29   6 April 92   Daniel called me when he came back from Spain, a couple of weeks ago, and let me know that Vicky wasn’t really Mauricio’s girlfriend. They were just having a fling, he said, and now he and Vicky are truly in love. He called again this afternoon and told me that they have been exchanging love letters, that he plans to spend the summer in Spain with her, and that she is thinking of coming to the US for graduate school. Wow! I asked him, “what about your two girlfriends?” He said that he would tell them about Vicky, and they could take him or leave him. I can’t help comparing his situation with mine when I met Miki. (The names even rhyme, Miki and Vicky!) Of course I told Jean-Marc about it immediately. In person, because his phone was out of order. He was devastated, far more than I had expected. I felt sorry for him. But speaking of “telling about”: lately I have, finally, been telling more and more of my friends about Bob. Last month Mark & Julie and then Françoise. And yesterday Jodi and Ryan. Jodi Marsh and Ryan Blitz are old friends of mine. They met a few months ago, independently of me, and have been dating since. Jodi told me about it when I saw her in February. (She had agreed with me at a previous meeting that vanitous would be a useful word to have in English, and this time she used it humorously to describe Ryan. “He’s a little, how would you say, vanitous!” she said.) She is a jeweller who owns her own shop. When she was a student at the Visual Arts Centre she was a frequent babysitter for B&D. They liked her, especially Betty, because she taught them to make pretty things out of simple materials like paper, toothpicks and paper clips. Ryan is an anaesthesiologist whom I have known since residency. When he was a kid in Manitoba he suffered from his surname (e.g. Blitz has zits) so he adopted Blitz likes tits, Ryan ain’t lyin’ as his motto. He has even used it as a pickup line. (Not on me – he used something else that I don’t remember, it’s been a long time, and anyway at the time I was already seeing Sam.) He probably used it on Jodi, who has nice tits but not much else. Or I should say had, because since meeting Ryan she has abandoned the sloppy artist look. She has lost some weight, acquired a new wardrobe, and turned into a quite attractive woman. Good for her! They met when he came into her shop, accompanying another woman that he was dating. Somehow it came out that they were friends of mine. (I may have told her about him at some time.) I never would have thought of introducing them – I am not much of a matchmaker – but one never knows. So, yes, I told them about Bob. They were surprised that it has been going on for so long, almost two years. But not shocked; they know that I am a private person. In the same way that I keep my friends private and don’t hold parties for them to mix, unlike Tina (for example). But especially since I did not want to expose my private life to my children before they were old enough to understand. And now that they are old enough I am still in the privacy habit. I have been trying to get out of it, ever since the summer with GK. Mon Dieu, ça fait cinq ans! It’s been 5 years! Why? I realize that, after all that time, it was no big deal to tell them about Bob. It wasn’t even necessary, since they already knew. It was also no big deal with GK. Before that they were definitely too young. What about telling them retrospectively, when the occasion arises, abut the men before GK? Should I tell D about Sam and me? But then he has never actually met Sam. What about the men before Miki? The adolescent experience that I mentioned to D doesn’t matter. But later? What about Jean-Marc? Do I dare tell them about Jean-Marc? Not yet, my journal. If ever. Good night, my journal. Jewish Agency   He was five minutes early, and Karen Litov was right on time. “Nice place,” she said when she approached his table. The day was overcast, chilly and breezy, but she was dressed for spring: a short-sleeved white blouse over a navy-blue skirt and high-heeled shoes; a jacket matching the skirt was draped over one arm. She seemed to have gained some weight since the last time and her clothes seemed tight on her, but that may have been her intention. Daniel wondered if she had dressed up for the date with him. If so, then the prospect of a friendship seemed promising. “Thank you for the information you sent me,” he began, “especially the French program. I guess you remembered that I’m French Canadian.” “You’re welcome,” she said as she sat down, crossing her legs and smoothing her skirt. “It’s my job.” He needed an opening for getting a little personal with her, but none came to him. “I like it that there are visits to archaeological sites and even Christian monuments,” he said, “besides the usual Jewish stuff. The American