Confidence Read online

  Jackie was saying to the big guy, “This girl, this girl I can tell has a fabulous energy. You guys have a wonderful time tonight. I took care of that last bottle of wine you had.”

  Lionel waited, ignored, for several minutes while Jackie and the big guy assured each other how terrific and cool each other was, and then Jackie wished the couple a fantastic night and went off to congratulate the chef. Lionel said he’d wait in the bar, so he went and sat down with Jennifer and Sharon and Charles Easton and Olivier and Robert Henninger. Robert Henninger said to him, “Lionel Baratelli? Yes. Wow. I went to a seminar of yours once. At York. You were speaking, anyway.”

  “Really.” Lionel stared at him and did not recognize him. “You were a student?”

  “Not in that class, no. It was my colleague’s class. David Winthrup’s class. A post-colonial class. I think they were doing your first novel. I was just sitting in.”

  “Really.” Lionel slumped in his chair a little. There were no traces of the pill left in his mouth and he still wasn’t feeling it.

  “I really enjoyed it. Your visit and the novel both.”

  “Really?” Lionel felt tired. “I haven’t heard anyone say anything like that for. Well, for some years.”

  “Really? I thought you were quite popular. With the students. It was a big hit.”

  Lionel looked at Robert Henninger again. He was perhaps a little bit familiar; one of those earnest grad students who canoes on weekends and travels in Japan. “You do post-colonial?”

  “No, theory. Contemporary poetry, theory.”

  “Got it. You came to Winthrup’s seminar just because you like my book?”

  “Sure. Yes.”

  “Extraordinary.” Lionel was aware that Jennifer was listening closely to them and looking quite a lot at Robert Henninger and smiling a little more than was usual for her. He felt a little sorry for Robert Henninger for a second, if that man was going to pursue Jennifer, but only for a second, for any reminder of people who were actually completing a PhD tended to leave him a little unsettled; he had to admit this.

  “What are you working on now?” said Robert Henninger.

  Lionel smiled. “Would you like another drink?”

  “Robert,” said Jennifer, “Do you work out?”

  Lionel went to the bar. He stood there for a while shoulder to shoulder to Edward and Guntar, who were getting a little rowdy.

  “Booze,” said Edward, slamming an empty beer bottle on the marble. “Boozey. Booze-o. Booze-oh!”

  Ravi pushed between them. “Fucking wall-to-wall pussy in here tonight. Wall-to-wall cunt. All right,” he called across the bar, “who’s going to have to deal with me now?”

  Lionel stayed with them for a second and listened as Ravi explained, within earshot of Chrissie the bartender, what kind of tits were best on women and what kind were best on strippers, and how much you could touch them or even suck on them if you were only cool about it.

  Lionel noticed that Jennifer and Robert Henninger had separated themselves from the group at the fireplace, and were sitting on two corners of an ottoman. They were not smiling. Normally, Lionel would have left them alone in this situation, but perhaps the pill was working in him, because he sat down on a chair next to them. Perhaps it was simple curiosity, or perhaps he saw something of himself in Robert Henninger and wanted to see him fail.

  The conversation he overheard was already quite heated.

  Robert Henninger was saying, “So it’s kind of a very simple exchange. You get a kind of security with a very dumb guy—”

  ”Oh, they’re not so dumb,” said Jennifer. “Not so dumb at all. You sensitive boys always think you’re smarter because you don’t have any money. I often wonder who is smarter, the sensitive clever boys who read all day long and are really proud that they can’t get a job, or the dumb boys who spend fourteen hours a day in an office studying numbers.”

  “I realize,” said Robert Henninger, “I realize that it’s not so easy to dominate the world of—”

  “What makes you think you’re so superior? Because you don’t have as much money?”

  “I don’t feel superior,” said Robert Henninger. “I don’t feel superior to anyone. I do think my life is a little more interesting, though, than it would be if I were really devoted to making a lot of money. My point is that you’re superior. To them. You are. I can tell you are. I can see the way you deal with those guys. I was watching you.”

