The Female of the Species (29 page)

Errol got up and went to the kitchen and felt his own mouth smile with a wan tenderness, the kind of smile a physician might use with a formerly brilliant patient who had lost his mind.

Errol spent the night at Gray’s. The worst was over, and to go back to his own apartment would not have spared him anything but simply have forced him to make a drive on an evening when he had no desire to make an effort of any kind.

He woke the next morning to the sound of the shower. Errol felt every muscle in his body tense one by one as it woke. Rigidly he lay in bed listening to the water, to the moan of pipes.

Gray took her showers at night.

Errol remained in bed, though no longer sleepy. It was childish to think he could avoid this upcoming breakfast scene by hiding under the sheet, but still he stayed there as long as he could stand it. Finally, like a good soldier, Errol rose, dressed efficiently, and trooped downstairs. Lieutenant McEchern, reporting for heartbreak, sir.

Raphael was already in the kitchen, with Gray nowhere in sight. Stiff as his upper lip had been, Errol had to pause with a faint wave of nausea from what he found at the counter: Raphael was wearing a towel tucked around his waist. The hair on his chest was curling from his shower; the hair on his head was slicked back in an unpleasant Valentino style. He was
making coffee, and seemed to know where the beans and filters were kept. His gestures were blithe. One night and the guy comes down in a goddamned towel and makes coffee as if he’s done it a hundred times before.
He acts as if he lives here
.

Masochistically curious, Errol hung back from the doorway and watched Raphael glide over to the refrigerator and survey its contents, picking at this and that until he found something of interest. Gray had recently been given a whole Scotch salmon by a visiting dignitary; he pulled it out. Errol bristled. Sealed in cellophane, the fish would have kept for several weeks, but the unopened package didn’t intimidate Raphael. He sliced into the plastic and cut himself a generous slab, then rolled it around a hunk of cream cheese. He munched on this handful distractedly as he studied the various international utensils hanging on the walls. He didn’t look very interested, and returned to the refrigerator to drag out a few more expensive snacks. Errol felt like a Roman whose city has just been overrun by Visigoths. Welcome to the Dark Ages.

“Morning, McEchern,” said Raphael, still pawing through the refrigerator.

“I didn’t mean to spy,” said Errol, flustered. “But I don’t usually find a naked man in this kitchen. It gives me pause.”

“Well, get used to it.”

“I don’t bother to habituate myself to singular occurrences.”

Raphael smiled to himself, and returned to his salmon.

“Sarasola,” said Errol with exasperation, “you’re butchering that fish.”

“I’m a brute, McEchern, what can I tell you?” Raphael went on sawing away at the salmon.

“It’s pre-sliced!”

“Ask me how much I care.”

“The point is, I care.”

“This is your fish?”

Errol squirmed. “No.”

“Well then.”

Raphael had already lost interest in the salmon, anyway, and turned to the crab salad. Errol poured himself a cup of coffee
and took it upstairs to his office, remembering with a pang that the Dark Ages had lasted a hideously long time.

About midmorning Errol could no longer pretend to be working, so he wandered into Gray’s office. Gray wasn’t even pretending to work but was standing by her window humming, keeping time to her tune by tapping her fingers against the windowpane. This whole house was becoming an anthropological farce.

“Earth to Kaiser.”

“We read you, base station.”

When she turned around, Errol started. For a moment Errol could have sworn she’d just stepped out of
New Guinea: Land of the Hidden Peoples
at the very beginning of her career.

“I was going to ask you if you were all right,” said Errol. “I guess I don’t have to. You’re aglow.”

“Radioactive.”

It was true. She pulsed. Errol was careful not to get too close. “Where’s the young barbarian?”

“He drove to the beach. He’ll be back tonight.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go with him. You don’t seem to be getting a lot done here.”

“I didn’t stay to work,” said Gray, taking slow, buoyant steps around the room. “I stayed to think and sing little songs and talk to myself a lot. Sometimes I enjoy things more when I’m not actually in them.”

“You like to bask.”

“Exactly. Raphael can do that on the beach. I don’t need the beach.”

“I can see that. I think I could get a tan by lying out in this office this morning. Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“Soon. But not now. I don’t even care. I feel amenable.”

