I made up my mind at that moment not to see him again. I was not interested in being thanked. I was hurt. I had hoped that his interest in me went a little beyond gratitude, but obviously it didn’t.
“It’s all right,” I said, stiffly. “You’ve thanked me more than enough already.” I tried to think of another platitude. “I’m glad I was able to be of service, but it was really just a matter of being at the right place at the right time.”
I was a little too moved by my own words for my own good. I was afraid tears would start welling in my eyes. I looked at my watch, claimed another engagement, and rushed out of the park before he had a chance to react. He didn’t try to stop me.
Two hours later he called me at home and asked if something was the matter. I said no. He asked if we could have dinner again. I said no. He asked why. I was cold: I said I’d rather not, that I didn’t feel like it.
Just because I felt like saving him didn’t mean I felt like having dinner with him. I felt like saying that, but didn’t. He was silent. I said good-bye, and “Thanks again, by the way,” and hung up.
He didn’t call back. Good.
I cried.
The next day, as I was working in the jewelry store, Damon walked in and stood in front of me.
“Hello Anna,” he said.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m very grateful.”
“I see. But isn’t this a little more than gratitude?”
“You’re right. I was putting it mildly.”
“No, I mean … Never mind. What is it that you want? Again to have dinner?”
“No. I want a hole.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want you to pierce my ear. It’s obvious you’re upset about something. You ran off last night, and you refuse to see me again. I must have done something terribly wrong, and I must be punished.”
Strangely, instead of being struck by the fact that he was talking of being punished, when I myself had recently gone through my need to be punished (which I had assumed was very unique to my person), I said with a touch of disdain, “By getting your ear pierced?” This punishment seemed so insignificant compared to the one I had inflicted on myself.
“Is it reversible?” he asked.
“Not completely. If you take the stud out right away, the hole will close and heal, but there will always be a visible dot; a small scar.” I wasn’t sure this was true, but I wanted to discourage him.
“Well then, there you have it,” he said. “From my point of view, getting my ear pierced would be quite a substantial punishment, for there are few things in life I loathe more than irreversibility.”
I hoped he wasn’t serious. I had no desire to pierce his ear. “You’re a really nice guy, but I can’t have dinner with you because I don’t have time for your gratitude and appreciation.”
“I’m not gay. Despite what you thought at dinner. And I don’t want to appear gay, since that’s not what I am. So, do straight men get holes on the left or on the right? I can’t remember. And what kind of maintenance do holes require, and for how long? Do I get a choice of studs or is there only one kind used for piercing?”
I felt he was bluffing, so I bluffed too and answered his questions. However, he didn’t seem to be backing down, and he even made the choice of a stud, a silver one, so I finally said, “Listen, I’m not upset with you. You did nothing wrong. I had a lovely time last night. I just don’t want to see you again. So why don’t you leave now. Please just leave me alone.”
“I’m not leaving until I get pierced. I must pay for my crime, whatever it was,” he said, and sat down on the chair provided for people who got their ears pierced. “I’m getting a hole, no matter what. You can’t persuade me not to. It’s obvious I deserve it.”
His attempt at levity (if that’s what it was) irritated me. I grabbed the ear stapler and positioned myself. He had a big head, and very high, chiseled cheekbones. I couldn’t help being flustered by his beauty, up close. This was a problem. Any state short of perfect sang-froid is not advisable in the art of ear piercing. I was about to go ahead anyway, but at the last second, I paused and said, “I’m trembling. Are you sure you want this? It might not be centered.”
“Do it,” he said.
I did.
Right afterward, we looked at each other, both a bit stunned, I think. He averted his eyes and stared straight ahead. To my surprise, he was blushing. He finally broke the silence with a cracked voice: “Now will you have dinner with me?”
“No, I told you I wouldn’t. You’ve thanked me more than enough. You don’t need to thank me again. I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to be seen out of obligation.”
“So that’s what this is about?” he nearly shouted. “Then I’ve been unjustly punished! You falsely accuse me of generosity, which is a crime I didn’t commit, nor intend to commit, at least not in inviting you to dinner.” He turned to the mirror, and added crossly, “It’s unfortunate about the ear. I resent that. When in fact I was operating out of purely selfish motives.”
I made no response.
“I very selfishly want to have dinner with you again. Unless, of course, you just … don’t like me, which I could understand. I would perfectly understand if, for example, you didn’t like the way I dressed, or if you thought I was too discriminating about pH levels, or if you disliked any number of other little deviations of mine. But even if that were the case, I would not care, because you see, your inclinations don’t matter very much to me, nor your desires. I am being very selfish, I hope you notice. Please Anna, accept my invitation. I promise you I’m thinking only of myself. I’m being a selfish bastard.”
“Well, if you put it that way, I can’t refuse.”
That evening, we met at a restaurant near the one we had been to the night before. Damon was already sitting down when I arrived. I was stunned when I saw him. Over his ear, he was wearing what looked like a diaper. It was actually a big white bandage, which covered almost half of his head. I thought he must have had an accident. But he explained that he had taken the stud out of his ear, wanting the hole to close and heal, and was simply being cautious, trying to minimize the chances of infection and maximize the chances of complete reversal.
He then added: “But I want you to know that I’m only getting rid of the hole because I didn’t deserve it. If I had, I would leave it open forever.”
During the meal he asked me a lot of questions about my life and about my past. I felt he was fishing for something, but it took me a while to figure out what it was. He was fishing for a pattern; some pattern of self-sacrifice. He wanted to know if selflessness and heroism (his words) were recurring traits of mine. He asked me how many instances, comparable to the subway incident, there had been in my life. At the risk of disappointing him, I had to answer: none. In my own defense, I pointed out that opportunities for heroics of that type don’t often arise in the average life.
Then we talked about my love of acting.
After dinner we went to the same park we had gone to the night before, and walked along the river, and talked. Eventually, we stopped talking and stood side by side, looking at the water.
He asked, “After that meeting with your professor, did you consider giving up acting?”