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Who I Saw Last Night

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 Excerpted from Kronberger's Eye On You, an NYC Daily News feature.

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With legal understanding, NYC Daily News has granted permission to publish parts of Abigall Kronberger’s article titled Who I saw Last Night.

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ABBREVIATED VERSION

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Abigall Kronberger - Image by Moochie Silverberg

EXTREME EXCLUSIVE – by  Abigall Kronberger

David Beckerman seriously got under my skin last night. Once again that little creep was late for our dinner date, so I left a written message with my cutie-boy condo concierge: Hey Beckerman, I’m circumnavigating Mars right now. Don’t bother looking for me – ever again!

        Mars turns out to be The Algonquin Hotel’s Blue Bar. There I was, seated at the bar and tossing back a happy line of dry martinis, when suddenly – and I mean suddenly – I felt a swift breeze behind me. Beyond merely curious, I glanced over my left shoulder and immediately saw the back of a tallish man as he made his way to a youngish woman seated at one of the small round tables.

        I knew exactly who this woman was: Emma Goldstein.

        Aside from having umpteen master’s degrees (one which happens to be Laws LLM), she writes a personal column for the New York Times. It always strikes me funny, but its title is “Big City, Big Lights,” which sounds quite Hollywoodish to me. Every time I read it, I feel somewhat nauseated. Nevertheless – and this is very important – Goldstein is extraordinarily bright and highly respected in the journalism world. She also wrote the book Abused Has Many Different Definitions – the Story of my Uncle Matthew.

        As for the slender, blond-haired fellow who just breezed by me?

        This gooooooo'rgeous man reminded me of the cutie-actor Leonardo DiCaprio way back when. He was Timothy McManus, the new celebrity writer who had just published  JD … neat, A MEMOIR.

        As all of my readers fully know, I have an exceptional memory, and from my perch at the bar, this is exactly what I heard and saw between Goldstein and McManus.

        For the sake of brevity, I’ve decided to break up this story with subtitles. The first goes this way:

—photo/images provided by PPCAD - RF

Emma Goldstein - Big City, Big Lights, NYT - Image by Electra Zhangs

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SIDE TALK:
JOURNALIST EMMA
GOLDSTEIN FIRST MEETS
THE EXTREMELY POPULAR
AUTHOR TIMOTHY MCMANUS

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McManus extended his hand to Goldstein. “I’m really sorry for being this late, Emma.”
       Goldstein accepted McManus’ hand. “That’s okay, Mr. McManus. And please, just call me Goldstein. Everyone calls me Goldstein. Even my dad.”
       McManus slipped off his outdoor jacket, draped it over a nearby chair, and sat across from Goldstein. “And calling me Tim is quite fine, Goldstein.” McManus laughed. “My parents, however, always call me Mr. McManus.”
       Thank you, I will … Tim.”
       “The real reason why I’m so incredibly late has to do with my emotionally bizarre next-door neighbor.” McManus shook his head. “I swear to God, Goldstein, I’ll bet you’ve never had to put up with an obnoxious Swedish drunk as I have to endure.” McManus caught the eye of the bartender and politely ordered a tall glass of Gentleman’s Jack. “To tell you the truth, at least as I see it, I think that my neighbor is the most revolting drunk that I’ve ever met and probably ever will.”
       Goldstein frowned thoughtfully. “Funny you should say that. My Uncle Matthew had a next-door neighbor who was an obnoxious drunk as well as an illegal drug user and dealer. In fact, it was this character, known as Wobbly-Pops―”
       Curious, McManus interrupted Goldstein.
       “What is that, a Wobbly-Pops?”
       “Just a nickname everyone called him. Wobbly-Pops.”
       “But what does it mean?”
       “Someone who will drink any form – or amount – of alcohol in order to get totally inebriated. I think it’s either Canadian or British slang.”
       “That’s abstractly funny.”
       “I don’t think it was any form of funny, Tim. That same repugnant bigot caused me to write Abuse Has Many Different Definitions – the Story of my Uncle Matthew – a book now making the rounds.” ...

EDITOR’S NOTE — December 1, 2023 - 3:12 pm

The EBB Editorial Committee has decided to divide this particular news story into two distinct parts.

Only the abbreviated version—namely, Emma Goldstein’s partial interview of Timothy McManus and his recently published book JD … neat—will be presented here on our internet site.

