A Spy by Nature - Charles Cumming [83]
‘But you still see her?’ he asks quickly, aware of an emerging contradiction. I’d forgotten that I’d lied about that.
‘Yeah. But it’s just sex now. Sex and the occasional chat. Nostalgia.’
‘If you could take her back, would you?’ he asks. ‘Go back to having a full relationship, living together and all that?’
‘Straight away.’
‘Why?’
It feels so good to be telling him even a semblance of truth. I wouldn’t be surprised if he suddenly took out a notebook and began taking shorthand.
‘This is what I truly believe,’ I tell him, and this will be my last word on the subject. ‘I believe that people spend years looking for the right person to be with. They try on different personalities, different bodies, different neuroses, until they find one that fits. I just happened to find the right girl when I was nineteen years old.’
‘That the only time you cheated on her, in Costa Rica?’
‘Yes.’
No one knows about Anna. Only Kate and Saul, and the people at CEBDO.
‘Truth?’
‘Course it’s the truth. Why? Do you ever contemplate screwing around on Katharine?’
‘Do I ever contemplate it?’ he says, examining the word for its various meanings, like a lawyer checking smallprint. Then he says ‘No’ with tremendous firmness.
‘But you think about it?’
‘Oh, sure, I think about it. Does Rose Kennedy have a black dress? Sure, I think about it. I’d been messin’ around for years before I met Kathy and it’s been hard givin’ all that up. But you know what I finally realized?’
‘No. What?’
‘I realized that there’s a lot of attractive women out there, but you can’t fuck ‘em all. It just ain’t possible. The problem with screwing around is you get yourself a taste for it. You fuck one woman, you start developing this lucky feelin’, start thinking you can fuck the next one that comes along, and the next one after that. What you have to learn is how to prefer looking at women but not touching them. You see what I’m saying? It’s like giving up cigarettes. You might love to have a smoke, the smell of the tobacco on the air, but you know it’ll kill you if you do. You can never let that filter touch your lips again. Same with women. You gotta let ‘em go.’
He takes another slug of Scotch, as if anticipating applause, and lets the alcohol sloosh and sting around his mouth.
‘It’s like gettin’ older.’ Fortner’s hand ducks down below the level of the table and he gives his balls a good, ill-disguised scratching. ‘When you’re a young kid, you think you can change the world, right? You see a problem and you can articulate it to your college friends and suddenly the world’s a much better fuckin’ place to live. But then you start gettin’ older, and you get yourself a whole new bunch of experiences. You’re aware of a lot more points of view. So now it’s not so easy sounding convinced about what you’re thinkin’ about, ‘cos you know too many of the angles. You followin’ me?’
I have been distracted by the gradual exodus of people in the pub, the clatter and wipe of closing. But I know I can drift out of the conversation and still come back in to follow Fortner’s train of thought.
‘Oh, yeah,’ I tell him. ‘That makes a lot of sense.’
‘Jeez, I’m hammered,’ he says suddenly, wiping his brow with his forearm. He had noticed that my attention was wandering. ‘We oughta be going, I guess. Hope my jacket’s still here.’
‘It should be,’ I tell him.
Both of us finish our drinks and stand up. I take my packet of cigarettes off the table and check that the lighter is still in my trousers. As we head for the exit, Fortner pulls his jacket off the hook by the bar - it’s the last one there - and flips it over his shoulder. He barks a friendly farewell to the Kiwi, who is busy emptying ashtrays into a blue plastic bucket. He looks up at us and says ‘Night guys, see y’again’ and then goes back to work.
Out on the street, a few paces up the road, Fortner turns to me.
‘Well, young man,’ he says, slapping me on the back. ‘It’s been a pleasure as always. Stay in touch. I’m gonna go home, wake up Kathy, take a fistful of aspirin and