А Meeting with Carl Luce

STORYTELLER. I sat down at the bar—it was pretty crowded—and had a couple of Scotch and sodas before old Luce even showed up. I stood up when I ordered them so they could see how tall I was and all and not think I was a goddam minor. Finally old Luce showed up. Old Luce. What a guy. When I was at Whooton, the only thing he ever did, though, was give these sex talks and all, late at night when there was a bunch of guys in his room. Old Luce knew who every flit and Lesbian in the United States was. All you had to do was mention somebody—anybody—and old Luce’d tell you if he was a flit or not. Sometimes it was hard to believe, the people he said were flits and Lesbians and all, movie actors and like that. Some of the ones he said were flits were even married, for God’s sake. He said it didn’t matter if a guy was married or not. He said half the married guys in the world were flits and didn’t even know it. He said you could turn into one practically overnight, if you had all the traits and all. He used to scare the hell out of us. I kept waiting to turn into a flit or something. The funny thing about old Luce, I used to think he was sort of flitty himself, in a way. He was always saying, “Try this for size,” and then he’d goose the hell out of you while you were going down the corridor. He was a pretty intelligent guy, though. He really was.

LUCE. Can only stay a couple of minutes. Have a date.

STORYTELLER. He never said hello or anything when he met you.

LUCE. Dry Martini. Make it very dry, and no olive.

HOLDEN. Hey, I got a flit for you. At the end of the bar. Don’t look now. I been saving him for ya.

LUCE. Very funny. Same old Caulfield. When are you going to grow up?

STRYTELLER. I bored him a lot. I really did. He amused me, though. He was one of those guys that sort of amuse me a lot.

HOLDEN. How’s your sex life?

STORYTELLER. He hated you to ask him stuff like that.

LUCE. Relax. Just sit back and relax, for Chrissake

HOLDEN. I’m relaxed. How’s Columbia? Ya like it?

LUCE. Certainly I like it. If I didn’t like it I wouldn’t have gone there.

HOLDEN. What’re you majoring in? Perverts?

STORYTELLER. I was only horsing around.

LUCE. What’re you trying to be—funny?

HOLDEN. No. I’m only kidding. Listen, hey, Luce. You’re one of these intellectual guys. I need your advice. I’m in a terrific—”

LUCE. (big groan) Listen, Caulfield. If you want to sit here and have a quiet, peaceful drink and a quiet, peaceful conver—

HOLDEN. All right, all right. Relax.

STORYTELLER. You could tell he didn’t feel like discussing anything serious with me.

HOLDEN. No kidding, how’s your sex life? You still going around with that same babe you used to at Whooton? The one with the terrific—

LUCE. Good God, no.

HOLDEN. How come? What happened to her?

LUCE. I haven’t the faintest idea. For all I know, since you ask, she’s probably... (whispers, laughing)

HOLDEN. That isn’t nice. If she was decent enough to let you get sexy with her all the time, you at least shouldn’t talk about her that way.

LUCE. Oh, God! Is this going to be a typical Caulfield conversation? I want to know right now.

HOLDEN. No, but it isn’t nice anyway. If she was decent and nice enough to let you—

LUCE. Must we pursue this horrible trend of thought?

STORYTELLER. I felt like getting stinking drunk.

HOLDEN. Who’re you going around with now? You feel like telling me?

LUCE. Nobody you know.

HOLDEN. Yeah, but who? I might know her.

LUCE. Girl lives in the Village. Sculptress. If you must know.

HOLDEN. Yeah? No kidding? How old is she?

LUCE. I’ve never asked her, for God’s sake.

HOLDEN. Well, around how old?

LUCE. I should imagine she’s in her late thirties.

HOLDEN. In her late thirties? Yeah? You like that? You like ’em that old?

STORYTELLER. The reason I was asking was because he really knew quite a bit about sex and all.

LUCE. I like a mature person, if that’s what you mean. Certainly.

HOLDEN. You do? Why? No kidding, they better for sex and all?

LUCE. Listen. Let’s get one thing straight. I refuse to answer any typical Caulfield questions tonight. When in hell are you going to grow up?

STORYTELLER. I didn’t say anything for a while.

HOLDEN. Listen. How long you been going around with her, this sculpture babe?

STORYTELLER. I was really interested.

HOLDEN. Did you know her when you were at Whooton?

LUCE. Hardly. She just arrived in this country a few months ago.

HOLDEN. She did? Where’s she from?

