The Anatomy Lesson (21 page)

Chicago had sprung him from Jewish New Jersey, then fiction took over and boomeranged him right back. He wasn
’
t the first: they fled Newark, New Jersey, and Camden, Ohio, and Sauk Centre, Minnesota, and Asheville. North Carolina; they couldn
’
t stand the ignorance, the feuds, the boredom, the righteousness, the bigotry, the repetitious narrow-minded types; they couldn
’
t endure the smallness; and then they spent the rest of their lives thinking about nothing else. Of all the tens of thousands who flee, those setting the pace for the exodus are the exiles who fail to get away. Not getting away becomes their job—it
’
s what they do all day.

Of course he now wanted to become a doctor instead—to escape not only the never-ending retrospection but all the quarrels he
’
d provoked by drawing his last novel from the original quarrel. After the popular triumph of his devilish act of aggression, the penitential act of submission. Now that his parents were gone he could go ahead and make them happy: from filial outcast to Jewish internist, concluding the quarrel and the scandal. Five years down the line, he
’
d take a residency in leprosy and be forgiven by all. Like Nathan Leopold. Like Macbeth, after ordering the last innocent carcass to be dumped in a ditch, joining Amnesty International.

Won
’
t do, thought Zuckerman. No, won
’
t work. A seriously sentimental illusion. If you kill a king, kill a king—then either break down and ruin yourself or. better still, step up to be crowned. And if it
’
s lay on MacAppel, then so be it.

“
You know why I can
’
t get national distribution?
”
he said, turning to the man in the seat beside him.
“
Because my magazine isn
’
t as boring as his.
”

“
You mentioned that.
”

“
His is just an obsession with big-titted women. That and Hefner shooting off his mouth about the First Amendment. In
Lickety Split, everything
’
s
in it. I don
’
t believe in censorship
anywhere. My magazine is a mirror and we reflect it
all.
I want my readers to know that they shouldn
’
t feel self-hatred if they want to get laid, if they jerk off it doesn
’
t make them beneath contempt. And they don
’
t need Sartre to make it legit. I
’
m not gay, but we
’
re starting to run a lot of stuff on it. We help out married men who are looking for quick sex. Today most of the blow jobs are being given by guys who are married. You married?
”

“
Yes, I happen to be married. Happen to have three children.
”

“
And you didn
’
t know that?
”

“
No, I didn
’
t.
”

“
Well, you wouldn
’
t know it from
Playboy.
Not for Hefner
’
s readers, not that stuff. Not for
The Wall Street Journal
either. But in the back of movie theaters, in the washrooms of bars, outside the diners where the truck drivers stop—most of the blow jobs in America, being given right there. Sex is changing in America—people are swinging, eating pussy, women are fucking more, married men suck cocks, so
Lickety Split
reflects that. What are w
e
supposed to do—lie? I see the statistics. These are real fundamental changes. As a revolutionary it
’
s never enough for me. I feel it
’
s so slow. Still, over the last decade semen production is up in America by at least two hundred percent. Only you
’
re not going to find that out reading
Business Week.
You talk about
Playboy.
The married guy like you who looks at
Playboy,
he looks at those bunnies and the woman is inaccessible, it
’
s the girl you can never get. Fine. Beats off and gets back in bed with his wife. But in
Lickery Split,
if you look at the broads, you know you can have them for a phone call and fifty bucks. It
’
s the difference between infantile fantasy and reality.
”

“
Well.
”
replied the man beside him, turning away again to file the last of his papers.
“
I
’
ll keep my eye out for it.
”

“
You do that,
”
Zuckerman said. Yet he didn
’
t feel like stopping, not even if this guy had had it. It was starting to be real fun being the pornographer Mitton Appel. A little holiday from Zuckerman.

We
l
l, not quite—but
why
quit?
“
Know how I began
Licketv Split?
”

No reply. No. he obviously didn
’
t care to know how Appel had begun
Lickety Split.
But Nathan did.

“
I used to own a swinging club,
”
Zuckerman said.
“
Eighty-first Street. Milton
’
s Millennia. You never heard of that either.

