The Female of the Species (24 page)

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, what’s the average age of the audience at one of these things? Twelve?”

“You mean I’m too old for this.”

“I’m suspicious of your impulse.”

“What is it you suspect?”

“Maybe we should wait to discuss this in private.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t. I’m curious now. What is it you suspect?”

Errol had the distinct sense of all three of them ganging up on him, but he took a deep breath and persevered. “The will to please…” he said steadily. “An effort to be youthful…”

“I am fifty-nine years old. I’ll tell anyone who asks me. As for pleasure, I please myself, but I do sometimes try to please other people. If I didn’t, I’d be a totally inconsiderate, self-absorbed woman. Isn’t that so?”

Errol said nothing, pressing his lips together.

“When we go into the bush,” Gray continued, “do we tell
tribesmen, ‘No, we don’t want to hear drums and crude wind instruments. We don’t want to pretend we’re something we’re not. But if you have a recording of Mahler’s Sixth Symphony, we haven’t heard that in a while’?”

“The parallel eludes me.”

“Raphael is, effectively, from another tribe. It’s simple graciousness to discover what his culture has to offer. It seems to me that our profession has a great deal wrong with it, a great many pitfalls, but I do embrace some aspects of our work: distaste for provincialism; reservation of judgment. When we’re weak in our work it’s when we fail to embody these qualities, never when we take them too far. Your suspicion, Errol, is
bad anthropology
.”

Errol had the strangest experience. For a moment he didn’t know what was happening to him. The skin on his face prickled and grew hot. His eyes burned. His chest tightened, and it was hard to take a full breath. This feeling was so unexpected and inappropriate that Errol didn’t realize until it was almost too late that he was about to cry.

He stopped it just in time. “Gray, I’d really like to speak to you alone for a moment.”

She inspected Errol carefully and at last nodded. They went upstairs to her study, and Errol closed the door.

“My sister is here,” he said with effort.

“Raphael is here.”

“All the worse, then.”

“For both of us.”

Time went by.

“Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make me look—” Errol ran his hand through the air, looking for an adjective. He could not come up with an interesting one. “Bad.”

“To shut you up, frankly.”

“Why?”

“You only remember what I said, don’t you?”

“What did I say?” He honestly couldn’t remember.

“That I was only interested in going to this concert to impress Raphael, and that I was trying to act younger than my age.”

“You made me spell it out.”

“I’d rather there had been nothing to spell.”

“I didn’t mean—” He did mean, Errol remembered. He meant everything, and more.

“You’re my closest friend, Errol.” She spoke now with steadiness and care. “But you can’t say anything to me. I can’t say anything to you. Our loyalty isn’t that perfect; no loyalty is. I’m sorry I did that to you in front of Kyle. But likewise, you watch what you say in front of Raphael. Though we’re close, we’re both capable of the unforgivable. We’re good anthropologists, Errol, but it’s a shame to waste all our tact, deference, and respect on total strangers.”

Errol stood.

“I’m apologizing,” said Gray. “What are you doing?”

Errol found gradually he could breathe again. “Just now. You weren’t threatening me, were you?”

“
NO
!” She stamped her foot. “It’s just I don’t want you to be cutting in front of that man downstairs when you know very well that you’re right, that I do want to impress him, so if you care about me you keep your mouth shut, or I will humiliate you right back, and probably better. Is that clear?”

“Ever so clear.” Errol sighed. Everything suddenly appeared simple. “And you won’t accuse me of being a bad anthropologist in front of my sister, who is only too eager to believe that. And you will stop accusing me of being fusty.”

“I won’t stop accusing you of being fusty if you don’t stop acting that way. For God’s sake, what is wrong with seeing what a rock concert is like? I’d like to find out.”

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with it.”

“All right. All right, then.” Gray seemed confused that there was suddenly no argument. “So will you go?”

“I don’t know.”

“I want you to go.”

“You’re not just saying that?”

“How often do I say things because I should?”

“Not often enough.”

“All right, then.”

“You want me to go.”

“I’ve missed you, Errol.”

