I Am Curious (Thirty)

March 27

He called me and I went there. We had sex, did different things. I am not going to write about it, describing it. I don’t feel the need tonight.

Afterward we sat on the large white couch facing the fireplace. There was a coal fire banked in a grate. We ate cheese and drank plum wine.

A day before I had seen him on the street with the blond girl. They did not see me.

I asked about her.

“Susan? Yes, you’ve seen me with her. What about her?”

“I used to wonder if she were your daughter.”

“And do you wonder still?”

“You’re teasing me.”

“Yes.”

“Of course I suppose she is your mistress.”

He smiled at something. “You might say she is my psychic daughter. Not my biological daughter, more’s the pity.”

“Why?”

“One ought to be able to make love to one’s daughters, one’s sisters, one’s mother. But I have no family.”

“No one at all?”

“I’m totally unrelated. Did you ever have sex with a relative, Jan?”

“Only if you count my husband.”

“I don’t think we should count your husband.”

“Then the answer’s no. I’ve told you about everything I’ve ever done.”

“But you’ve done so little.”

“I know.”

“You never sucked off a loving older brother? Or fingered a sister?”

“I was an only child, really, Eric—”

“Or warmed your father’s bed? Never fucked your father, dear?”

“He’s dead. I would really like it a whole lot if we talked of other things.”

“Sometimes those things which make you uncomfortable do you the most good.”

“Even so.”

“Yes.” He lit a cigarette, smoked in deep thoughtful drags. “You’ll have to meet Susan sooner or later,” he said at length. “You’ll enjoy her.”

“Who is she?”

“A girl.”

“She’s only a child, isn’t she? She can’t be more than, I don’t know, seventeen?”

“She’s fifteen.”

“That’s so desperately young.”

“Half your age.”

“I was thinking that, of course.”

“They grow up faster now, you know. This new generation is an interesting one. Their entire biological clock is different, you know. Speeded up. Their minds work differently, their eyes see differently.”

“Television children.”

“Atomic children, acid children, rock children. I met Susan two and a half years ago. She was twelve. For two weeks she never left that room. I brought her meals there. Then for some time she lived here.”

“My God!”

“She is half your age, but the things she knows now, the things she has done—”

“I can imagine.”

“No, I don’t think you can.”

He poured more wine into my glass. I sipped it. I had never had plum wine before. It has a rather haunting taste.

I asked him how old he was.

“I’m ancient,” he said.

“We’re all ancient.”

“No, I truly am.” He grinned richly. “I was middle aged when they built the pyramids. I was old when they tacked Christ to the Cross.”

“And you were there.”

“Who’d miss a good show?”

“Sometimes I think—”

“Yes?”

“Nothing.”

What had I been about to say? That he is the devil incarnate? Something like that? Probably. The obvious line.

Why didn’t I say it?

Arnold just called, while I was writing. Was I free tomorrow night? Eric has made it plain that I am to see other men whenever I wish, that I am only obliged to be available for him when he wants me. (White of him.) Even so, I almost told Arnold I was going to be busy. Something makes me want to limit myself to Eric, to exist only while I am with him.

I decided to fight this impulse. Especially since this was the first I had heard from him since the fight I started, and if I brushed him off now I would probably never hear from him again. I told him I would like to see him. He was pleased, said he would pick me up. We arranged a time.

I said, “Arnold—”

“Yes?”

“I was awfully bitchy. Tons of unwarranted hostility.”

“Oh, everybody’s entitled now and then.”

“No. I was a bitch. I was afraid of certain things and I was being defensive. I don’t want to go into it now. Listen, I was thinking that maybe I would like to smoke tomorrow night, if you’ll have anything.”

“I always do. I thought that wasn’t your scene.”

“Well, I’d like to try again.”

“Sure.”

“And you were talking about, oh, how to put this, about three not being a crowd.”

“Are you serious?”

“I think so. Yes, yes, I am.”

A trenchant pause. “Look, uh, Jan, don’t force yourself. I mean, we all of us have our little hangups, and maybe I was trying to sell mine a little too forcefully. Don’t rush into something you don’t want.”

“I think I want it.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Then I know a fellow whom I think you would like. You and I could have dinner first and then meet him, or it might be more comfortable if the three of us went out for dinner together.”

“You decide.”

“All right.”

“There’s only one thing.”

“Oh?”

“Tomorrow’s the twenty-eighth? I might have to meet with my lawyer and my husband’s lawyers to work out the separation agreement. It’s a nuisance the way it keeps being postponed. If they do see it for tomorrow I’ll try to get out of it. I’ll know by three o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

“Then I’ll call you around three-thirty just to make sure?”

“Fine, fine.”

You’re such a calculating bitch, Giddings.