  “That’s kind of flattering and kind of creepy,” said Jennifer.

  Lionel was openly listening to them now, and they were both aware of him and they both ignored him. Perhaps they thought he would be some kind of impartial judge, able to explain themselves to themselves. Jennifer even turned and smiled at him.

  Lionel was also aware that the young guy with the notebook, who was in an armchair now not too far from them, was staring at them all pretty intently too. For a second it was like a scene in a play.

  “It’s sweet that you care so much about my future,” Jennifer said to Robert Henninger. “But I wonder about your motivations.”

  “You are right,” said Robert Henninger. “I want to ask you out. I did ask you out. That’s why we got into this strange discussion.”

  “I would love to go out with you,” said Jennifer gently. She even put a hand on Henninger’s knee. “I’m sure we would have a lot of fun. I’m just saving us both a lot of time and effort. And maybe even some sadness.”

  “You see,” said Henninger. “You see how you talk. You’re so not like those guys.” His face was red now, and he drained his beer. “I bet you’d rather talk about poetry, to be honest.”

  “I would, yes,” she said. “I would. It just . . . if we all had all the time in the world, we’d do whatever we wanted.”

  “Well maybe if you gave those ridiculous no-money sensitive clever boys a chance, instead of thinking all the time about—”

  “Why the fuck.” She paused here, her back straight, as if to let Robert Henninger know that this was not a word she used with strangers and she wanted him to notice it. She was staring at him. He was silent. She repeated herself. “Why the fuck.” She pulled a silver case from her purse and took a cigarette from it. “Would I bother with sensitive boys?” She unwrapped her shiny legs from their skirt-splitting pose and she stood, with the unlit cigarette in her hand. “Think about it. Why would I spend six months teaching a clever boy how to have sex and what wine is and buying him clothes. And letting him teach me about movies and mathematics. And having fun romantic dates in horrendous pubs with the sticky floors, because I have to let him pay for something from time to time and it breaks my heart to see how happy it makes him to play pool in a pub with his friends in their university sweatshirts. And falling in love and pretending I don’t care that the bathrooms in pubs stink like piss. And then accidentally introducing him to some girl straight out of school, probably my assistant or something, or even some girl who’s never been to school, a waitress, or who’s maybe a stripper or something. And see him seduce her with all the skill I have taught him.” Jennifer buttoned her little jacket and put the cigarette case in her pocket. She was still holding the cigarette. She was on her way outside to smoke it. “Sensitive boys are so romantic they think they can’t be pricks. They think they’re not pricks if they’re really sensitive, or at least it makes it not so bad or something. Because they’re exploring themselves and they’re really articulate about it. Anyway. I’m going for a smoke.” She picked up the scarf on the back of the stool and she wrapped it around her bare neck and bony chest. “I don’t have time, any more. For sensitive boys.”

  Once she had gone, Lionel and Robert Henninger were silent for a moment. Sharon saw her go and quietly got up to follow her. Charles Easton and Olivier seemed to have missed the whole thing. They were talking about the Oscars.

  At length, Henninger said, “Holy fuck.”

  “Listen,” said Lionel.

  “What the fuck was that.”

  �
��Okay. Listen. It’s not you she’s mad at. You kind of pressed a button there.”

  “Holy shit. No kidding.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Lionel got up and got Chrissie to pour them two Scotches. He came back and pushed one at Henninger, who accepted it silently.

  “Was that about you?” said Henninger.

  “No, not really. I don’t think so.”

  “But you did . . . you were once. You had a thing with her.”

  “A while ago, yes,” said Lionel. “No big deal. I wasn’t for her.”

  “Christ.” Henninger exhaled with his eyes closed. “I guess everybody in here has slept with everybody else. Is that it?”

  “Pretty much, yes. Listen. You just reminded her of something she doesn’t like to think about, that’s all. And you were wasting your time with her, after all.”

