Cindy was smiling, but had a look of confusion on her face as if she didn't understand what was so funny about the things they were saying.
Alejandro held both of his hands in the air before Jasper. “Did you ever figure out what was definitively the best version of War and Peace?”
“You mean what version or what translation?” Jasper said, adjusting his jaw and leaning forward to set his beer on the table.
“Translation. You were arguing for Maude and the rest of us were for Garnett.”
He gave me an apologetic look. I didn't care, he was happy. “Garnett was so Victorian. She changed Tolstoy's voice. Ruined the whole book for me.”
Alejandro looked to Cindy, my mother and me, then looked to the ceiling like his friend was hopeless.
Marion sat at the end of the table with her mouth open, about to speak, but Jasper ran right over top of her. He tapped the table with his index finger. “I would argue that Aylmer Maude understood Tolstoy better as an artist.”
“Wasn't there a new one released that left the French intact, with footnotes so the reader could follow as if they already understood the language?” I said, taking a long swig of wine, happy to have something to offer.
Marion spoke up, “The translation is, in the end, dear, irrelevant.”
I was not to be deterred; finally I could back him up. “It is very relevant. The review I read talked about how this was the first book to be true to the way Tolstoy wrote the book. The closest to reading the original Russian.” I dropped my voice, imitating one of the Dreadfuls. “Like for his intended audience?”
My mother gave me a genuine smile. Jasper slid his hand over my upper arm a few times, a wonderful sensation. He went back to his original point, something about the historical context of the book.
“Everyone spoke French, some more than Russian, it was something that would have been taken for granted,” Jasper said lightly and Alejandro nodded.
Cindy jumped on the bandwagon. “Translating all of it into English doesn't matter, especially for the contemporary reader. The tone, however…”
Let them have their fun. French…tone…my mind wandered to a scene in a short story I was asked to write for an anthology. A French nightclub would fit, ethereal young men grinding on each other, hands groping, walls made of stone, dark rooms, hidden candles lending a red glow to their outlined figures.
I noticed my mother arching an eyebrow in my direction. Her eyes narrowed, but then grew soft. “Sometimes you are so much like your father it scares me.”
“Dude, we are boring,” Alejandro said.
“I don't mind, it is great to see Jasper this relaxed.” I placed my hand on Alejandro's forearm. “Thank you for that.”
“Cada tiempo mi vida.” Alejandro tossed this off playfully. The casual nature with which he went back to looking at Jasper made it seem like my own reactions—gooseflesh and a giddy urge to cover my smile—were overreactions.
Alejandro slapped his thigh. “Here's something Jasper won't tell you about me.”
I leaned forward, affecting a very interested stance, making fun of the way he acted.
“This should be good,” Cindy said and Marion made a sound in agreement.
“In spite of everything I could say about dead Russian authors, I am at heart, nothing more than a science fiction nerd.”
“Ew,” I said. “You're not going to start trying to explain the technology behind Star Trek are you? He might start foaming at the mouth, Mom. We have to get a towel ready.”
She laughed and gave Alejandro an apologetic wave.
He fixed me with a gaze. “It's true. I am a sucker for anything that will take me away.”
“Can't argue with that, I read Dune,” I offered. “Did you know Frank Herbert was from Tacoma?”
We spoke Arrakis, Bene Gesserit, breeding programs, and the Kwisatz Haderach for at least ten minutes. As I talked, Alejandro rested his chin in the soft part of his hand with his forefinger over his lips. He made a low sound in his throat to show he was actively listening.
“You know what is really cool?” I asked. Alejandro leaned forward and Jasper shifted next to me, settling in for something he would likely not have a part in. “Steampunk,” I said and waited, hoping he would know what I was talking about.
“You know,” Alejandro said, “it is interesting that you bring that up.”
“Why?”
“Well, given what you just said about it being a metaphor for the way the world works…” Here he started sounding like a professor, but was still very cute. I pasted what I hoped was a serious look on my face. “Steampunk is a highly political genre. VanderMeer, Blaylock, Powers; those guys made all sorts of commentary on events that are happening now. It is incredibly relevant and important. I've always felt that you find the most accurate descriptions of how a society functions by the works of more,” he looked to Marion and then to me, “marginalized groups—your fantasy, science fiction, and even pornography.”
My mother smoothed the tablecloth. “My daughter's specialty.”
Alejandro paused to bunch his lips up like he decided not to say something and continued on his original course. “Look what the Victorians did with that. You have these two totally different ways of looking at that society—you have Vanity Fair, and then there's The Pearl.”
“Wow,” I said, feeling like I'd just fallen down a big soft rabbit hole. I addressed my mother, “Is it possible that someone who is intelligent by your standards can read the same stuff I do and could be sitting in front of me at this dinner party?”
“You have an interest in pornography?” Alejandro said.
Marion's husband had stopped playing with carrots and sat forward with his eyebrows raised. Marion crossed her arms.
“If we must call what I write pornography,” I glared at my mother. “I write it, I study it. I think it is important to remind people that sex is a good thing, not something to hide behind a bunch of flowery language, or ignore altogether while imagining we are talking about more important things.”