Those readers who wish to know more of Abigall Kronberger’s article, entitled “Who I Saw Last Night,”  should contact The Bogart Evening Standard Newspaper after September 2023 or place an order with us. Please consult our Price & Payment section.

Those who wish to purchase a copy of  of Emma Goldstein’s book Abuse Has Many Different Definitions—The Story of My Uncle Matthew can do so at bookstores everywhere.

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 SILLY WOBBLY-

POPS POPS AWAY

& IN COMES THE

ESSENTIAL

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... With a singular flash of thought, it occurred to Goldstein that she had spent far too much time going on about her own book and not McManus’ memoir titled JD … neat.

        Goldstein suddenly looked ashamed of herself.

         “I am sooooooo sorry, Tim.” Goldstein reached over and patted McManus just above his knee. No sexual suggestion, or so McManus sadly thought. “I’ve just spent far too much time going on about my own bookand not your JD … neat.  If I may, Tim …”

        “Certainly.”

        “… at first I was surprised that you planned to write JD ... neat as a documentary and not in book form.”

        “That’s true. But it was Christopher’s wife who suggested that I first write JD … neat in book form.”

        “So who are this Christopher and his wife?”

        “Christopher is a well-known LA-based movie producer and his wife is a lawyer operating out of Los Angeles.”

        “How is he connected?”

        “He owns 20% of the film rights.” McManus shakes his head. “But I understand Christopher had a stroke.”

        “Like my uncle?”  

        McManus shakes his head again. “I don’t know.”

        Goldstein changed the subject and asked McManus what were his thoughts when he first met Nikifor Dzhamgerchinov― henceforth known as Nick.

        “To me he simply didn't appear nor act as the genius he claimed to be. In other word, and I'm just being honest, Goldstein, he impressed me as a total dunce."

       “Did you say ‘dunce’?”

       “Yes. Dunce. Total dunce. ...” ...

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 THE IMAGE OF A FANTASY 

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... “So what does your future look like, Tim?”
       McManus shrugged. “Who really knows? Maybe I’ll win a Powerball fortune and end up being king of a beautiful small island in the South Pacific, where sexy, beautiful women suddenly appear and, once the joyous inevitable has been performed, vamoosh – those same beautiful souls disappear.” He humbly bowed his head in way of apology. “Just being honest, Goldstein. All males are somewhat sexist.” McManus became a little more serious, showing less cheekiness. “Or maybe – and this is more likely – I’ll just suck back God’s finest juice.” He lifted up his near-empty JD glass. “Take one day at a time. Perhaps the only thing that will wake me from my happy sleep is to find that bit of considerable intellectual promise once again standing on my doorstep.”
       “Here’s a fantasy for you.”
       “Being?”
       “One day you reeeeee'leeeeee do open your front door and there you see an exceptionally brilliant genius – a mini-god, perhaps – standing before you.”
       “Technically, I live in a condo…”
       “But this is a fantasy, Tim.”
       “Sorry. I would probably just politely close my front door. Fantasy aside, though, the oddity of finding another super brilliant soul such as Scarce the Idiot would probably take another two hundred years – and if that is the case, then inevitably, I will be nothing more than dust and tiny bits of bone.”
       McManus raised his empty and mournful glass to the bartender, who nodded with full understanding. ...

—photo/images provided by PPCAD - RF

Archie Derby is smiling because ...

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GOLDSTEIN IS HIGHLY
FLATTERED, BUT ...

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 … McManus summed up Goldstein’s statement with, “Like you said earlier, life itself is very much like a peculiar themed Twilight Zone episode, and reality is something foreign to us all.”

       Goldstein slowly nodded her head. “You have it dead-on, Tim.”
       McManus looked thoughtful. “You know, the total humiliation your poor uncle had to put up with is pretty much like what happened with Scarce.”
       Hearing the name Scarce once again caused Goldstein’s eyes to flash open with surprise.
       “As I mentioned before, Tim, I read JD … neat with utter awe. And your comparison of Scarce with my Uncle Matthew is exactly what I thought when I first read your memoirs.”
        McManus raised his bit of JD glory before him, and in way of salute to Goldstein, uttered these hopeful words, “Emma, tu sei la donna più bella e brillante che abbia mai incontrato, e ti piacerebbe andare a letto con me stasera?”
       To which Goldstein responded, “I fluently speak twenty-nine separate languages and Italian is just one." She affectionately winked at McManus. “Thanks for what you said of me, Tim — as for your question, not tonight.” ...

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