Chapter
5
The light from my Pioneer Stereo Receiver illuminated her wonderful
face and beautiful breasts. We lay
together, naked, on my white wool rug in front of the space heater, partially
covered with the white, down bedspread. John
Lennon was singing Come Together.
She
asked, “How did you get mixed up with
a guy like Lyle?”
“I
was going to ask you the same question.”
She said. “I met him at Frenchy’s
discotheque. Do you know it?”
“I know where it is.”
She said, “I don’t really know
him. I’ve been having trouble with George, like I
said. I asked Lyle if he knew anywhere
I could stay tonight.”
“How did you get into this business?”
“Wow. I hate that question.”
George
Harrison began singing Something.
She said, “I ran away with him.”
“Who?”
“His name is George Duval. I found out he was playing around with other
women. I told him I was going to leave
and he beat me up. When he was drunk,
I left. I flushed $2,000 of heroin
down the toilet.”
“And he burned your clothes.”
We listened to the music in silence.
I
said, “Stay here with me.”
She didn’t say anything.
I said, “I like you.”
“I’ve got to go back to LA. I
ran away from my father and I haven’t been back for almost 2 years.”
“Do you keep in touch with him?”
“He knows I’m alive. I’ve told
him a lot of lies and every time I talk to him on the phone he begs me to
come home. He cries.” She
stopped talking and pulled the covers up over her breasts. “Lyle says you’re a genius. What’s that all about?”
“I discovered a mathematical theorem and won a big prize. The Fields Medal. It’s the Nobel Prize of mathematics.”
“I’m
impressed.”
“My grandfather taught me everything
I know. He died 3 years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I fell apart when he died and lost my interest in mathematics, completely. My grandfather’s best friend is the director
of the San Francisco Jungian Institute, and he’s been helping me.”
“I’ve read a lot of Jung. Trying
to get to the bottom of my problems I guess.”
“He wants me to become a Jungian Analyst.
I don’t want to.”
“Maybe
you could analyze me.”
“That would be easy. You’re
too pretty and too intelligent. One
or the other is bad enough but being both at the same time is impossible.”
She lifted the blanket, exposing our bodies.
She put her hand on my shoulder and traced the line of my arm to my
wrist. “Am I prettier than you?”
I didn’t know what to say.
Her
tiny voice was soft and caressing, “Women
are fat little cows, more or less agreeable to look at.” She sat up and looked down at me. Her long blond hair fell onto her breasts.
“You’re beautiful.”
I was silent.
She shook her head, tossing her hair
behind her shoulders. Her expression
became serious. “I’m a whore.”
“Most women are whores. Aren’t they?”
A puzzled smile twitched the corners of her mouth.
I said, “Do you want to talk
about it?”
She
lay back down, beside me. “Let’s talk
about you first.”
“My life's a mess.”
She pulled the blanket over us again.
“I’ll be your analyst. Talk.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Do you still do mathematics?”
“When I was at the Jungian Institute, I took graduate classes at
She stroked my hair.
“Then I went to
“Jealousy.” Her voice was high and light, and cat-like.
“They spread the rumor that my grandfather proved the theorem and used
me to publish it.”
She smiled. “Were they telling
the truth?”
“I gave a lecture to the Cal State Mathematics Department about a month
after I got there. It was about a bunch of lemmas that led up to the big theorem. About half of the professors walked out. They said it was incomprehensible gibberish.
But when the Journal of the American Mathematical Association published
the lemmas, most of them apologized and
“So what happened?”
“I didn’t go back.”
She stretched voluptuously and purred,
“We’re getting closer to the cause of your neurosis Herr Bradford. By all means, continue. Free associate.”
I put my hand on her stomach. “I
know what I want to free associate on.”
She moved my hand away. “Your
transference is getting out of hand Herr Bradford.
Please continue.”
“If you insist, Herr doctor.”
“I
do.”
“Well,
when all that was going on, I was also taking a class in philosophy from a
visiting professor from the
She
dropped her German accent. “Are you
serious?”
“I’m
serious. His students called him “Bag”
for short. He was 67 years old and
quite old fashioned. He invited me
to his house for tea on Sunday afternoons and asked me to help him with the
manuscript of a book in progress on the philosophy of Nietzsche. He wanted me to look for outdated expressions
and words, and to give him ideas on making it more readable for young philosophers. I had barely heard of Nietzsche, but I accepted.”
“Is the invitation to study at
“Probably.”
She said, “I had mathematical
ability but my father wouldn’t let me study mathematics.”
“Are you serious?”
“They wanted me to take advanced classes at UCLA.
They said I had a gift.” She
laughed. “Do you have a chess board?”
“Sure.”
“Let’s play.”
I brought my father’s chessboard from the bedroom and put it on the
rug. She set up the board.
“Candy.”
“Yes.”
