Portnoy’s Complaint

I arrive in my tuxedo while she is still in the shower. The door has been left unlocked, apparently so that I can come right in without disturbing her. She lives on the top floor of a big modern building in the East Eighties, and it irritates me to think that anybody who happened through the corridor could walk in just as I have. I warn her of this through the shower curtain. She touches my cheek with her small wet face. "Why would anyone want to do that?" she says. "All my money's in the bank."

"That's not a satisfactory reply," I answer, and retreat to the living room, trying not to be vexed. I notice the slip of paper on the coffee table. Has a child been here, I wonder. No, no, I am just face to face with my first specimen of The Monkey's handwriting. A note to the cleaning lady. Though at first glance I imagine it must be a note from the cleaning lady.

Must? Why "must"? Because she's "mine"?

dir willa polish the flor by bathrum pleze amp; dont

furget the insies of windose mary jane r

Three times I read the sentence through, and as happens with certain texts, each reading reveals new subtleties of meaning and implication, each reading augurs tribulations yet to be visited upon my ass. Why allow this "affair" to gather any more momentum? What was I thinking about in Vermont! Oh that z , that z between the two e 's of 'pleze"-this is a mind with the depths of a movie marquee! And "furget"! Exactly how a prostitute would misspell that word! But it's something about the mangling of "dear," that tender syllable of affection now collapsed into three lower-case letters, that strikes me as hopelessly pathetic. How u

The phone calls, for instance, I ca

"I miss you, Arnold," The Monkey whispers.

"I'm afraid I'm busy right now."

"I do do love you."

"Yes, fine, may I speak with you later about this?"

"How I want that long sleek cock inside me-"

"Bye now!"

What else is wrong with her, while we're at it? She moves her lips when she reads. Petty? You think so? Ever sit across the di

Where am I? Tuxedoed. All civilized-up in my evening clothes, and "dir willa" still sizzling in my hand, as The Monkey emerges wearing the frock she has bought specifically for the occasion. What occasion? Where does she think we're going, to shoot a dirty movie? Doctor, it barely reaches her ass! It is crocheted of some kind of gold metallic yarn and covers nothing but a body stocking the color of her skin! And to top this modest outfit off, over her real head of hair she wears a wig inspired by Little Orphan A

“Okay," says The Monkey in the taxi, "what's bugging you, Max?"

"Nothing."

"You hate the way I look."

"Ridiculous."

"Driver-Peck and Peck!"

"Shut up. Gracie Mansion, driver."

"I'm getting radiation poisoning, Alex, from what you're giving off."

"I'm not giving off shit! I've said nothing ."

"You've got those black Hebe eyes, man, they say it for you. Tutti! "

"Relax, Monkey."

"You relax!"

"I am!" But my manly resolve lasts about a minute more. "Only for Christ's sake," I tell her, "don't say cunt to Mary Lindsay!"

"What? "

"You heard right. When we get there don't start talking about your wet pussy to whoever opens the door! Don't make a grab for Big John's shlong until we've been there at least half an hour, okay?"

With this, a hiss like the sound of air brakes rises from the driver-and The Monkey heaves herself in a rage against the rear door. "I'll say and do and wear anything I want! This is a free country, you uptight Jewish prick!"

You should have seen the look given us upon disembarking by Mr. Ma

From where we sit on a bench in Carl Schurz Park, we can see the lights in Gracie Mansion; I watch the other members of the new administration arriving, as I stroke her arm, kiss her forehead, tell her there is no reason to cry, the fault is mine, yes, yes, I am an uptight Jewish prick, and apologize, apologize, apologize.

"-picking on me all the time-in just the way you look at me you pick on me, Alex! I open the door at night, I'm so dying to see you, thinking all day long about nothing but you, and there are those fucking orbs already picking out every single thing that's wrong with me! As if I'm not insecure enough, as if insecurity isn't my whole hang-up, you get that expression all over your face the minute I open my mouth- I mean I can't even give you the time of the day without the look : oh shit, here comes another dumb and stupid remark out of that brainless twat. I say, 'It's five to seven,' and you think, 'How fucking dumb can she be!' Well, I'm not brainless, and I'm not a twat either, just because I didn't go to fucking Harvard! And don't give me any more of your shit about behaving in front of The Lindsays . Just who the fuck are The Lindsays? A God damn mayor, and his wife! A fucking mayor! In case you forget, I was married to one of the richest men in France when I was still eighteen years old -I was a guest at Aly Khan's for di