programs didn’t seem to have those.” “In America those things are supposed to be interesting for older people, like me, not for kids like you.” She laughed. “But you are different,” she added, looking at him slyly. Was she coming on to him? “You think so?” he said, not knowing what else to say. “Believe me,” she said, “I deal all the time with kids in your age. Mostly they are like your girlfriend Audrey.” “I told you the last time,” Daniel said with a forced smile, trying not to sound petulant, “she’s not really my girlfriend.” “Well, she thinks that you are her boyfriend. She says that you are very good!” Karen laughed again. She seemed to be playing with him. Things were moving faster than he was prepared for, and he was grateful for the intervention of the waitress who came by to take their orders. They both ordered the same soup-and-half-sandwich special, his with lemonade and hers with Coca-Cola. “Anyway,” Daniel said, “I’d like to sign up for the French program. I’ll take care of the round trip to Paris on my own.” “If you would like, I can call them to ask if they have room. It’s a very small program.” “That would be very nice of you.” “I will call this afternoon. I have a friend who works in the Jewish Agency in Paris, and I will call him at home when it’s evening there.” A fellow secret agent, Daniel said to himself. “He will call the French organization tomorrow when it’s morning there,” Karen went on. The waitress brought them their soup – it was beef-noodle – and beverages. “And then he will call me back in the afternoon when it’s morning here. Finally I will call you!” She laughed before taking a spoonful of her soup. “Mm, this is very good!” she said with exactly the same intonation as when she reported Audrey’s characterization of him. “I love beef soup,” she added after another spoonful, with another sly look at him. Yes, he thought as he sipped his soup silently, she was definitely coming on to him. The reference to loving beef soup might easily be a sexual one. Daniel was not exactly what in American parlance might be called beefy, but he was muscular enough. “I like the noodles,” he said, returning her look, “nice and wet with the broth.” He intentionally slurped a long one down and ostentatiously licked his lips afterward. If she’s going to get raunchy then so can I, he said to himself. The sandwiches, both corned beef (his on rye, hers on an onion roll), came before they were done with the soup. My beef between her buns, he said to himself. At that moment, like a small cloud covering the sun in an otherwise blue sky – one that can be either welcome or unwelcome, depending on the heat of the day – the image of Vicky entered his mind. But this isn’t a matter of lust, he told himself. It was a project of sexual counterespionage. For thousands of years, from Delilah to Mata Hari and Christine Keeler, women have been enticing men to reveal secrets in bed. Why couldn’t a guy turn the tables? But it was time to change the subject, and he was grateful to Karen for asking him what he thought of the presidential primary election that was going on that very day. “I know that you are a foreigner, like me,” she added. “Well,” Daniel said, “of the three American friends that I last talked to, one is a Republican, one is for Clinton – that’s Audrey, by the way – and one is for Brown, and she’s from California.” “Is she Jewish by chance?” “No, she’s Chinese American.” “I am sure the Jews will vote for Clinton, sixty, seventy percent. Once Brown said that he would choose Jesse Jackson for Vice President, that was the end for him with the Jews, and I’m not so sure it will help him a lot with the blacks. The blacks like Clinton.” “What about Tsongas?” Daniel asked with no specific intent. Karen smiled. “Do you know anyone who is voting for Tsongas?” “Not personally, but some of the people in my classes said they might.” “It doesn’t matter. The Jews will elect Clinton as the Democratic candidate, and if he wins the election then he will remember that. As we say, it’s good for the Jews.” She smiled again. “By the way,” she said after taking the last bite of her sandwich, “back in February there was also a primary election in Israel, in the Labor Party.” “I remember something about that. Rabin won, didn’t he?” “Yes. The general election will be on the twenty-sixth of June. The American student groups will be there already, but you will miss it, because the French group isn’t going till July, when the French universities finish.” “Did you vote in the primary? I mean… are you in the Labor Party?” “I cannot talk about my politics. The Jewish Agency is nonpolitical!” Karen said with a loud laugh. “Anyway not in my time of working. By the way,” she added after glancing at her watch, “it’s time for me to go back to the office.” “You don’t have time for some coffee?” he asked. “No,” she said. “But when we see each other privately it’s different. Then we can talk about anything!” She laughed again and stood up. When we see each other privately. Was that a conditional when meaning “if we happen to see each other privately” or a future when implying “we’ll see each other privately and then…”? Daniel decided to assume that it was the latter meaning. “I’m looking forward to that!” he said as he also stood up to shake her hand. “I’m going to have some coffee before I go. Thank you for your help!” “Thank you for lunch!” Karen said, slinking out of the coffee shop. “I will call you tomorrow morning.”   