“If you don’t care—”

“No; stay, Errol. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m happy to see you. You look wonderful this morning.”

“I look dreadful. But you…Do you want to talk about it? Or not?”

“I don’t know.” She considered. “We could try. I’ll tell you if we have to stop.”

“I don’t want to pry, Gray. I just wondered if you were right. If it was dangerous.”

She paused. “Yes,” she said at last. “Very.”

“Even after the South Bronx?”

“It was all—of a piece. Yesterday was one big dangerous day. What was in peril was—my life. In the Bronx; in my room.”

“But you came through.”

She laughed. “Barely.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Well, the whole thing was—wrenching, somehow. And I am a little sore this morning. But whether it hurt at the time I couldn’t tell you.” Gray smiled. “Now, why doesn’t it embarrass me to talk about this with you? Should I be shy? Would you feel better?”

“I think I can generate enough embarrassment for both of us.”

“Good. I’m not in the mood.”

“Since you’re not shy this morning, there was one thing I was wondering. Are you still fertile?”

“Funny you should ask that. I think I am, which is odd. It’s as if my body were waiting. In fact, I suppose I took a risk last night. But the chances against pregnancy must be astronomical.” She sounded wistful.

“Do you regret not having children?”

“I’ve always been too—behind for children.”

“Well, it’s obviously too late. I just wondered.”

“I mean I couldn’t have had them at thirty, don’t you see? I’m barely ready for a man now; I’ll be ready for children in three or four years. I’m stunted, Errol, slow. The kind of person who goes to a special school until she’s thirty-five. Sometimes I’m surprised I get articles published and lectures engaged, when it’s amazing I can tie my own shoes or go to a grocery store.” She looked concerned for a moment, but couldn’t keep it up. “If I stay inside any longer, I’m going to jump out this
window. I’m going for a walk. I’ll work this afternoon, I promise.”

“You don’t have to report to me, Gray. Take the whole day off if you want.”

“No, I do have to report to you, Errol. That’s one of the things you’re for.” With that she slipped on her shoes and tripped out the door.

That afternoon Gray worked on editing a scene of Charles Corgie footage, and lines of dialogue drifted through her door over and over: “We’ll see if he knows the words ‘Hand it over’ and ‘Say your prayers’” “When there’s only one of them and it makes you a god, there’s no such thing as
only
a tape recorder” “I don’t know for a fact you took it, so I’m not going to shoot you. But you’re going to watch.” Watch. Watch. The words were Corgie’s, but the voice was Raphael’s.

Errol shot his own afternoon. Whenever he started to read something, images of shattered green glass and disfiguring gashes would loom between his eyes and the page. Errol found that as the afternoon progressed, the events of the day before were shifting weight, changing places.

Gray worked through dinnertime. At about eight o’clock she poked her head in Errol’s door. “I wanted to tell you—those interviews you canceled yesterday? See if you can set them up again for next week.”

“You’re joking.”

“We’ll be more careful.”

“I’m not going back there.”

“Don’t, then. I’ll get another bodyguard.”

“Well, you can use Ralph to protect you from the locals. You need someone else to protect the locals from Ralph.”

Gray watched Errol from the doorway. “Are you getting at something, or are you just being amusing?”

“I guess I’m trying to accustom myself to the fact that he knifed two people yesterday. I wonder how hard it was for him, frankly.”

“Have you forgotten what they were going to do to me?”

“No, but—The second man—”

“I told him to.”

“You were—under stress.”

“I was perfectly in my right mind.”

“I’d prefer not to believe that, Gray. Because the whole thing gives me the willies.”

“Life is harder-edged than you give it credit for, Errol. You’ve been on the veldt almost as often as I have. I can’t understand how you maintain this sentimental attitude when any number of lions have noshed on hartebeests right under your nose.”

“Life isn’t hard-edged, it’s what we make it. That’s the kind of wobbly generalization you used to stay clear of: Life is. And I suppose happiness is a warm puppy? Love means never having to say you’re sorry?—Not that you don’t have a point. Because people can be hard-edged, that’s for sure.”

“Errol.” Gray rubbed her forehead and looked away. “You really can’t stand it, can you?”

“Stand what?” Errol pushed back his chair.

“That man saved my life! And you want to make that out as an act of cruelty. You can’t stand anyone else’s heroics, can you?”

