by Steve Martin

JEROME

(friend, twenty-two years)

ME: ... Does your wife know?

JEROME: I hope she doesn't find out.

ME: Find out what?

JEROME: What I told you yesterday.

ME: Right. I remember what you told me yesterday, but the way you said it was so poignant. Would you say it?

JEROME: I just don't want her to find out about my having a drink with that waitress. I was so dumb.

ME: So you definitely had a drink with the waitress.

[inaudible]

ME: Sorry?

JEROME: I had a drink with the waitress.

ME: Whose name was?

JEROME: Dinah. Are you having memory problems?

ME: Yes. Could you recap?

JEROME: I had a drink with the waitress, Dinah.

ME: Let's keep this between us.

JEROME: Thanks, man.

VIRGINIA

(ex-girlfriend)

VIRGINIA: I'm feeling so guilty about what we did.

ME: Can you hang on a minute?

[sound of beep from tape recorder being turned on]

VIRGINIA: What was that?

ME: What?

VIRGINIA: That beep.

ME: Federal Express truck backing up. You feel guilty about what?

VIRGINIA: You know, the other night. I'd feel terrible if Bob ever found out.

ME: How would he ever find out?

VIRGINIA: So you won't tell?

ME: I can't believe you're asking me that.

VIRGINIA: I'm sorry.

ME: Find out about what?

VIRGINIA: You know. The kiss and the... you know.

ME: It was beautiful. I'd love for you to describe it.

VIRGINIA: What a nice thing-you're so romantic now. When we were dating, I couldn't believe how cold you were and how selfish-

[sound of tape recorder being turned off]

[pause]

[sound of tape recorder being turned back on]

VIRGINIA: ...separate checks, you loser. What was that beep?

ME: FedEx truck again, but get back to the kiss.

VIRGINIA: Well, we had just had lunch and you walked me back to my apartment and we kissed by the mailboxes, and, you know.

ME: Who is we again?

VIRGINIA: We? You and I.

ME: And your name is?

VIRGINIA: Are you insane? I'm Virginia!

ME: I love it when you say your name....

MOM

(mother)

ME: Mom, I'm really hungry and in a hurry and I can't remember what you told me twelve years ago about how upset you were with Dad's false tax return.

MOM: Well, let me think. I think he had underreported some income on his night job-we were so desperate. Remember, you needed that extra money for college?

ME: Oh, yeah.

MOM: You needed money for... I can't remember.

ME: To buy S.A.T. answers.

MOM: I can't hear you son.

ME: I said... What was that beep?

MOM: FedEx truck backing up. You were saying?

ME: I needed cash to buy answers for my college entrance examination. But that's between us, Mom.

MOM: Of course, son. If you can't trust your mother, who can you trust?

================

This article appeared in The New Yorker magazine on February 23, 1998.