In Pursuit of Spenser (16 page)

The blame, of course, should be assigned to the author. Take a look at the book jacket photos for Parker and his Spenser series, especially the early ones. You see a dark-haired man, with a moustache and piercing eyes, giving out a fierce “don’t bleep with me” look. Bob had a lot of similarities with Spenser: Korean veterans, weightlifters, runners, and lovers of special women: in Bob’s case, his wife Joan. But still, he looked like someone you didn’t want to approach suddenly, or in a dark alley.

After I started my career in writing mystery fiction, I did eventually meet Parker, at Kate Mattes’ famous mystery bookstore in Cambridge (where he had helped build the
bookshelves), and I found him in a corner with a group of fans and fellow authors. He was built like a fireplug, looked strong and confident, but one other thing was quite apparent.

He was a big teddy bear!

Those dark, piercing eyes . . . when he was laughing and joking (a very common occurrence), those eyes would narrow as his elfin-cheeks rolled up and his moustache would twitch with delight. He was self-deprecating, poking fun at himself and his career, and he would gladly sign autographs for anyone who approached him. To someone who was just starting out in the field, Bob was gracious, treating me like a fellow professional. He had the bulk of a weightlifter, but he also had the bulk of a man who enjoyed fine food and fine beers.

There’s an old saying about an attractive male, “that all men want be like him, and all women want to be with him.”

That was Bob Parker. And that is also Spenser.

And the women . . . they do find Spenser so very attractive. But though Spenser is flirtatious and enjoys their attention, Susan is always, always nearby, either in his mind or in his apartment. There’s a funny bit that’s played and replayed in
Playmates
, where Spenser makes it a point to leave his office door open so he can see the beautiful paralegal from a nearby office walk by in the hallway. Sometimes he’s lucky, but other times he has visitors and the door is closed, meaning all he hears is the
click-click
of her heels as she walks by. During those moments, he sighs at the apparent injustice of it all. One afternoon Hawk comes by and Spenser finds himself irritated to see Hawk in the lawyer’s office, flirting with the paralegal. He even tries phoning the paralegal to warn her off from Hawk, to no effect.

This goes on for most of
Playmates
and then is gently and neatly wrapped up when he meets up with Susan for dinner and a lovemaking session. Afterward, this is what happens:

We lay like that for a bit, quietly. Then Susan rolled away from me and sat up without using her hands and got out of bed and walked across to the bedroom closet, where she kept a robe.
Eat your heart out, Paralegal
.

Romantic, yes, and incredibly corny. But that is Spenser. He is dedicated to one woman, a keystone throughout the entire series, even during that brief time when Spenser and Susan are separated.

But there is one woman early in Spenser’s career who definitely isn’t impressed with him, or attracted to him, or who initially wants anything to do with him. That woman is Rachel Wallace, from Parker’s sixth novel,
Looking for Rachel Wallace
. She’s a feminist lesbian author with a new book coming out who’s been subject to a number of death threats.

It is quite the pairing. I can’t quite imagine how Mike Hammer would react to protecting a feminist lesbian, and there is certainly a lot of opportunity for Spenser and his soon-to-be client to be at odds.

(An aside: Re-reading
Looking for Rachel Wallace
, just over thirty years after its publication, is an amazing lesson on how much has changed over the years. The key plot point in the book is the homophobic and ignorant reactions Rachel Wallace gets from characters throughout the novel, just because she’s a public figure who proudly informs the world she is a lesbian. Now, Massachusetts, the home turf of Spenser, has an openly gay congressman, a gay Supreme Judicial Court justice and, along with New York State and my own conservative state of New Hampshire, has gay marriage. I think Spenser would be pleased.)

When Spenser and Rachel Wallace meet, sparks fly, but not in the traditional romantic sense. Rachel grills Spenser as to his suitability of being her hired protector, especially when
she learns that he has read an earlier book of hers. The discussion then turns to the French author and feminist Simone de Beauvoir, and Spenser begins to lose patience with his new client, asking her if there’s going to be a quiz later.