That evening he decided to call both Audrey and Claire to tell them about Vicky. Audrey first, he thought. She answered in a cheery tone. “Oh, hi, Daniel. Looks like Clinton’s winning!” “I guess you’re happy about that.” “Yeah! What’s up?” “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you since I got back from Spain.” “And that is…” “I met someone there.” “Your second cousin, right?” “Once removed, yes. In Spanish he would be called my third uncle.” He heard Audrey laugh nervously. “But there’s someone else. A girl, to be specific. And I’m in love with her.” “And you’re telling me now? After you’ve been fucking me for weeks? Fuck you, Daniel!” “Well, I wasn’t really sure until I got her…” “You got her pregnant? I don’t care what you got, even the clap, as long as you didn’t give it to me! I’m going to get myself checked first thing in the morning! And don’t ever call me again!” He expected her to slam down the phone, but the line was still live. “For what it’s worth, I used condoms with her.” “Thanks for the information. But why should I trust you? You’re a goy, as far as I’m concerned.” “I’m going to Israel this summer…” “Have a great time!” she snorted. The line went dead. He needed to relax before calling Claire. He did not want to dwell on the conversation he had just had with Audrey. He turned on the stereo and let the Serrat cassette play where it had last stopped, after Señora. The flamenco-flavored strains of La Saeta filled his apartment and his heart. He looked at the picture of himself with Vicky for the entire two minutes of the song. He listened to Qué va a ser de ti and then stopped the music. He was ready to call Claire. She, too, answered the phone with a cheery “Hi, Daniel!” “I hear that Clinton’s winning,” Daniel began. “That’s okay,” Claire said. “Clinton’s cool too. I think my mom’s more likely to be upset. Back in California it was the women in her age group that had a crush on Jerry Brown.” Back in New York, Claire had stopped peppering her speech with like and you know. “One of her friends, a classmate of hers from UCLA, actually slept with him! And she was married!” Claire giggled. “Of course that was the seventies. But you’re not calling me to chat about Jerry Brown, are you?” “No.” “So what’s the problem?” “Why do you assume it’s a problem?” “I don’t know, I just do. Prove me wrong.” “Actually, this time there is a problem. But it’s got nothing to do with computers.” “I know. You’ve got another woman.” Wow! he thought. So she’s known all along about Audrey! Either she saw them together or heard from someone who did. “Well, yes, but she’s in Spain. I met her when I was there last month.” “But she’s there and I’m here, right?” “Right,” he said without quite knowing how to go on. But he didn’t need to, since she did it for him. “That’s cool then. Then you’ll go see her during summer vacation?” “Well, I intend to.” “I’m going to be in California.” “Is there a guy there?” “Maybe.” She giggled again. “So, anyway, don’t stop calling, okay?” “Okay. Want to get together this weekend?” “I’m busy Friday and Sunday. Is Saturday okay?” “Sure,” he said.   By the time he left for his nine-o’clock class there had been no call from Karen Litov. He was back at eleven-twenty and found two messages on his answering machine, both from her and both urging him to call her as soon as possible. “Listen, Daniel,” she said, “the French program is practically filled up but they can find a place for you if you register today. The main thing is that you have to pay them a thousand francs by noon tomorrow in France, so that means that it must be done today. Can you send them a wire transfer?” “There’s no way I can get to the bank today. I’ve got a class at one, and then more classes till four, and then I’ll have to talk to the professor. And my bank closes at four.” “I have an idea,” she said after a brief pause. “I will tell my friend at the Agency in Paris to pay them the money and tell him that you paid it to me.” “But I won’t have time to get it to you.” “I trust you. And since you probably won’t have time to come here by five, I will go to your place to pick it up. I can be there around five-thirty.” “That is really nice of you.” “Don’t worry. It will be my pleasure.” She said it as if she meant it, literally.   