The Pursuit of Alice Thrift Read Online Free PDF Page B

epidemiological question he wanted to ask.
    I said, “I’ve had relations, if that’s what your retreat into deep thought is about.”
    â€œI see,” said Leo.
    â€œIn college. Actually, the summer between my junior and senior years. I was a camp counselor and the boys’ camp was across the lake.”
    â€œAnd was he a counselor, too?”
    â€œAn astronomy major at MIT, or so I believed. He knew all the constellations.”
    â€œSounds romantic,” said Leo.
    I said, “Actually not. I had wondered what all the fuss was about, so I decided to experience it for myself.”
    â€œAnd?”
    I swallowed a sip of milk and blotted my mouth. “Not worth the discomfort or the embarrassment or the trip into town for the prophylactics. And to make it worse, he expected follow-up.”
    â€œMeaning?”
    â€œThat we’d do it again.”
    â€œWhat a cad,” said Leo.
    â€œI found out later he wasn’t an astronomy major at all, but studying aerospace engineering. And in a fraternity.”
    â€œDid you ever see him again?”
    I said no, never.
    â€œSo that would be . . . like five years ago?”
    I shrugged. After a pause, I wrapped the remains of my sandwich in plastic and put it in my jacket pocket.
    â€œNot that it’s any of my business,” said Leo.
    I said I had to run. Would catch him later—I had the night off so I’d do some vacuuming.
    â€œAlice?” he called when I was a few paces from him. I returned to the table.
    â€œI want to say, just for the record, as a fellow clinician, that the fuss you’ve heard about? With respect to relations? The stuff that, according to movies and books, supposedly makes the earth move and the world go round? Well—and I say this as your friend—it does.”
    I didn’t have an answer; wasn’t sure whether his statement was confessional or prescriptive.
    â€œWhat I’m getting at,” he continued, “is that you might want to give it another shot someday.”
    RAY BROUGHT HIS cousins George and Jerome, two men in leather jackets over sweaters knit in multicolored zigzags. “Missoni,” said Ray when he saw me studying them. He repeated in his introductions to everyone, “Cousins? Absolutely. But like brothers. No, better than brothers—best friends.” Or—whichever suited the race or ethnicity of the nurse he was addressing:
“Paisans.” “Confrères.”
“Homies.”
    Not to say he was ignoring me. Quite the opposite. He helped in the manner of a boyfriend of the hostess. He stomped on trash, refilled glasses, wiped up spills, chatted with the friendless, who would have been me but for the refuge offered by a kitchen and hors d’oeuvres–related tasks. Ray may have watched too many situation comedies in which suburban husbands steal time from their guests to peck the cheek of their aproned hostess/wife. I had to say repeatedly, “Why are you doing that?” disengaging him in the exact manner that my mother swatted away my father. It hardly discouraged him; if anything he was inspired to discuss what he perceived as my discomfort with/suspicion of intimacy.
    I said, “I know men have very strong drives, and I know you’ve been lonely, but I think you’re being overly familiar.”
    Happily, guests were interrupting us. Leo poked his head in every so often to remind me that there was a party going on in the other rooms and that I should leave the dishes for the morning.
    â€œLet’s go see how our guests are faring,” Ray said cheerfully.
    Leo had indeed dipped into his supply of brothers for the occasion, which was of great genetic interest to all observers. One had black hair and the fairest, pinkest skin you’d ever see on a male old enough to have facial hair; another had Leo’s build and Leo’s ruddy complexion, but an angular face and brown eyes that seemed to