The Game

experience that creates relationships, not seven hours of routines followed by two hours of sex.
    “You need therapy,” I said. “You need treatment or counseling or something. You can’t just keep doing this to yourself.”
    “I know,” he said. His eyes filled with tears as viscous as mercury. He balled his hand into a fist and hit his head self-castigatingly. “I know. I fucked up.”

I walked out of Papa’s room and left the house. I had a headache. It had been a long day.
    As I started down the hill to grab a burrito at Poquito Mas, a black Mercedes convertible whipped around the corner and began climbing the hill. Inside were two blondes.
    The car screeched to a halt in front of me, and a voice yelled my name from the driver’s seat. It was Lisa. My heart skipped a beat.
    She wore a red Diesel jacket with a wide rainbow collar that made her look like a cross between a supermodel and a racecar driver. I was unshaven, wearing sweatpants, and frazzled from debating with my roommates all day. I felt so many emotions at once: embarrassment, excitement, resentment, fear, joy. I didn’t think I was ever going to see her again.
    “We’re going to get a drink,” Lisa yelled. “Do you want to join us?”
    “What are you doing here?” I tried to keep my cool and appear unfazed by her sudden reappearance.
    “Going to the Whiskey Bar.”
    “Didn’t you just pass it?”
    “Yeah. I came by to ask you to go with us. Do you have a problem with that?”
    A touch of attitude. I still liked her. She was a challenge. She didn’t let any sarcasm, neg, or cocky funny get past her without a verbal smackdown.
    “Let me change,” I said, “and I’ll meet you there.”
    I slipped on a pair of Levi’s Red jeans with fake cat scratches down the front and a military-collared button-down shirt I’d bought in Australia, and ran down the hill to join them.
    I was anxious to talk to Lisa and find out why she’d disappeared after Atlanta. But when I arrived, Lisa and Sam were at a table with two stocky, heavily tattooed rockers. They were the type of guys I had imagined Lisa dating. I sat between them, dwarfed by ink and hair dye.
    As they gossiped about local rock scenesters I neither knew nor cared about, an overwhelming anxiety took hold of my body. I didn’t want tomake small talk or pretend to enjoy it. I wanted to be alone with Lisa. I wanted to connect with her.
    When the first drip of sweat rolled down my forehead, I jumped up. I couldn’t take it.
    “I’ll be right back,” I said. I needed to sarge—not because I wanted to pick up women, but because I wanted to get into a positive state and talkative mood. Otherwise I was going to just crack sitting there so awkwardly.
    As I ordered a drink at the bar, I smelled lilacs behind me. I turned around to see two women in black evening dresses. “Hey guys, let me get your opinion on something,” I began, with a little less enthusiasm than usual.
    “Let me guess,” one of the women said. “You have a friend whose girlfriend is jealous because he still talks to his ex from college.”
    “Like, every guy keeps asking us that,” her friend said. “What’s the deal?”
    I grabbed my Jack and Coke and shuffled out to the smoking patio—the site of my pickup battle with Heidi Fleiss. With some trepidation, I delivered the spells opener to a two-set sitting on a bench. Fortunately, they hadn’t heard it.
    “Hey,” I said afterward. I really wasn’t feeling it, but I wanted to push myself to be talkative. “How long have you guys known each other?”
    “About ten years,” one of the girls said.
    “I could tell. I have to give you guys the best friends test.”
    “Oh, we know that one already,” she said politely.
    It had finally happened: The Sunset Strip was sarged out.
    The community had grown large and reckless; too many competing businesses were teaching the same material. And we had saturated more than just Los Angeles. PUAs in San Diego, Montreal, New York, San Francisco, and Toronto had been reporting the same problem lately: They were running out of fresh girls to sarge.
    I walked back to Lisa and her friends. “I’m wiped out,” I told Lisa. “I’m going to head home. But I’m driving to Malibu tomorrow to surf. You and Sam should join me. It’ll be fun.”
    She looked up at me, and we connected for the first time all evening. For three extraordinary seconds, the rest of the club disappeared. “Yeah, all right,” she said.