“How old are you?”
“I told you. I’m seventeen.”
“Are you sure?”
She laughed, “Do you want to
see my birth certificate?”
“No.”
She put two pawns behind her back, and I chose
white. We began the Ruy
Lopez opening. We marched our pieces
through the opening, mechanically.
She said, “Finish your story. What happened to Bag?”
“He offered me $400 dollars a month to be his assistant and I didn’t
want to accept any money because I already have the Fields prize money. But he insisted. We became inseparable. He was a kind of personal tutor for me and a
grandfather all rolled into one. I
performed the duties of a general assistant and secretary.”
She moved her knight and asked, “Do
you want to play fast chess?”
“How am I going to tell my story and play fast chess at the same time?”
“You’re a genius.”
“Give me a few minutes to study the board.”
I studied the board for about a minute, and then made a very unorthodox
move. She responded almost immediately. I moved quickly and continued my story; “I immersed myself in the philosophy of Nietzsche
and practically memorized his books. I
even brought my German to fluency. He
dedicated the book to me. His twelfth
book.”
She had moved her piece while I was talking.
I looked down at the board and after a few seconds moved my bishop,
putting her king in check. She took
my bishop and, moving very quickly, we exchanged five pieces. At the end of the exchange, my king was in check.
I said, “Man, you’re good.”
“Do you concede?”
I grumbled and said, ungraciously,
“I made a very bad move off the Ruy Lopez
opening.”
“Do you want to start over?”
“No way. This is great.” I stared lasciviously at her melon breasts and
asked, “Have you ever heard of Harold
Lasker?”
“He used to blow cigar smoke in his opponents faces to make it easier
for him to win.”
“You’ve got two unfair advantages.”
She smiled. “Like Lasker
said, ‘whatever it takes.’ By the way.”
“By the way what?”
“Your time is up.”
I moved.
She put my king in check again.
I studied the board. After about
thirty seconds I announced, “I see
a checkmate for you in five moves.”
“It took you long enough.” Her
eyes flashed.
“Very impressive. Very impressive.” The tape reached She Came in Through the Bathroom Window. I reached across and tried to tweak her nipple.
She
said, “Our song is coming up next.”
There was a sharp rap on the front door.
We exchanged glances. I got
up silently and got my father’s .357 magnum from behind the speaker. I whispered,
“Get behind the couch.” I cocked
the pistol and stood with my back against the wall. I said, “Who
is it?”
There was no answer. We heard
footsteps walking away. I opened the
door slowly and silently, and stuck my head out.
A middle age woman with curlers was walking away.
A polka dot scarf covered the curlers.
She turned around. “Would you
mind turning that music down?”
“Yes. I mean ... I’m
sorry. It’s kind of loud, isn’t it?
I’ll turn it down.”
I shut the door and Candy said, “I’m
sorry to put you through this, Brad.”
“Hey, you just beat me at chess. I
like that.”
I turned down the volume of the tape deck and wound the tape forward
to Golden Slumbers. I kissed her breast. “Let’s make love.”
“Not
until you put that thing away.”
I
put the .357 behind the speaker and we made love.
Afterwards, I said, “I could get used to that.”
“What? Me beating you at chess?”
“I’ll get even with you.”
She extricated herself from my arm and moved a few feet from me. She doubled her pillow and rested her head on
it. “Finish your story about Bag. He sounds neat.”
“He was neat. But a week before Christmas, he died. He had a heart attack.”
Her eyes widened.
“I was alone in the big house. My
mother was away on a Crusade for Christ.
I used the time to meditate on his book.
He dedicated it to me.” I got
the book from the shelf and handed it to her.
“Open to the front cover and read the handwritten inscription on the
front page.”
She read,
Some cannot loosen their own chains
and can nevertheless redeem their friends.
Zarathustra.
To William Bradford.
“That’s
nice.”
“I owe him a lot. For one thing,
he introduced me to Nietzsche.”
“I don’t know anything about Nietzsche,” she said.
“Your father is a preacher, isn’t he?”
Her face took on a slightly hard, closed look.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Not
now.”
I said, very gently, “Stay here
for awhile.”
She
was silent.
I asked, “Is anything wrong?”
“No. Nothing’s wrong.”
I looked at the chessboard, “I
won’t let you out of here until I beat you.”
“I might be here a long time.”
“You’re pretty confident.”
She smiled.
I said, “You look very much
like a lady I took to baseball practice once.”
“That’s a line I’ve never heard before.”
“Would you like to go to a baseball game tomorrow?”
“Baseball season hasn’t even started!”
“How do you know when baseball season starts?”
“My father likes baseball.”
“We’re playing a practice game with
“You’re on the
“Yeah but I’ll probably have to sit on the bench.”
She said, “I have to meet someone
in
“The game starts at two.”
“I’ll try to make it.”