Who is Charlie Conti? (8 page)

Ray and I used to talk a lot, I guess because neither of us was mad about dancing. Like I said, he could talk beautifully, like no one you ever heard. He could’ve made a great preacher; I mean, he had the skills for it. But he had some pretty wacky ideas too. One time, when we were both drunk and sitting out by the pool, he said to me:

‘Charlie, let me warn you about women. Women are fundamentally untrustworthy.’

Well, that kind of shocked me. I still idolized my mom and, although I’d had more encounters with girls since the distant episode in Tompkins Square Park, nevertheless, I’d never got to know a girl really well. I’m not saying that I’d never slept with a girl – I had, on a couple of occasions, though it wasn’t much more than a fumbling in the dark – but I had never been really intimate with a girl. I used to wonder what it would be like to be a girl; it was a mystery. Still is, I guess. I thought I came to understand women a little better when
I started seeing Jeanine, but as it turned out I got her pretty wrong. Anyways, when I was talking to Ray I still used to think that girls were otherworldly and somehow higher creatures.

‘What I mean is this: men and women have different characteristics, yes or no?’ he asked.

‘I guess,’ I said.

‘We play down the importance of those characteristics, but they exist. Men are characterized by their lust for power, their desire to dominate, their potential for cruelty. It has been said before but it is nevertheless worth remembering: the unhappiness that has been caused throughout history is mostly due to the destructive urges of men.’

I thought of Romans and Barbarians and Mongols and Moors and Vikings and Vietnam and the KKK and I nodded in agreement. Ray said, ‘Women on the other hand are characterized by their desire to create and preserve life, and by values such as beauty, vulnerability and purity. For the most part women aren’t really like that, but that’s the ideal of femininity, yes?’

‘I guess so, but then why do you say that you don’t trust women?’ I asked.

‘I don’t trust them for the simple reason that women love men. I mean, what is there to love about men? By contrast, it makes perfect sense for men to love women. In fact, it’s noble. By doing so men try to better themselves, to come to possess by extension those qualities that they themselves lack. But women, Charlie? If they seek in men the destructive qualities which I believe we exemplify, then I am deeply suspicious of women.’

I wasn’t convinced, but another thing about Ray was that he
never gave you much time to think stuff over. His mind jumped around pretty fast.

‘You see Charlie, I think that the qualities we possess are not nearly as important as those that we wish to acquire. In fact, the qualities we possess don’t really matter very much at all. For one, I don’t think that we’re responsible for them. People are just born the way they are and there’s nothing that anyone can do about it. That’s our animal nature. It’s as pointless to blame a person for doing wrong as it is to blame a lion for attacking a man; people do things because of the way they were made.’

I took off my shoes and socks and moved to the side of the pool to dangle my feet in the water. Then I asked Ray, ‘But doesn’t a person who does wrong, I mean, doesn’t he choose to do wrong?’

‘Even if he does make that choice, he only makes it because he was put together in such a way as to make wrong choices. And a man who makes right choices was put together in such a way as to make right choices. Neither of the two is really responsible for the choice they make because neither is truly free. Choices in the material world are caused by electro-chemical processes in the brain which are determined by our genetic make-up. Our choices are the results of material processes and of the laws that govern those processes. Neither of the two men can be said to be truly free because they are both subject to the dominion of matter. And so, at the end of the day, neither is good or bad. It’s just luck.’

I vaguely remembered that Martin – my last tutor – had tried to teach me about this, so I said, ‘But if people don’t make choices to act in certain ways, then why should they be held responsible for their actions?’

Ray nodded. ‘Good question,’ he said. ‘And in fact I don’t believe that people are responsible for their actions, but I do believe in the dualism of the mind. I believe that there is one part of us which exists in the material world and operates according to its laws. That is the part that makes our choices, that guides us through life. It is the part of us that we share with animals; a part that is instinctive and Dionysiac. However, there is another side to our nature – the spiritual, the Apollonian, the angelic. In those moments when the spirit soars, unfettered by the bonds that tie us to the material world, that is when we briefly become angels. As angelic spirits we are not subject to the dominion of matter. And because our spirit is free, we are responsible for it.’

