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  We found ourselves becoming more and more obsessed with these odd pairings of people at airports. So much so that we began to build fictional stories about them. Some turned into entire movies that we made, some were used for interesting side characters, and some were just for our own personal amusement. When we signed on to write this book, we decided to record a few of these conversations and transcribe them. Here is one. Admittedly, a little bit edited so we don’t sound like totally uneducated dipshits.

  (Sitting across from us is a somewhat dowdy woman in her late fifties. Her posture emits low energy, maybe even sickness. She sits next to an extremely good-looking if not altogether intelligent-looking fellow who seems to be in his late thirties. They share a meal.)

  JAY: Whoa.

  MARK: Yep.

  JAY: First thought is that she had him when she was, like, fourteen.

  MARK: And for a while he didn’t know who his real mom was.

  JAY: Yeah, like, they lived with her mom and dad, and those two told him that they were his parents and she was his sister.

  MARK: Cuz it was a fairly religious small town in Alabama where having kids out of wedlock that young just ain’t cool.

  JAY: They planned on telling him the truth after he graduated from high school.

  MARK: Right. Get him off to college or wherever, but tell him right before he goes so he can process it outside of the house and get through his anger while he’s establishing his independence.

  (Giggling.)

  JAY: They figured it would take him a year or so to get over it, but he’d be in a progressive environment, expanding his mind like most eighteen-year-olds do, and would ultimately understand and forgive them the lie. “I’m a college freshman and grown-up now. I understand how the world works and can sympathize!”

  MARK: Good plan.

  JAY: Great plan. Very emotionally evolved.

  MARK: Didn’t work out that way, though.

  (Pause. We are trying to think where the story should go next. Neither wants to speak first and fuck up an idea the other may be having that could be great. It’s quite a long silence. We are smiling.)

  MARK: Because her parents died unexpectedly?

  JAY: Oh. Shit. That’s…that’s kinda rough.

  MARK: It would give her the chance to hold the secret that she was his real mother forever if she wanted.

  JAY: True. But dark.

  MARK: Other option is he accidentally found out when he was fifteen.

  JAY: That’s what I was thinking. He was looking for his old Gobots in the attic. Found a birth certificate.

  MARK: Freaked the fuck out.

  JAY: Ran away from home without saying anything to anyone—

  (Suddenly the man leans over and kisses the woman on the mouth. Not just a peck. An openmouthed kiss.)

  MARK: Okay.

  JAY: Didn’t see that coming.

  (Giggling.)

  MARK: Okay! Changing gears!

  (Full on gigglefest.)

  MARK: So…

  JAY: So.

  MARK: They are not mother and son. They are lovers.

  JAY: For sure.

  MARK: They met when he was, like, nineteen.

  JAY: She was…thirty?

  MARK: He was working as a waiter at her favorite lunch place. And they developed a friendly rapport.

  JAY: Because she was hot.

  MARK: And successful. She ran her own business.

  (Pause. Thinking.)

  JAY: One of those printing companies that were popping up everywhere in the early aughts.

  MARK: A thousand business cards for $99?

  JAY: Exactly. Started in a small warehouse outside of town.

  MARK: Perfect. And she would bring clients to this lunch place because it was central between her warehouse and downtown.

  JAY: And she always tipped him well because no matter how busy he was, he took care of her and treated her like she was big-time.

  MARK: Exactly. Like he intrinsically knew she was trying to impress a client, so he served her as if she were the proverbial shit ’round these parts. And it helped her nail down her clients. But all of this was unspoken.

  JAY: So she started tipping him even more.

  MARK: And one day she asked him why he was working in a place like this. He was charming, good-looking, clearly better than this.

  JAY: He had some issues with his parents. Dropped out of high school. This was his first job. They paid him decently. So he stuck with it.

  MARK: She asked him to come see her offices when he got off work. Maybe she could find him a better job.

  JAY: So he did. And she got him an entry-level job in her printing business.

  MARK: And it was becoming clear to everyone else at work that, like, there was clearly a physical attraction between these two.

  JAY: He had a missing mom figure. Filling in that gap.

  MARK: She was busy and successful and maybe preferred a young stud to something more stable.

  JAY: Before long, they began an affair. And the sex was incredible.

  MARK: That whole “both of them being in their sexual prime” thing that people talk about.

  JAY: And despite her initially viewing him as more of a boy toy, when her father passed he was emotionally great to her.

  MARK: And she fell in love.

  JAY: And so did he.

  MARK: So they got married when he was just twenty-one. He didn’t even invite his parents.

  JAY: And things went well for a while. They co-ran the company, and he even started doing commercials and modeling for their printing business.

  MARK: Yes! And he was awesome at it!

  JAY: But then the shit hit the fan.

  (Pause. Thinking.)

  MARK: I got it. Because printing as a business started to crash with the advent of online advertising and the green movement. And the smaller start-ups were the first to go under.

  JAY: And she worked her ass off to save her business. Not sleeping. Living very unhealthy.

  MARK: And he encouraged her to just let it go. He had enough experience as a model and commercial actor that he could support them now on his salary if he branched out.