“I didn’t think cutting that boy’s face was heroic. It wasn’t necessary—”

“Errol, what did you do?”

“When?”

“When you couldn’t find me, what did you do?”

Errol faltered. “I—tried to call the police.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It seemed reasonable at the time,” Errol snapped. “
I
wasn’t carrying a knife.”

“That’s half the point, Errol! I admire someone who carries a knife!”

“Fine.” He stood up from his chair and walked over to Gray. He tapped her chest with his forefinger. “You like someone who carries a knife. Well, just see how much you admire it when he points it at
you
.” Errol turned on his heel and left the room.

He marched downstairs to the front door; he needed some
air. He opened it to find Raphael Sarasola squarely in front of him, a towel over his shoulder.

“Telepathic,” said Raphael. “I hadn’t rung.”

Errol did not have a snappy reply. He felt cut off at the pass. In front of him was a man who carried a knife. Behind him was a woman who told him to use it.

“Don’t fall all over yourself,” said Raphael. “I don’t need a drink, dinner. You don’t even have to kiss me. But I would like to come in.”

Errol realized he’d just been standing there for a good minute or so. Sometimes Errol hated Raphael most, not because he knifed Hispanics or even because he was Gray Kaiser’s lover, but because he could make Errol feel so stupid.

Gray trotted down the stairs with a bubbly demeanor that suggested she’d already shrugged off her fight with Errol with an ease that hurt him in some ways more than the fight itself. She left to pull out some cold cuts and a bottle of wine, and Raphael sauntered into the den. She’d asked Errol to join them, and Errol was still fashioning a stinging, brittle declination when the doorbell rang.

Errol answered it, and found, for once, someone on his side. “I am delighted to see you.”

Ellen Friedman looked at him in surprise. “Why, you sound as if you mean that.” She seemed pleased, but when she came in and saw Raphael in the den, her color blanched. “Mr. Sarasola,” she said gravely.

Raphael looked at Ellen quizzically. “Have we met?”

“Not formally. But I recognize you, from pictures.” Her voice sounded unusually hard.

“My fame has spread more widely than I imagined.”

“We don’t call people like you famous, we call them assholes.”

“Mm,” said Raphael, unaffected. “I don’t like that word nearly as well. Especially from such a lady. It doesn’t suit you.”

“You must have heard the word ‘asshole’ from women pretty often. You must be used to it.”

“I’m not a very curious person, but I’m beginning to wonder what I did to deserve this.”

Just then Gray returned with a tray, but pulled up short. Something was going on.

“In a word: Anita Katrakis. Unfortunately, she still remembers you. Errol, would you like to go for a walk? It’s gotten stuffy in here.”

They turned to go, but Raphael spoke up behind them. “It’s cowardly to make accusations and run away.”

Ellen turned back. “Interesting you hear her name as an accusation.”

“Aren’t you old enough,” said Raphael, “to have noticed how often things between men and women don’t end well? They want different things; there are misunderstandings. Surely this isn’t news to you.”

“Couples split, yes. But when one person flagrantly uses the other for his own gain—”

Raphael raised his hand. “I’m not finished. Sometimes things end worse for one side than the other. These ‘injured parties’ always seem to see themselves as the victims of a moral outrage. They never feel simply rejected, but also abused. I’ve known many women who were great believers in the curative powers of indignation.”

“You have it all worked out, don’t you?” Ellen seemed genuinely amazed. “You really sound as if you don’t think you did anything wrong. Do you practice in the mirror?”

Raphael sank into the couch, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. “Oh, go ahead. You’re having such a good time reviling me, and there’s very little joy in the world. I’d hate to deprive you of yours.” Once more he looked tired and older. In the last couple of days he had aged at an incredible rate. He took the glass of wine Gray offered him and held her fingers lightly in his other hand. He didn’t give Errol or Ellen another glance. They’d been dismissed.

“Ellen, this is pointless,” said Errol. “Let’s go.”

“That,” she said outside, “is a horrible man.”

“You think so?”

“Don’t you?”

Errol said nothing.

“What’s going on between those two?”

“Oh,” said Errol vaguely, “they’re friends.”

“Come on.”

“Close friends,” Errol conceded.