Sam Lipsyte - The Ask

"You met him?"

"We had a chat. I was sick of his stalkery phone calls. I only told Purdy about one of them, the first, before I started to figure out what was going on. But after a while, I called the boy's bluff. I met him for coffee. He's in bad shape. Still a real spaz on those prosthetics. I gave him the name of a physical therapist."

"That was nice of you."

"I thought it was patriotic. After all, this boy gave his legs so my husband could enjoy the freedom to fuck his trashy mother behind my back."

"So you guys really talked."

"We had a cell phone slide show, too."

"Look," I said. "I don't know what to say."

"You're not to say anything. And you can take your hand off my stomach now. I just don't understand it. Hookers are one thing. We know how these guys have to work off some steam. But what the hell? She's not even that pretty. Wasn't even pretty. I feel bad for her. I have this sense I knew who she was, kind of. I don't blame her, I really don't. It's just, like, she's this black hole in my understanding of the universe. Why her? It must have been something."

"What do you mean?"

"What did they have together? What was it?"

"I don't know."

"The way they talked. Maybe that was it. Purdy and I talk, but I know there's a part I can't get to. I want to know what it was with them. Purdy will never tell me. I'll never ask. Who else is there who knows? Florida? That thug. Lee Moss? Well, not Lee Moss. He died yesterday. Did you know that?"

"I heard," I said.

"I'm just trying to understand, and it hurts all the time. And it makes me worry. About what will happen to us."

"Like I said, I really don't know."

"I didn't think you did," said Melinda, looked down at her belly. "Or maybe I thought you might."

"I'm sorry."

"That's what they all say."

"I don't know if this helps," I said, "but I'm going through something similar."

"You're a man," said Melinda. "You're not going through anything remotely similar. Just tell me this. Everything's going to be fine, right? That boy is going to leave us alone? Because I can't handle this right now. I'm having a goddamn baby."

"It looks that way."

Melinda waved past my shoulder, blew a kiss.

"Idiot," she said. "Thinks it's about trust."

Purdy announced we would be eating family-style at a cluster of tables in the main room. Servants, or, in the argot of this crowd, caterers, set our places, decanted the wine. Were they indentured caterers? I found a seat at a table with Charles Goldfarb and the women from the building, Lisa and Ginny. I couldn't decide if they were sisters, or lovers, or just friends. The way they picked food from each other's plate signaled all three possibilities. Every few minutes another platter would arrive, each with its menagerie of dehydrated food. The figures dissolved in your mouth like sugar lumps, but none tasted like sugar. There were olives in the shape of lobsters, lobster in the shape of gazelles, mahi-mahi in the shape of bonobos. Purdy's silliness surprised me. This was Vegas sideburn food, what the Apollo astronauts should have gotten in their shiny pouches along with freeze-dried banana splits. Maybe we'd still be on the moon if they had. We'd have time-shares on the moon, as so many otherwise visionary thinkers always assumed we would. I shared this timely thought about the time-shares with the table.

"But we went there already," said Ginny.

"One small step," said Lisa.

"I guess I'm just nostalgic for the future," I said.

"Funny you should say that," said Charles. "There's a bit about that in my new book."

"What's your book about?" said Ginny.

"Oh, a bunch of things really. I try to advance a new approach to transcendentalism in the face of technology and interconnectivity."

"Sounds amazing," said Lisa.

"Sure," I said. "But it's still the rulers and the ruled."

"Not sure how you mean that."

"I think you're very sure."

"Okay," said Charles. "Should we talk about the controlled demolition of the towers now?"

"That's not what I meant," I said.

Ginny and Lisa popped cockatoos into each other's mouth.

"Hummus!"

"Maybe. Saltier."

"Ladies," said Charles.

"Women," said Ginny.

"Dames," said Charles, and the women giggled. I knocked back my double.

"Think I need a refill," I said, steadied myself on the table.

The barman bowed at my approach, scooped some ice into a glass, reached for the bottle on the stool.

"No," I said.

"No ice?"

"Yes, ice. Just pour that into it."

I pointed to the swill, saw a new sad knowing in the barman's eyes.

I took my drink back to the table. Charles, abandoned, leaned over his plate with a butter knife, sliced the wings off a tiny magenta duck.

"They went to the bathroom," he said. "I'll refrain from some cliched comment about how they always go in pairs."

"Thanks for refraining," I said.

"How you doing there, buddy?" said Charles. "Looks like you're partaking of a wee dram or two."

"You have any coke?" I said.

"Coca-cola?"

"No, the other kind."

"You must be kidding."

"Coke can be pretty transcendental. And interconnective. First couple bumps, anyway."

"I don't have any coke. I never had any coke. You know that."

"I don't know. I remember you were always trying to get laid and nobody would ever go to bed with you. And this was a time and place when being able to explain Horkheimer would get you action easy."

"I never really saw it that way."

"But you figured it out, because Emerson, Thoreau, that's where the real tail is, right? The dependable stuff. I'm just guessing."

"When did you get like this, Milo?"

"Seriously? About twenty years ago. And then about two months ago. And then about ten minutes ago. Why should I want to deck you? I'm wracking my brain. I can't think of why I should deck you. I always pretty much liked you. I know you thought I was a lightweight, but I didn't mind. I thought you were a bore, and that my paintings would outlive your tedious summaries of other people's books. But it looks like I was wrong."

"Man, you take self-pity to new and astonishing heights, don't you?"

"Probably," I said.

"Constance thought so."

"Constance said that? When?"

"A long time ago."

"Oh."

"Look, this is weird. I didn't mean to get into it with you."

"You still haven't told me why I should deck you. Is this about my knife?"

"Your knife?"

"My Spanish dueling knife."

"No. It's not anything, I guess."

"Do you see Constance?" I said.

"Sometimes. She's my ex-wife."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I thought you knew. I thought. . we thought you were angry, still angry ten years later when we sent out the invitations. We invited you to the wedding. You never responded."

"I don't think I got it."

"Bullshit."

"I don't know what to say, Charles. I'm sorry. I've been an asshole for years."

"Constance thought you were heartbroken."

"She did?"

"We always thought of maybe reaching out to you, but she was afraid you were too angry."

"I would have been glad that she was happy."

"It's good to hear that. Constance would probably love to hear that."

"What happened to you guys, anyway?"

"What happens to people, Milo?"

Now Ginny and Lisa rejoined us, just as Purdy clambered up on his chair at a nearby table, clinked his glass with a spoon.

"Hi, everybody," he said. "Just wanted to thank you all for coming. I see so many people from different parts of my life. It makes me so happy. There really wasn't an occasion for this party. I was trying hard to come up with one. I looked into historical birthdays. There were some contenders, a medieval tsar, as I remember, and a noted National League southpaw from the seventies, but nobody seemed worth the big bash. Maybe, I thought, I'll just call it Melinda's Ovaries Day, a celebration of the little old egg that could. God knows how many couldn't."