It was a membership club. No prostitution, no one paying for sex, and there was no law they could bust me on. Consensual sex, and in New York that
’
s legal. They just harassed me to death, that
’
s all. My fire extinguisher is twelve inches off the ground and not six inches off the ground. I lose my liquor license. Suddenly there
’
s a broken main and no running water in the showers. The time wasn
’
t ripe for it, that
’
s all. Well.
I
had a manager there who
’
s now in jail for forgery. He got six years. A very sweet guy named Horowitz. Mortimer Horowitz.
”
Mortimer Horowitz was
Inquiry
’
s
editor in chief.
“
Another Jew,
”
said Zuckerman.
“
There are a lot of Jews in the business. Jews gravitate to pornography like to the rest of the media. You Jewish?
”
he asked.

“
No.
”

“
Well, most of the pornographers who arc successful arc Jews. And Catholics too. You Catholic?
”

“
Yes,
”
he said, no longer making the effort to disguise his annoyance.
“
I am Roman Catholic.
”

“
Well, a lot are Roman Catholics. Who are rebelling. Anyway, Horowitz was sort of fat
”
—indeed he was, the son of a bitch—
”
and he sweats, and I liked Horowitz. He
’
s not very deep. but he
’
s a sweet sort of schmuck. A nice man. Well, sexually Horowitz was very boastful, so I bet him a thousand dollars, somebody else bet him two thousand dollars, somebody else bet him five thousand dollars, how many orgasms he could have. He said he could come fifteen times in eighteen hours. He came fifteen times in
fourteen
hours. We had a medical student there who checked the ejaculation. He
’
d have to pull out so we could check each time. This is in a dark room at the back of Milton
’
s Millennia. 1969. He
’
s fucking a woman, then he
’
d be yelling I
’
m coming, the medical student would run over with a flashlight. and we
’
d see the come. I remember standing there and saying,
‘
This is my life, and it
’
s not perverse, it
’
s fascinating.
’
I remember thinking.
‘
When they do
The Milton Appel Story
this
’
ll be a great scene.
”
But what really got me was this fascination. I thought,
‘
We keep records about everything. Assists. Hits. Batting averages. Why not cock? Here
’
s Horowitz and this great record that should be on the front page of
The New York Times,
and nobody knows about it.
’
That was my cover story in the first issue of
Lickety Split,
Four years ago. Changed my life. Look, I wouldn
’
t
want
a magazine like
Playboy,
not if I was guaranteed five
hundred
million—
”

The plane banged down on the runway. Zuckerman was back. Chicago! But he couldn
’
t stop. What fun this was! And how long since he
’
d had any. How long before he
’
d have any again. Back to school for four more years.

“
Some guy calls the other day and says,
‘
Appel. how much would you give to publish pictures of Hugh Hefner fucking?
’
He says he can get his hands on a dozen pictures of Hefner fucking his bunnies. I told him I wouldn
’
t give him a dime.
‘
You think it
’
s news that Hugh Hefner fucks? Get me pictures of the Pope fucking—then we can do business.
’”

“
Look here,
”
said the man beside him.
“
that is quite enough!
”
and suddenly he had undone his seat belt and, though the plane was still careening down the runway, jumped across the aisle to an empty seat.
“
Sir!
”
called the stewardess.
“
Remain where you are till we reach the gate,
please.
”

Before even waiting for the luggage to appear, Zuckerman found a pay phone and called Billings Hospital. He had to feed a second dime into the phone while waiting for the secretary to find Bobby. Couldn
’
t hang up to be called back later, he told her; he was an old friend just arrived in town and he had to speak to Dr. Freytag right away.
“
Well, he
’
s stepped down the corridor.
..
”
“
Try to get him. Tell him it
’
s Nathan Zuckerman. Tell him it
’
s very important.
”

“
Zuck!
”
said Bobby, when he came to the phone.
“
Zuck, this is terrific. Where are you?
”

“
I
’
m at the airport. O
’
Hare. Just landed.
”

“
Well, great. You out here to lecture?
”

“
I
’
m out here to go back to school. As a student. I
’
m sick and tired of writing, Bob. I
’
ve made a big success and
I
made a pile of dough and I hate the whole God damn thing. I don
’
t want to do it anymore, i really want to quit. And the only thing I can think of that would satisfy me would be becoming a doctor. I want to go to medical school. I flew out to see if I can enroll in the college for the winter quarter and finish up my science requirements. Bobby, I have to see you right away. I have the applications.
I
want to sit down and talk to you and see how I can get it done. What do you make of all this? Will they have me, age forty and a scientific ignoramus? On my transcript I
’
ll show nearly straight A
’
s. And they were hard-earned A
’
s, Bob. They
’
re hard-earned 1950s A
’
s—they
’
re like 1950 dollars.
”

Bobby was laughing—Nathan had been one of their dormitory
’
s big-name late-night entert
ainers and this must be more of
the same, mini-performance over the phone whipped up for old times
’
sake. Bobby had always been the softest touch. They
’
d had to live apart in their second year because laughing was murder on Bobby
’
s asthma—out of control, it could bring on an attack. When Bobby saw Nathan heading toward him from across the quadrangle, he
’
d raise a hand and plead,
“
Don
’
t, don
’
t. I have a class.
”
Oh. it had been great fun being funny in those days. Everybody had told him he was crazy if he didn
’
t write the stuff down and get it published. So he had. Now he wanted to be a doctor.