I didn’t always understand Ray but, like I said, Ray could talk.

Towards the end of the first semester, round Christmas time, Ray started bringing a few girls along on Friday nights. They were mostly in their early thirties and they pretty much all had dyed blonde hair and enormous breasts. Ray’s friends liked to get really high. I didn’t do nearly as much blow as they did but because I didn’t dance I ended up spending a lot of time with them. I wouldn’t say I got to know them well because they weren’t very talkative; I mean, they were pretty cagey about their work and also about how they knew Ray, but Ray just said they were old friends. Mostly they said they were actresses, but when I asked them what they’d been in they either replied that they were still waiting for a break, or that it was some art-house film I hadn’t heard of. I
guessed that they probably did adult entertainment and that Ray was probably into that as well. That was ok with me; I kind of respected Ray for living according to his beliefs. He didn’t believe that it made sense to call people good or bad; people were what they were, and that’s how he behaved.

There are academics and professors and so on who claim to believe some pretty weird stuff, like for example that there’s no such thing as matter and that all the things around us are just ideas in the mind of God. I read a book about it once, and I swear, it was pretty far out. But when it comes to living then the people who claim this kind of stuff end up behaving like everyone else. I don’t like that. I mean, if you really thought that a waffle was just an idea in the mind of God, then you shouldn’t eat it. It would have no nutritional value and in fact you wouldn’t need nutrition because your body would be just an idea too. I swear, if Ray really believed some weird shit like that, then I know he’d rather starve than eat a waffle, if you get what I mean. And that’s one of the things I admired about him.

But back to Ray’s girls. There were two who came regularly; Jeanine and another girl called Candice. I guess they made a bit of an effort with the dressing up, but not much. I never really thought about why they bothered coming. They did a lot of blow, that’s for sure. I got to admit, I used to think they were pretty good eye-candy. In a way I was kind of proud to have them there.

On the last Friday before Christmas Ray called me to say he had a present for me and that I should skip class, which I did. He arrived an hour later with Jeanine and with a massive Christmas tree sticking out of the back of his SUV. At the time I assumed that
the tree was the present. We spent the afternoon setting it up and also getting pretty high.

‘Charlie, you know what? Christianity gets it all wrong.’

By now I knew when Ray just wanted an audience, so I said, ‘How so?’

‘Lemme ask you this Charlie: what is the most powerful motivating force that a man can experience? I’ll tell you: it’s the feeling that you have been wronged, for instance if you have been punished for a crime you didn’t commit. That feeling creates the desire for revenge, and that desire can haunt a man in a way that nothing else can, neither lust nor jealousy nor the love of power. Now, in the history of the world, who has suffered more unjustly than anyone else?’

Remembering my Holocaust Studies course back at Belmont I replied, ‘Um, the Jews?’

Ray paused for thought, which was rare. Then he said: ‘Well, yes and no. I’m thinking specifically of Christ himself. Christ was tortured on the cross, for what? For trying to help people? For curing the sick? For sharing the message of the brotherhood of man? Imagine if you were hanging on the cross, how could you feel anything but hatred for the people who did that to you? Your desire for revenge would be all-consuming; every particle of your material being would cry out for it. And yet Christ asked for forgiveness for those who had tortured him.
Forgive them Lord, for they know not what they do
. It is not in our animal natures to love those that torture us. The significance of the crucifixion is that it demonstrates that even if every fiber of your animal self and every particle of your material nature is pointed in one
direction, nevertheless it is possible for the angelic to transcend the animal and for the spiritual to transcend the material. The crucifixion proves dualism, and dualism is what sets us apart from other animals.’

I guess I looked confused because Ray went on, ‘Ok, put it another way: in the world of matter, nature rules supreme. Nature dictates that Christ the innocent victim should hate his torturers and crave retribution. He did the opposite and in doing so he escaped the dominion of nature. I find the story of Christ inspiring because it shows that, no matter how strong and how compelling the bonds that tie us to the world of matter, they can be broken.’

Ray paused expectantly. To be honest, I had only been
half-listening
– I was trying to fix the lights on the Christmas tree. ‘Isn’t that what Christians believe?’ I ventured.

