Next to him, Scott went still, then said, “Yeah. Did that feel like a normal response to that question?”
Carver started laughing and shaking his head. “You motherfucker,” he said, “you motherfucker. I am not doing this with you.”
“I just asked a simple question.”
“No one knows the answer to that question! Do you know whatyouwant?”
“I think so,” Scott said. “And I’m happy most of the time.”
“You’re happy? You didn’t look happy in the garage. You didn’t sound happy about your career.”
Scott shrugged. “It’s a little embarrassing to come back here and be reminded that I don’t have my shit together in the traditional ways. And frankly, I know what success looks like to you.”
“So it’s my fault.”
Scott exhaled a laugh and did something surprising — he reached out and put his hands on Carver, one on his shoulder and the other on his upper back. Carver froze, feeling prickly heat at these points of contact.
“Please,” Scott pleaded. “Please. I don’t want to be adversarial. I just want to talk.”
“I can’t get off the defensive when I feel like you’re fucking patronizing me.”
“Patronizing you? Carver, you’re filthy rich, you’re good-looking and smart, you’re this huge success, you have everything that most people want. I don’t even get how you feel that way.”
“Because it may be what most people want, but I know it’s not what you want.” His throat was tight. He swallowed again. “And you, inexplicably, feel sorry for me. I can tell.”
“I’m just sort of worried about you, brother.”
“I don’t need you to do that,” Carver said in a shamefully small voice. “There’s no reason to.”
Scott took his hands away. Carver missed them as soon as they were gone.
“I have reasons,” Scott said.
“Like what?”
“Like… you don’t seem like you’re eating right, you look pretty stressed, and you sound like you’re not really in love with your —” (in the split-second between words, Carver became convinced he was going to saywifeand felt his stomach plummet) “— job, and maybe like you’re using pharmaceuticals to get through the day.”
Carver was silent, and Scott added, “If I’m wrong, tell me to go fuck myself.”
“You just described half of Wall Street.”
“Now I’ll say something you’d never expect a broke and pretentious musician to say,” Scott said, “but maybe Wall Street isn’t a very good place.”
“Yeah, and? It’s all I’ve ever done, and it was viciously fucking hard to get where I am now. I’ve worked ninety-hour weeks and backstabbed people I liked and sold myself out, over and over. Now I’m at a solid rung on the ladder and I can’t even enjoy it.” Carver punctuated this speech by pulling his knees to his chest and burying his face in them.
Scott was quiet for a moment. “You said earlier today you always thought you might quit and use the money to do something else.”
“I haven’t made enough money yet.”
“Enough for what?”
“Enough to be safe.”
“How much is that?”
“I don’t know,” Carver muttered.
“I think you have an anxiety problem,” Scott said.