“
Bob, can I come by to see you this afternoon?
”

I
’
m tied up till five.
”

“
Driving in will take till five.
”

“
At six I
’
ve got a meeting, Zuck.
”

“
Just for the hour then, to say hello. Look, my bag
’
s here
—
see you soon.
”

Back in Chicago and feeling exactly as he had the first time around. A new existence. This was the way to do it: defiant, resolute, fearless, instead of tentative, doubt-ridden, and perpetually dismayed. Before leaving the phone booth, rather than hazard a third Percodan in eight hours, he took a swig of vodka from his flask. Aside from the raw stinging line of pain threading down behind the right ear through the base of the neck and into the meat of the upper back, he felt relatively little serious discomfort. But that was the pain he particularly didn
’
t like. If he hadn
’
t been feeling defiant, resolute, and fearless he might even have begun to feel a little dismayed. The muscle soreness he could manage, the tenderness, the tautness, the spasm, all of that he could take, even over the long haul; but not this steadily burning thread of fire that went white-hot with the minutest bob or flick of the head. It didn
’
t always go out overnight. The previous summer he
’
d had it for nine weeks. After a twelve-day course of Bulazolidin it had subsided somewhat, but by then the Butazolidin had so badly irritated his stomach that he couldn
’
t digest anything heavier than rice pudding. Gloria baked rice pudding for him whenever she could stay for two hours. Every thirty minutes, when the timer rang in the kitchen, she
’
d jump up from the playmat and in the garter belt and heels run off to open the oven and stir the rice. After a month of Gloria
’
s rice pudding and little more, when there was still no improvement, he was sent to Mount Sinai for barium X-rays of his digestive tract. They found no hole in th
e lining anywhere along his gut,
but he was warned by the gastroenterologist never again to wash down Butazolidin with champagne. That
’
s how he
’
d done it: a bottle from the case that Marvin had sent him for his fortieth birthday, whenever Diana came by after school and he tried and failed at dictating a single page—a single paragraph. Didn
’
t see why he shouldn
’
t celebrate: his career was over, Diana
’
s was just beginning, and it was vintage Dom P
é
rignon.

He hired a limousine. A limousine would be the fastest and smoothest way in, and the driver would be there to carry his suitcase. He
’
d keep the car tilt he
’
d found a hotel for the night.

His driver turned out to be a woman, a very fair young woman, shortish, stocky, about thirty, with fine white teeth, a slender neck, and a snappy, efficient way about her that was gentlemanly in the manner of the gentleman
’
s gentleman. Her dark green worsted uniform was cut like a riding habit, and she wore high black leather boots. A blond braid hung down from the back of her cap.

‘
’
The South Side, Billings Hospital. I
’
ll be about an hour. You
’
ll wait.
”

“
Right, sir.
”

The car began to move. Back!
“
Shall I comment on the fact that you
’
re not the man I was expecting?
”

“
Up to you. sir,
”
she said with a lively, bright laugh.

“
This a sideline or this your work?
’
’

“
Oh, this is it. this is the work, all right. What about you?
”
Perky girl.

“
Pornography. I publish a magazine, I own a swinging club, and I make films. I
’
m out here to see Hugh Hefner.
”

“
Staying over at the Playboy Mansion?
”

‘
That place makes me sick. I
’
m not interested in Hefner and his entourage. That to me is like his magazine: cold and boring and elitist.
”

That he was a pornographer hadn
’
t disturbed her at all.

