Nick and Jake

by Jonathan Richards

  “Hello Robert. This is Christine Jorgensen.”

  “The famous Christine Jorgensen.”

  “Where is he?” It was the voice of the famous Christine Jorgensen.

  “Where is whom?”

  “Who,” Chris corrected.

  There was a gag in my mouth, but the tape had slipped and I spat it out. “I’m in here,” I said. I wasn’t sure where in here was.

  “Jake? You’re in the boot?”

  “Hard to say.”

  “Really, Mr. Cohn!” Chris sounded indignant. She sounded like my mother when somebody farted. Chris was a real lady.

  I heard a sharp rapping over my head. “Open this trunk immediately!”

  A key rasped in a lock, and the lid of the trunk swung up. There was Chris. She looked beautiful. Cohn stood behind her, and behind him off to the left was Davey Schine, looking pale and scared.

  “These European cars aren’t as roomy as the American models,” Cohn said. “It may get a little tight in there.” He gave Chris a shove and she tumbled in on top of me into the trunk. The lid slammed shut.

  “Hello Jake.”

  Her mouth was very near mine, and I kissed her. “Hello Chris.”

  The motor of the car started, and then it stopped. We could hear Cohn’s voice, and then Schine’s. They were talking, or they were arguing, it was hard to tell.

  “Is this the place you wrote me about?” Chris asked.

  “No, it’s up the beach a bit. It is not very big, but it’s bigger than this.”

  “I was going to rescue you, but I’m not used to the high heels yet.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. I see I’m writing a novel. I hadn’t meant to, but it started coming out that way. I just wrote that one true sentence, and then I went on from there. It’s all your fault, Nick. It must be catching, this literary bug of yours. Take two slugs of gin and call me in the morning.

  Anyway, here’s what happened. All very dramatic and exciting, but not much to it really. If you don’t count the gun.

  And I don’t count the gun. Not really. The Mas 50 is a Browning single-action with a slide-mounted safety. Cohn had some trouble with the safety, so I was able to conk him over the head with the tire iron when he opened the trunk. Chris had obligingly sawed my restraints with her nail file.

  We got Cohn trussed up with the rope and gagged with Chris’s nylons, and we tucked him into our old quarters. Schine knew where Cohn had set up the contact with the Foreign Legion guy, and he and Chris assured me Davey was on our side now. So I gave him the keys to Cohn’s rental car and told him to deliver the package. I told him to tell the guy to make sure they keep the gag in. Tell him this Barnes guy is delusional and more than nine-tenths wacko, but he’ll be a hell of a fighter once you get him to Algiers. Schine took the car and pointed it toward Marseilles. I took Mlle. Chris’s arm, and pointed her toward the inn. A curtain of decency descends over what followed.

  Your old pal unt lit’ry mentor and guide through life,

  Jake

  Mars Say

  May 14

  Dear Roy,

  Boy, your uncle is crazy! And so are you, for that matter. All you Cohns are nutso! Look, you better get me out of the army, or I’ve got some things I could tell that a Few People might be intersted in.

  You’ll be intersted to know that your Uncle Robert has joined the French Foreign Legion. I played a small part in his decision. Well, maybe not so small. But he had it coming. You know what he did to me?

  So he asked me to hire a car and pick him up at the Aura Lee Airport in Paris and he said we were going to go on a road trip to this place called St. Lawrence and stop Barnes. So I picked him up. He was kind of spazzing out, you know, and talking a mile a minnet. So we drove a while, and I guess he thought I had a map but I didn’t have any map. I mean why would I have a map?

  So he got all in a conniption and then he told me to stop at this little gas station where they don’t even sell gas they sell essence if you can beleve it, and not cheap! And he told me go in and get a map and I told him you speaka da frog you getta da map. So he gets all bitchy but he gets out and he goes inside and he’s in there a long time and finally he comes out and he doesn’t have a map. He says they didn’t have a map, but he got instructions. Okay.

