Free Arkansas by David Leavitt Page A

as I watched his car disappear onto California Boulevard, I couldn’t guess whether he’d ever do it again, or do it only once again, or change his life and do it a thousand times. I knew only that during our night together, the marrow
of
identity had been touched. Whether it had been altered, however, I couldn’t say.
    A lull ensued. Spring break took most UCLA boys to a beach. With my father and Jean still in the Orient, I resorted to old habits: an hour each morning at the library, followed by Book Soup and lunch at the Mandarette Café. Then Andy was back in town for a few days between shoots; and my friend Matt Wolf from London. I got busy.
    Something like my old life claimed me.
    Naturally I was curious to find out, when spring break ended, what grade Ben had gotten on his paper; also, whether he’d bother to call and tell me what grade he’d gotten on his paper.
    When finally I heard news of the matter, however (this was early April), it wasn’t from Ben but from Eric.
    Eric and I hadn’t been in touch much lately. My suspicion was that he had a new girlfriend, the sort of thing he would never have discussed with me. So I was surprised and happy when he called me up one Sunday morning at seven and ordered me to meet him for breakfast at Ships on La Cienega.
    He was waiting in a corner booth when I got there. A placid, sleepy smile on his face, he held the menu with fingers marked by little burns. “Juggling fire?” I asked.
    â€œI got fifty bucks on Venice Beach last Sunday,” Eric said.
    â€œCongratulations.” And I sat down. His skin was porphyry-colored from the sun.
    â€œI must say, I never expected to hear from you at seven in the morning,” I said. “You’re not usually such an early riser.”
    â€œDepends on the season. Anyway, I had some news to tell you.”
    â€œTell me.”
    â€œI just thought you should know, apparently some guy you wrote for—Ben something—got caught last week.”
    â€œCaught?”
    â€œTony Younger called me. Banana waffles for two,” he added to the waitress, “and another cup of coffee. Anyway, yes. Apparently what happened was that when this guy Ben got back from spring break he found a message waiting from his history professor, the gist of which was to get over to her office hours pronto. So he went, and she basically told him that after reading his paper, and comparing it with his other papers, she’d come to the conclusion that it wasn’t his own work Too sophisticated or something. Then she gave him a choice. Either he could admit he hadn’t written the paper, in which case he’d get a C and the incident would be dropped, or he could protest, in which case he’d get an F and the whole thing brought before the honor board.”
    â€œDamn. What did he choose?”
    â€œThat’s the clincher. Apparently this Ben, this idiot, not only confessed he hadn’t written the paper, he practically got down on his knees and started begging the professor’s forgiveness. Tony’s roommate was outside the office, he heard the whole thing.” Eric shook his head in disgust. “After that he went straight to his room, packed up his things, and left. And since then—this was three days ago—no one, not even Tony, who’s one of his best friends, has heard a word from him.”
    â€œEric,” I said, “I have to ask. Did he mention me?”
    â€œAlways thinking about others, aren’t you, Dave? But no, he didn’t.”
    â€œAs if it matters. As if it makes it any less my fault.”
    â€œHey, take it easy.” The waffles arrived. “You’re too quick to blame yourself,” Eric went on, pouring syrup. “I mean, it’s not as if this Ben guy didn’t know the risks. He came to
you.
Don’t forget that. And he could have fought it. Me, I would have said”—his voice went