“Well famously, Molly, I’m a Marxist Journalist.”
I paused to wrack my brain.
“I write for ——— and The ——— of ———.”
Basically the only things I knew about this man were that he wrote the occasional indulgent essay and often threw parties to which he invited notable writers and their younger sisters. None of this seemed to me to be Marxist in any practical sense but maybe he was very intellectually sympathetic to the cause. I didn’t want to seem stupid, or admit how little I knew of Marxism, so I nodded.
“Molly, are you there?”
We were on the phone.
Haha!