Heeb

 Interviewer and Ames stand uncomfortably without chemistry.

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“Hey!” Schwartzman jumps up for his friend. Ames’s nose is evidence of his boxing exploits. An oddly attractive bump makes him look rugged for a writer. Ames greets his actor, then quietly backs away, making it clear he doesn’t want to interrupt, but it is time to switch off. He gives me a “Hello,” a quick handshake, and settles into the chair Schwartzman vacates.

Immediately, Ames sticks his left hand into the space between the two boxy chairs, like when someone crosses their legs with their hand between their thighs. Even when he moves it for a gesture, the hand always returns to that place. And he’s very still. I can’t tell if it’s from exhaustion or inner calm and confidence. His speech is controlled and steady, like each word is meticulously chosen. Or maybe he’s just tired. Throughout the interview, I have the constant feeling I’m losing him, even though I didn’t know I had to win him over.

Since so much of Ames’s work comes off as autobiographical, I feel like I know him. “Do I know you?” I wonder. “Well” he pauses, “I don’t know me, so how could you know me? It’s good that you want to know me, you’re sitting there and you’re smiling at me, so I think you do, but it’s not always me.” It’s a chilly start, so I try another tact.

He demurs when I ask about being a New York City celeb. “I have been stopped a few times, mostly in Brooklyn because of the books.” Then sounding surprised, “I was stopped by a policeman and a fireman, separately.” The following silence tells me to move on.

I try again, bringing up his boxing. He sighs and shifts in his chair to let me know he’s been asked this question too many times. “Any plans to fight more writers?” I ask. “I don’t know about writers specifically, but I would like to fight again,” he replies. Silence. Next topic.

Getting together my courage, I swing back to Bored to Death and the elements of autobiography. “There are moments,” he admits, “when he looks in the empty closet, that was taken from my life, after an ex-girlfriend left.” Like he will many times that night, he makes it clear that the show is not autobiographical. No you don’t know me, his look implies.  

Softening things up, I ask him who’s nicer, Schwartzman’s Ames or real life Ames. “Like I said,” he sighs, “it’s not the same person. I suppose Schwartzman is nicer, I’m more shy.” Unlike, Schwartzman, he rarely meets my eyes. “Although that doesn’t necessarily mean the same thing. Schwartzman is younger, so he can do more I wouldn’t necessarily get away with.” I feel I’m asking all the wrong questions.

Trying something different, I ask, “Who do you see as the primary audience?” He stops and looks up, searching for an answer. “I’ve never really thought about the primary audience. I suppose there’s a tendency for people to think it’s for a younger audience because people assume that it’s young people watching TV,” he says. “But you hope that it’s a wide audience, everyone.” I’ve put on my jacket, but the room is chillier than when Schwartzman was here.

Time is running out – his handlers appear looking concerned and tense – and I take a shot with my final, personal question: his girlfriend, Fiona Apple, the coolest girl ever. I joke he should try a nice Jewish girl. “What’s the question?” he asks, deadpan. I try again and taking pity on me, he gives in. “I have dated nice Jewish girls, but it never seemed to work out. For my parents, it’s enough that I’m dating someone, dating a Jewish girl would just be . . . icing on the cake,” he laughs. Finally, a laugh. But then the handlers swoop in. He takes off for the screening and I miss Jason Schwartzman.

(Later that week, a friend ran into Ames at the Russian baths. Evidently, he does hang out there, just like his characters. He explained how exhausted he was from traveling and hoped that he hadn’t come off as a jerk for being so reticent, which makes me feel better.)

The screening is fun. The unaired episode is far better than the earlier ones with noticeably more chemistry between the actors. In “Take a Dive,” Schwartzman, Danson, and Zach Galifianakis (Ames’ best friend on the show) box members of a rival magazine and the whole thing feels like it’s hit its stride.

Afterwards, during the panel, the cast is so touchy feely on stage it’s downright homoerotic. Talking about Ames, Schwartzman gushes. “He’s my favorite living novelist, because most of the people I love…they’re dead. It’s weird; all the people I like are dead or reclusive. And so, Jonathan’s . . . alive.” The audience laughs at the awkward phrasing and Schwarzman puts a hand on Ames’s shoulder to apologize for his clumsy phrasing. They’re playful and affectionate but still careful not to step on toes. Every time someone speaks, there’s another hand on someone else’s knee. “Everyone here is so in love,” jokes moderator John Hodgeman.

Shuffling out, I long for my new BFF Schwartzman. Towards the end we talked about things unrelated to the show: his composing and drumming. (His old band Phantom Planet is famous for “California,” the theme for The OC.) He leaned in the way friends do when they confide. “I love drumming but it’s hard to do by yourself, and it’s the feeling of being part of a song that I really like. To play drums by yourself, you have to really just be into rhythm.”

I had my rhythm with Schwartzman, not so much with Ames, he wouldn’t play with me. Hey, one out of two isn’t bad. Besides, when Schwartzman spoke about first meeting the people on the show (including Ames), he said, “I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high because friendship, it’s hard to make it, you know what I mean? It’s weird. I didn’t want to get my heart broken.” I can relate. Emerging from my first foray in celebrity journalism, I’m a little crushed by one and crushing on the other. And like my new BFF advises, you have to take in and enjoy all the bizarre moments.

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Photos by Chloe Seldman / Michael Priest Photography