  So off we go again and he keeps telling me okay take a right here, and take a left there, and on and on, and he falls asleep, and next thing you know we’re in this town and there’s a cathedral and your uncle is saying so that’s Rooawn the famous Cathedral of Rooawn and Davey my lad it would be good for you to see it because it’s very famous and Monay painted it. So we get out and it turns out it’s not Rooawn, its fucking Orleans, where Joan of Ark and Louis Armstrong come from, and which is in a hundred percent the wrong direction.

  So we had to turn around and head the other way, and boy was your uncle pissed, but he couldn’t make it out to be my fault, even tho he tried! And when I asked him about stopping Barnes, I mean stopping him how, he got all silent with me.

  So anyway we lost a day, and we wound up having to spend the night in this jerkwater town on route, in this little dump where they only had one room and it had a double bed! So we had fun anyway, but in the morning your uncle gets all weird on me, and he tells me he wants to do this thing where he ties me up, you know, like when we do that Gulliver thing? Well so anyways I say sure, and he ties me to the bed, and then he stuffs my underpants (the purple ones) in my mouth, and then he grabs his bag and says “So long, Davey,” and out he goes!

  Okay, I mean I like games. But after a couple of hours I’m starting to think maybe this ain’t no game! So I start struggling and thumping the bed and trying to spit out the goddamn underpants, but I’m not getting anywhere and nobody seems to notice except once I heard someone yell up something in French that who knows what the fuck it meant but probly shut up. And then a while later the maid sticks her head in the room and sees me spreadeagled on the bed in the buff, and she just kinda shrugs and shuts the door!

  So I’m lying there trying to figure out what the fuck to do, and I here a car pull up outside, and I here this voice say “Excuse me, parley-voo Anglay?” And I think holy crap I know that voice! And I make a mighty goddamn effort and I get the undies out of my mouth and I scream “Christine!”

  And it is Christine, you know, my friend I told you about that used to be a guy, I mean what are the fucking odds, right? So she gets me untied and I put my clothes on. And what do you think? It turns out she’s on her way to St. Lawrence too, which is how she came to be on that little podunk road in that little podunk town and stopped at that little podunk joint to ask directions. And wait a minnet, you think that’s weird? Guess who she was going to St. Lawrence to meet? Jake Barnes!

  So I told her about your Uncle Robert and stopping Barnes, and man, she may not have been a girl long, but she can sure scream like one! So we piled into her car and took off in the direction they pointed us. We got to St. Lawrence about sunset, which is not a great time to be driving there because you are looking right into the goddamn sun the whole way. And we pull up to the beach and there’s my car, the one I hired, and there’s your doofus Uncle Robert.

  And it turns out he’s got Barnes in the trunk and next thing you know he’s got Christine in there too! So he tells me to go get in the car, and boy, I’m shaking by now, because he’s already left me tied up once today. So there’s this pistol on the seat, one of those neat French Army jobs, and I take my gum and I wedge it under the safety.

  And then Robert gets in and he picks up the gun and he starts up the car and he says okay, Davey, I’ll take care of you later, which doesn’t sound so good to me. And he hands me this piece of paper and he says okay this is where we’re going to Mars Say and this is the guy from the French Foreign Legion we’re going to meet, and you study these directions careful, you little cocksucker, and if you get us lost again I’ll have your nuts. He could charm the little birds out of the trees, your uncle.

 
And he tells me there’s a sonofabitch I’ve done some business with, Aly Khan, married to Rita Hayworth. A real hardass, used to be an officer in the Legion. Those Arab Muslims know how to keep their people in line, not like Mossydick and those bleeding heart democracy cunts. We could learn from ’em. Pick your nose, they cut off your finger. Aly will make a call, make sure Barnes gets personal attention.

  So I ask him what about Christine, and he kind of laughs and says the notorious Christine Jorgensen, do you have any idea what some of those whorehouses in Mars Say would pay for her?

  So I have the feeling that if we get started I am so screwed, so I say wait a second, I think I heard something back there, and he says what, and I say I don’t know but I think you better check. So he curses and stops the motor and gets out with his gun and goes back to check, and I’m gonna slide over as soon as he’s out and drive off like a bat outta hell, but shit he takes the fucking keys!