  JAY: So she let the business go, and he became a very successful catalogue model for their area.

  MARK: But it was hard on them and their marriage. Because being a model means that you are surrounded by young, hot models all day long.

  JAY: And she was in her early forties now, but looked a lot older from the stress of her business being run into the ground.

  MARK: He, on the other hand, looked better than ever. For whatever reason. Genetic lottery. But now that twelve-year age gap looked more like…a lot more than that. People even mistook them for mother and son.

  JAY: And she became insecure about him being around young female models all the time. And she started drinking more. And just generally tanking.

  MARK: And he promised his devotion to her. Reminding her that she was the one who saved him and made him who he is today. And that he would never leave her.

  JAY: And she quickly replied that she didn’t want him to stay with her because of what she’d done in the past but because he loved her for who she was right now.

  MARK: And she looked at him sadly, and he looked into her eyes and said, “Of course I am with you because of who you are now.”

  JAY: Which they both knew was a lie.

  MARK: Ugh. This is getting hard.

  (We look at each other. Feeling deeply for this woman. Hoping that our story isn’t anywhere near true. And also wanting them to win now.)

  MARK: But it all changed last month.

  JAY: It did?

  MARK: Yeah. Something amazing ha
ppened. His birth mother, whom he’d never met, saw his picture in a JCPenney catalogue and reached out to him.

  JAY: Right! He got really nervous. So his woman, who has been with him all this time, came with him to meet his birth mom.

  MARK: And it went horribly. This guy’s birth mother was a vapid, terrible person who only wanted to meet him so she could get connected in the modeling business herself.

  JAY: It crushed him, and that night he cried for hours. In their shitty Motel 6 by the airport.

  MARK: But his wife was there for him. No hottie models. Just her and her undying loyalty to him and love for him. Right by his side.

  JAY: And they made love that night for the first time in years. And it was amazing. They stayed up all night.

  MARK: Which is why she looks a little sick and why they’re tired right now.

  JAY: But that kiss he just gave her…

  MARK: That’s the sign of the birth of their new relationship.

  JAY: Falling in love again. On their way back home.

  (We both instinctually know we should stop here. And while the ending isn’t the greatest or most realistic, we just really want them to win.)

  IT IS SUNDAY.

  It is late summer 1991.

  We are in our bedroom, clutching our acoustic guitars. We are tense. Afraid. Not at our best. We will be playing live at the Neutral Ground Coffee House tonight. They have recently opened, and this will be their first open-mic night. Anyone can sign up to perform three songs of their choosing. We plan to be there for our first-ever live performance together as an acoustic duo. We will go by the same name as the filmmaking duo we created a few years ago, the Duplass Brothers. Doors open at seven P.M.

  It is almost five-thirty now.

  And we are still working on our set list.

  JAY: So we definitely open with “Mr. Black and Mrs. Brown.”

  (“Mr. Black and Mrs. Brown” is an original that Jay has written. It is about two people who cannot see past their differences to find each other and consummate their true love. It is indisputably our best original song. We only have three original songs.)

  MARK: One hundred percent. Then maybe hit ’em with something a little crowd-pleasing. That they know and can sing along to.

  (We look at the list of potential cover songs. Mind you, these are not ironic….)

  “Sail On”—the Commodores

  “A Horse with No Name”—America

  “Stuck on You”—Lionel Richie

  “Melissa”—the Allman Brothers Band

  “Sara Smile”—Hall & Oates

  JAY: How about “Stuck on You” right into “Sail On” to close?

  MARK: I like the flow, but technically that’s back-to-back Lionel Richie.

  JAY: Good point.

  MARK: Maybe “Sail On” second, and then we close with “B-Song”?

  (“B-Song” is another original.)

  JAY: I just feel like “B-Song” is not our best.

  (I wrote “B-Song,” and I am oddly unfazed by Jay’s criticism of it. Because Jay is right. I know it. And that there’s what it is. This lack of ego in our process was evident very early.)

  JAY: We should close with our best song.

  MARK: “Mr. Black and Mrs. Brown” is our best song.

  JAY: We gotta open with that, though.

  MARK: Do we? I mean, think about it. That high harmony you do on the “He could not prove himself” line is kinda the emotional peak of the entire set. If we open with that, we might be sliding downhill for the rest of the performance.

  (I have accidentally broken open the thinking that was previously locked. Jay immediately recognizes it with an excited high five. Again, no ego that he was not able to break it open himself. He quickly moves “Mr. Black and Mrs. Brown” to the set-closer position.)

  JAY: Great call. “Sail On” second. “Mr. Black and Mrs. Brown” to close. And…

  (Jay thinks for a second. And an idea hits.)

  JAY: What if we open with “Everybody’s Laughing.”

  (I am taken aback. It is a brand-new song that I wrote on my own. It is about a lesbian who goes into the woods at night and has sex with a ghost of herself because she is ashamed of her sexuality and worried people will laugh at her at school if she comes out. This song, written by a straight white fourteen-year-old male, is quite insufferable in many ways despite its beautiful, naïve heart.)

  MARK: Really?

  JAY: Yeah. It’s our best after “Mr. Black and Mrs. Brown.”