“It’s not the same, with Ralph here.”

“I know. But I like having you with me. I feel”—Gray had a hard time saying the word—“protected.”

“Well, have you two…”

“No.”

“Have you told him?”

“No. I have to, soon. It keeps coming up.” She smiled. “So to speak.”

“I’ll come, if that’s what you want.”

Gray took Errol’s hand. “Splendid.”

When they returned downstairs, everyone was absurdly relaxed. Raphael acted like a human being, and seemed to have had a personable conversation in their absence. Kyle said she knew the members of Hard Cheese and could call to get good seats. She told stories of editing rock videos, but actually listened (a little pointedly, Errol thought) when Errol described their matriarchy study coming up in February. Never having been to Africa, she didn’t react strongly when Errol told her about the Lone-luk, but she seemed excited when he mentioned they were arranging parallel interviews the following week in the South Bronx. Kyle had lived in New York for several years, and the idea of forging through those burned-out buildings and junkie-strewn streets seemed braver and more exotic to her than going on safari through Africa.

When the four of them went out to dinner, they had a wonderful time, again in this absurd way, as if the odds against such an evening being civil, much less a joy, were so great that it struck them all as a challenging project. In fact, the time went so fast and they got so drunk and the conversation was so rapid-fire that Errol actually found himself looking forward to the concert later that week. Then Errol realized he was looking forward to a rock concert with Raphael Sarasola and felt, inescapably, a little crazy.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, Errol,” said Kyle as they were both recovering from mild hangovers the next morning, “but I think the two of them are pretty amazing together. I’ve never seen Gray around anyone who was her match before.”

“Thanks,” said Errol.

Kyle reddened. “I mean, except you—”

“I know what you mean,” said Errol curtly.

“Gray obviously thinks a whole lot of you,” said Kyle with care. “But there’s a way you don’t see people anymore when they’re too familiar.”

“Swell. So Errol the Invisible Brother doesn’t measure up to the incomparably visible Sarasola.”

“Well, frankly—”

“Frankly what?”

Kyle squirmed. “You’re a good-looking man, Errol. And you’re intelligent and funny; you’re sweet. In fact, you’re tremendous, I’m proud of you.”

“I get the feeling there’s a big ‘but’ coming that I’m not going to like.”

“But.”

“Go ahead.”

Finally Kyle blurted, “But Raphael Sarasola is the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.” She looked into her coffee. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Mr. Sarasola’s looks are a matter of record.”

“You’re up against one heck of a thing, Errol.”

“In some ways I always have been.”

“Errol, how can you stand it?”

“I’m either a man of great character and endurance, or I’m an idiot. And don’t tell me which, because I think after twenty-five years I’d rather not know.”

Impulsively, Errol called Gabriel Menaker.

“Gabe, you like Hard Cheese on Tony?”

“Sure. They’re a little after my time. But for new wave they’re top-flight. The drummer’s sharp. And the lyrics are nasty. Why’d you ask?”

“I wondered if you wanted to see them in concert with me and some friends this week.”

“Errol, my boy, are you going through midlife crisis?”

“I told you to stop thinking that way, Gabe. Besides, this wasn’t my idea; it was Sarasola’s.”

Gabriel’s voice perked up. “You mean Ralph’s coming? The lady killer?”

“Yes, So if you have a woman you’re interested in, don’t bring her along.”

“Well, you’ve sparked my curiosity, McEchern. Count me in. Maybe I’ll bring the boys.”

“Gabe, it’s Errol again.”

“Eight o’clock, right?”

“Yes, but listen.” Errol felt as if he were back in seventh grade. “What do I wear?”

He laughed. “I think: designer jeans, a silk shirt open to your navel, and a lot of gold chains…or is it spiked hair, black boots, and a dog collar? Honest to God, McEchern, I’m not sure. I think I should warn you, my boy,
I’m
gonna look old
there. Most guys like me are still listening to their scratched-up Grateful Dead albums.”

“The good old Grateful Dead.”

“You’ve never heard of them, either.”