  “Why? I still really truly don’t understand.”

  “She’s thirty-five. That’s all that’s about. So she’s pretty serious right now. About finding some kind of, you know. Something permanent. And she’s right. You’re too dangerous for her. Attractive is not what she needs right now.”

  “Well,” said Robert Henninger. “I guess that’s kind of flattering.”

  They drank a little Scotch.

  Then Henninger said, as if just realizing something, “You mean thirty-five is supposed to be old?”

  “She thinks it is. And to be honest, so do a lot of the guys . . . the kind of guy she’s interested in.”

  “But she’s gorgeous. She’s absolutely stunning.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “I mean, seriously, I saw her and I was knocked out.”

  “Yes. I know. It’s a complicated thing. Those guys, you have to realize those guys can have anyone they want. Models, waitresses, whatever. They’re not interested in settling down.”

  “And Jennifer is.”

  “There you go,” said Lionel. “They told me you were intelligent.”

  “Dude,” said Jackie Farbstein, standing over them. “You ready to go?” He said into his phone, “How long are you going to be there? Are we going to hook up or what?”

  “This is Jackie,” said Lionel. Robert Henninger stood up and Jackie shook his hand while he talked.

  Lionel gestured to his full drink, and Jackie put his hand over the phone and said, “We’re going to Julia’s thing. She’s got a suite at the Gladstone.”

  Lionel said, “I told Sandra I’d come home.”

  Jackie raised his eyebrows. “Dude. Julia. You’ve met Julia. You remember Julia’s friends? In a suite. It’s the tower suite, I think.”

  “I haven’t seen her all day.”

  “Dude, Sandra is a very strong woman. I think she’ll survive if you, let’s say, exercise some initiative tonight.” Into the phone, he said, “You don’t need to shower. How long is it going to take you to shower? Maybe I can help you.” Jackie put his hand over the receiver again and said, “I got her number.”

  “Whose number.”

  “The blonde. The one we were talking to.”

  “What, right now? In front of her date?”

  “How?”

  “I just asked her. He didn’t say a word.”

  “Kind of a deer in the headlights thing.”

  “I guess. Hello? So? You want me to come over and dry you off?”

  Lionel’s trousers vibrated. His phone was in his pocket. He let it buzz. He was on his way home anyway.

  Robert Henninger sat again. “This is a bizarre place.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m kind of surprised to meet you here.”

  “What about you? How did you end up here?”

  “I was at school with Easton. He invited me. He told me . . . it’s embarrassing. He told me it was a place to meet people.”

  “Women.”

  “Yes, women.”

  They both laughed.

  “But also he said it would be good for my career. I might run into people like you here.”

  Lionel nodded. “Yeah. I’m not so good for your career, really. Listen, you really don’t need this place. I don’t think it will be good for you. Women like Jennifer . . .”

  Henninger laughed. “You were interested in her.”

  “And look where it’s got me.”

  “No, but really. It’s easy for you to say. You have a girlfriend.”

  “Yes.”

  Robert Henninger’s head was swaying a little. “Well, I want one too. I’m looking for a girlfriend.” Apparently he wasn’t used to drinking much.

  “Girlfriend.” Lionel sighed. “Girlfriends are nice.”

  “See. You have a girlfriend.”

  “Yes. Wonderful woman. I live with her. It’s nice.” Lionel took a gulp of Scotch. “But.” His phone was still vibrating against his leg. It was never going to stop, like the Tell-Tale Heart. “But it’s hard.” The phone stopped vibrating. Lionel breathed out.

  “Why hard.”

  “In places like this. To have a girlfriend.”

  Henninger shrugged.

  Lionel said, “Even nice things aren’t simple.”

  “So why come here? What do these people have to talk about? That would interest you?”