  And then I here something that sounds like what the, and then umnph, and I get out and there’s your Uncle Robert stretched out on the ground and Barnes climbing out of the trunk with a goddamn tire iron in his hand and blood in his eye. But Christine God bless her tells him no no, Daveys with us, which you can believe it I was!

  So we tie Robert up and stuff him in the trunk, and I tell Barnes about where Robert was going to deliver him to this French Foreign Legion guy, and Barnes kind of smiles. And your uncle says no wait, Jake, don’t be crazy, and Barnes says what the hell, Robert, what the hell.

  Robert starts yelling, and Christine takes off her nylons and shoves them in his mouth, and Barnes slams down the lid, and hands me the car keys. And he tells me they’re expecting Barnes, Davey, you take ’em Barnes.

  And I did. I drove like hell down all the way to Mars Say and found the guy down at the waterfront and the last time I saw your uncle he was being loaded onto a freighter. So listen Roy, I think you and me should call it a day. That stuff’s okay when you’re a kid fooling around, but I’m going to find me a girl and settle down and do something serious with my life. I’m thinking of going into the movies. Anyway I’m sure as hell not going into the Army, so you get that squared away, okay, for old times sake? That way all our little secrets can stay our little secrets.

  Your pal,

  Davey May 17

  Lady B--

  Well, I never thought I’d be writing you about this, although I imagined doing it with you often enough. Hell, I imagined doing it often enough. But here’s the scoop. I’m all there now, and it works. It goes up and down. I could change a tire with it. Better than that, I can do what it’s designed for. Have done it. The old in and out. Well, I am here to tell you, that’s exactly how it works. In. And out. And in. And out. And in ...

  Yeah, yeah, you know all about it. But here’s the catch, your ladyship. You don’t. You don’t know a damn thing about it. Nothing can be sole or whole that has not been rent. Now I am the king of the cats.

  And one more thing, milady. I’m glad it wasn’t you.

  Formerly yours,

  Jake Mlle.

  Christine Jorgensen

  Dover Inn

  Dover, England

  May 17, 1953

  Dear Davey,

  Good luck with staying out of the army. I hope Roy and the Senator can fix it for you, although frankly, I wouldn’t count on either of those two to find a giraffe in a broom closet.

  Meanwhile, I know you’re wondering-what happened after you left for Marseilles? How did it go? Well, it went ... and went ... and went. And was divine.

  Hard as I know it is for you to believe, my adorable little hormonal handful of horny youth, I didn’t just undergo this major surgery in order to try out some new sex positions. Not that I’m saying that would be a bad thing. After all, it’s basically why Jake had his operation, and I’m so glad that he did.

  No, there was much more to it than that, and I know you’re not the slightest bit interested in any of the rest of it. So ... it was lovely. Jake was the right man for me in so many ways. We talked, and we drank, and we took our clothes off, which was not quite the easiest thing for either of us. We felt like prepubescent kids. There was a lot of looking, and a lot of touching, gingerly at first. And when it happened, I felt somehow as though I’d been made whole, for the first time. As though for the first time that thing actually fit me.

  I don’t know that there’ll be a lot of sex in my new life. There’ll be a lot who won’t want me, and a lot who will want me for the wrong reasons, freak show reasons. And I don’t have the most active libido in the world. So these past few days may have to make up for a lot. And believe me, they will, they will.

  I woke up very early this morning. Jake was still lying asleep, on top of the covers. I looked down at him. That thing between his legs. Once it had been the symbol of everything I hated about myself, everything that made me wrong, a freak, a stranger in my own body. Then for a glorious moment in time, it had been hard and straight and a connection of love between me and, quite probably, the only person who will ever understand me. Now it was nestled peacefully where it belonged, and I said an easy goodbye to it, with a tiny kiss, and a fond goodbye to its new owner. I tiptoed out early this morning, and caught the boat train. I left a note on Jake’s pillow. It said: I’ll always love you, you old bear, and good luck in America. That’s where you’re going, whether you know it yet or not.