Alejandro made an impressed face and smiled to the ladies.
“And why does almost no one connected to any respectable press publish or at least review erotic literature? I'm not saying that what I write counts as literature, but I can't even hardly find criticism of anyone else's work. It says something about what we value.”
“Michael Perkins,” Alejandro said.
“What did he write?” My heart sped up. “You actually know something about this?” I looked at him sideways, playing up my disbelief. “A history professor.”
“What?” he said when Cindy wrinkled her forehead. “I read everything.”
“Do you remember the title?” I asked.
“The Secret Record, I think. It is really old, like from the seventies, but it might give you something to start with.”
I looked to Jasper, grinning like a child who has just gotten permission to raid the candy cupboard.
Cindy leaned toward Alejandro and said, “I have to get up early tomorrow. We should get going so we don't miss the ferry.”
Jasper looked around like he'd woken from a dream. “You don't have to go. Really?”
I shot my mother a desperate look and she said, “Alejandro is welcome to stay out here with us tonight.”
The relief was evident on both of their faces. Cindy looked highly annoyed. When Alejandro didn't say anything else she shrugged and moved toward the door. Marion began fussing over her husband and began making noise about needing to get going as well.
Jasper helped me clear the dessert dishes, which won me a less evil stare from my mother this time. She was halfway through her third glass of wine, clearly enjoying the evening.
My mother showed everyone out and Alejandro walked Cindy to her car.
The three of us moved into the living room; Jasper started a fire, and we sat around making small talk until Susan left and Mother announced she was going to bed. Alejandro thanked her for inviting him and s
he squeezed his shoulder as she passed. “It's nice to have people in the house enjoying themselves.”
I hugged her and watched her walk down the hall.
I sat next to Jasper on the couch. “So tell me how you guys met,” Alejandro said. There was a wicked intelligence about him, for everything he said or did, I sensed something else was going on behind his black eyes. His smile was quick and sincere though I did feel I had to stay on my toes.
Jasper stretched his arm toward me.
I took the floor. “I was not happy with Jasper at first. I showed up at this reading he did a while back and told him so.”
Alejandro moved to the floor, hugging his knees sipping a beer.
“Then for some reason,” I turned to Jasper. “Barbara, this crafty old queen, told you where I would be. She was hoping for some sort of drama.” Jasper nodded, and I went on, “He showed up at Neighbours, this club I used to go to a lot. I made him dance with me, then he showed up the next night, and then we started emailing, and eventually I went out to see him.”
“Wow, you got this scarecrow to dance?” Alejandro asked.
I turned to gauge how Jasper would react. Jasper reassured me by running the palm of his hand over my back, his eyes warm and dancing in the light from the fire.
“We can't all be Don Juan's on the sticky dance floor of life,” Jasper said.
Alejandro tipped his bottle. “You said it yo.”
“So you dance?” I asked.
“Salsa, merengue, cumbia,” he said and leaned past me, directing his comments to Jasper, “I once took Argentine Tango lessons for this gringa.”
The way he said ‘gringa’ filled me with a low-grade anxiety and excitement. Wasn't I also a gringa? But he spoke so confidentially like we were all the same. The way his accent changed from normal to his native was endlessly engaging, as if he was giving a glimpse of another side of himself, but just a flicker. I stood and assumed the position, with my right hand in the air, and my left held out in front but lower. I turned to Jasper and spoke to Alejandro: “Show me?”
He watched me from the floor, his eyes shining. He looked past my legs to Jasper, who gestured for him to proceed. Jasper locked his eyes on mine for a moment and what I saw in them was a complicated pleading before Alejandro's frame blocked my view. He slipped into the space in front of me, took my right hand in his left; his shoulder, thick and firm, slipped neatly into the space beneath my left hand. The warmth of his right arm wound around my waist and held me there lightly, barely touching, except for his fingertips on my back, which were remarkably sure.
He closed his eyes, squeezed my hand, and nodded his head faintly in time to some unknown rhythm. Then before I knew it, he was turning me, pushing me back, pulling me to him, and raising his arm above our heads, spinning me, pulling me back again, his chest and shoulders moving forward, legs working rapidly, kicking out, head moving side to side, still listening somewhere only he could hear. I looked to Jasper, the heavy look still in his eyes though he smiled broadly, then back to Alejandro who said, “Don't look at him, he can't help you now.”
I laughed but only for a second, because at that moment he twirled me again, only this time his hands were firm on my back and sides, continuing to rotate me around and around, until I thought I was going to fall over. He gathered me to him briefly, grounding me, then moved me again in the back and forth I was familiar with until we stopped, with his face only inches from mine. I could smell his breath; chocolate, malty beer, coffee. I could almost feel the whiskers on his chin, then he faced Jasper. He released me and sat down, breathing heavier and smiling. “I haven't done that in so long.”
I flopped down next to Jasper, marveling that these two were friends, they were so different.
“So she chewed your ass?” Alejandro said, picking up his beer. “Hard to imagine. Now you're so important. It is bizarre to see you written up in some journal, or on TV.”
Jasper waved that off. I met his eyes, in the firelight they were a subdued celadon.
