May We Be Forgiven

development as a person. These writings add dimensionality. I guess what I’m saying is that these could help reframe how history characterizes him. … Your father is a classic of his time, aspiring, striving, and desperate, capturing the moment where America turned, and summing up the darkness in the American soul, the change in who were pre–and post–World War II.”
    “So you think there may be a book in it?”
    “As you know, I’m not a literary scholar, but I was enthralled, I saw a side of your father that I never knew existed, a description of a hard worker who felt unappreciated and, damn it, wanted someone to notice. I was reminded of Arthur Miller’s Willy Loman.” I say “Willy Loman” and stop short—smacked down by a historical flashback. Miller was called up to the House Un-American Activities Committee, and of course Nixon played a key role on that committee. Miller refused to name names and was cited for contempt of Congress. As soon as I say Miller’s name, I’m horrified that somehow I “forgot,” which proves every idea I ever had about the importance of knowing one’s history and not forgetting. I fall silent.
    “Am I right in thinking there’s a Miller play on Broadway right now? I can’t recall which one it is, but David and I were planning to go. …”
    I sputter to restart: “There may have been a mention in The New Yorker. Anyway, the stories echo the work of some classic American authors—Sherwood Anderson, Richard Yates, Raymond Carver. … They’re not about politics as much as they are about people, about men and women. And you know what, it’s always been a narrow line between us and them—between right and left, blue and red, personal and politic—”
    She cuts me off.
    “I am not afraid of Democrats, Mr. Silver,” Julie says. “I know you have a deep affection for my father that goes beyond politics. We’re hoping something can be done with this body of work, and we’re interested in having you begin to give it a shape.” She goes on to say that she’d like my thoughts about whether or not there might be a book or two in the boxes and that she’ll arrange for further access, and reminds me to bring some identification next time, and then laughs. …
    “Clearly Wanda delivered a full report,” I say, embarrassed.
    “It’s all right,” she says. “My mother always did things like that—left the house without her purse. And we’d get these calls about a woman down at Garfinkel’s in Tenley insisting she was Mrs. Richard Nixon and trying to use the ‘house charge.’ She didn’t go out all that often on her own—usually Trish or I went with her.”
    We wrap up with Julie proposing a fee of seven thousand five hundred dollars to start and a contract that provides for either the termination or continuation dependent on a review in eight weeks.
    “Sounds good,” I say.
    “We’ll speak soon,” she says, hanging up.

    A s soon as we’re off, the phone rings again.
    “I hope you realize that I don’t give up easily,” a woman says.
    I say nothing.
    Is it Julie calling again or is it her ? I wait for another clue.
    “Are you there?” she asks. “Are you ready for me? I am ready for you … ready and waiting.”
    “We are supposed to be working on building a friendship.”
    “I don’t want to be friends,” she says. “I want you to pound my pussy, I want to come hard, fast, and frequently. I want you to do me and then do me again.”
    “Do you do this with other fellas as well or am I the lucky one?”
    “I cut back, you’re it. You and my husband.”
    “And what does he think about all this?”
    “He wants me to pretend I’m a hooker and negotiate with him for my services. He likes to pay me after the deed in front of the kids, who have no idea what he thinks is so funny. So when am I seeing you? Seriously, how about I come to your place this afternoon?”
    “Not possible.”
    “I thought you lived alone?”
    “I have animals,” I say.
    “Like what, a jealous monkey?”
    “It’s not my house, I’m just a guest here; complicated story.”
    “What about a motel?”
    “How about we meet at a diner, like for lunch or coffee.”
    “I want your cock in my hole.”
    “Look, if you keep talking to me like that we’re not going to be able to continue. …”
    “You’re kidding, right?”
    “Am I?”
    “I met you on an Internet site. If you don’t do what I want, I could claim you raped me; I still have the underwear I