‘$12,000! That’s incredible!’ I exclaimed.
He nodded. ‘Yeah, you gotta make sure you massage ‘em regularly for a while after the surgery.’
We all laughed at that.
After a little while, it was our stop and so she and I got off the train. We crossed a few lonely suburban streets to our mutual friend Vicky’s place. Two guys from Vicky’s work were getting out of a cab. Both these guys seemed to provide the perfect foil to each other: one of them was short and chubby with a buzzcut; the other, tall and slender with mop-like hair and a thin face. We briefly exchanged pleasantries and went inside.
Vicky poured us all a drink. I gargled the 40% straight liquor, hoping that it would immediately annihilate any bacteria in my mouth. For some reason, ever since childhood, I always had a fear that I had bad breath in social encounters. I always blamed this on gum and mint advertising on TV, although whether or not this was the real cause, it’s hard to say. I took another sip of my drink.
‘So, what do you do?’ my companion for the evening asked the chubby one.
‘I’m studying to become an actor,’ he said.
‘Really? Wow, you must be so good at accents,’ she replied.
‘Sure,’ he said.
‘But I bet you can’t do a good Christopher Walken, can you?’ she joked, unnecessarily touching his arm for a brief moment.
I could see that she was offering the critical extra teaspoon of attention that was necessary to have a certain desired effect. I knew what would invariably happen next: in return for this teaspoon, she would be offered a mound.
It was a routine which I can’t say wasn’t impressive in some way, at least because of its devastating effectiveness. If the Germans had ever found a way weaponise this ability on a larger scale, I don’t think it would have mattered that the Americans had the bomb.
Here’s how it went: after being a little playful with him (not just him, but any him), laughing at his jokes, unnecessary touches, what you might call ‘the initial stringing up of the marionette’, something would happen inside of him,
some sort of transformation. First, he would hang there, dull and lifeless for a moment. Then, as though the flick of some switch had just occurred, this marionette would spring to life, dancing, walking, and talking at her command. Then his mind would start to be corrupted by a certain objective, the pursuit of some shiny medallion which would whisper to him, telling him to come take it. Though little did he know that every time you got closer to this medallion, it would skitter ten inches back. Attempting to play this game indicated that you had already lost.
I could sense I was growing quiet. They asked me if anything was wrong.
‘I’m just tired,’ I said.
I noticed my hand was shaking.