Bodies and Souls by Nancy Thayer Page A

of family or women, that he had always had his own way. You great big baby, I thought. I’d like to play with your toys.
    “I wonder if you could help me a moment,” I said, still smiling. “I’m buying a gift for a friend of mine—a man—and I’m not sure just which paperweight a man would like best. Men’s tastes are so different from women’s. Could you come give me your opinion?”
    He was so obviously delighted to be reassured of his masculinity after standing there choosing jelly-bean place mats that he just grinned all over.
    “Sure,” he said, and ambled over to the black velvet table.
    “I’m Liza Howard,” I said, and gave him my hand.
    “John Bennett.”
    “Oh, yes, I can see the resemblance. I know your parents—slightly.” (I’ve been in bed with your father—twice.) “Well, now, I really would be grateful for your help. I tend to like this one, with the flower, but I suppose a man might like the spiral?”
    We were standing close enough to smell each other. He picked up a paperweight full of red and white and green geometric designs that made me think of Christmas candy in a crystal bowl.
    “This is the one I’d like,” he said. “It’s beautiful.” He turned it over in his huge long-fingered hand. “God, it’s two hundred and fifty dollars. Imagine spending that much on a paperweight. You must really love this friend.”
    So I knew immediately just how to make that first subtle but definite invitation.
    “No,” I said, and took the paperweight from him and placed it carefully back on the black velvet. “Actually that man doesn’t mean that much to me. I guess I’ll look for something else. But thank you so much for your help.”
    Sarah, in the meantime, had been on the other side of the shop, too engrossed in her bridal registry choices to have the sense to be jealous. He moved off from me, and I felt the reluctance in his blood.
    “John,” Sarah said, “what do you think of this solid-brass rooster-shaped napkin holder? Don’t you think it would be real cute on the table at breakfast?”
    I quickly went out the door, thinking: Sarah, you dummy, you’re paying attention to the wrong cock.
    Later that afternoon I went back to the gift shop and bought the Christmas-candy paperweight. I had it beautifully gift-wrapped, and I sent it to Johnny with a plain white card on which I wrote: “I hope you like this. I can think of lots of things you might like. Please call.”
    He called the day the paperweight arrived, and came to my house that night. I led him into the living room and gave him a drink of brandy, which I could tell he badly needed, because he was almost white with fear.
    “Listen,” he said, “I’m not sure what I’m doing here. I mean—well, I’m engaged to Sarah Stafford, and her father’s president of the college, and she’s a real nice girl, and I’d hate to hurt her feelings. And my mother—”
    I could see through Johnny as easily as through the glass of the paperweight. Theonly part of his body that’s ever been broken in his life is his leg, from a skiing accident. In high school and college he only had to smile for girls to pull up their skirts and lie down for him. He has a pale blue MG his parents bought for him, with condoms in the glove compartment and bourbon in the trunk. I don’t suppose he’s genetically dumb, but life has never called upon him to exercise his intelligence in any way that would sharpen it—but an easy luscious charm steams off him like the scent of lilacs on a hot May day, and that takes care of everything. He doesn’t need to think, so he’s never really bothered.
    I lured and snared him with such obvious intent that I was embarrassed for us both. Sweet huge delicious animal, he watched me construct my trap, and then he cheerfully plunged right into it.
    I let him talk. I assured him of his moral strength and selflessness; here he was, thinking of his fiancée, mother, father, friends, community, before thinking of