I kept my voice even and said with my eyes trained on his lap, “I know what you mean, I marvel every day that I get to be in the presence of such greatness.” I looked up and addressed both of them, “You know Marion would have made the journey for nothing less than the nation's preeminent, um…whaddya call that thing?”
They both laughed and Jasper swatted me softly on the side of the head. Alejandro rose and went into the kitchen. I heard bottles tinkling as he rearranged things in the fridge, and then there was the sound of the door closing and sealing.
I moved toward Jasper and swung one leg over his, rose up to meet his mouth and kissed him softly, testing him; when I felt him stiffen, I pulled back and put my arm around his shoulders. His eyes got soft and I leaned in and brushed my lips against his, and he shifted so that I was almost completely in his lap. He held me while I nibbled on his lips until they loosened and his tongue darted with familiarity.
A clearing of the throat and Alejandro stood before us, holding three tumblers and the bottle of Chivas in his short dark fingers. He watched with his head cocked to one side while I reluctantly separated.
He set the glasses on the stretched white leather of the Molesworth coffee table, worn from so many years of use, and poured an inch worth of golden liquid in each glass. I took mine and handed one to Jasper, leaning back in the sofa and tucking my legs under me.
Jasper knocked his back, then Alejandro. When Jasper spoke, his voice was husky and he said, “I missed you after college.”
“Me too,” Alejandro said and turned to me. “Having Jasper around kept things interesting. I was always trying to goad him, testing him…remember when we had that fight about whether or not people who read good books also watch TV?”
Jasper nodded, affecting a weary look. “This one used to watch more TV than you do.”
I held my hand to my mouth and gasped.
Things got quiet for a time and it was okay. The fire popped and crackled, and Jasper got up and messed with it, making the charred smell stronger, then he added another log and blew on it. He reminded me of myself the first time around a campfire.
Jasper gazed at Alejandro, then to me. “I followed this guy around for like two years I think.”
Alejandro sighed, “Sounds right.”
“Why?” I asked.
Alejandro laughed. “You wouldn't know it now,” he gazed at me pointedly, “but Jasper was a little bit shy when he was younger.”
I laughed, “Was?”
Jasper gave me a contented smile.
I grinned at Alejandro. “You're actually the first indication I've ever seen that he has or had any friends.”
“I correspond,” Jasper said taking my hand and working his fingers in between mine.
“What can I say,” Alejandro said fingering his bottle. “I got around. There were a couple girls from California, a TA from one of my classes, there might have been a lady professor in there…”
Jasper rolled his eyes.
“He was so damn shy. I guess he wanted to be more like me, which is of course impossible to do; nevertheless he skulked around for months like he wanted to ask me something. I thought I had a stalker!”
Jasper put his head between his legs and groaned.
“So when was the Huckleberry Finn episode?” I asked.
“That was during the stalking phase.”
“Oh God,” Jasper said.
“Then one day he screws himself up and asks if we can study together, and I'm giving him this look like,” Alejandro's voice became skeptical, “we'll see. Turned out he wanted to learn how to pick up girls.”
“No!” I slapped the table, looking from him to Jasper, who wore an amused smile.
“Yep,” Alejandro said.
“So did you hook him up or what?” I asked.
“Si, mi amor,” he said with a laugh in his voice. The look he gave me made my skin tingle like I'd been misted with cool water.
Jasper made a grim face and said
, “You're telling it all wrong. You make it sound like I needed you.”
Alejandro grinned. “I didn't mean to misrepresent facts. Just like a good historian, or storyteller, they aren't very different, make no mistake,” he said with a conspiratorial nod. “Please, tell it as you remember it.”
Jasper didn't begin soon enough for Alejandro who charged ahead anyway. “The funniest part was when you wanted to go to the gym with me.” Jasper groaned but held out a hand for him to continue. “How long did that last?”
“A month?” Jasper said unsure.
“That long?” Alejandro frowned like that wasn't right but he was letting it go. “All I know was that the view of your ostrich legs in running shorts had me laughing my ass off, but I got it under control before you got to where I was waiting for you.”
“No you didn't. I almost ran back to the dorms in shame. I don't know what kept me there.”
“I do,” Alejandro said and gave him an amused look.
I took another burning swig of Chivas, which hit my gut and the glow spread through every limb. Alejandro spoke the first thing that came from his mind and he dragged Jasper along with him, bringing him out in a way that made me jealous but also grateful. I was euphoric in this moment; I realized that I was happy because Jasper was happy. Never before had I felt the sense that my well-being could be affected just by watching something happen to someone else. I wondered if this was what my mother felt like when she made the decision to give up her own dreams and settle for being Dad's bitch.
“Why were you running?” I said. They were having a whole conversation watching each other and grinning. Unless I prodded Alejandro, he wouldn't continue.
He gave me a knowing look. “It's the whole beefcake thing. Girls love it.”
“I can't believe I was that desperate,” Jasper said while staring at the ceiling.
“I told you I wasn't going to lift weights with you unless you ran three miles with me. Fuck man,” Alejandro said. “That was painful to watch.”
“What did I last, like, half a mile?” Jasper said, covering his face with his hand.
Sex and Death in the American Novel Page 21