Rachel says, “I wish to get some insight into your attitude toward women and women’s issues.”

To which Spenser retorts, “That’s dumb. You ought to be getting insight into how well I can shoot and how hard I can hit and how quick I can dodge. That’s what somebody is giving me two hundred a day for. My attitude toward women is irrelevant. So are my insights into
The Second Sex
.”

Rachel Wallace finally agrees to let Spenser serve as her bodyguard, with strict instructions on how he should act and dress. As the book gets underway, there are a couple of cringe-worthy scenes for fellow authors as Rachel does bookstore and library appearances for her book, where she meets up with readers who either don’t know or don’t care about her and her work. Spenser watches her in action and, as Spenser does so very well, observes everything that’s going on. We also sense that Rachel is watching him back. It’s like two prizefighters of a sort, circling around, eyeing and evaluating each other.

At one point, Spenser brings Rachel along for a dinner date with Susan Silverman. While it’s no clash of the titans, there’s an interesting dynamic in seeing a radical feminist and a feminist who loves a certain man check each other out. During this process, Spenser being Spenser, tosses off various quips and one-liners as Rachel and Susan comment about Spenser, about radical feminism, about his penchant for violence. Hilarity definitely does not ensue, as Rachel takes offense. But Susan being Susan, she provides Rachel with an explanation for the way Spenser thinks and operates.

Speaking of Susan, Spenser says:

“Maybe I shouldn’t cart her around everyplace” . . .

“Machismo,” Rachel said. “The machismo code. He’s locked into it, and he can’t explain himself, or apologize, or cry probably, or show emotion.”

“I throw up good, though. And I will in a minute.”

Wallace’s head snapped around at me. Her face was harsh and tight. Susan patted her arm. “Give him time,” she said. “He grows on you. He’s hard to classify. But he’ll look out for you. And he’ll care what happens to you. And he’ll keep you out of harm’s way.” Susan sipped her wine. “He really will,” she said to Rachel Wallace.

“And you?” Rachel said, “does he look out for you?”

“We look out for each other,” Susan said. “I’m doing it now.”

Rachel Wallace smiled, her face loosened. “Yes,” she said. “You are, aren’t you?”

Confrontation avoided, or explained, but note what else is going on during this exchange. Rachel relaxes upon seeing Spenser and Susan dealing with each other as equals. Despite Rachel’s bluff talk of machismo, she recognizes the deep affection and bond that Susan and Spenser have for each other. Rachel’s clichés of how brutish Spenser is—he can’t explain himself, apologize, cry, or show emotion—crumble under the complex reality of who Spenser is, a reality indicated by his strong female companion.

The learning process for Rachel continues soon after this dinner. A Boston-based morning television show invites her to talk about her book, and the well-dressed, well-coiffed, and brainless woman interviewer doesn’t ask her any questions about her work. Instead, there are questions about lesbian
marriage, whether lesbians should be allowed to teach children, and whether lesbians can be good role models for children.

When the interview is over—and in one last insult, a producer calls out, “Thanks a lot, Mrs. Wallace”—Spenser escorts her out of the television studio and drives away. Within a few minutes, the hard, tough, feminist, lesbian author begins sobbing.

When faced with something like this, a tough woman who starts crying after a rotten encounter with what passes for the news media, I’m not sure how some traditional PIs would react, but Spenser doesn’t hesitate:

I said, “Feel like a freak?”

She nodded.

“Don’t let them do that to you,” I said.

“A freak,” she said. Her voice was a little thick and a little unsteady, but if you didn’t see the tears, you wouldn’t be sure she was crying. “Or a monster. That’s how everyone seems to us. Do you seduce little girls? Do you carry them off for strange lesbian rites? Do you use a dildo? God. God damn. Bastards.” Her shoulders began to shake harder.

I put my right hand out toward her with palm up. We passed the business school that way—me with my hand out, her with her body shaking. Then she put her left hand in my right. I held it hard.

“Don’t let them do that to you,” I said.

