Everything, he said.
No, you’re wrong, she replied, it makes no difference, and if you don’t understand what I’m saying to you now, then you’re not the person I thought you were.
Ferguson was fighting back tears on the other end of the line.
We weren’t going to last much longer, Evie continued, and maybe I was a fool to drag you into this pregnancy talk, but damnit, Archie, I’ve given you everything I have, and at least you owe me the decency of saying good-bye to me in person.
I can’t, Ferguson said. If I came to see you, I’d break down and cry, and I don’t want you to see me cry.
Would that be so terrible?
It would be for me. Worse than anything.
Grow up, Archie. Try acting like a man.
I am trying.
Not hard enough.
I’ll try harder, I promise. The important thing is that I’ll never stop loving you.
You already have. You’re so sick of us, you don’t even want to look at me anymore.
That’s not true.
Stop lying, please. And while you’re at it, Archie, please, from the bottom of my heart, go fuck yourself, too.
ON WEDNESDAY, MAY twenty-fifth, two weeks after that hellish conversation with Evie, Noah called with the news that Billy Best wanted to publish Mulligan’s Travels. Ferguson and Billy talked on the twenty-fifth and arranged to meet each other on Saturday, the twenty-eighth, and consequently Ferguson did not remain in Princeton that weekend to study for finals with Howard as he had planned but went to New York on Friday as usual, but having told his grandfather he would not be coming that weekend, and then having forgotten to tell his grandfather that in fact he would be coming, he caught his grandfather by surprise, and the surprise he caused his grandfather was only one one-hundredth as big as the surprise he caused himself.
As far as he knew, he was the only other person who had a key to the apartment. Now that he and Evie were quits, Ferguson had come back twice for solo weekend stays in his grandfather’s spare bedroom, and on both of those Friday afternoons he had let himself into a quiet apartment, walking in to discover his grandfather sitting on the sofa in the living room reading the sports pages of the Post, but this time when he slipped the key into the lock and opened the door, he heard voices coming from the living room, perhaps two or three voices, he couldn’t tell how many, but none of them his grandfather’s voice, and once he was inside the first thing he heard distinctly was a man’s voice saying, That’s right, Al, put your cock in her now, and then another man’s voice was saying, And just when he does that, Georgia, remember to take hold of Ed’s hard-on and put it in your mouth.
There was a short hallway between the front door and the entrance to the living room, and as Ferguson tiptoed past the closed door of the spare bedroom to his right and then past the narrow galley kitchen that was also to his right, he came to the end of the wall and was standing at the edge of the living room, and what he saw in there was his grandfather sitting next to a man operating a sixteen-millimeter camera, three light stands burning brightly at what must have been a thousand watts each, another man in the middle of the room with a clipboard under his arm, and three naked people on the sofa, a woman and two men, a dead-eyed woman of about thirty with bleached-blond hair, large breasts, and a flaccid, protruding stomach, and two nearly indistinguishable men (perhaps twins), chunky, hairy beasts with tumescent cocks and woolly butts carrying out the instructions of the director and the cameraman.
Ferguson’s grandfather was smiling. That was the most jarring element in the whole sordid picture — the smile on his grandfather’s face as the old man watched the woman and the two men sucking and fucking on the sofa.
The director was the first one who saw him, a small young punk in his mid-twenties wearing jeans and a gray sweatshirt, the one who had been talking through the action because they weren’t recording sound, which no doubt would be added in later as a series of histrionic moans and groans during the postproduction of this cheapest of cheap cinematic endeavors, and when the young director spotted Ferguson standing in the hall just outside the living room, he said: Who the hell are you?
No, Ferguson said, who the hell are you, and what do you think you’re doing?
Archie! his grandfather yelled out, as the smile vanished and turned into a look of fear. You told me you weren’t coming this weekend!
Well, I changed my plans, Ferguson said, and now I think these people should get their asses out of this apartment.
Calm down, sport, the director said. Mr. Adler is our producer. He’s the one who invited us here, and we’re not leaving until we finish shooting the film.
I’m sorry, Ferguson said, as he walked over to the naked people on the couch, but the fun is over for today. Put on your clothes and get out.
As he reached for the woman’s hand to pull her up and get her on her way, the director rushed toward him from behind and wrapped his arms around Ferguson’s torso, pinning his arms against his sides. One of the naked twins then jumped up from the sofa and threw his right fist into Ferguson’s stomach, a painful jab that so incensed the embattled Ferguson that he broke free of the small director and tossed him to the floor. The woman said: For crying out loud, you assholes. Stop this shit and let’s get on with it.
Before it could develop into a genuine brawl, Ferguson’s grandfather stepped in and said to the director, Too bad, Adam, but I think we should call it a day. This boy is my grandson, and I need to have a word with him. Call me tomorrow and we’ll figure out the next step.
Within ten minutes, the director, the cameraman, and the three actors were gone. Ferguson and his grandfather were in the kitchen by then, sitting across from each other at opposite ends of the table, and the moment Ferguson heard the door bang shut, he said: You stupid old man. I’m so disgusted with you, I don’t ever want to see you again.
His grandfather wiped his eyes with a handkerchief and looked down at the table. The girls mustn’t know, he said, meaning his two daughters. If they ever found out, it would kill them.
You mean it would kill you, his grandson said.
Don’t say a word, Archie. Promise me that.
Ferguson, who had never even considered telling his mother or Aunt Mildred what he had seen that day, refused to make any promises, even though he knew he would never tell anyone.
I’m so lonely, his grandfather said. All I wanted was a little fun.
Some fun. Throwing your money into a third-rate porn flick. What’s wrong with you, anyway?
It’s harmless. No one gets hurt. Everyone has a good time. What’s wrong with that?
If you need to ask that question, then you’re beyond hope.
You’re so hard, Archie. How did you ever get to be so hard?
Not hard. Just shocked, and a little sick to my stomach.