Bookman's wake

“Of course it’s reasonable. But a reasonable person also knows when to stop. What’s it been now, three or four years since her book was published? Four years, and I don’t think she knows anything more today than she did then. But she’s still out there digging. Or so I hear.”

“I take it you and she are not bosom buddies.”

He smiled, struggling to mellow. “We’re certainly not enemies. It’s just her book I don’t like: I don’t like it even without the epilogue, or whatever she called the murder chapter. Who cares how many prostitutes Richard Grayson knew in Seattle, or that even poor Darryl never could keep his own pants zipped? I just don’t like that kind of business. I’m not a prude, I’m just suspicious of it. Trish will tell you she did more than three hundred interviews for her book. I say so what. How can we be certain that even Archie Moon, who was Darryl Grayson’s friend for life, was telling her the truth?”

“People usually tell the truth when they know they’re being quoted in a published record of their best friend’s life.”

“That’s what you think. You’ll pardon me if I remain a skeptic. I’m not saying Moon would lie—I just know that people do put their own spin on things. It’s human nature. How can anyone know what really went on between Grayson and Moon over a forty-year friendship, when one of them’s dead and the other might have an ax to grind? Moon’s agenda might be nothing more devious than to have Grayson viewed well by posterity. So he might not tell you something that would undercut that, even though it might well contribute to a better understanding of Grayson’s genius and how he made his books.”

“It sounds like you’re saying that Grayson’s genius had a dark side.”

“Can you imagine any genius that doesn’t? It comes with the territory, as people say these days. You’ll hardly ever find a truly brilliant man who isn’t a little sick in some way. But what difference does it make? The Graysons are of general interest only because of the books they produced. If they hadn’t done the books, they’d be nothing but a pair of swaggering cocksmen, forgotten by everybody including Ms. Trish Aandahl. Anyone can lie down with whores, but only one man could have done the Thomas Hart Benton Christmas Carol . Only one. That book was a creation , you see, and that’s what I choose to focus on. I don’t do interviews for my work, I’m not interested in what people say about the Graysons, all I want to know is what really happened. My disciplines are rigid, precise, verifiable, true. If that sounds like bragging, so be it. I don’t report rumors or pillow talk.”

He held my eyes for a long moment, then said, “You look like you disagree with everything I’ve just said.”

“I’m absorbing it.”

He poured me another cup, got a third for himself, and sat down again. “Very diplomatic, sir. But look, tell the truth—as a bookman—do you actually like biography?”

“It’s like anything else, a lot of it’s slipshod and crummy. I don’t like the Mommie Dearest crap. But I guess I believe there’s a need for biographies of people like the Graysons, done by a writer who’s a real writer, if you know what I mean. No offense to you— what you do is indispensable, but…”

“But I’m not a writer and Trish is. You won’t get any argument from me on that point. The woman is just a sorceress when it comes to words. There’s a seductive quality to her writing that hooks you by the neck and just drags you through it. Just wait till you get started reading her book—you won’t be able to leave it alone. You’ll wake up in the night thinking about Darryl and Richard Grayson, their times and the lives they led. Trish is just brilliant when it comes to conveying emotions with images and words. She could’ve been a great fiction writer, done the world a favor and left the Graysons alone.”

“What about you? Did Aandahl interview you?”

“Several times. I had to overcome a good deal of reluctance to sit still for it. In the end, I’m no better than anyone else, which only proves my point all the more. I’m a ham, Mr. Hodges. I was fascinated with her subject, with the things she was finding out, and I was flattered that she considered me an indispensable source. There’s no getting around it, I did want to know what she was doing.”

“Did she quote you accurately?”

“I didn’t give her much choice. I insisted on reviewing her material—at least the parts where I was mentioned.”

“Did you find any errors when you read it?”

“No.”

I raised an eyebrow and cocked my head slightly.

“She had a tape recorder, sir, how can you misquote someone when you record every syllable and grunt? Look, I’m not saying she isn’t a good reporter —she may very well be the greatest newspaperwoman since Nellie Bly. And if she keeps digging at it, who knows what she might uncover? Maybe she’ll prove that Richard Grayson was in league with Lee Harvey Oswald and her work will go down in history. Pardon me in the meantime if I doubt it. We’re going around in circles—I have my opinion, Trish has hers, and I’m sure you have yours. Where do you want to start?”

I didn’t know. “It’s a little like jumping into a sea. All I know about the Graysons so far is what I got from that capsule biography in your book.“

He fidgeted. “I hated to do even that much. But the requirements of the book…the publisher demanded it, it was felt that readers would want at least the essentials of their lives. So I did it, but I kept it short—only what could be absolutely verified. It’s still the part of the book that I’m least proud of.”

“That doesn’t mean you didn’t know the lurid details.”

“I know all the lurid details. I’ve read everything that’s ever been published on the Graysons. I can touch the paper a Grayson book is printed on and tell you whether it’s the regular run or one of his variants. In a sense, every book he made was a variant. Did you know that?”