Nick Carraway, a bond salesman in West Egg, Long Island, writes:
Dear Grammer Genious,
I have recently learned that my cousin Daisy's husband, unbeknownst to her, is having an extramarital affair and has rented an apartment in the city for his paramour, a common flapper who is the wife of a local garage owner. Should I tell my cousin about this? I hesitate to do that, because if she turns on me I might get dumped by her sexy girlfriend, a leggy golf pro. I am keeping a log of all these furious and exciting developments, and I plan to write a novel about it, since my bond business is in the toilet.
Signed, Nick Carraway, Yale, 1919
Dear Nick,
I bet she already knows. Hang around while she's on the telephone and eavesdrop.
A lubricious situation like this could be a gold mine for you, but don't bother with a novel – that's so 20th century. Do a screenplay and pitch it to HBO. It sounds like a natural for them. But I recommend that you make up some fictitious title character, to sort of hold the story together. And some commercial tie-in – say, some eyeglass company or something – might boost your bottom line.
If somebody from this zany bunch should ever happen to get killed during any future frenzied shenanigans, then you're in, for sure. Not that I'm suggesting anything.
The Grammer Genious
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