She made no attempt to hide her intention when she walked through his door. When she took off her jacket, her blouse was already half-unbuttoned to reveal a more-than-ample expanse of bosom. She hung the jacket on the nearest chair while he shut the door behind her and she approached him saying, “Shalom, motek.” “Motek?” he said, startled. “That was the name of my… my great-great-uncle!” Karen laughed. “In Hebrew it’s what we call someone that we like. It means sweetness.” They were standing face to face, almost touching. “Shalom, motek,” he said. After a bout of sex that felt more like a wrestling match – with Karen the winner by at least major decision if not technical fall – Daniel felt hungry and tired. He had had no break during the day except for a hurried and skimpy lunch at home. But he wanted a chance to have sex with Karen in the more sensual way that he liked. He kissed her and said, “I’ll be right back.” He went to the bathroom to relieve and clean himself. When he came back she was almost dressed. “That will be two hundred and fifty dollars, please,” she said with a laugh. “Made out to the Jewish Agency.” “Should I write ‘Jewish Agency Escort Service’?” he asked as he put on a pair of shorts and got his checkbook from his desk. “No,” Karen said, “we must be discreet about it. And next time it will be free.” She stepped into her shoes and stood up. “You made me an offer I can’t refuse,” he said in Brando-like tone while handing her the check, which she put into her purse. “I told you that it will be my pleasure,” she said, giving him a quick kiss. “Meanwhile, fill out the registration form. Can you bring it to my office tomorrow morning so I can fax it to Paris?” “Yes, of course,” he said. She put on her jacket and walked to the door without waiting for him to accompany her. “Shalom, motek,” she said again as she walked out. He started the Serrat tape again while he made himself some gnocchi. There were five songs left, beginning with the piano tinkle introducing the sad Piel de manzana. When Tío Alberto came on, some fifteen minutes later, he was already finishing his dish, thinking back to the paella, the Barcelona-Kiev game and Vicky at Uncle Alberto’s apartment in Valencia. Immediately he wrote Vicky a letter telling her the deep effect that the Serrat album had on him and detailing one by one his reaction to each one of the sixteen songs. He also asked her if Tío Alberto was about some actual person, as it seemed to be. In a postscript he wrote her his phone number. He would be spending a whole month with her, assuming that Karen Litov was successful in securing a place for him in the French Israel program. His summer vacation was set: the second half of May would be in Montreal; June (and the beginning of July) would be half in Barcelona (during the final-exam period) and half in Sitges, with side trips to other places in Spain, he hoped. Most of July and August, seven weeks all told, would be in Israel Montreal! Would that mean getting together with Megan? Or would she be off in Toronto, doing her research in pornoeconomics? And then he realized that in his feverish planning he had forgotten Betty’s birthday. Not just any birthday. Her eighteenth, when she would, as he had before her, become a teenage millionaire. Of course he would have to extend his Montreal stay into June, and spend only a week in Barcelona with Vicky. It would not be a whole month then, only three and a half weeks. But anyway she would have been busy studying for her exams, he told himself. He thought about Karen Litov again. It seemed obvious that if sleeping with her were to yield results, it would have to involve some sleeping. Between stretches of sleep he would give her some pleasures that she might not have experienced before, and in such a state get her to talk. But it seemed that however the relationship between them could be defined, she was the one in control. Maybe that’s how secret agents operate: get your sex where you can, à la James Bond. Despite her less-than-average looks, she seemed to know her way around men. She certainly knew how to flirt, implicitly and explicitly. And Daniel now realized that his coyness about being Audrey Seligman’s boyfriend was unwarranted. On the contrary, for someone like Karen Litov, snatching the good-looking young boyfriend of a much younger and much prettier girl was undoubtedly a matter of pride. Two days later Karen Litov called Daniel to tell him that he had been accepted. He had until the end of April to pay the rest of the fee, three thousand francs. “That’s a bargain, no?” she said. “A thousand dollars for two months in Israel, including the transport from Paris!” Daniel agreed that it was a bargain. He wondered if she would suggest