in the pale moonlight 7.) I voted for a genuine war hero with a proven track record 8.) My Dad owns, among other things/people, Harrison Ford (the car dealership, not the actor) 9.) I've recently been introduced to overstock.com 10.) Plan B is expensive 11.) My nutritionist has huge tits 12.) I treat objects like women 13.) My "o" face varies between a menacing scowl and a smug smirk 14.) I own many guitars that I do not know how to play 15.) Iused to be into stuff pretty bad stuff. Like, throwing Dobermans at old ladies, and coldcocking redheaded dudes just for the fuck of it 16.) Once I thought I had mono for a whole year, but it turned out that I was just really bored 17.) I own a home in a non-extraditing country (try to guess which one!) 18.) I'm allergic to socks 19.) I've adopted a Zen approach to spin class 20.) John Mayer's old stuff is pretty good 21.) Phone sex is better when you're both in the same room 22.) Girth should always be more important 23.) I once drank two Red Bulls and then passed out 24.) I'll listen to anything except country 25.) Leaving Las Vegas was based on me. The Elizabeth Shue part, anyway

Emerz Makes a Connection

Every time Emerz answers his phone nowadays I hear heels clicking on cobblestones. I hear the tinkle of dangling earrings. His voice sounds different; muted, subdued. Emerz has a fucking girlfriend. I can see him now, walking to Geology in his wax jacket, jingling the coins in his pocket, meeting up for drinks, eating outside, brunching constantly, jetting out for the weekend to fucking Jupiter Island or wherever she's from.

Well well. Congratulations. I've got a contingency plan for this scenario. Hatched it after the Great Betrayal of '02. Kept it in a folder marked confidential in my floor safe, under my collection of literary erotica. Congratulating myself on thinking ahead, I whip out the old bunny stew recipe.

Emerz Crosses Quad, Enters Imaginary Elevator

"Did you watch Gossip Girl?" I say, searching for conversation.

"No time," says Emerz. "Reading Swann's Way, Davis translation. Paper on temporal disparity due Wednesday."

"Well, I'll fill you in," I say. "Picture the polished windows of a downtown high rise, a man in a three-button--"

"Let me call you right back," says Emerz. "I'm getting into an elevator."

First there is just the dead phone in my hand. And then a creeping dread. A sudden blast of lonesomeness surrounds me like a crop circle. No one will believe where it came from.

In Which We Watch "Lie to Me" Online After Emerz Loses the Remote

"Lie to me," sings Emerz softly. "I promise, I'll believe."

"The check's in the mail," I say.

"I love you," says Emerz.

"The dog ate my homework," I say.

"The dog ate my condom," says Emerz.

"I was talking about someone else named Emerz," I say.

"I was thinking of you the whole time," says Emerz.

"I got no problem with lies," says Emerz. "Where would we be without them? Virginal, in jail, minus the insurance money from the speedboat. I find them comforting. Flattering."

"Emerz' new clothes," I say.

"What?" he says. "I just got back from the outlet mall!"

We're knee-to-knee on the couch. My eyes burn from the PC screen. The episode ends. The rapist almost got away. The browser window closes and a Word document pops up. Personal essays. I mean, personal.

"Oh, about these," says Emerz. "I'm going back to college."

"Barber or clown?" I say, with kindlings of jealousy twisting into fire somewhere between my heart and my head. I'm not sure where the feeling comes from. I think about Uggs and iPhones and ivory towers, my own squandered third chances. Emerz sighs. I stretch. "I'll talk to you later, Van Wilder," I say, bitingly, wondering when I will grow up enough to allow others their fair share of happiness.

Wild Emerz Can't Be Broken

"Burn Notice?" says Emerz, brow cocked, scrolling through the guide. "I've gotten a few of those. Not really something I'd want to DVR. These days they mainly come via e-cards."

"Well, that's true," I say. "Unfortunate title. I think it's an industry term. But think of the white-washed art deco facades, the cocaine swing, the nightclub thang, the jittery thump of the pulse of Miami. Plus, that girl from Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken..."

"I love that movie," says Emerz, miming a horse diving off a pier. It's unnervingly believable. He drops an ice cube into his fizzing cola. "Splash," he says.

I remember For Love Or Money a little better. J. Fox powerwalking around a cheesy hotel, making deals fresh outta Cornell. Just missing elevator doors. Brushing his hair back in boyish, good-natured aggravation. Gabrielle Anwar, that was her name, the one that made it all worthwhile for Fox, for the whiplashed horse, for me, for Emerz. It's an interesting turn of events. Emerz, big city lug, latches onto the rural county fair crowd pleaser. I go for the big city power-play crowd pleader. "It's called escapism," says Emerz. Fish out of water stories, I say. Horses in water stories, he says.