Rafael Yglesias: The Work Is Innocent

He decided this isolation and passivity, however grand in intention, were perverse. So he called an old friend from Cabot. He traveled through time more than space, but there it was: to lose one’s virginity, one had to be an adolescent.

“May I speak to Raul, please?”

After a long silence an unrecognizable voice answered.

“Raul? This is Richard.”

“Richard? Uh. Who?”

“Richard Goodman. From Cabot.”

“Oh! How come you’re calling?”

“I’ve been in Vermont for about a year and I just wanted to be in touch again.”

“In touch again. I see you still have that stiffness.”

“Well, I feel uncomfortable. I’ve cut myself off from all my friends. But no one can live that way, so you can’t blame me for trying.”

“Yeah. Well, I left, you know, so I haven’t been seeing the old crowd either.”

“No loss, I guess. So they finally threw you out?”

“Not exactly, but more or less. Fuck it. Let’s not talk about Cabot. I’m in Performing Arts now. Are you going to school in Vermont?”

“I’m not going to school at all.”

“Huh? Are you living with your parents?”

“Oh, I’m not crashing and on the run and dealing dope in the Village. I’m the affluent dropout.”

“Shit, I thought I was the only one from Cabot who’d have that privilege.”

“Naw. I was just quieter about it than you were.”

“Hey! We’re on the phone for a minute and you’re insulting me?”

Richard’s boyish face absorbed this with difficulty. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean that.”

“Don’t get maudlin. Listen. It’s a guess, but are you all alone in this wonderful city and you’d like to enter the wonderful world of society?”

“It sounds pitiful but that’s it.” There was a silence. “I wish I could make it less puppyish.”

“Aw, Richard, you are a puppy. You’re cute. You should play that up with chicks. They like that. Okay, it’s crazy, but there’s a party tomorrow night. Can you smoke dope?”

“Yes,” Richard said without humor.

“Terrific. So I’ll give you—no, we’ll go together and I’ll do the honors.” So at this price of humiliation Richard began his hunt.

He left the orderliness of his room, he left the life of the mind and went out onto the busy, decadent streets of New York. He held his arms against his plump body and swung his torso from side to side in a rocking motion. He was terrified that one of the many mad people who were talking to themselves and waving their arms distractedly would address him; that he would be suspected of a thousand crimes and seized by one of those obese monstrosities with their wooden-handled heavy guns. He walked carelessly to defy these terrors but would betray himself by jumping at loud noises and by his many stops to check street numbers. Even they could conspire against him.

He was to meet Raul at a coffee shop near the party about an hour before they were due to arrive. It seemed impossible that he found it easily and that Raul was waiting for him calmly. Raul’s hair was very long and he looked skinnier and paler than seemed healthy.

“Do you believe it?” Raul said as a greeting. “I’m pleased by the sight of you. I’m beginning to think fondly of that goddamn school.”

“I remind you of it. I can’t say that you do. You look very different.”

“More degenerate. I know. I’ve started to get worried along with my mother.”

They ordered dinner and reminisced. The last was difficult: neither knew of the fates of any of their friends, and since they hadn’t been close, there were few memories. Richard finally screwed up his courage and asked what kind of people would be at the party.

“Performing Arts kids mostly. You know, they’re all artists. How are you about that? Or are you most interested in law?”

Richard considered giving up his novel to the mercy of this hysterical, flip creature, and decided against it. “What can I say? With my father?”

“Oh yeah. That must make you a little disgusted with it all.”

“I haven’t been hit over the head with that Upper West Side crowd too much. When they have their parties I stay in the back room.”

“I’d be right out there in the thick of it. How can you resist it? With all those innuendoes it’d be great training. I mean, unless you’re going to be the first dropout professional you’ll have to make your way there.”

“You’re unwholesome, Raul,” Richard said with more heat than seemed normal. “If you really came in contact with it you wouldn’t like it.”

Raul looked like a fox. “Sensitive subject with you, eh? Okay, maybe I am unwholesome, whatever that means. But that quiet, heartfelt tone of yours can’t be real.” Raul dragged on his cigarette and leaned back as if relaxing. “Let’s slow down a little bit. All I really want to know is how are you going to make money?”

“Is that so important?”

“Unhuh. Very important and you know it. How are you going to eat dinner in ten years?”

Richard trembled and looked at the cars racing down the avenue. It was the taxis that he watched. From childhood they retained a fascination for him: a New York child’s idea of nobility. Our carriage to the ball. “I don’t know,” he said, reaffirming his decision not to talk about his novel. “Right now I’m just floating. I don’t want to think about it.”

Raul looked at him mildly, almost with sympathy. “I’m amazed your parents let you.”

“They’re okay about that stuff. They figure I can always get back on my feet.”

“So you’re on the lookout for a girl, right?” Raul sprang this on him as if he were a crack detective. The desired effect came about: Richard flushed and laughed nervously. “Okay,” Raul said. “Some of these girls are in their twenties and even the Performing Arts girls will go all the way. I know that.”

Richard could say nothing and Raul suggested they go. Raul’s comment had scared him even more, and each step closer to the party added to his agony. Raul walked confidently and, when they reached the door, rang the bell so quickly and unexpectedly that Richard nearly cried out. He assumed a mother would come out, but a painted blonde flew into Raul’s arms and then Raul’s voice tumbled out an aria to the chorus of welcome from inside. Quickly they were in: it was all smoke and painted women and lanky men, everyone more knowing and powerful than he. “Can you relate to booze?” Raul was saying to his face. “Yes, liquor, I’m not kidding. We’re not that new-fashioned.”

A solemn girl with a long nose who took their coats said, “Turning phrases already?” She turned to Richard and addressed him more kindly than she had Raul. “We have things to drink if you’re into that.” Richard looked at her blankly so she smiled and said, “I’m Joan.”

“He’s Richard Goodman, son of playwright Aaron,” Raul said. “He’ll get eaten alive by all the actors here.”

“Really?” the blonde said, excited. “Let me introduce myself.”

A strikingly handsome young man yelled loudly, “Let’s create a receiving line.” Raul laughed and slapped his hand. He got them to lower the music. Announcing who Richard was, Raul took him by the arm and went around the room introducing all persons and their professional hopes. With the ensuing silence and calm, Richard was able to observe coolly. The men became more boyish and dumb, the women less affected, and he was free of his shock. The blonde, Ann, turned out to be quite plain and a little terrified of him, or rather of his father’s reputation, and the handsome boy, to Richard’s surprise, made no objection to Richard’s being fat and Jewish. Indeed, he made an impression with his quiet seriousness and the stiff drink he downed effortlessly. Raul was drinking heavily and he held on too long to the joints that were being passed. He entertained the group with stories of Cabot, and his domination of the talk allowed Richard to become woozy from his second drink and the grass. When Raul went from being brilliant to incoherence and the party returned to listening to music, Richard had no difficulty responding to Joan when she asked if Raul and he were good friends.