A Ship Made of Paper

Kate notices a familiar face on theTV above the bar—it’s a flushed, balding, stocky man who looks like a sinister presence in a German Ex-pressionist painting.His name is Otto Fisher and he is one ofthe net-works’main correspondents at the Simpson trial.What’s he doing onTV on a Saturday?

“Shhh,”Kate says to Daniel, Erick, and Christine.They look at theTV and Christine lets out a little groan ofdispleasure.“Bartender?”Kate calls out.“Would you turn the volume up? Please.”

Otto Fisher is standing in front ofthe courthouse in LosAngeles, looking hot and displaced in his dark suit with the bright-blue sky behind him.He has gotten word that one ofthe lawyers defending Simpson is threatening to quit the so-called DreamTeam because he is objecting to the strategy ofplaying the so-called Race Card.The lawyer is quoted as saying,“As this trial has proceeded, it has become more and more about politics—especially the politics ofrace—and less and less about the let-ter ofthe law.I believe in Mr.Simpson’s innocence, but I also believe in the law…”

“That motherfucker,”Kate says, shaking her head.“He believes in the law like he believes in the tooth fairy.”She picks up her martini, discovers it empty.“He spends months helping to drag prosecution witnesses through the slime, and then suddenly he’s too delicate to stay on the case?”

“I’ve never seen such a fuss made over a trial in all my life,”Erick says.

”That glorified ambulance chaser is leaving because he knows O.J.’s going to be found guilty,”says Kate.“Mark my words.He’s covering his own fat ass.And he hates the new DNA guy, there’s total conflict be-tween them.”

“You seem to know a great deal about the personalities involved,”

Erick says.

“Oh, forget it.I’m totally addicted to this trial.”

“I wonder why.”

“You wonder why?”Kate says.“The man killed his wife.”

“Probably, but who knows?”

“He killed his wife.”

“Well, surely he’s not the first man in history to commit such a crime.Why all the attention this time?”Erick says.

“Yes, I wonder,”says Christine.

”That’s ridiculous,”says Kate.“He’s rich, he’s famous, he’s greatlooking, and he killed his wife.Why wouldn’t the world pay attention?”

“You don’t think it has anything to do with the fact that he’s a man of color married to a white woman?”asks Erick.

“You know,”Kate says,“ifmen ofcolor murder their white wives, it’s still against the law.”

Erick is about to say something but stops himself and instead emits a breathy, contemptuous laugh.

“What about you, Daniel?”Christine asks.“Didn’t you say you were a lawyer?”

“I’m glad I’m not on the jury,”Daniel says.“I find myselfthinking one thing one day and another the next.I was a huge fan ofO.J.’s when he was playing ball.”

“No, you weren’t,”says Kate.This is mutiny, out-and-out betrayal.

Daniel seems to her to be actually making things up.“You don’t give a shit about sports.”

Erick places a twenty-dollar bill on his check and then stands up so abruptly he almost tips his table over.“I think it’s time for dinner, Chrissy,”he says in a tight, enraged voice.He makes a brisk Prussian nod in Daniel’s direction and says,“Good evening, Daniel.”

Daniel starts to stand up, but Erick gestures for him to remain seated.Christine gathers her purse and her angora shawl and in a few moments the two ofthem are gone.

“My God,”Daniel says, shaking his head.He is visibly upset.“How did that happen?”

“I will quote Czeslaw Milosz,”Kate says.“‘In a room where people unanimously maintain a conspiracy ofsilence, one word oftruth sounds like a pistol shot.’”

“Is that what that was?The overwhelming sound oftruth?”

His eyes look reptilian and blank as he says this, and Kate thinks,I

have my work cut out for me.

They leave the bar with the vague thought ofgoing on to dinner, not because either ofthem is hungry but because it is dark now and it just seems time.As they make their way toward the dining room, Kate takes Daniel’s arm and says, in a kind ofhaunted-house scared voice,“What if they’rehaving dinner now, too?”What she hopes for is that Daniel will shudder, too, and they’ll be bonded by their wish to see no more ofEr-ick and Christine, and that, further along, the story ofthe old black de-tective and his dumpy young white wife will become a part oftheir own lovers’folklore, taking its place in that shared history ofmishaps and faux pas that constitute the fabric ofall enduring relationships.

But Daniel is not amused.He stops short and then says,“You’re right, we can’t go in there.So?What do you propose?”

What she proposes is they go back to their room.“It’s too early to eat,”she says.“In the old days we never had dinner before nine o’clock, sometimes we’d eat at midnight.”

“That was in NewYork.Ifwe wait too long out here, we’re going to end up with a bag ofchips from some Seven-Eleven.”

“Well, at least let’s wait until nine, or even eight-thirty.”She wants to get him into their room.It’s time for her to be abject, it’s time for her to worship him, to go through all the phallocentric rituals.She tugs at him, she hopes it feels playful to him but she wonders ifperhaps she’s pulling a little too hard.Everything’s a notch or two off, he’s really mak-ing her work for this, he’s putting her through the mill, and once she wins him back he will have to be punished for this, not severely, not even so he will know he is being punished, but he will suffer nevertheless.As God is my witness, I will never be humble again.

Room301.Now that they are back in their old room, it occurs to Kate that this four-poster bed with its dourYankee spread and foam rub-ber pillows is hardly a monument to ecstasy.That first night together had been awkward, tense, a bit ofa botch.We accomplished it but we weren’t very accomplishedis how she described it to a friend.There’s a lot to be said for establishing a friendship before sex, there’s a sweetness to it and even a possible synergy, but in their particular case all ofthose hours ofcon-versation and chastity were not so much a prelude to sex as an alterna-tive.She and Daniel had already established routines that had nothing to do with sex, they had learned to be relaxed with each other, they had de-veloped a sense ofsafety, and as wonderful as those things were, they had very little to do with the fierceness and desire, the mindlessness and abandon oferotic joy.Their friendship cast a pall over their lovemaking.

The friendship needed not only to be overcome but jeopardized, re-nounced.

“Remember our first night here?”Kate says, sitting on the edge ofthe bed, patting the mattress and inviting him to join her.“We were so shy.”

“Yes,”Daniel says.“I remember it well.”His back is to her, he is standing at the window, looking out at the town’s main street.A truck is go-ing by, the sound ofits grinding gears like the roar ofa lion.Workmen have set up ladders and they are braiding Christmas lights around the poles ofthe streetlights and through the branches ofthe maple trees.

“Don’t you want to sit next to me?”Kate says.She means for this to sound teasing, and that slightly pleading tone ofvoice is meant as a kind ofsend-up ofthe whole notion ofa woman trying to get a man’s atten-tion, but the satire is leaden.It’s too true to be amusing.

“You were really weird with the people down there,”Daniel says.

”I know, it’s fine.They’re offsomewhere circling the wagons.”

“I don’t know why you did that,”Daniel says, shaking his head.

”Why were you so interested in them?”Kate asks.She can’t help her-

self, the self-righteousness in his voice offends her.“Because they’re an interracialcouple?”

“My God, listen to you,”Daniel says.The dull sheen seems to be lifting from his eyes, he is coming alive suddenly.“You really have a prob-lem with it.You feeling a little racist in your old age?”

“My old age? How fucking dare you.”

“You see?You’re more worried about your age than you are about being called racist.”

“Well, my dear, the fact is that Iamgetting older, so I’m sensitive to it.And the fact also is that I amnotracist, so I’m not sensitive to that.