I raised my hand. Archer kept looking for someone else to call on. There was no one else. At last she had to say, “You.”
“I dunno,” I said. “Maybe he’s saying that all things that are true are beautiful, you know? So beauty’s the only thing worth living for.”
All she said was no.
But the way she said it was as if I’d taken a dump on the floor and ruined the whole poetry class. Which I thought was a bit overmean on her part.
And her meanness made me wonder, Why this contempt? Why should this lady despise me?
And then I knew the answer:
There were two jackals fucking inside of her.
* * *
—
LIBBY AND Gilda had tried living together. They had signed a lease on an apartment some months back. I think I went over there twice. The only furniture aside from their beds was an inflatable sofa. And they had a little TV set with a DVD player built into the bottom of it. And they had maybe a hundred plastic martini glasses. I didn’t like going to their apartment: too many dreams there that wouldn’t ever come true.
They ended up breaking the lease. Some big fight or whatever; it doesn’t matter. But they turned on each other.
Libby told me how Gilda kept fucking around on Roy with that bitch Ricky. Libby thought Ricky was a creeper. She’d seen Ricky make out with a 17-year-old girl!
At the same time Gilda was telling me Libby was a borderline retard and completely psycho and a slut who’d fuck more or less anybody and pretty much did.
“Don’t you see it?” she said. “You have to. I know you do.”
And it turned out Roy had been talking shit.
Libby said, “He talks shit about you.”
I said that was okay.
“It doesn’t bother you?”
“Why would it bother me? Nine times out of ten, you have a friend, he’s gonna talk shit about you. That’s just the cost of doing business.”
“Does he know Gilda hooks up with other guys?”
“I imagine he presupposed it.”
“Does he cheat on her?”
“What do you think?”
“Why? Did he tell you something?”
“No.”
“And you don’t care.”
“That’s right.”
“And you don’t care what he says about you.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Because you don’t give a fuck.”
“Because I don’t give a fuck.”
* * *
—
LIBBY AND I went out on Sunday night. ’80s night. Gilda went too. Roy didn’t go because he said he was poor. Libby and Gilda danced together. I drank well vodka at the bar. Kamchatka. I was shit at dancing. The night ended. We went up the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. Libby and Gilda were excited.
“Two guys humped us while we were dancing!”
“We were dancing by ourselves and these two guys came up from behind and smooshed us between them and humped us!”
“Look! There they are!”
Libby pointed at two bros who were about to turn the corner. They were about to get away. I sensed Libby’s expectation that I would do something. And I wasn’t thrilled about it. But then I figured the bros weren’t dangerous and there were two of them and one of me so she couldn’t really expect I’d do much more than catch up with them and talk some shit and leave it at that. Which I about did, till I got carried away.
I said, “How much money you got on you?”
“What?”
I said, “Give me all your fucking money.”
They raised an alarm.
It turned out these bros weren’t alone. More bros appeared. And now there were six bros and it looked like I was about to get the fuck beaten out of me. I was lucky that two friends of Libby’s happened to be out there. Two black guys. Gay ones. Two gay black guys in fur coats and diamond earrings. One of them a giant. They saved me. The bros didn’t do shit. The bros were scared of the two gay black guys. Libby took my hand.
“I want you to meet my friends,” she said.
The one, the giant, had to be six foot seven, and he was built like a fucking bull. I thanked him. He said, “So this is your boy, Libby? He’s cute.”
She said yeah.
Then a bro I hadn’t seen yet came jumping up the street: “YOU BETTER POP OFF, SON. YOU BETTER POP OFF. POP OFF, SON. YOU BETTER POP OFF.” And some more bros came and they took him away while he kept on: “POP OFF…POP OFF…YOU BETTER POP OFF…POP OFF…POP OFF…POP OFF, SON…”
He faded out.
The giant said, “Tell me, Libby. When are you two getting married?”
She said, “We’re not sure yet.”
He said to me, “If you ever hurt Libby, I’ll kill you.”
* * *
—
WHEN I told Libby I wasn’t really gonna marry her she got upset. “Why are you doing this to me?” she said. “I love you.”
I said, “I’m sorry but it isn’t what you think. All this I-love-you-and-I-want-to-marry-you shit, it’s fucking bullshit. I’m sorry but it’s true. I know I said that shit. But there’s no way I can really mean it. Not in real life.”
“THAT’S NOT TRUE.”
“But really that is the truth and I’m sorry. Please believe me. I wish things were different but they’re not. It’s just that it’s no good and I may as well tell you now, right? It’d just be worse later, you know?”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying. But it’s how I fucking feel. I wouldn’t do some shit like this to you for the fuck of it. I’m not trying to be a dick. I say I love you, right? I’d like it to be true. But it’s fucking stupid and I should’ve known better than to do that.”
“Are you saying you don’t want to be with me?”
“No. I do. That’s not the problem. The problem’s just that I know it’s no good and I don’t believe in this shit.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Honestly?…No, not especially. But—”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN? WHAT HAVE I EVER DONE?”
“It’s not anything you did. So don’t worry. Really it’s okay. But a motherfucker would have to be crazy to trust a girl this day and age. Nothing personal.”
“Did somebody tell you something about me? Was it Gilda? She’s LYING.”
“Nobody said anything.”
“FUCK YOU.”
“AH, SHIT. Why the fuck are you mad at me? I’m trying to be fuckin honest with you.”
“YOU SAID YOU LOVE ME. YOU SAID WE WERE GOING TO GET MARRIED. NOW YOU’RE SAYING YOU DON’T LOVE ME AND WE’RE NOT GETTING MARRIED AND I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE MAD AT YOU?”
“I do love you. Fuck! I mean I like you a lot. So much. I like you so much. You’re really great. You know that. You’re incredibly hot and you’re much too nice to me. But I can’t do this. Look around you. I’ve lived in this fucking apartment almost two months now and the lights aren’t even turned on yet. Doesn’t that tell you something? Ninety percent of the time I’m too high to fuck you and I know you like dick and I’m too high so that’s lame. I understand why you fuck other guys.”
“I don’t fuck other guys.”
“Yes, you do. And you don’t need to lie about it. Who am I that you should need to justify yourself to me? You fuck other guys and you have my blessing. You like dick and there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re supposed to like dick and I don’t doubt for a second that one of those pieces of shit is a better match for you than I am. You ought to marry that one.”
“But I want to be with you!”
“How can you say that? You don’t really know anything about me.”
“Yes I do.”
“What’s my last name?…You see?”
“THAT’S NOT FAIR.”
“Listen. I’d ruin your life. This is your lucky break. Trust me, you’ll get over it.”
“Are you breaking up with me?”
“I don’t know.”
Gilda had been out in the living room the whole time, and Libby and I were feeling dumb on account of Gilda’s having heard us say a lot of crazy shit. And Gilda was bored. So we decided we would all feel much better if we did some heroin.