“Sorry.”

“You have been living in this country the last twenty years?”

“Much of the time. Same country as you. Different tribe.”

“My man, you do have a way of putting things.”

“So does a friend of mine.”

“What’s that?”

“I want you to meet that woman.”

“Can do.”

“But something about middle-aged men in jeans has always annoyed me.”

“Khaki.”

“Good idea. Thanks, Gabe. And listen. Did you mean we’re going to be surrounded by teenagers?”

“Pre-cisely.”

“This whole thing is crazy.”

“My man, McEchern. What d’ya say. This could be a riot. You’re right, it’s crazy. That’s why I’m going. There’s no sign at Ticketron says you gotta be under seventeen to get a seat. So, fuck it. I like their music, I like you, I like my crew. Fuck it. Maybe we’ll get high, that’d help.”

“Terrific. I’ll get high, the way I always do before a rock concert.”

“You ever smoked?”

“I’ve smoked concoctions you and your friends have never dreamed of, but the lowly marijuana plant, never.”

“Then we’ll get you stoned out of your mind, my man. I’ve got some sinse that’ll shave hairs off your head.”

“I’d like to keep my hair for as long as possible.”

“I’ve hit a sensitive area, McEchern?”

“I have middle-aged spread, but a full head of hair, Menaker. Don’t take shots.”

“Got it. But I am bringing some smoke. And you will be one relaxed boy, let me tell you.”

“Good enough,” said Errol, surprised at himself. “I could stand to be relaxed. I don’t think I’ve been relaxed in twenty-five years.”

As their party collected on Gray’s front lawn before the concert, Errol noted that Raphael had hardly decked himself out. He was wearing faded jeans, old off-white long underwear, and ratty Converse All Stars; but he looked fantastic, and he knew it. Errol looked down at his own deliberate khaki slacks, the shirt which was “casual” but brand-new and never washed, still showing the creases from its folding in the original package, stiff with sizing from the factory. He’d kept his new desert boots carefully out of puddles for a month now, and why had he bothered? When Ralphie Sarasola hadn’t even combed his hair?

“So what are we waiting for?” asked Gabe.

“Madame Kaiser.”

“You mean the old lady. She, like, caking on the makeup in there?”

“No, the Wise One doesn’t do that. She’s probably finishing just one more paragraph of an article. I haven’t figured out whether Gray actually enjoys making people wait, but she definitely considers it her privilege.”

“Hey, your sister’s all right,” said Nathan. “She knows more about rock and roll than
I
do. And she’s been all over the place!”

Errol gritted his teeth and did not say, “So have I,” but, “Yes, all over the world.” Adulthood could be so taxing.

Gray appeared at the door with that little pause of people who know how to make an entrance before she turned to lock it behind her. Then she looked at Raphael. Something was changing. Lately when the two were present at the same time the air hummed like a transformer, the voltage went up a few watts. When Gray drew toward Raphael, Errol could hear the creak of those porch boards like the crackle of a Jacob’s ladder.

Errol retreated quickly to Gabe’s pickup with the crew; as they drove over to the hall, Gabriel lit up a joint and passed it around. As instructed, Errol pulled in the smoke and held his
breath. Its acid, basil flavor was tangy and lasting, like a good Italian tomato sauce, and Errol savored this bitterness with his tongue.

Their party had good seats, right in the pathway of two ten-foot speakers. Errol sat between Gabe and Gray. He watched intently as Raphael leaned over and kissed her. They both kept their eyes open. Can you focus on someone’s face that close up?

I can’t remember. I haven’t kissed a woman for three years, and she wasn’t even important. Funny how crucial Julia has become simply for being the last one, the last paltry effort at having Relationships with Women. What a farce they were. So I could answer Kyle correctly, Yes, I have seen other women. Remember “going out,” dressing, usually at Gray’s, making a show of it. Putting on cologne. Fridays like this one, finally there being nothing more to do, no more restaurant reservations to call in, and I’d have to be sure I had the keys to my apartment—Gray always cracking some joke about “Don’t stay out too late,” and me trying to decide whether to drop the woman off and come back to Gray’s or take the woman back to my place and do it
.