  Your pal and partner in crime, Christine

  14½ MacDougal Street

  New York

  May 19, 1953

  Dearest Nick,

  I wouldn’t have believed it was possible for a man to be so open and honest and vulnerable. Certainly not in Winnetka, and you know something? Not in New York, either. Men are the same all over. Except for one. One wonderful man, and it’s too wonderful to be true that he cares about me.

  I’m not a jazz singer. Not yet. But Jerry Wexler thinks I can be, with about three years of very very hard work, and practice, and study, and a lot of singing. He says I can find the practice and study in New York, but it’s a hard town to do an apprenticeship in. He’s given me a letter of introduction to a great singer and teacher named Blossom Dearie, in ... Paris!

  I can move to Paris and study and sing. And I’m sure I can find a cheap place to live. I met this friend of Jackie’s who’s working in the theater business, who just came back from studying at the Sorbonne, and she’s told me all about the cafés and museums and sitting by the Seine, eating her lunch of bread and cheese and ... if she felt especially rich some days ... a tomato. It all sounds wonderful. I can get a small place and ... unless ... Oh, Nick, write me back and tell me if you want me to come!

  Love,

  Ronnie

  Rue Catinat, Saigon

  May 19, 1953

  Dear Dad,

  Long time no write.

  I’d like to introduce myself. I feel like I’ve been through about a dozen lifetimes since we last saw each other. And now I see this column you wrote in the Paris Trib, and I can’t believe you’re the same man I fought with so much before I left home. We’ll have a lot to talk about when next we meet.

  I’m in Saigon. I can’t tell you much more than that, except to say I’m attached to the Embassy in an advisory capacity. So, in a way I’m sort of working for your old firm, right? And you’re a writer, and living in Paris. I guess we’ve kind of come full circle, haven’t we?

  I’ve become good friends with Fowler. You met him in Paris. He’s a good guy, a bit cynical and unengaged, but that’s the problem with all these old European types. The more I travel and the more I read, the more I’ve come to realize that in this world you’ve got to choose sides.

  I’ve been reading a lot of York Harding lately. (He’s actually my friend Larry Darrell, writing under a pseudonym.) Do you know his books? The Role of the West, really interesting, really profound. And some articles in Encounter.

  Anyway, I think I can do some good here, in a quiet way. The French have made a thorough botch of thi
ngs, but Vietnam can’t be allowed to fall to the Communists either. I’ve got an idea that a Third Force can be created that will act as an indigenous insurgency against both of them, and pave the way for the establishment of a truly free democracy in Southeast Asia.

  I’ve met a girl. That’s complicated too. And it involves Fowler. But that’s all for another time, when I see you.

  Affectionately,

  Alden

  Edward R. Murrow

  CBS News

  New York

  May 21, 1953

  Dear Jake,

  It’s been a couple of years since I wrote asking you to join my team for this television adventure I’ve embarked on, See It Now. Your reaction at the time, as I recall, was, “I wish goddamned television had never been invented.” Words, as you know, I have uttered myself. In fact I suspected at the time you were quoting me, in a not-so-subtle dig at this reporter’s selling of himself on an altar of tubes, wires, and breakfast cereals.

  You may not have noticed, over there in Europe, but the damned medium seems to be here to stay, and I believe it has the potential for significant importance as well as virtually unlimited triviality. I’m looking to shore up my team here at See It Now, and I’d like to have you on board, old friend. There is big game to be hunted, and this is an adventure you will not want to miss.

  You’ve been in Europe long enough, my friend. My guess is, we’re fed up with pretty much the same things, and the same people. Let’s take them on together. The danger is in America. And danger was always something you had a nose for.

  Warm Regards,

  Ed

  Jacqueline Susann

  100 Central Park West

  New York, NY

  June 15, 1953

  Dear Ronnie,

  Well, sweetie, Paris is three thousand miles from Broadway, but as long as you’re happy. If you see Coco Chanel, give her my best, and ask her if she still likes being pinched on the ... well, maybe not.

  Just make sure that guy you’re with does you right. You know how men are--they won’t buy the cow when they can get milk through the fence.