“Ibiza, Majorca, London and… ugh… Paris,” recited Sarah, listing the places she was going to party that weekend. It was dinnertime at the Schwartz’s.
“Sounds like fun,” said Dean wryly. Dean was Sarah’s older brother and some thought he was just living on reputation. A few years ago Dean ran a multinational Ecstasy conglomerate but now he just did drugs recreationally, as an addict. “Maybe I’ll see you in Majorca,” he quipped. The whole family burst out laughing. Majorca.
“Maybe I’ll go to Majorca too!” riffed Harrison, to fewer laughs.
“Harrison, shut the fuck up and eat your dinner,” said Dean.
As the oldest but least naturally gifted of the Schwartz partiers Harrison held a complicated place in the household. While his brothers and sisters experimented with dubstep and techno, Harrison convinced himself that showtunes were the party jam of the future. “Been working so hard / I’m punching my card / Eight hours, for what? / Oh, tell me what I got!” he would sing in some of New York City’s most exclusive venues, desperately trying to start a trend. While Dean lost his virginity to a supermodel when he was eleven, Harrison lost his virginity to a girl he really loved at an emotionally responsible age. Worst of all, Harrison’s go-to party move was calling 9-1-1 and ironically telling them that the roof of the club was on fire. Still, Harrison believed he could turn it all around. This was his chance…
“Excuse me, everybody,” Harrison interrupted the meal. “Tomorrow I am shipping off to Afghanistan. I’m doing my part!”
It was one hell of a crazy gambit–dying on foreign soil just to win some military medal–but Harrison
was quietly confident that it would pay off.