The Stalker’s name is Saul. As you might guess from his name, Saul is of the Jewish faith. He actually calls himself the Stalker, and is quite open about his habit of chasing young women. The walls of his apartment are adorned with tastefully erotic black and white photos of his conquests.
Saul lives alone in a loft apartment on the East Side of Manhattan, with panoramic views of the East River. He’s fairly typical of the young upwardly mobile class that have moved into the area in the last twenty years, completely changing the demographic, and in the process bringing hip and trendy cafes and bars into existence.
Besides the fact that he is a Jew from the Lower East Side, there are other similarities with my father. Like Krantz, Saul is a photographer, only in his case he has diversified into cinematography. He is often on location elsewhere, but New York is his spiritual home.
We’re here ostensibly because he invited me to come, to get a feel for the area my father grew up in. He explains that a lot of it has changed since the Sixties. Some of the old haunts like Les Deux Megots, the famous coffee house where the poets congregated, have now disappeared. Saul likes the fact that he and Krantz have so much in common. He suggests that women often fall for men who remind them of their fathers. I tell him that there is nobody who is anything like Krantz – he was unique.
I have to hand it him though, Saul does have good taste. His loft is immaculate, testimony to the fact of his avant-garde credentials. As we listen to cool jazz wafting across the room, sipping a cold glass of champagne, I can tell this man is a serious serial seducer. And he makes it clear that I’m his latest adventure, a real challenge, as he puts it. I didn’t come here to be an object of desire, but so what. Helen had already warned me about his arrogance, his conceit, and I can live with it.
I ask if he managed to find out anything about the Krantz family. He shrugs his shoulders. Ruth, the eldest sister, got married and left New York many years ago. Rachel, on the other hand, also seems to have disappeared, although there is no record of her marriage. Both grandparents died in their eighties. That’s disappointing, I say. He strokes his chin.
There is one consolation, he says, you remember the Kellermans’ daughter, the one that went to LA?
You mean Esther, I say.
Sure, he says, well she stayed out west, changed her name, made a living in hollywood.
You managed to find her?
I’m in the business, he shrugs, I’ve got contacts. It wasn’t that hard.
So where is she now?
On her way to New York. She’s quite excited about meeting you. I guess she was rather fond of your old man.
I ponder this for a moment. If things had turned out differently, maybe she’d have been my mother, and I’d have been American, not French.
Now that would’ve been a shame, he says.
The next morning, we go for a walk in the neighbourhood. He takes me to Katz’s Deli, which is the oldest deli in NYC. It’s also, he says, the place where they filmed that scene from the movie When Harry Met Sally. He asks if I ever fake it, with a guy. It depends, I tell him, on the guy. He tells me I’m the most beautiful French Jewish girl he’s ever met. How many have you met, I say. Well, admittedly only the one, he says, but that’s irrelevant. He can be quite charming, this man, sometimes.
The sky is quite grey and I tell Saul it reminds me of that glorious film Manhattan, Woody Allen’s monochrome paean to the Big Apple. Saul nods in agreement, he loves Allen’s films of that period, Annie Hall, Hannah and her sisters – great Jewish NYC films. He asks if I’d meet him in Paris, in the spring, a return visit. Like a school trip, I giggle, a student exchange. He doesn’t like me laughing at him, I can tell. Paris, I tell him, is a city full of colour, as epitomised in the film Amelie.
It’s also the city of romance, he says. We’re sparring, but it’s fun. He enjoys the chase, I enjoy flirting. Saul is interested in the result, whereas I just like the game.
We're talking about movies again. Saul is obsessed, but then it's his way of life.
You know where we are right now? he asks.
I yawned. We're stretched out on his sofa, draped across each other. It feels comfortable.
Tell me, I say.
We're in the zone. The place where your most cherished desire will come true.
I stare at him. That's very profound, I say. It's a quote, right?
From the movie, Stalker, the zone.By Tarkovsky?
I'm nodding. Didn't he make Solaris too?
Very impressive. We'll make a film buff of you yet.
Maybe I could be the French Connection?
If it involves French kissing, then definitely yes.
Saul will definitely be looking to add my photo to his gallery, I can tell.
