The Rachel Papers by Martin Amis Read Free Book Online Page B

side. The "correct" side.'
    'What?'
    Hangup?
    No. Get flash.
    'Er, listen, forget it, forget it. Say, are you going to be there tomorrow afternoon? Fine, then why don't I pick you up when they close, which is what? four-thirty? ... Four? So okay. I'll come pick you up and we could maybe have some tea together.'
    There was a pause. My armpits hummed. 'What do you say?'
    Normally I would have given an easy-refusal clause, such as 'unless of course you're working', or have fixed on a day further ahead which she could plausibly be evasive about. But I wanted another chance. All the homework I had done on her. Then she spoke.
    'All right ...Why not.'
    Why not. She would probably insist on paying for her own tea. 'I haven't a clue why not. You'll be there at four, right?'
    'Yes, and —'
    'Right. See you then.' I slammed down the telephone and stood there tensed, almost crouching. How had my final abruptness gone down ? Applying Norman's Law, what would I feel if someone had just said that to me ? Stand the rude little oaf up, obviously. But you never knew.

    Noon, Tuesday. I lay immobile in the bath, like a dirty old alligator - not washing, just steaming and planning.
    What clothes would I wear? Blue madras shirt, black boots, and the old black cord suit with those touching leather elbow-patches. What persona would I wear? On the two occasions I had seen her last August I underwent several complete identity-reorganizations, settling finally somewhere between the pained, laconic, inscrutable type and the knowing, garrulous, cynical, laugh a minute, yet something demonic about him, something nihilistic, muted death-wish type. Revamp those, or start again?
    Why couldn't Rachel be a little more specific about the type of person she was? Goodness knew; if she were a hippie I'd talk to her about her drug experiences, the zodiac, tarot cards. If she were left-wing I'd look miserable, hate Greece, and eat baked beans straight from the tin. If she were the sporty type I'd play her at... chess and backgammon and things. No, don't tell me she's the very girl to show me what egotistical folly it is to compartmentalize people in this sad way; don't tell me she's going to sort me out, take me on, supply the cognitio and comic resolution. I couldn't bear it.
    Now I began to wash, laundering my orifices; they went all to hell if not scrupulously maintained. The works: from undergrowth nose to foamy navel - the works. Of course, I thought jovially, I know very well that my worries about this body conking out on me are pure anxiety (again, just something to take an interest in) - yes, quite - but knowing it was anxiety didn't make me feel less anxious.
    With comb and fingertips I styled my pubic hairs. It was a good idea to spruce myself up for Rachel, the reason being that one honestly did never know. One night last July: at 10.5, in Belsize Park tube station, a girl was telling me to go away before she called the police; at 10.17 I was lying on the floor -between untouched cups of still quite hot tea - helping her off with her greasy panties. Admittedly the girl was quite hideous, had smelled unclothed of open wounds and graveyards, etc., but you still never knew. It was a theory of Geoffrey's that pretty girls liked sex more than rough ones. Take Gloria, whom I had seen only yesterday. What an excellent time I was having in London. Oxford seemed years away, like childhood.
    I bundled myself up in some towels and ran on tiptoe to my room and crouched, shivering, in front of the fire: all things Dr Miller had told me to avoid doing. There was a bathroom next door that was at present too filthy to use. I could lick it out, I supposed, over the next week, which would be a good way also of paying back Jen and Norm.
    I dried myself, showered in talc, and slipped into my most daring underpants. I looked down over concave chest, neat little stomach, prominent hip-bones, completely hairless legs -not half bad, I don't mind telling you. As I dressed I