  Lionel looked around for Sharon and Jennifer. They were still smoking. He could have used another half a pill. He looked back at Henninger, and said gently, as if talking to a child, “There’s more to life than talk. I eat very well. I go to lovely houses. I get free trips from time to time. And there are women who look like Jennifer. I’ve known quite a few of them. But, there you go. You’re better off out of it. As you can see. You’re not missing anything.” Lionel had finished his Scotch. He stared into it to avoid the fact that Robert Henninger was looking at him very hard.

  “So what are you working on now?”

  Lionel sat way back in his chair. “I’m not really writing any more. Except for magazine articles. Teaching a bit. I do little bits on radio. You know.”

  “That’s sad. You’re very talented.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No, seriously. I really enjoyed your stuff.”

  Lionel smiled. He looked around for Jackie.

  “No, seriously. Why quit?”

  Jackie was at the bar, signing a credit card. He was finally off the phone. Lionel stood up. “It was too difficult. I couldn’t stand the reviews. I couldn’t stand coming up with ideas. Never knowing if they were any good. I don’t have the, I don’t know. I don’t know what I don’t have.”

  “So what, you’re like their tame smart guy now?”

  Jackie was back. “Dude. Let’s go. Your friends are taken care of too.”

  “Wow,” said Robert Henninger. “That’s totally— “

  ”Don’t mention it,” said Jackie. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. We’d better get going.”

  In the lobby, Lionel and Jackie gave their tickets to the coat check girl. “I can’t come along,” said Lionel.

  “Lionel,” said Jackie, “you’re so sweet. You think you’d make a very good husband, but I don’t think you’re cut out for it. I don’t think it’s really you, taking orders to get home at a certain time.”

  Lionel put on his coat. “We didn’t say goodnight to the girls.”

  “They’re fine. Listen, I think you should just stop thinking about this. The valet guys are pulling the car up out front. Just get in it and you won’t be sorry.”

  “I’m going home.”

  “Yes, you are. As soon as you’re ready. After we drop in on the girls.”

  They were waiting for the elevator when Robert Henninger came out and stood with them. “I’m leaving too,” he said.

  “Good idea,” said Lionel. “While you still can.”

  And then the other guy came out and stood with them, the young guy with the black clothes and the slick hair, who had been writing all night. He carried his black leather notebook with him. He smiled at the other men and they all got into the elevator. It was silent all the way down. />
  There was a streetcar stop right outside. There was a Filipina lady waiting at the stop. Jackie Farbstein’s little black Carrera was waiting for them at the curb. The teenager in the green club jacket was holding the door open for Jackie. Jackie gave him twenty bucks as he slipped into the driver’s seat. The teenager went around and opened the passenger door for Lionel.

  “I really have to go home,” said Lionel.

  “Get in,” said Jackie.

  Lionel’s leg started vibrating again. “Shit,” he said aloud.

  “I’ll see you,” called Robert Henninger. He was standing at the streetcar stop.

  The young guy with the notebook was also standing there. He and Robert Henninger were buttoning their coats up. There was quite a wind coming down the street.

  Lionel’s trousers buzzed furiously. “Good night, Robert,” he said. “It was good to see you.”

  “You too,” said Henninger. “It was an interesting night.”

  Lionel winced in the wind. He held his coat together. He reached into his pocket and clasped his cellphone, as if holding it tight would stop the vibrations. He walked around the snub nose of Jackie Farbstein’s car and got in the passenger side.

  The car slid away and Lionel’s phone went silent. He looked behind him to see, through the rear window, Robert Henninger and the young guy with the notebook waiting there with the cleaning lady for the streetcar in the dark.

  That young man’s name was not actually James or William, it was Gavin. And he was in fact, as Sharon had said, related to the Northwoods, which was how he got a membership in that place, but his surname wasn’t Northwood, actually, it was Snider.

  He hadn’t, in the end, written very much tonight. The story he kept meaning to begin had been eluding him. In fact, the last thing he had written in his notebook was, Surrounded by the successful. Their ease saps mine, drains off my confidence like an infection. Then he had stopped writing.