She squeezed back at me and we drove the rest of the way along the Charles like that—our hands quite rigidly clamped together, her body slowly quieting down.

What a wonderful scene that is. You have two characters, a macho male PI and a radical lesbian feminist, a recipe for conflict, for confrontation, for misunderstandings. But after Rachel’s disastrous interview focusing on her sexuality and
nothing else, at a time when she is vulnerable in front of the rugged PI, the two characters are just two human beings. Period. Spenser does what he can to comfort her, and Rachel accepts the gesture.

Some macho, huh?

But it doesn’t get better for Spenser and Rachel Wallace. In fact, it gets worse. A third of the way through the novel, there is an incident where Rachel is attending a meeting of some women employees at an insurance firm in downtown Boston where, before the session even begins, the head of security for the firm arrives to prevent Rachel from talking to the employees. Spenser tells the company officials that if they touch Rachel or attempt to physically remove her, there will be consequences. But Rachel is insistent: “Spenser,” Rachel said. “I don’t want any of that. We will resist, but we will resist passively.”

By now, the astute reader knows that peaceful resistance is not part of Spenser’s vocabulary. The situation escalates. Two company officials grab Rachel and try to drag her from her chair. She goes limp, passively resisting, but Spenser cannot stand by as a passive onlooker. Threats are exchanged, punches are thrown, and the two men end up sprawled over a cafeteria counter.

Rachel looks to Spenser, says, “You stupid bastard,” and slaps him across the face. A few moments later, she says, “Back there you embodied everything I hate. Everything I have tried to prevent. Everything I have denounced—machismo, violence, that preening male arrogance that compels a man to defend any woman he’s with, regardless of her wishes and regardless of her need.”

Spenser is then fired, and when he later meets up with Susan Silverman, she listens carefully to what has gone on and quietly asks, “So why didn’t you keep out of it?”

Spenser replies by saying, “And stand there and let them drag her out?” to which Susan says, “Yes.”

Spenser’s response?

“No,” I said. “I couldn’t do that. Maybe I could have stood by, or maybe if there were a next time I could. But I couldn’t lie down and let them drag me out.”

To which Susan replies:

“No, You couldn’t. But you didn’t have to deprive Rachel of a chance for a triumph.”

This causes Spenser to pause, to reflect, and to realize that, in her own way, Rachel has her own sense of honor, her own sense of rules, as worthy as his own.

And what, exactly, drives Spenser? What are his rules? We learn it cleanly and clearly in
Promised Land
, where Spenser explains, “I try to be honorable. I know that’s embarrassing to hear. It’s embarrassing to say. But I believe most of the nonsense that Thoreau was preaching. And I have spent a long time working on getting myself to where I could do it. Where I could live life largely on my own terms.”

Following the incident in the company cafeteria is the point in the novel where Spenser realizes that, like him, Rachel Wallace is living life largely on her terms, and he respects that, even though she has slapped him and dismissed him as her bodyguard. They are both honorable people, though from vastly different backgrounds and with different definitions of honor.

When Rachel is kidnapped, even though he is no longer officially responsible for her, even though he is no longer her bodyguard, as a man of honor Spenser is compelled to search for her. Like the old knights of yore seeking to rescue a maiden in distress, once Spenser has a good idea of her location, he goes to find her.

Oh, by the way, he goes alone.

With no backup.

On foot, after a blizzard has crippled traffic and trains in
Massachusetts, with the whole commonwealth under a state of emergency.

That’s Spenser.

Rachel Wallace is successfully located and Spenser kills two men during the rescue and, even then, Rachel will remain true to her own sense of honor.

From the conclusion of
Looking for Rachel Wallace
, there’s a brief exchange between Spenser and Rachel, after he has rescued her from the kidnappers:

Rachel drank some more bourbon. “What I am trying to do,” she said, “is to thank you. And to say it as genuinely as I can. And I do thank you. I will remember as long as I live when you came into the room and got me, and I will always remember when you killed them, and I was glad, and you came and we put our arms around each other. And I will always remember that you cried.”