Yes, there are some fortunate people who never feel tempted to say this, to put things right and to confess. I’m not one of them, alas, because I do have a secret that I’ll never be able to tell to a living soul, still less to those who have since died. You convince yourself that it’s only a small secret, that it doesn’t really matter and doesn’t affect your life in the least, these things happen, youthful indiscretions, things you do without thinking and that are basically insignificant, so what need is there to know them? And yet not a day passes without my remembering what I did and what happened in my youth. It isn’t and wasn’t anything very grave, I don’t think anyone was hurt, but it’s best, just in case, to keep silent, for our own sake, for mine, perhaps for the sake of my daughters and, above all, my wife. And when I tell that secret here (except that here is not reality), you will all have to keep my secret and keep silent too, you mustn’t go broadcasting it from the orient to the drooping west, making the wind your post-horse, as if it had become something trivial that belonged to you and each of you were a tongue on which rumour rides. Please, say not a word if others ask to hear my story. They will do so only to amuse themselves or to accumulate useless information, which they will forget as soon as they have indifferently scattered it further afield and a little further.
It troubled me not to be straight about things, to lurk in the shadows so to speak. I wished I could tell Van Vechten what I was after — although such were Muriel’s scruples, I didn’t know exactly what that was — and to put an end as soon as possible to this pantomime, to rid myself of his company, his presence, all of which I already found disagreeable or soon would. It wasn’t that he himself was unpleasant or didn’t try his best to be agreeable, most of my friends liked him despite the great difference in age, and he was far better received than I’d expected. When I first turned up with him in tow, they all stared at him as if he were a Martian, but it didn’t take him long to blend in — insofar as that was possible, of course — and not be seen as an intruder, a nuisance, a spy. He did his bit, he was cheerful and affable, he gave advice when asked, and my friends and acquaintances inevitably saw him as a man with experience of life, they also consulted him about their fears and anxieties — doctors have it easy in that respect, they’re always welcome everywhere. He bought many a round of drinks and that always helps one to be accepted into a group, and at the end of the night — if he lasted that long, some of the older people understandably flagged when we younger folk could still keep going for hours — he would deliver each of us to our door in his flash car, it was as if we’d suddenly acquired a chauffeur, which was very convenient, a blessing really, saving us the expense of getting a taxi or making the long walk home under the influence of whatever excesses we had indulged in during the night. Van Vechten justified taking such pains by saying that he couldn’t allow the girls to go home alone in the early hours, that one must always accompany a lady to her door, that’s how he’d been brought up, and we should take advantage of his old-fashioned ways.
I noticed that he almost never took the most logical route, never dropped us off in the most convenient order, thus avoiding having to take a circuitous route or drive unnecessarily long distances, instead he always arranged things so that the last person to be dropped off would be a girl, thus ensuring that he would be left alone with her in the car once we had all been dispatched. I was on good enough terms with most of the girls to be able to ask in a jokey way: ‘So, how did you get on with the Doctor the other night? He obviously wanted to be alone with you, and you didn’t exactly seem to mind.’ I knew that an older man would, in principle, have difficulties getting anywhere with a young woman, but I also knew that a lot of girls — at least when they’re going through a phase, as so many of them do, of going out every night, night after night — are impressed by wealth or its appearance or its symbols, and by savoir faire too, so that a man of the world often finds them easy to dazzle, especially if he’s good at laying the flattery on thick both before and afterwards. Some young women feel somehow honoured if a much older man shows interest, especially if they discover they can give him exceptional pleasure, or so he tells them: ‘No, really, I’ve never experienced anything like it in my life, and I’ve known a fair few women in my time, you know …’ I soon learned not to discount anything, the most unlikely combinations are possible. When one reaches maturity, it’s almost embarrassing to think how easy it can be to deceive youth.
Whenever I put that or a similar question to a female friend or acquaintance or ex-girlfriend (‘girlfriend’ in its widest sense, including one-night stands), I would be met with an almost serious silence and a rapid change of subject, as if something had happened on the drive home which she preferred either not to talk about or to forget altogether. And so in the end I asked him:
‘So how did it go the other night with Maru? It was pretty obvious that you wanted to be alone with her. You certainly went a hell of a long way round just to drop her off last.’
This was the first time I’d asked him this openly. Van Vechten smiled broadly, like someone amused to be found out or to be complimented on his technique, however banal. Or grateful for an opportunity to show off.
‘Was it that obvious?’
‘Well, I don’t know about the others, because they were all pretty pissed, but I’ve been aware of it for a few nights now. Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you by mentioning it when you’re driving us home. I won’t pull your leg about it. If I did, that would be an end to it. The girls would smell a rat and feel awkward and wouldn’t let themselves be left until last. Anyway, how did it go? And on other nights too. Do you ever get anywhere with them?’
He didn’t make the most of this first interrogation to boast and show off. I had not yet gained his entire confidence, the Doctor (or ‘Jorge’, as he insisted I call him, especially when we were with my friends) still wasn’t sure to what extent I was like him or not, if, that is, he was like that. He was somewhat reluctant to tell me, to respond, and he answered only vaguely.
‘Well, some nights I do and some nights I don’t. But they’re pretty good, those girls of yours, you don’t know how lucky you are. Considering the age difference, I really can’t complain.’
‘I could give you a few tips, if you like. Not that you need it, I’m sure. You can probably tell who’s likely to come across with the goods even before she does. But as in any group anywhere, some girls put it about more than others.’ I would never have used such an expression to describe the conduct of any of my friends, but Muriel had advised me to be coarse and contemptuous, and thus encourage Van Vechten to do likewise, again always assuming he was that way inclined or could be. And he certainly looked as though he could. Almost all men could if given the chance. I knew this, although I myself tended not to be.