Page 289 - A Little Life: A Novel

laughing at or concentrating on the same lines, aware that this was the first
of Willem’s productions that the three of them hadn’t seen together, as a
group, at least once.

“So, listen,” Willem says as they move down Fifth Avenue, which is
empty of people, just bright-lit windows and stray bits of garbage twirling
in the light, soft breeze—plastic bags, puffed up with air into jellyfish, and
twists of newspaper—“I told Robin I’d talk to you about something.”
He waits. He has been conscious of not making the same mistake with
Robin and Willem that he made with Philippa and Willem—when Willem
asks him to accompany them anywhere, he makes sure that he’s cleared it

with Robin first (finally Willem had told him to stop asking, that Robin
knew how much he meant to him and she was fine with it, and if she wasn’t
fine with it, she’d have to get fine with it), and he has tried to present
himself to Robin as someone independent and not likely to move in with
them when he’s old. (He’s not sure exactly how to communicate this
message, however, and so is therefore unsure if he’s been successful or not.)

But he likes Robin—she’s a classics professor at Columbia who was hired
to serve as a consultant on the films two years ago, and she has a spiky
sense of humor that reminds him of JB, somehow.
“Okay,” says Willem, and takes a deep breath, and he steadies himself.
Oh no, he thinks. “Do you remember Robin’s friend Clara?”
“Sure,” he says. “The one I met at Clementine.”
“Yes!” says Willem, triumphantly. “That’s her!”

“God, Willem, give me some credit; it was just last week.”
“I know, I know. Well, anyway, here’s the thing—she’s interested in
you.”
He is perplexed. “What do you mean?”
“She asked Robin if you were single.” He pauses. “I told her I didn’t
think you were interested in seeing anyone, but I’d ask. So. I’m asking.”

The idea is so preposterous that it takes him a while to understand what
Willem’s saying, and when he does, he stops, and laughs, embarrassed and
disbelieving. “You’ve got to be kidding, Willem,” he says. “That’s
ridiculous.”
“Why is it ridiculous?” asks Willem, suddenly serious. “Jude, why?”
“Willem,” he says, recovering himself. “It’s very flattering. But—” He
winces and laughs again. “It’s absurd.”