Nude Men

I invite her to have dinner with me at a nearby restaurant. As we walk there, a woman passing us bumps into me lightly. She turns around and says, “I’m sorry.”
    “Leave me alone!” I growl.
    She walks away, looking bewildered. Laura looks no less bewildered. “What’s wrong?” she asks.
    “Oh nothing, I’m sorry; I made a mistake.”
    “What mistake?”
    I try to think of an explanation. “Oh, I don’t know. I was in a daze, and she caught me by surprise.”
    Laura raises her eyebrows at my unconvincing explanation and stops questioning me.
    At dinner, we talk of nothing interesting whatsoever, and I love it. I learn that she is one year younger than I am. I did think beforehand of a few things to ask her, so we could make a bit of conversation. I ask her how many students she has. She says ten. She also tells me that recently, to her disappointment, three children dropped out when their parents found out what it was, exactly, that they were paying for.
    I tell her my childhood story of the little white elephant, thinking it might interest her since it has to do with magic. She thinks it’s sweet. But I don’t tell her that I still keep the elephant on my night table. We’re not close enough for that.
    After dinner, as we walk in the street, an old man stops us and says, “Excuse me, but could you please tell me where Bloomingdale’s is?”
    I stand there gritting my teeth, while Laura gives him directions. I look at him with tentative hatred, dying to tell him to fuck off but knowing I can’t risk a second mistake in front of Laura. After giving him the directions, Laura tells him, “But Bloomingdale’s is closed right now.”
    “Oh, I know,” he says. “I just want to make sure I know where it is, because I’m taking my granddaughter there tomorrow. She’s eleven, and I can’t let her go there alone, or some pervert might try to pick her up and have sex with her. Do you think I should let that happen?” he asks Laura.
    “No,” she says, and starts pulling at my arm, to get us away.
    I yield with great joy to her pull.
    The man calls after us, “Wait a minute, mister, what about you? Do you think I should have sex with an eleven-year-old girl?”
    I am perspiring as we walk away. The rest of the evening unfolds very pleasantly. We get heavily involved romantically that very night, because it feels too right to wait.
     
    B ack home, the ordeal begins again.
    “What about that one?” my mother’s voice crackles.
    I hang up. Ring. I pick up, hang up. Ring. Pick up, hang up. Ring.
    Charlotte is obnoxiously serene, reading a book, paying no attention to the phone.
    Notice that I do not make a wish on my white elephant for Laura to love me. This is because I feel she probably already does, and since this is the case, I would not want to think her love for me is caused by magic, that she’s under a spell. If, on the other hand, I did not sense that she already loved me, and I desperately wanted her to, I would not for one moment hesitate to use the white elephant, even though it never worked in the past when I tried it on certain people.
    Ring. Pick up, hang up. Ring.
    I escape outside, into the night, but I realize I can’t be alone, no matter where I go. Any of the people walking in the street, or shopping in a supermarket, or sitting in a movie theater, could be hired by my mother.
    I must take control of my life. I go to a store, buy an avocado, walk to the park, and sit on a bench. I bite into the avocado, skin and all, and then I twirl the piece in my mouth, detach the skin from the flesh with my tongue, and spit out the skin. I once saw an Oriental woman eating a kiwi that way in the subway.
    I eat three more mouthfuls using this method, then I place the bitten avocado next to me on the bench, I take out a scrap of paper and my Bic pen, and I make a list of things to do:
     
    1. Have Minou spayed.
    2. Kick Charlotte out of my apartment.
    3. Get an unlisted phone number.
    4. Keep my apartment clean.
    5. See more of Laura.
     
    I try to think of other resolutions I might want to add. I want a real list, a juicy, meaty list. Suddenly, a sixth resolution comes to my mind.
     
    6. Ask for a promotion at the magazine.
     
    When I get home, I take out my little ivory elephant and think to it: If you are magic, I make a wish that when I ask for a promotion at work, they will give it to me eagerly. In fact, they will somehow be grateful that I finally asked.
     
    T he next morning,