Ray had just done another line. He closed his eyes for a moment before replying: ‘No. The story of Christ is only meaningful if Christ was human just as we are. If he was human and yet he was able to transcend his animal nature in the way that he did, then we have that capacity too. However, if, as Christianity says, he was also God, well, then there is no point trying to be like him. Of course he could do things that we cannot…it’s not surprising. If Christ is divine, then the crucifixion is meaningless.’

I didn’t always get everything that Ray said, but I was pretty sure that he believed it. And he had a way of talking that made you want to agree. I guess sometimes I agreed for the sake of agreeing, because I liked feeling that we were on the same wavelength. Kind of how it is with family, I guess.

Once the tree was set up, I switched off the swimming pool’s filter system so that the water was still and the lights could reflect off it, which they did. Then, later that night, Jeanine fucked me. I’m sorry if it sounds kind of crude phrased like that, but that’s really how it was. And, because we didn’t have a lot to talk about, that’s what we spent most of the next few weeks doing. In fact Jeanine pretty much moved in, then so did Ray, but that was cool. It was nice to live with a guy I admired and a girl I was attracted to. Everyone I knew from the school had gone home for Christmas but for once I wasn’t lonely. In fact I hadn’t been so happy for years, which is pretty sad given what was about to happen.

J
EANINE
, D
ECEMBER
14, first encounter
were the last words I had written on the paper napkin. Then I drew a little upward arrow underneath the gap between
first
and
encounter
and wrote the word
sexual
above it. Looking up, I momentarily caught Stella’s eye. As the cold, bright morning light had mellowed, so had she. A little. She hadn’t smiled yet, but at least she seemed to have acknowledged my existence. I tried to guess why she was so mad at me. Maybe she thought I had hidden someplace while she locked the diner the evening before and then followed her to the strip club. I could see that would have been a little bit scary. Or maybe she didn’t want any crossover between her life as a stripper and her life as
a waitress. I could understand that too, but in a small semi-rural community it was probably kind of optimistic. Or maybe she was just embarrassed to be serving me coffee when ten hours before she’d been wiggling her ass in my face. But then, I didn’t think you’d become a stripper if you found stuff like that embarrassing.

I looked at Stella who was back behind the register and I found myself comparing her to Jeanine. If I’m honest, I guess the main reason why I stayed with Jeanine for more than a couple of weeks was because of the sex. And after that it was because everyone would stare at her when she walked into a room; at the time I was kind of proud of that. I’m not anymore. But there’s no denying she was a real head-turner. She had big breasts and good legs – at least, they were always tanned – and she wore, well, not very much. She had blonde peroxide hair which she mostly pinned up. Her face was not unattractive but it was kind of cold-looking and although I was pretty sure she’d had some surgery here and there – or maybe everywhere, I’m no expert – nevertheless, if you looked closely you could see the tiny grooves and downward angles that showed she was older than she was pretending. Though I’ve got to say, you had to get pretty close to notice and with breasts like hers, that wasn’t easy.

I sneaked another look at Stella. She was an odd choice for a stripper; or at least, she was an odd choice for a fantasy girl. Like I said before, she was pretty, there’s no doubt about that, but she was pretty in a natural way. Also, her body was kind of angular. Like when she carried a tray her forearms would point outwards from the elbow. I liked that though – it was like an invitation to get closer. And her breasts were round and firm but not really very big,
not compared to most strippers anyway. I’d seen that at the Palace of Pleasure. Her face was cute, definitely. I liked the way her lips turned out a little ways; I’d noticed that when I first saw her. Even when she thought no one was watching and her face was in repose she had a look which I guess I’d describe as mischievous.

