Rafael Yglesias - Hot Properties

“I have to go,” he whispered finally in her ear.

“Okay,” she said weakly, beginning to move.

“I’m going to tell her tonight,” he said.

“I know,” she said, not wanting to hear it. All the fuss and fury had been a waste.

“I really am going to leave her,” he insisted.

A waste. There they were, back at the beginning. All the upheaval was merely noise and nonsense. Nothing had been settled.

Paula Kramer answered the door herself. The apartment was huge, decorated sparsely — to Fred’s mind, like a museum. A few superb antiques were in each room, set far apart from each other, the enormous Oriental rug stretching across the living-room floor with only a single object on it— a coffee table that seemed to be some sort of chest — the beautiful Victorian couches way off, beyond the border of the rug. Paula greeted him warmly. She was thin and energetic, her long frizzy hair sprouting off her head as though her brain were electrifying it, her wide mouth flashing big bright teeth in a cheerful, welcoming smile.

Life had been dreamily successful since the end of summer and his return to New York. Holder was on the phone almost every other day with more talk of how hot Fred’s book was becoming. Using the hook that The Locker Room was a statement of the “new man’s” sexuality. Holder seemed to have created the possibility of a book tour (making the rounds of television and radio talk shows), a common promotional technique with nonaction, but rare or nonexistent with novels. In the midst of these bulletins, Paula Kramer had phoned to say she loved his book, was fascinated by its frank revelation of the male response to feminism. She had talked to New York Times Book Review about doing a piece on the emerging novelists under thirty-five, had gotten approval for the piece, and she wanted to use Fred as the central focus, since she felt his book was the most dynamic and important of the first-novels of the season.

Holder’s reaction to this news was unrestrained: “ Un believable! Un believable! Un fucking-believable! Do you know how much free publicity that is! Fred, I’ve got to tell the people here now! Right away! This is going to affect the entire campaign.”

Paula asked him if he wanted coffee and went to get him some when he said yes. He felt intimidated by her and her living room. He also had no idea what to say about his book. Obviously she expected some sort of intellectual discussion, that his novel had a point to make. Did it? Men aren’t monogamous, women are. That had been his original idea. But Holder’s changes had occupied him during the writing, alterations that concentrated on keeping the story lively and sexy, with surprising twists and turns of fortune.

“My husband,” she said, entering with the coffee in a large china cup and saucer, “is a fan of your sportswriting.” Her husband, Brian Stoppard, was one of the most famous criminal lawyers in the country. “So many good American novelists began as sportswriters — why do you think that is?”

She was so charming and friendly that he forgot his nervousness. “’Cause it pays steady,” he answered.

She laughed, a quick ringing chime. He guffawed back at her. “I thought it was an interesting arena — pardon the pun — for you to come out of, given The Locker Room’s theme. You know, the machismo of sports, modern male sexuality.”

“You know, the athletes aren’t really macho. They’re little boys putting it on. ‘Mine is bigger than yours.’ The biggest shock you get when you first meet a team, first time you meet an athlete face to face, is that they’re kids!” She nodded eagerly at this observation, her eyes opening with surprise. “You know, twenty, twenty-one. Babies. And they stay babies, ’cause their life is playing.”

“Fascinating,” she said. “Do you mind if I use a tape recorder?”

“No, I always use one.”

Paula walked to built-in shelves (they were so discreet, painted the same white as the walls, that he hadn’t noticed them) and brought out a machine, turning it on and placing it on the table between them. “Is your book autobiographical?”

Fred smiled worriedly. He had expected this question, but still hadn’t settled on a satisfactory answer.

Paula smiled back. “Terrible question. I hate it when I’m asked. I know that all characters, in a way, are autobiographical, but some are more than others, if you know what I mean. I feel a lot of you in this book. It’s very honest. I really admire that kind of courage.”

“Thank you. You gotta put a lot of yourself into something to make it real and meaningful, don’t you think?”

“Oh, absolutely.” She nodded. “How does your wife feel about it?” she said in a mild wondering tone.

“She loves the book.” Fred answered, telling the truth insofar as he knew it. He suspected Marion thought it was too sensational, but she had made no criticisms.

“I’m sure. It’s wonderful. But … I know that Brian sometimes is sensitive about my work. Does she feel at all exposed — the affairs the character has and so on.”

“Oh, none of that’s true!” Fred said quickly, horrified. “I didn’t mean it was autobiographical that way. I’ve never had any affairs.”

“Your fans will be so disappointed,” Paula answered, smiling. “Sure you’re not being modest?”

“No, no. Honest.”

“So how is it autobiographical? The affairs are a substantial portion of the narrative.”

“The feelings. You know, I … uh … uh …”

“Extrapolated?”

“Yeah, I extrapolated fantasies into reality.”

“Hmmmm.” She looked let-down. Almost cool to him now. Maybe she had been hot for him, he suddenly thought. The sex scenes were pretty steamy. Maybe she figured he was a good lay and this was all a prelude to … No, impossible. She looked up at him quickly, as though she had made a decision, and turned off the tape recorder. My God, she’s gonna end the interview, throw me out, Fred thought. “Off the record, Fred — I don’t want to screw up your marriage. But just for my own curiosity — it’s not all fantasies, is it? The whole book is about faithfulness, how difficult it is for a man to sustain. Why would somebody who’s managed to do it write about its being impossible? If it’s possible for you, doesn’t that make nonsense of the whole book?”

Fred felt caught. Obviously she had believed, from reading his book, that he was a serious and talented man. Such a reaction was so unexpected that he hadn’t considered that the effect of meeting him might be a letdown. Of course he couldn’t tell her that Holder’s infidelities had driven the narrative. It was Bob who insisted on the restless sexuality of the hero. Fred’s original intention had been to have only one instance of adultery; he hadn’t considered—

“I don’t want to put you in a funny position,” she went on. “I understand about privacy—”

“I’ll explain, I’ll explain. You see, writing the book made me very aware of this … uh … problem. And Marion and I split up for a while — separated for six months.”

Paula looked relieved. “I see. Over this point?”

“Yes,” Fred answered, knowing it was a complete lie, but gambling that Marion, if it ever got out, wouldn’t bother to contradict him. Anyway, Paula had turned the tape off.

“And you worked it out openly?” Paula prompted, now energetic again.

“Yeah, uh-huh. See, I don’t consider that being unfaithful.”

“Of course not.” She nodded admiringly at him. “You know, Fred, I’ll be sensitive about it, but I can’t keep that out of the interview without its being pretty bland.”

“What part of it?” he asked nervously.