St. Urbain's Horseman by Mordecai Richler Page A

social worker?”
    â€œWhy are you looking for reasons to dismiss me?”
    â€œOr, God help us, a child psychologist?”
    â€œGuess again.”
    â€œYou rich?”
    â€œMy father’s a shoe salesman.”
    â€œAttention must be paid.”
    â€œOh, but you are a funny fellow!”
    Which brought them to the front door of her flat on Arkwright Road. As she drove the key into the door, he lingered.
    â€œAll right. You can come in for a nightcap,” she said, “if you promise not to be awkward.”
    He nodded, acquiescing, but she didn’t care for his smile.
    â€œSo long as it’s crystal clear,” she said, “that I’m not inviting you into my bed.”
    While she fetched the drinks, she could see him, through the kitchen hatch, lifting up magazines, like a judge sifting evidence. Two years detention for reading
Vogue
. Six months in solitary for
Elle. The Ladies’ Home Journal
, off with her head. Next he stooped to scan the bookshelves, probing for bad or modish taste, and snickering with delight to find evidence of both. Enjoying herself, she did not protest that she had sublet the flat. Then Jake stumbled on
The Collected Stories
of Isaac Babel lying on the coffee table and seized it, taken aback. “Are you reading this?” he demanded accusingly.
    â€œNo. I hoped I’d be able to bring you back here and I left it out to impress you. Do you recommend it?”
    Jake retreated, narrowing his eyes. His manner softened. “I’m sorry,” he said.
    â€œYou’ve been judging me all night. What right have you?”
    â€œNone. Come to dinner with me tomorrow night.”
    But she already had tickets for
Hedda Gabler
.
    â€œIt’s a terrible production,” Jake exploded. “An abortion. That bastard couldn’t direct traffic,” and he carried on to denounce Binky Beaumont, The Royal Court Theatre, Donald Albery, J. Arthur Rank, Granada, and the BBC. Until finally, she said: “I’m very, very tired. I only arrived yesterday, you know.”
    Leaping up, Jake emptied his glass. “I didn’t make a pass, because you said – Maybe I should try. Maybe you didn’t really mean, it.”
    â€œI meant it. Honestly.”
    But he attempted to kiss her anyway. She did not respond. “O.K., O.K., you meant it. Can I pick you up at the theater and take you to dinner after the play?”
    â€œI’m going with someone.”
    â€œYou are. Who?”
    â€œIs it your affair?”
    â€œYou’re not ashamed, are you?”
    And so she told him who.
    â€œHim. Oh my God,” he exclaimed, clapping a hand to his forehead, “you poor child. He’s a hopeless prick.”
    â€œLike Shapiro?”
    â€œWorse. He’s one of the biggest phonies in town. He’ll call you darling and send back the wine and flatter the hell out of you. Why are you going out with him?”
    â€œIf you don’t mind –”
    â€œWhat about Thursday night?”
    â€œLuke’s taking me out.”
    Which seemed, quite abruptly, to crush him. He didn’t protest. He wasn’t rude. He turned to go.
    â€œI’m free Friday night,” she said.
    â€œAll right. Friday night.”
    But, on Thursday, only ten minutes before Luke was to arrive, Nancy’s phone rang.
    â€œI’m in my bedroom,” Luke said, “and I’ve got to talk quickly. Jake Hersh is here. Remember him?”
    â€œYes, indeed.”
    â€œHe came by to invite me to dinner. It’s awkward. He’s in a truculent mood. I told him I had a date, but he said we could both come. Would you mind, terribly?”
    Within minutes, Jake sat beaming on her sofa. Luke, agitated, was flicking his thumbnail against his teeth. Nancy poured drinks.
    â€œI’ll get the ice,” Jake said, jumping up. “Don’t you bother, Nancy. I know where it is.”
    â€œI will get the ice,” Nancy