  MARK: We haven’t really worked out your part in it yet.

  JAY: It’ll be awesome. We’ll wing it. Give it that “coming together in the moment” kinda energy.

  (I accept Jay’s opinion and leadership implicitly. This is how it is done with the Duplass Brothers in 1991.)

  MARK: Love it. Let’s do it.

  JAY: Let’s do it.

  * * *

  —

  After our initial interest in filmmaking, we also became deeply obsessed with music. We felt that there was a fifty-fifty chance we’d become filmmakers or musicians. We saved our money from working summers at our Uncle Danny’s family dry-cleaning business and bought ourselves two cheap acoustic guitars, a used drum kit, and a used four-track to record our demos. And tonight was turning out to be the culmination of all our hard work. Our first big gig. We arrived at the Neutral Ground at seven P.M., expecting a crowd snaking around the block.

  Turned out we were the first ones to arrive. Also turned out that there were no microphones, PA system, or sound guy for tonight’s open mic. Also turned out that the “stage” was covered with boxes of herbal tea and enormous plastic containers of weird concentrated iced coffee.

  We asked the one volunteer employee what was happening with open-mic night tonight. He shrugged and said he hadn’t heard anything about it. We checked the weekly entertainment mag. We had gotten the open-mic-night date correct. But it seemed that the Neutral Ground was still setting up shop and had somehow just forgotten about it.

  We were crushed. Many of our friends were on their way to see us perform. We picked up our guitars and dragged ourselves back to our mom’s Ford Explorer. We hopped in, but we didn’t leave.

  JAY: This sucks.

  MARK: This fucking sucks.

  JAY: It’s just…demoralizing.

  MARK: Should we just put a sign on the door for our friends?

  JAY: We can’t just leave.

  MARK: I can’t go back in there. I’m…I think I’m depressed.

  (Jay thinks this over. He looks at me and takes me in. I am already taller than him, but he will always be my older brother. Always the leader. And he can tell I need him right now.)

  JAY: We’re not gonna play three songs for open-mic night tonight.

  MARK: Dude, I know.

  JAY: We’re gonna play a full set.

  (There is something in the way Jay is looking at me now. I am deeply in tune with him. A surge is coming. It feels epic somehow.)

  JAY: We’re going to clear that stage. We’re going to set up with no mics, no PA system. And when our friends show up, we’re gonna play every song we can come up with. Live. Raw. Just, like…us. Like…doing it.

  (I am overcome with inspiration. I smile with pride and excitement. I immediately pull out the set list and start adding song after song. Jay chimes in. The order comes together in a whirlwind of pump and inspiration. When it is done, it is a list of eleven songs. Four originals. Seven covers.)

  MARK: Are we doing this?

  JAY: We are doing this!

  * * *

  —

  We played our hearts out that night to a group of nine friends, one amazing older hippie dude named Les Jampole (who ended up being a b
it of a musical mentor to us through the years of playing there), and an extremely disinterested volunteer employee. It was our first concert. And probably our best. Jay did what he had done so well for our entire relationship up to that point. He led me with the fearless confidence that was required of him. And he did it with a maturity and love way beyond his eighteen years. That night solidified for us both that, together, we might be able to accomplish anything. But perhaps more important, that Jay could always be counted on to lead us through the tough times. And that this brotherly dynamic was now fully cemented and would never change.

  Two weeks later Jay left for college. Within a month of arriving, he had an emotional breakdown, and our brotherly dynamic completely changed.

  THE ART OF compromise is one of the hardest things we’ve had to learn over the years. It’s tricky. Really tricky. And it keeps changing. How we relate, how we avoid pushing each other’s fussy buttons. How we get what we need to feel good about ourselves but also give in enough to be respectful of the other. It’s a huge pain in the ass, but it’s rewarding when we get it right. So, a few thoughts…

  CHECK YOUR EGO AT THE DOOR

  When you’re working closely with someone, it’s natural to want to be the “better” one. But this is a nasty impulse. Don’t give in to this one. Jay and I have come to accept that not only does each of us have his own strengths, but there are also certain days where one of us is more “on” than the other, and this dynamic has to be okay. For instance, I have a real knack for moving quickly and brashly through the early phases of the creative process. From banging out a vomit draft of a script to putting together a project’s basic production structure to creating a pitch…I can get something on its feet, quickly, that doesn’t suck. What I have trouble with is closing. But Jay is a master closer. You give him something between fifty and eighty percent done and he can drive that sucker home via his tremendous attention to detail and sheer force of will. And let’s be clear: I am intimidated by Jay’s closing power, and Jay is intimidated by my building power. This is a hard thing to accept at times but ultimately a very good thing. The more we joke about this, praise each other’s strengths, laugh at each other’s weaknesses, the better our work product becomes and the better our vibe together is. But—here’s the hard part—sometimes one of us is just better at both things on a given day. That can be due to the state of burnout, how much sleep we’ve gotten, or just the luck of that day’s brain chemistry. And you have to recognize it and let go of the thing that you are supposed to be good at if your collaborator is beating you at it on a given day. You have to. Or the product will suffer, and your relationship with your collaborator will suffer even more.