Javier Marías - Thus Bad Begins

Whenever I put that or a similar question to a female friend or acquaintance or ex-girlfriend (‘girlfriend’ in its widest sense, including one-night stands), I would be met with an almost serious silence and a rapid change of subject, as if something had happened on the drive home which she preferred either not to talk about or to forget altogether. And so in the end I asked him:

‘So how did it go the other night with Maru? It was pretty obvious that you wanted to be alone with her. You certainly went a hell of a long way round just to drop her off last.’

This was the first time I’d asked him this openly. Van Vechten smiled broadly, like someone amused to be found out or to be complimented on his technique, however banal. Or grateful for an opportunity to show off.

‘Was it that obvious?’

‘Well, I don’t know about the others, because they were all pretty pissed, but I’ve been aware of it for a few nights now. Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you by mentioning it when you’re driving us home. I won’t pull your leg about it. If I did, that would be an end to it. The girls would smell a rat and feel awkward and wouldn’t let themselves be left until last. Anyway, how did it go? And on other nights too. Do you ever get anywhere with them?’

He didn’t make the most of this first interrogation to boast and show off. I had not yet gained his entire confidence, the Doctor (or ‘Jorge’, as he insisted I call him, especially when we were with my friends) still wasn’t sure to what extent I was like him or not, if, that is, he was like that. He was somewhat reluctant to tell me, to respond, and he answered only vaguely.

‘Well, some nights I do and some nights I don’t. But they’re pretty good, those girls of yours, you don’t know how lucky you are. Considering the age difference, I really can’t complain.’

‘I could give you a few tips, if you like. Not that you need it, I’m sure. You can probably tell who’s likely to come across with the goods even before she does. But as in any group anywhere, some girls put it about more than others.’ I would never have used such an expression to describe the conduct of any of my friends, but Muriel had advised me to be coarse and contemptuous, and thus encourage Van Vechten to do likewise, again always assuming he was that way inclined or could be. And he certainly looked as though he could. Almost all men could if given the chance. I knew this, although I myself tended not to be.

Some days later, I boasted to him about a few imaginary conquests and what’s more with girls I’d only just met, which are the kind of conquests that win you most kudos and provoke most envy: I’d come on to a girl and she’d ended up sucking me off in a dark corner of La Riviera, or whatever it was called, which had a bit of a garden at the back; in Pintor Goya I’d got off with the drop-dead-gorgeous daughter of a government minister, who was known for both things, for being his daughter and for being gorgeous, anyway, I’d taken her home with me and fucked her twice. That was the kind of lexicon I used, or worse of course. None of that had actually taken place, but I told him it had happened on the nights when he hadn’t come out with us, because he didn’t always join us, partly because he was unable to keep up with our supposedly fast pace, but mainly because he had certain obligations, family and professional. I say ‘supposedly’ because, at the time, on many of the nights when I didn’t take him out with me, I simply stayed home or worked until late at Muriel’s apartment even if he wasn’t there (he had begun shooting the only film he made during my time with him, the Harry Alan Towers production based on a script on which I’d lent a helping hand), either compiling one of those exhaustive lists of authors or working on some other such minutiae, meanwhile discreetly keeping Beatriz and the children company, listening to her play the piano, not that she ever kept this up for long, for she soon tired of it. By then, it had become clear to me that the occasional ‘sacred’ meetings between her and Van Vechten were purely utilitarian for both parties. In his case, and having seen what I’d seen, he was hardly likely to turn down the chance of occasionally screwing a woman almost twenty years younger, the world of women thirty-five years younger having only just opened up to him.

The Doctor immediately took the bait and, despite his age, gave me a blunt description of what had happened. He had certain traits that were inappropriately juvenile, incorrigibly immature.

‘When I took her home the other night, she sucked me off in the car, right outside her parents’ house. What do you think to that?’

I gave an admiring whistle, not just congratulatory, but surprised too. There was always the possibility that his conquest might be as imaginary as mine, but I thought not.

‘Really? She went that far? To be honest, I would never have thought it. How did you manage that? I don’t mean to underestimate you, of course, because you look great, like some American or English actor, but you are old enough to be her father, if not more, and, forgive me, but I really can’t see her suggesting it. I’d imagined that, at most, she might have let you touch her tits or shown them to you without you touching them, because you asked her to. I don’t mean to offend, but you must have amazing powers of persuasion. How did it happen? Tell me. Did you offer her something in return? Lifelong medical care? Did you suggest listening to her chest and then one thing just led to another?’

I tried to adopt a light tone, a mixture of jocularity and amazement. Ever since that poker evening with Celia and all his blunt questions, I had got into the habit of sometimes gently pulling his leg. Perhaps I went too far this time. I saw at once that he was not amused, as if it really riled him to see that I considered he was not in himself seductive enough. His eyes grew cold and hard, and the rectangular smile he’d worn as he pinned on his metaphorical medal, as he told me of his triumph, vanished completely. He was one of those people who, because they look younger than they are, end up believing that nothing at all has changed since their youth. If they’re not stupid, they only believe this now and then and when alone, and they know it’s not true; and Van Vechten wasn’t stupid. He was proud of his fine appearance and made good use of it, but he wasn’t just a conceited fool or blind to what he could see in the mirror, or perhaps his mirror was the wife he saw each morning, who looked much older than him and reminded him of his real age. He was hardly ever seen out and about with her. Perhaps they lived separate lives, like Muriel and Beatriz, or even more so, perhaps they were just waiting for divorce finally to be made legal in Spain. There were an awful lot of such couples waiting impatiently or desperately, appallingly unhappy couples who had been forced to put up with their lot for more than four decades, if not centuries, because the brief truce of the 1930s hardly counted.

After a few seconds, his eyes softened and he recovered his smile, his principal charm and weapon. More than that, he even laughed, although whether this was a forced laugh or not, I couldn’t tell.

‘Lifelong medical care. Listening to her chest,’ he repeated. ‘Oh, very funny, very witty. I could also have offered to examine her for cysts, you forgot to mention that, although at her age, girls have other things on their mind. But like I said, I never offer anything in exchange. I’ve never paid for sex, and what you’re half-jokingly suggesting would be tantamount to paying. Albeit cheap at the price.’

He had maintained his smile throughout this speech, but his tone had been ever so slightly more serious. I was quick to correct him, so that he wouldn’t take offence.