Cheever_ A Life - Blake Bailey [269]
In October, he flew first-class to Chicago—compliments of Hugh Hefner—for the Playboy International Writers’ Convocation, where he joined the likes of Sean O'Faolain, Alberto Moravia, John Kenneth Galbraith, and some sixty other Playboy contributors to discuss such topics as “Paranoia: The New Urban Life Style” and “The Future of Sex.” The gathering was so high-minded that, during parties at the Mansion, Bunnies were chaperoned by a former housemother at Vassar. Cheever availed himself of the good liquor and kept smiling. Buttonholed by an earnest young writer who asked if he'd ever altered his work to suit an editor, Cheever gravely replied, “Not since I came into my inheritance.” Richard Todd, reporting on the event for The Atlantic Monthly, noticed how Cheever “nodded elaborately in approval” when Arthur C. Clarke (of Space Odyssey fame) described a future in which offices would be obsolete: “Don't commute, communicate!” he exhorted the panel, while Cheever sent a paper airplane gliding down the table. Hef presented his guests with Playboy credit cards and VIP International Keys, but the highlight for Cheever was meeting his beloved Bellow at the Riviera Health Club. He arrived while Bellow was still on the racquetball court, and agreed to chat afterward in the steam room—an Olympian encounter that Cheever evoked six years later, while presenting Bellow with yet another award: “Saul appeared from the clouds, stark naked and wearing a copious wreath of steam. I stood in my own cloud. As we shook hands I said, as I am pleased to say tonight, that our friendship is obviously not of this world.”
And finally, in November, Cheever was invited back to the Soviet Union for Dostoevski's 150th-birthday celebration, for which he brought his younger son as companion and caretaker. The two had never been alone together for a long vacation—unchaperoned, as it were—and, looking back, Federico regarded this as perhaps the time he really “got to know [his] father.” On the flight to Moscow, they sat together for as long as it took for the seatbelt light to go off, whereupon Cheever adjourned to the back of the plane for cocktails; when he didn't return, Federico stood peering into the gloom until he spotted his father (animatedly talking) seated beside a female passenger (listening). Landing in a blizzard, they were met by old friends and interpreters, Giorgio Breitburd and Frieda Lurie, who explained that the Dostoevski festival was in Riga and that Cheever would not like it in Riga; rather they would go to Tbilisi. “[A]nd so,” Cheever later recalled, “while the speeches, concerts and parades in honor of Dostoevski raged in snowbound Riga, we swam in the rivers of southwestern Georgia and ate Homeric feasts.” The sheer quantity of food bordered on life-threatening—almost twenty courses at a single meal—but the “primary indoor sport” was drinking, and Federico