Though Sally's not personally involved, this little nugget dropped into my lap today courtesy of my co-worker Curlyhead. It is just waaaay too good to ignore, so C gave me permission to blog away.
Imagine a two-bedroom walkup in the Gramercy area. You have been living with two roommates for the past 2 months whom you hardly know, and just recently they inform you that they're vacating New York City in general and this apartment in particular, forcing you to find a new place by March 1st. Not a good situation by any stretch, but at least you have the apartment to yourself for the next two weeks. Or so you think.
They're out by Saturday afternoon. Blessed silence. Until Monday evening, when an unknown man shows up at your door, demanding to be let in, because "it's his apartment." (ed: please note that Sally takes some artistic license with the following exchange)
C: Who the fuck are you?
GdG: Gavin deGraw. (ed: though young and hip, in the grand scheme of contemporary music and MTV, C has no idea who this is)
GdG: I'm moving in.
C: According to whom?
GdG: My brother.
C: Who the fuck's your brother?
Joey is Joey deGraw, sibling of Gavin. Joey lives downstairs and apparently owns the apartment that C has been living in for the past couple months. C had no idea about this. She assumed when she moved in with Jewish Guy and Mormon Girl that they held the lease. No. Joey holds the lease.
C: Well, I can't let you in. I'm a single woman here. It would be dangerous.
GdG takes leave to collect his brother Joey from the hinterlands of Gramercy Park Walkup, returning presently with said brother.
Joey: Yo, what's up. I'm Joey. I own this place. My name's on the lease.
C: That's nice, but he can't move in here.
C, like any well-adjusted young, single woman made the point that, as a young, single woman in the big city, Joey should surely understand her trepidation letting some random dude live in her apartment, even if he is a B-list teenybopper object of desire.
To which Joey replies, "He's not like he's gonna rape you, he's on MTV." (ed: Witty rejoinder indeed.)
At this point the back-and-forth starts between Joey and C. Meanwhile C's best friend Merry appears in the background, furrowing her brow at the exchange out of concern for C's unforeseen role in this Real World-esque drama. The whole time this is taking place, Gavin is swinging back and forth on the door jamb, winking and smiling at Merry.
Let us break for questions. The first one running through the heads of my readers familiar with the works of Neil Simon is, "Hello? This is just like 'The Goodbye Girl'!" I should live so long it works out as nicely.
Question number two: "If this guy is so big on MTV, then why is he squatting at an apartment when the W Hotel is right down the block (and he can ostensibly get all the ass he wants there)?" Joey's answer: "He wants somewhere that's homey." Real answer: He's a cheap-ass motherfucker.
Question number three: "If this guy is so big on MTV, then why isn't he squatting at his brother's apartment?" Joey's answer: "He wanted his own place." Real answer: Joey apparently doesn't like his quasi-famous brother.
Finally, after all is said and done C cedes possession of the apartment, and GdG moves in, bearing all of three items: two Tumi's and a guitar. (ed: Yet again, comparisons to 'The Goodbye Girl' are uncanny.)
C only has another week to suffer with Gavin deGraw before she moves into a nicer, spacier apartment many many blocks away. But for the foreseeable 7 days she has to stick it out with Mr. MTV, who, she has it on good authority, will not rape her.
And to all a good night.
(Oh and C, for the record, next time just tell Gavin that he should take it up with your husband. "He'll be at the 37th Precinct at 9:00 in the morning. Charlie D'Agostino, Homicide.")