Raphael’s arm was around her back. Errol moved over so that those fingers grazed his own shoulder. They had pretty nails, clean, trimmed.

It was always hard to walk out that door. I always wanted to stay in the manse, even if I only read all night in the den. Then I could still hear the clack of the typewriter upstairs, the sound of her feet overhead, the flush of the toilet, running water; besides, it was her house. But duty called. So I’d spend the evening with some pretty, intelligent, witty woman, someone plausible—I was good at casting. And I usually did take them home and take off their clothes the way I was supposed to. I made sure I was a man. I know what this thing feels like, what Kyle thinks is so important. Then Gray said—Gray said I didn’t, or something. What did she say? “Maybe I’m overestimating your experience.” Well, maybe so, but that’s your fault, Gray Kaiser. So it hasn’t been so great. So my mind has even wandered, okay? I’ve thought about appointments; I’ve thought about.. You know what I’ve thought about, damn it
.

Errol moved his shoulder away from Raphael’s fingertips.

My mind has wandered, and it’s your fault, Kaiser
.

The warm-up band began to play. They were loud, and Errol had to admit he liked them. The bass vibrated his diaphragm as if he were talking in a low voice. The guitar trembled in his bones; the synthesizer sent the smoke in his lungs into turgid, acrid little circles. The seat, too, shook from the drums, and Errol could feel the tom-toms hollow out his bowels.

Hard Cheese on Tony were even better, but they frightened him. Somehow the music and the performance didn’t jibe; Errol had the feeling he was watching the picture from one channel and the sound from another. The music was tense; the musicians were languid. Loudly as he played, the lead singer moved calmly and bonelessly about the stage as if he were deaf. Yet the more dispassionate his delivery, the more the lyrics rippled with disdain. Errol shifted in his seat, feeling uneasy, disconnected, mistrustful.

The band began with “Earnest Couples Sitting Alone,” “Queasy and Despondent,” “Muffins Stand for So Much,” “Two More Chaps in Gas Ovens,” “Mother Has Got Rather a Cold,” and “The Art of Being Shown over Houses.” In their second set they played “A Trip to the Bonesetters,” “When Father Papered the Parlor,” “Sheila Shrub,” “The Pudding without Protein Was Unattractive,” and “Nursie Panting at the Bridle.” As Errol listened to the words, he was overcome by a burdensome irony. He was sure Hard Cheese could write a perfectly hilarious song about his shirts with the factory sizing and his Hush Puppies and his little handful of fat upstairs in the bathroom mirror. So close to the front, Errol became convinced that the vocalist was mocking him in particular; he slumped inconspicuously in his chair.

For their encore Hard Cheese on Tony returned for “Marjorie and Her Filthy Dog” and “Two Is a Crowd.” Errol braved a look to his right. Raphael had pulled Gray’s head to rest on his shoulder. His eyes were open and soft. Slowly Raphael turned to look straight back at Errol over Gray’s head. His eyes did not change but remained wide and furred. The white lights
on stage flecked in his pupils and flashed in the oily surface of his skin. Errol looked back. Raphael did not blink.
Here
, the man seemed to say.
Swallow this. Hold it in. I am your after-dinner smoke. I am the sting in your lungs, the heat in your eyes. It is I who make the flap of your diaphragm quiver, who make your bones tremble, your bowels grumble, your chair loosen in its bolts on the floor. You breathe me in. You inhale my arm around this woman. Here is your bitterness. And you are a sucker, Errol. You are a fool. You ask for pain and you get it. I will not pity you, for a moment. You feel the bass? I am the power of those chords. You feel the drums in your skull? I am sitting at those traps. I am on that throne, with my foot on the pedal. I am younger and this is my music. I play it at you. It overtakes you. You have been overtaken. You have been overtaken and you could have prevented it, so you are a fool. The only thing you could not prevent, though, was being a fool. That is what you were born and the rest follows from that and that is what is so pathetic
.