“
My loyalty is to the common man,
”
he told her.
“
My loyalty is to the guys on the street corner I grew up with and the guys I served with in the merchant marine. That
’
s why I
’
m in this. It
’
s the hypocrisy I can
’
t stand. The sham. The denial of our cocks. The disparity between life as I lived it on the street comer, which was sexual and jerking off and constantly thinking about pussy, and the people who say it shouldn
’
t be
l
ike that. How to get it—that was the question. That was the only question. That was the biggest question there was. It still is. It
’
s frightening it
’
s so big—and yet if you say this out loud you
’
re a monster. There
’
s
an anti-humanity there that I can
’
t stand. There
’
s a lie there that makes me sick. You understand what I mean?
”

“
I think I do, sir.
”

“
I know you do. You wouldn
’
t be driving a limousine if you didn
’
t. You
’
re like me. I don
’
t do well with discipline or authority. I don
’
t want a white line drawn that says that I can
’
t cross it. Because I
’
ll cross it. When I was a kid, whenever I got into a fistfight, most every one was because I didn
’
t want people to say no to me. It makes me crazy. The rebellious part of me says. Fuck
‘
em, no one
’
s gonna tell me what to do.
”

“
Yes. sir.
”

“
That doesn
’
t mean I
’
ve got to oppose every rule just because it
’
s there. Violence I don
’
t do. Children being exploited I find repugnant. Rape is not what I
’
m in favor of. I
’
m not into peeing and shit. There are some stories in my magazine I find disgusting.
‘
Grandma
’
s Lollypop Hour
’
—I hated that story. It was vulgar and vile and I hated it. But I got a good bright staff, and as long as they
’
re not pissing on the walls and they
’
re doing their job,
I
let them do what they want. Either they
’
re free or they
’
re not free. I
’
m not like Sulzberger at
The New York Times.
I don
’
t worry what they think up in the board rooms of corporate America. That
’
s why you don
’
t see my magazine out here. That
’
s why I can
’
t get national distribution like Hefner. That
’
s why I
’
m paying him a call. He
’
s a First Amendment absolutist? Then let him put his power where his mouth is in the state of Illinois. With me money is not the paramount issue the way it is with him. You know what is
’
.
’”

“
What?
”

“
The defiance is. The hatred is. The outrage is. The hatred is endless. The outrage is huge. What
’
s your name?
”

“
Ricky.
”

“
I
’
m Appel, Milton Appel. Rhymes with
‘
lapel
’
like in zoot suit. Everybody is so fucking serious out there about sex. Ricky
—
and there are so many fucking lies.
There
’
s
the paramount issue. When I was in school I believed in Civics class that America was special.
I
couldn
’
t understand the first time I was arrested that I was being arrested for being free. People used to say to me when I first went into sleaze, how long are they going to let you do this? That
’
s crazy. What are they letting me do? They
’
re letting me be an American. I
’
m breaking the law? I don
’
t want to sound like Hefner but
I
thought the First Amendment was the law. Didn
’
t you?
”

“
It is, Mr. Appel.
”

“
And the ACLU, do they help? They think I give freedom a bad name. Freedom
’
s
supposed
to have a bad name. What I do is what freedom
’
s about. Freedom isn
’
t making room for Hefner—it
’
s making room for
me.
For
Lickety Split
and Milton
’
s Millennia and Supercarnal Productions. I admit it, ninety percent of pornography is dull and trivial and boring. But so are the lives of most human beings, and we don
’
t te
l
l them they can
’
t exist. For most people it
’
s real reality that
’
s boring and trivial. Reality is taking a crap. Or waiting for a cab. And being stuck in the rain. Just doing nothing is real reality. Reading
Time
magazine. But when people fuck they close their eyes and fantasize about something else, something that
’
s absent, something that
’
s elusive, Well, I fight for that, and I give them that, and I think what I do is good most of the time. I look in the mirror and I feel that I
’
m not a shit. I
’
ve never sold out my people, never. I like to fly first-class to Honolulu, I like to wear a fourteen-thousand dollar watch, but I never let my money bulldoze me and manipulate me.
I
make more money than anybody who works for me because I get the grief and I get the indictments and they don
’
t. They get their rocks off, at my office, calling me an acquisitive capitalist dog—they
’
re all pro-Fidel and anti-Appel, and write graffiti on my door that their professors taught them at Harvard.
‘
The Management Sucks.
’
‘
Lickety Split
is too intellectual.
’
Anarchists from nine to five, with me footing the bill. But I don
’
t live in an anarchy. I live in a corrupt society. I
’
ve got a world of John Mitchells and Richard Nixons to face out there, plus an analyst, plus death, plus a fourth wife who
’
s talking divorce, plus a seven-year-old kid
I
don
’
t want to lay my trip on because that isn
’
t the way I want it. That
’
s not freedom for him. You follow me?
”

“
Yes, sir.
”