Chapter 58: Theory, Practice, and Who Is Clint Hardwood (1)
The February wind in New York was still biting, but inside Central Perk it was warm and cozy, the air thick with the smell of coffee and comfortable laziness. Bruce was sitting on the orange couch, fingers drumming on the table, across from a dejected-looking Ross.
"So," Bruce sipped his coffee, trying not to sound too amused, "how did last night's 'practice' go? What did Melissa think of your romantic dirty talk?"
Ross's shoulders sagged further; he gripped his coffee cup like a lifeline. "She... laughed."
Bruce said, "Laughed? That's good, right? Means your sense of humor worked?"
"No, Bruce," Ross lifted his head. "It was the kind of laugh like, 'Oh my God, is this guy serious?'—that incredulous, can't-help-it laugh!"
Bruce pressed on: "Um... I thought yesterday's lesson went well. So what did she say?"
"She said, 'Ross, honey, your... academic approach is very sweet.'" Ross mimicked Melissa's deliberately gentle tone. "'But you may have misunderstood what "dirty talk" means.' Then she asked if I'd ever watched those kinds of movies."
"What kinds of movies?" Bruce didn't catch on immediately.
Ross said: "Adult films!"
Bruce understood. "Wait, you mean... Melissa wanted that straight-up, raw, intense kind of dirty talk?"
"Yes!" Ross's voice rose. "She pulled a VHS tape out of her bag—right there in my apartment, she was carrying a tape!"
"So you watched it together?"
"Yeah, and she kept commenting the whole time: 'See? That's what I mean—direct, intense, primal, passionate.' Made it feel like the movie had a commentary track. Oh, and guess what it was called—Crazy Clerk Number 69."
"No way—where did she even get that?" Bruce's jaw almost hit the floor.
"Surprise, Bruce—Melissa bought the movie you wrote. A clerk at the video store recommended it because that tape's been selling like crazy lately! You told me adult film dialogue should never be used in regular flirting, but Melissa... that's exactly what she wanted! She said that's 'real dirty talk.' Looks like your rule of 'describe what you want to do' isn't quite right!"
"No, Ross—can't you see? Melissa showing you that film means she wants you to use those kinds of lines. The theory of 'describe what you want to do' is solid; Melissa just wants intensity. Her being a scientist threw off my judgment—I figured she'd be as reserved as you. Turns out she's adventurous!" Bruce gave a half-smirk.
Ross bristled: "Hey, why assume I'm reserved? I can be adventurous. And Melissa isn't wild—she just has her own approach to romance!"
Bruce said, "All right, 'Adventurous Ross.' After she showed you that tape, did you watch it? Did you give Melissa what she wanted—act like the characters in the movie? So afterwards...?"
Ross looked even more dejected: "Afterwards? Afterwards Marcel showed up."
"Marcel?" Bruce blinked.
"Yeah—my monkey! He's been acting strange lately. Irritable, screeching for no reason, destroying cushions, even trying to bite me! I looked it up and asked the vet—Marcel's hitting puberty; aggression and territorial behavior are normal.
" Ross ran his hand through his hair. "Just as Melissa and I were... discussing the 'techniques' in that tape, Marcel jumped off his perch, landed on her head, and started yanking her hair like crazy!"
Bruce could picture the chaos: a bedroom that moments earlier held promise suddenly turning into a battlefield of screams and monkey screeches.
"Melissa freaked out, screaming and pushing him off—lost a small chunk of hair." Ross sounded exhausted. "She fixed her hair and stared at me—even more disappointed than when I'd used my awkward dirty talk. She said, 'Ross, your monkey is as unpredictable as you are.' Then she started packing, saying she needed to reconsider whether we were compatible."
"She called me too 'uptight,' said even expressing desire felt like a lecture, claimed I couldn't control a monkey..." Ross's voice wavered. "I lost my temper and told her before she left, 'At least I'm consistent! Not like you—quiet scientist at work, but secretly you love being talked to like that!'"
Bruce closed his eyes. Game over—Ross had hit every mistake: questioning her professional image, criticizing her preferences, losing his cool. Textbook breakup scenario.
Bruce patted his shoulder sympathetically: "Say no more, Ross. I'm sorry it ended. Melissa sounded pretty great."
Ross protested: "Wait, I'm not done. We did break up—but she called me later. Guess what she wants?"
Just then, the café door opened with its familiar jingle; Ross and Bruce turned in unison to see a ponytailed woman pausing in the doorway. The moment her eyes met Ross's, both froze.
She walked over and sat on the opposite couch. "Hi, Ross."
Ross said, "What are you doing here?"
"You know exactly what I want—the phone number!"
"Forget it; I'm not giving it to you."
Bruce, confused, cut in: "Ross, who is this? What are you two talking about?"
Ross gestured toward her. "Remember I asked you to guess why Melissa contacted me? No need—she wants Clint Hardwood's number, and this is Melissa."
Bruce blinked. "Who?"
Ross gave him a look. "Right, who's Clint Hardwood? I told her the screenwriter of that Crazy Clerk Number 69 she bought is a friend of mine."
Melissa chimed in: "Since you won't give me Clint's number, I'll hang out at the café you and your friends go to. I'll run into him eventually—Central Perk, you mentioned it!"
Only then did Bruce realize Melissa was hunting... for him. He couldn't admit he was Clint Hardwood; confessing now would feel like betraying Ross.
So he simply said, "Hi, Melissa."
"Hi. What's your name? Do you know Clint Hardwood? He's Ross's friend—an adult film screenwriter."
"I'm Bruce. So you're a fan of Clint's work?"
Realizing he wasn't Clint, Melissa's enthusiasm cooled. "Yes. You still haven't said if you know him."
Bruce glanced at Ross, caught his subtle head shake, and sighed: "Sorry, I don't. If only Clint were an actor—you could recognize his face. But you have no idea what he looks like; he could be sitting right here and you'd never know."
Melissa shot him an annoyed look, then turned to Ross. "Don't be petty. We broke up, but we were close. Give me Clint's number."
"Why the writer? People usually crush on actors—we watched that movie and you said the lead was attractive. Go find him."
"Nope. I want Clint. You said he's your friend; introduce us and I'll ask him to sign the lines I wrote down."
Ross gaped. "You transcribed the dialogue? How did I not know you're like this?"
Melissa smiled. "I've always been this way. You never noticed because we weren't that close before dating. And if you think it's strange, maybe you're the unusual one."
Ross swallowed, then muttered, "If you just want him to autograph lines, why not have him recite them to you when you meet?"
Her eyes lit up. "Great idea—so introduce us, please!"
As she pleaded, Bruce said, "I took psychology in college. I understand why you need to find Clint."
Melissa eyed him. "I don't really want to hear this, but I can't stop you. Go ahead, college guy."
"You're chasing Clint because the effort is minimal—Ross just has to introduce you. One degree of separation. If he were further away—say, some Hollywood celebrity—you wouldn't bother; the cost feels impossible. First—"
"Oh my god, there's more? Stop, please."
"Not a college guy—I graduated years ago."
"Melissa, you'll never run into Clint here; you're wasting your time."
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