2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas Quotes

“If you are anything other than humbled in the presence of love, you are not in the presence of love.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“We carry our ancestors in our names and sometimes we carry our ancestors through the sliding doors of emergency rooms and either way they are heavy, man, either way we can't escape.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“You can’t say you know a city unless you know three ways to everywhere.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“In the jaundiced light of a streetlamp, Sarina realizes why people have children: to see the face of the one they love at the ages they’ve missed...”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“Good morning, the city says. Fuck you.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“That’s a drummer’s love story. If you want a prettier one, you’ll be waiting forever. If you could separate your body into four distinct rhythms, you’d be cracked too”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“I'm a minor character in my own life.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“What am I supposed to do," she says. "Wait?" She wants him to say, Yes, wait. I will be home as soon as I run this one errand. Ben perceives disgust in her tone. Why would anyone wait for him? A boy who didn't know how to be a prom date, a man who knows what he needs, but too late.
He releases her arm. His voice is professional with sorrow. "You certainly couldn't do that." He means because she is precious. Sarina hears that she is snotty and unkind. He means because he is not that lucky; she hears: he is bored.
No one says "I want you to wait," and no one says "I'll wait.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“If there were a race among all artists to the human heart, my money would be on music to win. It knows a shortcut.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“Saying good-bye to Ben is Sarina's least favorite activity. So sad the number of times she's had to do it. Ball games, recitals, the homes of friends, rented shore houses, through car windows after dropping off some forgotten camera to Annie. Goodbye. See you later. Nice seeing you. She has mastered it: A dismissive peck on the cheek. A hug like an afterthought. Telling herself, Do not watch him walk away. Watching him walk away. Watching him drive away. Watching him descend the stairs to the subway. How many times have they said goodbye to each other? Already tonight, twice.
He interrupts her before she can get the second goodbye out.
"How would you feel," he says, "about missing your train?"
Once at the beach, Sarina watched a crane bathing in a gully at dusk. It used its wings to funnel the water over its back, then shook out the excess in a firework of droplets. After several minutes it took off, arcing out over the fretless sea. That felt like this.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“It is dark, dark seven A.M. on Christmas Eve Eve.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“The way that woman walked, like she was paying the sidewalk a favor.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“Gus doesn’t belong in this world. He was born with a Hollywood chin, a butter touch, and an ear that can hear rhythms tapped out from Neptune. In another life he would have been drumming in Johnny Carson’s band, drinking water out of a mug. But in this one he has a disease and he can’t say no to shysters like Charlie, who uses his wife and kid to cheat on Gus’s lousy, glowing heart.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“Her father is fastened to his room, with his records and his drugs and his quiet. She crawls under her covers. It is her fault for triggering one of his spells. Normally she can tightrope through his moods. At least it had been brief. Most girls do not have to deal with a father like hers. They would be afraid of the way she lives, lawless in a roachy apartment. They would be scared of his fits. Madeleine would be scared too, she thinks, falling asleep. If she had only experienced finished basements and dads who acted like dads. But Madeleine loves her father, and how can you be scared of someone you love?”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“But Madeline loves her father and how can you be scared of someone you love?”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“Madeleine has never had a caramel apple and she wants to taste one more than she wants God's love.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“She is officiating the marriage of two bottles of ketchup; overturning one and balancing it on the mouth of the other so it can empty its shit. The”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“Madeleine stares through the window into the courtyard. On most days she feels something staring back: a God or a mother-shaped benevolent force. Today, nothing reciprocates. The streamers on the chained bicycles lift in the indifferent breeze. She is alone in old stockings she's repaired twice but still run. Life will be nothing but errands and gray nights.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“Music fills the space between them. Mark wants to take the pill that keeps him awake, but not in front of his daughter. Instead, he flirts. "There's a lot of trouble with a brown-eyed handsome man. In your travels have you found this to be true?"
This is Madeleine's favorite game. His role is to ask silly questions and hers is to answer as if he is serious, neither one acknowledging the other conversation that goes on wordlessly around them, in which some other, better version of themselves say: Isn't it nice to be father and daughter?”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“The heavy thud of the front door closing. He leaves the phone on the desk. The hallway is dark and long and empty. "Louisa?" His voice echoes against the walls as if he is asking himself her name.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“The trash bags are gone, the bar wiped clean. The lights have been hung; they line the stage and loop around the Snakehead, making the old axe glow. Stalled in the doorway, Lorca experiences a stomachache he can only call Christmas.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“The city is in a perpetual state of being not quite ready to talk about it. Instead it lashes its wind against the banners of the art museum. Moody light changes down Market, the cars bitch toward City Hall. Puddles yearn toward the sewers. The unrequited city dreams up conspiracies and keeps its buildings low to the ground. You are never allowed to dream higher than the hat of William Penn. Dear World, you think you’re better than me? Suck a nut. Yours sincerely. A slip of a woman, trench coated, dips in and out of the shadows on Pine Street, toward the train. Restless wind dissects her. Good night, Sarina. Good night.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“There's a difference between people who can sing in their showers and people who can sing onstage”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“It is dark at seven am on Christmas Eve but the sun, having no options, is returning to the city. It's asking the wrought-iron fire escapes, the hydrants---What'd I miss? It's occurring like a memory to the buildings of the financial district.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“They're humble because they're in service. They know they have to practice when they are filled with love. When they are filled with bile. When the sun is out and everyone with a palpably alive soul is on the beach, they are in wood-paneled dumps, practicing. Until they ruin any chance at being substantial and there is no soul on earth who will have them.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“says. “The world is much more interesting than that. Sometimes, of course, it’s not fair. But sometimes it’s very fair, overly fair, so fair that you want to throw up from all the fairness. Then it goes back to being unfair.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“At the piano, Michael thinks, there should be words to classical songs.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“This is Madeleine’s favorite game. His role is to ask silly questions and hers is to answer as if he is serious, neither one acknowledging the other conversation that goes on wordlessly around them, in which some other, better version of themselves say: Isn’t it nice to be father and daughter?”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“I’m a minor character in my own life.” Her eyes fill. Lorca thinks he will go to her, put his arm around her, but he doesn’t move. She waits for his reaction and gets none. Her gaze sharpens.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas

“Already evening is blotting out the city. Shadows web in the alleys on Ninth Street. The illuminated crew houses of Boathouse Row reflect in the unimpressed Schuylkill. The factory near Palmer belches filth toward New Jersey. Clouds flinch across the mackerel sky, bottoms silvered by the retreating sun.”
― Marie-Helene Bertino, 2 A.M. at The Cat's Pajamas