Freedom [114]
“And yet we did admire them in our youth.”
“God, I love the New York subway!” Walter said as he followed Katz down to the uric uptown platform. “This is the way human beings are supposed to live. High density! High efficiency!” He cast a beneficent smile upon the weary subway riders.
It occurred to Katz to ask about Patty, but he felt too gutless to say her name. “So is this chick single, or what?” he said.
“Who, Lalitha? No. She’s had the same boyfriend since college.”
“He lives with you, too?”
“No, he’s in Nashville. He was in med school in Baltimore, and now he’s doing his internship.”
“And yet she stayed behind in Washington.”
“She’s very invested in this project,” Walter said. “And, frankly, I think the boyfriend’s on his way out. He’s very old-school Indian. He threw a huge, huge fit when she didn’t move to Nashville with him.”
“And what did you advise her?”
“I tried to get her to stand up for herself. He could have matched somewhere in Washington if he’d really wanted to. I told her she didn’t have to sacrifice everything for his career. She and I’ve got a kind of father-daughter thing. Her parents are very conservative. I think she appreciates working for somebody who believes in her and doesn’t just see her as somebody’s future wife.”
“And just so we’re clear,” Katz said, “you’re aware that she’s in love with you?”
Walter blushed. “I don’t know. Maybe a little bit. I actually think it’s more like an intellectual idealization. More father-daughter.”
“Yeah, dream on, buddy. You expect me to believe you’ve never imagined those eyes shining up at you while her head’s bobbing on your lap?”
“Jesus, no. I try not to imagine things like that. Especially not with an employee.”
“But maybe you don’t always succeed in not imagining it.”
Walter glanced around to see if anyone on the platform was listening, and lowered his voice. “Aside from everything else,” he said, “I think there’s something objectively demeaning about a woman on her knees.”
“Why don’t you try it sometime and let her be the judge of that.”
“Well, because, Richard,” Walter said, still blushing, but also laughing unpleasantly, “I happen to understand that women are wired differently than men.”
“Whatever happened to gender equality? I seem to recall that you were into that.”
“I just think, if you ever had a daughter yourself, you might see the woman’s side with a little more sympathy.”
“You’ve named my best reason for not wanting a daughter.”
“Well, if you did have one, you might let yourself recognize the actually-not-terribly-hard-to-recognize fact that very young women can get their desire and their admiration and their love for a person all mixed up, and not understand—”
“Not understand what?”
“That to the guy they’re just an object. That the guy might only be wanting to get his, you know, his, you know”—Walter’s voice dropped to a whisper—“his dick sucked by somebody young and pretty. That that might be his only interest.”
“Sorry, not computing,” Katz said. “What’s wrong with being admired? This is not computing at all.”
“I really don’t want to talk about it.”
An A train arrived, and they crowded onto it. Almost immediately, Katz saw the light of recognition in the eyes of a college-age kid standing by the opposite doors. Katz lowered his head and turned away, but the kid had the temerity to touch him on the shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he said, “but you’re the musician, right? You’re Richard Katz.”
“Perhaps not sorrier than I am,” Katz said.
“I’m not going to bother you. I just wanted to say I really love your stuff.”
“OK, thanks, man,” Katz said, his eyes on the floor.
“Especially the older stuff, which I’m just starting to get into. Reactionary Splendor? Oh, my God. It is so fucking brilliant. It’s on my iPod right now. Here, I’ll show you.”
“That’s OK. I believe you.”
“Oh, sure, no, of course. Of course. I’m sorry to bother you. I’m just a huge fan.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Walter was following this exchange with a facial expression as ancient as the college parties that he’d been