LUCE. She happens to be from Shanghai.

HOLDEN. No kidding! She Chinese, for Chrissake?

LUCE. Obviously.

HOLDEN. No kidding! Do you like that? Her being Chinese?

LUCE. Obviously.

HOLDEN. Why? I’d be interested to know—I really would.

LUCE. I simply happen to find Eastern philo sophy more satisfactory than Western. Since you ask.

HOLDEN. You do? Wuddaya mean ‘philosophy’? Ya mean sex and all? You mean it’s better in China? That what you mean?

LUCE. Not necessarily in China, for God’s sake. The East I said. Must we go on with this inane conversation?

HOLDEN. Listen, I’m serious. No kidding. Why’s it better in the East?

LUCE. It’s too involved to go into, for God’s sake. They simply happen to regard sex as both a physical and a spiritual experience. If you think I’m—

HOLDEN. So do I! So do I regard it as a wuddayacallit—a physical and spiritual experience and all. I really do. But it depends on who the hell I’m doing it with. If I’m doing it with somebody I don’t even—

LUCE. Not so loud, for God’s sake, Caulfield. If you can’t manage to keep your voice down, let’s drop the whole—

HOLDEN. All right, but listen.

STORYTELLER. I was getting excited and I was talking a little too loud. Sometimes I talk a little loud when I get excited.

HOLDEN. This is what I mean, though. I know it’s supposed to be physical and spiritual, and artistic and all. But what I mean is, you can’t do it with everybody—every girl you neck with and all—and make it come out that way. Can you?

LUCE. Let’s drop it. Do you mind?

HOLDEN. All right, but listen. Take you and this Chinese babe. What’s so good about you two?

LUCE. Drop it, I said.

STORYTELLER. I was getting a little too personal. I realize that. But that was one of the annoying things about Luce. When we were at Whooton, he’d make you describe the most personal stuff that happened to you, but if you started asking him questions about himself, he got sore. These intellectual guys don’t like to have an intellectual conversation with you unless they’re running the whole thing. When I was at Whooton old Luce used to hate it—you really could tell he did—when after he was finished giving his sex talk to a bunch of us in his room we stuck around and chewed the fat by ourselves for a while. He always wanted everybody to go back to their own room and shut up when he was finished being the big shot. The thing he was afraid of, he was afraid somebody’d say something smarter than he had. He really amused me.

HOLDEN. Maybe I’ll go to China. My sex life is lousy.

LUCE. Naturally. Your mind is immature.

HOLDEN. It is. It really is. I know it. You know what the trouble with me is? I can never get really sexy—I mean really sexy—with a girl I don’t like a lot. Boy, it really screws up my sex life something awful. My sex life stinks.

LUCE. Naturally it does, for God’s sake. I told you the last time I saw you what you need.

HOLDEN. You mean to go to a psychoanalyst and all?

STORYTELLER. That’s what he’d told me I ought to do. His father was a psychoanalyst and all.

LUCE. It’s up to you, for God’s sake. It’s none of my goddam business what you do with your life.

HOLDEN. Supposing I went to your father and had him psychoanalyze me and all. What would he do to me? I mean what would he do to me?

LUCE. He wouldn’t do a goddam thing to you. He’d simply talk to you, and you’d talk to him, for God’s sake. For one thing, he’d help you to recognize the patterns of your mind.

HOLDEN. The what?

LUCE. The patterns of your mind. Your mind runs in— Listen. I’m not giving an elementary course in psychoanalysis. If you’re interested, call him up and make an appointment. If you’re not, don’t.

STORYTELLER. I put my hand on his shoulder. Boy, he amused me.

HOLDEN. You’re a real friendly bastard. You know that?

LUCE. (looking at his wrist watch) I have to tear. (stood up) Nice seeing you. Bartender! my check.

HOLDEN. Hey. Did your father ever psychoanalyze you?

LUCE. Me? Why do you ask?

HOLDEN. No reason. Did he, though? Has he?

LUCE. Not exactly. He’s helped me to adjust myself to a certain extent, but an extensive analysis hasn’t been necessary. Why do you ask?

HOLDEN. No reason. I was just wondering.

LUCE. Well. Take it easy. (He was leaving his tip and all and he was starting to go)

HOLDEN. Have just one more drink. Please. I’m lonesome as hell. No kidding.

LUCE. I can't. I am late now. (he left)

STORYTELLER. Old Luce. He was strictly a pain in the ass, but he certainly had a good vocabulary.