“But, Sadie, be honest with yourself. On some level, you must have known it was him,” Dov said.
At a certain age—in Sadie’s case, thirty-four—there comes a time when life largely consists of having meals with old friends who are passing through town. Dov and Sadie were having brunch at Cliff’s Edge, in Silver Lake. The restaurant looked like a tree house—an enormous, Ent-like, Ficus sprung from the middle of it, and the tables were on tiered wooden platforms that surrounded the tree. The waiters who worked at the restaurant were known for their epic calf strength and their feats of balance. Sadie had often thought that working as a waiter at Cliff’s Edge must have been like being a video game character in a dull level of a platformer. As Dov was speaking, the tree caught his eye, and he grabbed one of its thick, smooth branches with his hand. “This is the most Californian place I’ve ever been. They must think it will never rain,” Dov said.
“It never does,” Sadie said.
“Do you think the restaurant was built around this tree?” Dov asked. “I think it would have to have been.”
“But the tree could have been brought in,” Dov insisted.
“It’s such a big tree. It’s hard to imagine anyone moving a tree this large.”
“Sadie, you’re in California. It’s a desert. Literally nothing should be here. If someone has a dream of a restaurant that looks like a tree house, Californians make it happen. I fucking love California.”
“I thought you hated California.” “When did I ever say that?”
“When we were breaking up. I distinctly remember being regaled about all the apocalyptic ways I was going to die out here.”
“Oh well, I’m full of shit. I didn’t want you to leave. Let’s ask the waiter about the tree when he comes,” Dov said. “Marx was smart to move Unfair out here when he did. If I’d had an iota of sense, I would have followed you when you left, gotten on my knees, begged you to take me back.”
“You’re not the getting-on-your-knees type,” Sadie said.
When the waiter came to take their orders, Dov inquired about the history of the tree. The waiter said he hadn’t been working at the restaurant very long, but he’d ask the manager.
“Truly,” Dov said. “You must have known it was him.”
“I did and I didn’t. I think it’s like when you’re watching a true crime show. People always think the cops are so hapless. How could they not see who the killer is when there are so many clues pointing in that direction? But you, the viewer, are looking at it from the point of view of knowing the solution. It isn’t so obvious if you’re walking into the situation, and it’s dark and there’s blood everywhere.”
“But of all the games in the world, how did you end up playing an insipid casual game like Pioneers?”
“Well, unlike you, I play across the spectrum of games, and it had elements that attracted me.”
“Such as?”
“I had heard it was an open-world, resource-gathering game with a social component. I heard it was loosely inspired by Oregon Trail, The Sims, and Harvest Moon, and so I wanted to play. Sam probably knew I’d be an easy mark.”
“You’ve always had an immature fixation on Oregon Trail.”
“Yes, Dov. It is entirely possible for me to love a game that you don’t get.”
“So, Sam builds an MMORPG to lure one gamer? Brilliant. Crazy, but brilliant.”
“No, he claimed he built the game because it reminded him of the games we played together when we were young.”
“Farming and resource games are perennials.”
“They are. I’m sure Pioneers made out fine financially.” Sadie paused. “And, well, I’m not going to lie. After Marx’s death and everything that followed, I really did crave something exactly like the thing Sam had made. But I guess Sam watched to see if I would join. And once I joined, he created a series of identities to keep me playing.”
“What was the narrative?”
“Oh Lord. It was a ridiculous romance. I was Emily Marks, a pregnant woman with a dark past, and he was—wait for it—Dr. Edna Daedalus, the town’s optometrist.”
“Sounds incredibly hot.”
“It was more tender and sad.”
“Dr. Daedalus! Come on, Sadie. How could you not have known it was him?”
“Well, he was a she, for one.” “Why do you think he did that?”
“Maybe to throw me off his scent, I don’t know? Maybe a Walt Whitman, we-all-contain-multitudes kind of thing. Do you always play the same gender when you game?” She knew, from experience, that when given an option, Dov always played the girl character.
“But eventually, I did know it was him. Maybe I always knew, but I didn’t let myself know. He kept dropping, in retrospect, obvious clues. Edna loses a hand at one point.”
“Life in the Old West is tough.”
“Brutal,” Sadie said. “She didn’t know if she’d ever make lenses again.”
