chaos is god’s body; order is the devil’s chains. john updike, rabbit redux.

the only writer to have won the pulitzer twice. i feel for him the way i feel about pornstars, a mix of disgust + esteem. yes, he represented the wasp establishment and that’s always a bore, but everyone needs a niche and i can hardly begrudge him more than i begrudge chang-rae lee or the inimitable toni morrison.

dead now, lung cancer, age 76. he was a giant of american literature who penned some ridiculously beautiful lines. play golf? i don’t, but isn’t this magnifique:

It recedes along a line straight as a ruler-edge. Stricken; sphere, star, speck. It hesitates and Rabbit thinks it will die, but he’s fooled, for the ball makes its hesitation the ground of a final leap: with a kind of visible sob takes a last bite of space before vanishing in falling. ‘That’s it,’ he cries, and turning to Eccles with a grin of aggrandisement, repeats: ‘That’s it.’ ”

i was surprised at how distraught i was when i read about his death yesterday. again, i tried to fake-cry, no such luck. nothing reaches me, everything amuses me.

that said, i’m not going to clear the cfo’s sullied name. only some clarification: when he told me his wife was not beautiful, he said it not disparagingly but matter-of-factly, as if this was not a necessary characteristic in a spouse. he chose utility over beauty. ignoble but practical and the exact opposite of me. i stayed with the doctor for 4 years because i never tired of looking at his face—is this more acceptable?

for all intents and purposes, i think his marriage is sound. he professes to love his wife, okay. i don’t really care to delve into what love obligates us to do. the fact of the matter is, despite all the novels i’ve read about marriages, good and bad, i have no idea how it is to be in one for 25 years. he has raised three kids, two of them at stanford, and one on the cusp of college, none of them drug addicts or sexual deviants (like me)–check, pretty good. i asked him if he had a golden life and he said yes, without hesitation. 

yesterday, he was in boston meeting potential clients. in the afternoon, he came into nyc, dinner with a long-time client in midtown. he texted and emailed me throughout the day, telling me about his train ride or how he missed me. in the afternoon, he asked if he could see me after dinner, for drinks. i met him at cibar, and yes that was me on the couch, my limbs in all his crevices. he met my friend b., who is beautiful, composed and successful— a good representation. she is a consultant, on site at a hospital and he asked if she knew the ceo, a friend of his. when he said this, i turned to him (i was drunk), and told him to quit showing off. i think he laughed, i think he kissed me.

he wanted to make sure that i got home safely, so he took a cab with me to brooklyn even though it was already late. in the cab, we made out furiously and finally, so cautiously, his hand moved underneath the seam of pants and lightly cupped my ass. we arrived at my apartment, and i expected him to take the cab straight to grand central but then he turned to me and said, rapidly almost embarassed, “do you want me to come in?”

i really didn’t think we would sleep together last night, i thought that it would have required more planning. but we stumbled in, he glanced around and then removed his clothes, touched my breasts and sighed in relief. he paid homage (i.e. ate me out) for a long time and then we had furious, eager sex. afterwards, i lay next to him and his hand stroked the length of body. he told me he loved me. that i was beautiful, that i was perfect.

but don’t think me a fool:

i don’t find her dumb. i find her—unsure of herself. she wants what every normal chick wants. to be helen of troy. there’ve been hours when i gave her some of that.

john updike, rabbit redux. rest in peace.