Free Namedropper by Emma Forrest Page B

and he didn’t seem to mind. He even began to explain the marks as if they were notes in a diary.
    â€œThat was after a row with my manager. That was after I read
The Grapes of Wrath
for the first time. That was after I saw
Wings of Desire
. That was the other day when a taxi crashed into the side of my car.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you have a row with the driver?”
    â€œI wanted to. I was furious. But I told you, I don’t like confrontations. So I went home and I did this and then I felt a lot better.”
    The guided tour of his mutilated arm completed, he scratched his nose and gave a running commentary on the next programme.
    I couldn’t stop looking at his arm. He saw me staring but didn’t attempt to cover it.
    â€œDrew, I have to say something. A Jew would never do that to himself. We’ve been through enough pain without inflicting it on ourselves.”
    Tears pricked his eyes. “I know everyone thinks I’m Blanche, but I really want to be Stanley,” he whispered, and a fat tear trickled down his cheek. I didn’t know what to say, or what to do. I reached out to touch his hand, but he flinched like a lizard, like a cold-blooded animal.
    I was shocked. “I’m sorry, Drew, I’m not trying to, you know … I’m not trying to get off with you. I just wanted to hold your hand, because you look so unhappy.”
    â€œI don’t like being touched.”
    â€œDrew, I promise, I will never touch you.”
    He smiled and I saw all his teeth.
    I felt flustered. I’ll go out of the room for a minute, I decided, and when I come back, everything will be fine. I excused myself to go to the toilet. I washed my hands and as I did so I noticed a razor on the side of the sink. It was a ladies’ disposable razor. The protective guard had been snapped off and the blade stuck out at an angle. The white plastic stem was dotted with red. What was that in response to? The new dog-food commercial? “All right?” he fluted, as I came back into the bedroom.
    I meant to answer, “Yes, I’m all right,” but it came out, “You know, Tennessee Williams hated Jews.”
    â€œHe did?” squealed Drew, genuinely startled.
    â€œYes, probably. He was from the South. Truman Capote has an evil Jew in
The Grass Harp
. And they were great friends, weren’t they?” Drew was on tenterhooks, so I attempted to qualify my statement. “I mean, everyone hates Jews, don’t they?”
    â€œI don’t,” he chimed. “I love them.”
    I started to laugh uncontrollably, until my tummy felt likeit had thumbtacks in it. But when I raised my head to look at him, I felt strangely calm. I forgot how silly he was. Ray was such a big lunk. Drew was the tiniest man ever to have existed. A waif in sheep’s clothing. Oh God, I felt myself turning into Manny. Drew had a blob of excess mascara in the corner of his left eye. I really, really wanted to clean it off. I just wanted him to be perfect. I just didn’t want him to have conjunctivitis. And such chipped nail varnish. That’s how much he hates himself. He walks around quite happily with chipped nail varnish.
    â€œDo you have any nail polish with you?” My voice sounded very deep and ancient, like I was the chain-smoker. If I couldn’t prevent him getting an eye infection, then I was at least going to fix his fingernails.
    He hopped off the bed and rummaged in the Hello Kitty makeup bag on the dresser until he found a bottle of ruby red Helena Rubinstein. I winced when I saw it. Winona Horowitz changed her surname to Ryder. You would have thought Helena would have had the good grace to think of a nailpolish stage name. Real old ladies’ varnish. But I knew that was why he had chosen it.
    I moved his hand to the knee of my black jeans. I saw the terror in his eyes and could see what he was thinking: “Oh shit, she wants me to touch her.” I did,