Dov laughed. “I fucking love games. So, what now?” “We still aren’t speaking.”
“You aren’t speaking to him, you mean.” “I suppose that is what I mean.”
“Sadie, for God’s sake, why?”
“Because he tricked me.” But, of course, there was more to it than that. “Oh, to have the standards of Sadie Green.”
“Said the man who handcuffed me to his bed.”
“To my point, I did that, and you still have brunch with me whenever I’m in L.A.,” Dov said. “And you weren’t my student when I did that. I’m quite sure of that.”
“What are my standards, and what does that have to do with Sam and me not speaking?”
“Sadie, you’re how old?” “Thirty-four.”
“You’re old enough to stop being so young. Only the young have such high standards. The middle-aged—”
“Like yourself,” Sadie said.
“Like myself,” Dov admitted. “I’m forty-three. I won’t deny it.” He beat his chest. “But I’m still sexy.”
“You’re okay.”
He made a muscle with his arm. “Feel this muscle, Sadie. Is this muscle okay?”
She laughed. “I’d rather not.” But then she did feel it.
“Impressive, right? I’m benching more than I did twenty years ago.” “Congratulations, Dov.”
“I can wear the jeans I wore in high school.” “Which is useful for dating high school girls.”
“I never dated a high school girl,” Dov said. “Except when I was in high school. College girls, yes. Love ’em. Can’t get enough of ’em.”
“How you never got fired is beyond me.”
“Because I’m a great teacher. Everyone adores me. You adored me. But to return to what I was saying, the middle-aged—”
“Those cursed souls worn down by the inevitable compromises of life, you mean?”
“Here is a thing to admit to yourself, if you’re able: there will never be a person who can mean as much to you as Sam. You may as well let go of the garbage—”
“It’s not just garbage, Dov.”
“You may as well let go of your perfectly legitimate grievances, then.
Find the mysterious Dr. Daedalus, shake his hand—” “Her hand.”
“Her hand and get back to the deadly serious business of making and playing games together.”
The waiter came, and he set their food on the table. “The manager says the tree’s been here for seventy years,” he said before he left.
“Ah, so we have our answer,” Dov said. “The restaurant was built for the tree. Thank you.” Dov added hot sauce to his shakshuka.
“How do you even know that needs hot sauce? You haven’t tasted it.” “I know myself. I like it hot. What are you working on now anyway?” “Nothing much,” Sadie said. “Taking my kid to nursery school. Trying
to stay sane.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. You should be working.”
“Yeah, I’ll work eventually.” She changed the subject. “What brings you to L.A.?”
“A couple of meetings, as usual.” Dov said. “The director of some movie based on a Disney ride is interested in adapting Dead Sea for the cinema.” Dov set down his fork in order to make a jerking off motion with his hand. “It’ll never happen. Also, I’m getting divorced.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sadie said.
“Inevitable,” Dov said. “I’m fucking awful. I would never be in a relationship with me. The only good thing is that we didn’t add children into the mess this time.”
“What’ll you do now?”
“Go back to Israel. See my son. Telly’s sixteen now, if you can believe that. Work on a new game.” Dov took a moment to eat his shakshuka, and he proceeded to get yolk and red sauce on his beard. “Oh yes, that’s what I wanted to ask you. Since you’re between games at the moment, would you have any interest in teaching my class at MIT for a semester? I’m happy to throw your hat in the ring, if it’s something you’d at all want to do.”
“Let me think about it,” Sadie said.
“Up to you.”
“When I first signed up for your class, I wondered what made you want to teach.”
“Because teaching’s fucking great.” “It is?”
“Sure. Who doesn’t love puppies? And every once in a very long while, a Sadie Green comes along to blow your fucking mind.” He tossed his head back and his chair teetered for a moment. “Boom.”
Sadie felt herself blush. She still took an embarrassing pleasure in his compliments. “You curse too much.”
At the end of brunch, Sadie drove Dov back to his hotel in the basin of the Hollywood hills. He kissed her on the cheek before he got out of the car. “I know I’m middle-aged,” Dov said. “And out of touch. And I have, apparently, no idea what women want. Twice divorced, etcetera. But I must tell you. To build a world for someone seems a romantic thing from where I stand.” Dov shook his head. “Sam Masur, that fucked-up, romantic kid.”