another get-together, but she seemed to be all business. Exactly a week later – it happened to be Good Friday – she called again. She had all the information for him, and once again it would be her pleasure to bring it over to his place, at five-thirty. Just after five his phone rang. From the first syllable of “Hello, Daniel!” he knew that it was Vicky. He felt himself trembling. “Hi,” he said. “Are you calling from the free phone booth?” “It’s no longer free,” she said with a laugh. “They fixed it, like they’re fixing everything for the Olympics. I’m calling from Sitges. It’s cheaper after eleven.” But Daniel remembered that, even at their cheapest, international calling rates in Spain were astronomical. “Give me your number and I’ll call you right back.” She picked up before the first ring ended. “Hello, Daniel!” she said again. The connection was better this time. “It’s good to hear your voice. How are you?” “Beginning my Easter break. It’s also the beginning of tourist season, and I’m going to be frightfully busy next week.” “Tell me about Tío Alberto.” Vicky laughed. “You mean my uncle Alberto, or Serrat’s?” “You already told me about yours.” Alberto Vidal was Marisol’s younger brother, a lawyer in Valencia who had never married but had a girlfriend in Madrid. “I mean Serrat’s.” “Well, he was actually called Alberto Puig Palau. He was a bit of a toff, a very rich fellow, a playboy, gave lots of parties, had lots of affairs and supported lots of artists, including Serrat, but especially flamencos. He was friends with a lot of Gypsies, and they gave him the nickname Tío Alberto. He died a few years ago.” “And the French Legion of Honor business?” “Oh yes. He worked for the French resistance, even though in the Civil War he fought on Franco’s side.” “That’s interesting. Anyway, I’d love to spend the month of June with you.” He proceeded to tell her about his summer plans. “That’ll be wonderful! Then you can be in Sitges for the Corpus Christi – it’s spectacular here, with the streets all carpeted with flowers! And then when it’s time for you to go to Paris, perhaps I can come with you for a few days.” “That would be fantastic,” Daniel said, suddenly realizing that Karen Litov would be coming in ten minutes. “I’ll call you again. I love you!” “I love you too. Good night!” After hanging up he was in a feverish tizzy. His mind was filled with thoughts of the woman he loved while preparing to have sex with another woman. What kind of a man was he? An all-too-human man, he told himself. Menschlich, allzumenschlich. That paper on Nietzsche, on the relation between his poetry and his philosophy – Die Beziehung zwischen Nietzsches Dichtung und seiner Philosophie – would need some more work after Karen left. But this time Karen was in less of a hurry to leave. He made a simple dinner – an omelet, salad and refried baked potatoes – for both of them. Afterward she gave strong hints of wanting to go back to bed. Daniel, however, felt spent (he was expecting Claire the next afternoon), and made Karen aware of it. After she left he could not get himself into a studious mood. The next day he found to his surprise the biting dissonances of Elektra formed a well-suited background to an analysis of Nietzsche. Aside from the obvious connection between Nietzsche and Strauss through Also sprach Zarathustra, there was also the acknowledged fact of Nietzsche’s influence on Hugo von Hofmannsthal. The connections managed to find their way into the paper. The phone rang twice in the course the opera. He did not pick up either time. The first time he heard Cici’s voice – it had been some time since he had talked with her – and the second time it was Claire’s. After the applause he listened to the messages. Cici’s was an invitation to the psychology department’s graduation; she would be leaving for Florida, for good, soon after. Claire told the answering machine that her period had just started. “Do you still want me to come over?” she asked with her usual giggle. He called Claire back to tell her that he would love to have her over – he would certainly appreciate her help with booking his summer travel. She was happy to comply, and with her help – she showed him how to use the multicity function – he built his itinerary: New York–Montreal–Barcelona outbound and Paris–Montreal–New York inbound. The Barcelona–Paris leg would be by train with Vicky. On the return trip he would leave Paris the day after returning from Israel and have the weekend before Labour Day in Montreal. He enjoyed hanging out with Claire. He envisioned having her as a postsexual friend – a term that Cici seemed to have invented to describe their relationship – like Cici, Roxane and probably also Megan, once he stopped sleeping with anyone but Vicky. He called Cici to tell her that he would love to see her graduate.