A Fan's Notes Read Free Page A

though he were not trying to prove how well he was doing in business (and he was doing well); but still —we could, of course, never again be “ almost friends. ” Perhaps B. had heard his brother speak of me, and this coupled with my teacher image and the flecks of gray at my temples, led him to assume that I had answers, a conclusion that was not without its irony. In the inner pocket of my jacket was the letter from my wife— ” until we are much more firmly settled on our separate roads ” —and only moments before B. slithered up to me and said, “ Jesus, Ex, I can ’ t eat or nothin ’ , ” in an alcoholic fury I had telephoned long-distance to my wife and got my sister-in-law, who, refusing to call my wife to the phone, had prompted me to shout “ Fuck you! ” into the wire. All I had wanted to do was conform to the role—that of the drama ’ s villain—my sister-in-law had assigned to me; and after I had hung up the receiver, and until B. approached me, I had stood at the bar chuckling pensively at the thought of my sister-in-law ’ s hysterically indignant I -told-you-so ’ s . Because I was unhappy I offered B. no easy consolation. While he kept saying, “ Oh, Jesus, Ex , Jesus H. Keeriiisst, don ’ t tell me that, ” I told him the ordeal of my own first love, how it had taken me two years to alleviate the pain, how I had risen with it, gone to bed with it, and lived with it all my waking hours until, accepting its naturalness, it had begun to recede. Doubtless B. thought I was being cruel; and I really knew no way of convincing him otherwise. I told him I wished that when I was his age I had sought out some dismal creature for advice. Having gone to fat-assed, “ successful ” souls (making the American mistake of equating success with wisdom), I was glibly assured that “ you ’ ll get over it ” ; and when I did not, I despised myself for what I deemed a flimsiness of heart. Seeing a younger version of myself in B. ’ s wild eyes, I offered him all I could. “ Look, B., accept your pain as a part of life. There is, really, absolutely no consolation in telling you that I or any man has undergone the same thing. And then, how would I know I ’ ve suffered anywhere near what you ’ re going through? And not knowing that, isn ’ t any advice I give you presumptuous? ”
    We drank together until closing time, one whisky after another, our heads bent close together. We talked through the velvety blue smoke, whispering about isolation and loss; with our sibilant voices we were trying to protect the privacy of our hearts from the ears all about us. Presently the lurid white lights, with almost a violent snap, caught us cheek-to-cheek and Freddy was shouting, “ You don ’ t have to go home, gang — but you can ’ t stay here ! ” Reluctantly I rose, finished my drink, put on my raincoat, and walked to the door to wait. B. had moved quickly down the bar and was attempting to pick up a young, snub-nosed, and attractive girl who frequented the place. He picked her up, too; and I had to admire the ease with which he did it, speaking only a few words to her. He was a handsome, sensitive boy, and watching him so facilely “ move ” the girl I wondered what that other girl was searching for, the one who had tossed him over. The three of us left together. We drove around town for an hour or so nipping on B. ’ s bottle, then went to an all-night diner, The Red Moon. We had been looking for a girl friend of snub-nose ’ s, one who was, without my being consulted in the matter, supposed to be my date. We found her at The Red Moon. Before getting back into the car, I drew myself up, unzipped my fly, and stood in the middle of the street taking an enormous piss. A car tooted at me, swerved erratically, and just missed me. Speaking out of the corner of her mouth, my new date said, “ Jeez, I ain ’ t going with that crazy bastard! ” As she was going back into the diner to her