I may be guilty of judging people by their appearances too much. Or at least of reading too much into an appearance. But sometimes I think it’s ok to do that. Like I remember this one time back in New York; it was a wet afternoon in the fall and I was walking down Lex with my tutor to meet Mikey on the corner of 50
^th
Street. I was late and it had just turned five so the drivers were changing over and there weren’t any cabs, plus it was raining pretty hard. I started looking for a bus but most of them were full too. I couldn’t see that from the outside because the windows were all steamed up, but they weren’t stopping to let people on. The next bus drove slowly past me and I saw a little circle where someone had wiped the condensation off of the window. Looking in through that circle, I saw a little old lady peering out. I’ll never forget her face, I swear. She looked more like a bird than a human. Her cheeks were sunken and her lips looked like they had been pursed so much they had now started to shrivel. Her eyes were like a bird’s too, beady and suspicious. She clasped a plastic bag in one hand and a walking stick in the other. She looked like a drawing from a cartoon, except there was nothing funny about her. She looked so unbelievably mean; not even pitiable, just mean. Thinking back now, I can’t believe that she could have been anything other than what she appeared. I mean, it’s just unimaginable that she could have been a warm, loving, generous, grandmotherly type – a real
old Italian
nonna
. Things might have happened to her to make her the way she was, but I’m not talking about that. I’m just saying that as people grow older their faces express their characters more and more. It makes sense: if you laugh a lot then over the years that gesture will become evident in the muscles and tissues and lines in your face. The same if you scowl a lot, or wear a fake smile, or whatever.

I don’t think it’s quite the same with children because their characters are still developing, and also because they are too young for those qualities which they do already possess to have left marks on their faces. If a young boy looks angelic that doesn’t mean that he necessarily is angelic. In fact, quite the opposite. Because the boy looks angelic he will find himself treated indulgently by adults, and this can have a pretty negative effect on his character. He can give free rein to his worst characteristics because he knows that most of the time he will get away with it. That’s kind of interesting because it shows the possibility of a back-to-front relationship between character and appearance. I mean, most of the time you assume that a person’s character determines their appearance, like the old bird lady on the bus who looked mean because she was mean. But I guess sometimes it’s possible for a person’s appearance to determine their character, like the angelic-looking super brat. I mean, it makes sense; if you look a certain way that’s going to affect the way that other people treat you, and the way that people treat you will then influence the way your character develops. I guess that’s human nature.

Sometimes I’m amazed that a girl who’s really hot can also have a good character. I mean, people want to be friends with hot girls
or sleep with them or whatever, even if they have shitty characters. It’s sounds kind of cynical, but it’s true. I mean, not
everyone
wants to, but there’re enough people that do for the good looking girls not to have to care about the ones that don’t. So if a girl’s really hot there’s no real need for her to have a good character. I’m not saying that people with good characters only have good characters so they can have friends and get laid and so on, though it is a factor. But luckily there are also girls who are hot
and
who have good characters.

Ray would say that’s because the good character is spiritual and the being hot is material and they’re unrelated, but I don’t buy that. To tell the truth, I don’t think that a girl can be really hot
unless
she has a good character. I mean sure, you can see a girl in a magazine or in the street or someplace and you can think she’s hot and yet she may have a shitty character; that happens. But if you spend a week with her and you get to know her and you realize she does have a shitty character, well, you’re not going to find her so hot anymore. And if you see a photo of a girl that’s kind of unflattering and you just skim over it, but then you meet her and she’s engaging and funny and mischievous, well, then I think you’re going to find her pretty attractive.

In fact, that’s one of the things I don’t like about photos. Because photos are a frozen hundredth of a second or whatever, they flatter people with faces that don’t move and on the whole those people are kind of boring. People with animated faces don’t look so good in photos because more often than not they are caught between expressions and that can look kind of freaky. It’s different in real life because our impressions of what people look like are
not snapshots. I guess they’re more like a composite built up from thousands and thousands of different expressions, like if you put lots and lots of drawings of someone’s face on a projector and then traced the projected image with a single line. I guess that’s what a good portrait painter does, in a way. And by now you should’ve realized that I look kind of freaky in photos.

At that moment the payphone beside the register rang and Stella turned around to answer it. ‘Joe’s diner, hello?’

There was a pause while she listened, then she said, ‘No, I’m sorry, he just went out. He’ll be back in five. Can I give him a message?’

Another pause. ‘Yes sir, I’ll tell him.’ Then she hung up.

‘Hey Mr Conti, Mr Charlie Conti?’ Stella called out, although I was now the only customer in the diner.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘That was Special Agent Kramer. He’s sorry, he couldn’t find your cell number but don’t worry, he’ll be here in an hour.’

She smiled mischievously at me.