The Game

had enjoyed teaching in Belgrade, I didn’t want followers. Iwanted more teachers. I still had a lot to learn. I found that out when Extramask took me to a party at the Argyle hotel on Sunset Boulevard.
    I was dressed rakishly, in a black sport coat with long tails and a thin, shaped goatee. Extramask, meanwhile, looked better and more outrageous every time I saw him. He now had his hair cut and spiked into a four-inch Mohawk.
    At the party, I noticed a pair of heavily peacocked twins sitting on a couch like alabaster statues. Though their well-coiffed hair and matching vintage dresses earned them admiring looks; the girls didn’t say a word to anyone all night.
    “Who are they?” I asked Extramask, who was talking to a petite moonfaced woman who seemed very interested in him.
    “They’re the Porcelain TwinZ,” he said. “They do a goth burlesque show together. They’re also well-known groupies. They double-team band members. I’ve masturbated with my penis about them and blown spectacular loads.”
    “Introduce me.”
    “But I don’t know them.”
    “That’s okay. Introduce me anyway.”
    Extramask walked over to the girls and said, “This is Style.”
    I shook their hands. They were surprisingly warm hands for girls who looked half-dead. “We were just having a discussion about magic spells,” I told them. “Do you think spells work?”
    I knew this was the perfect opener, because it was clear they believed in spells—for some reason, most girls who strip or exploit their sexuality for a living do. Then I transitioned into the ESP number-guessing routine.
    “Entertain us more,” they cooed.
    I’d gone too far. “I’m not a dancing monkey,” I replied. “Besides, I’m a guy. I need a few minutes to recharge.”
    It was a line of Mystery’s. They laughed on cue.
    “I’ll tell you what,” I continued. “I’ve shown you a couple of cool things. Why don’t you teach me something?”
    They had nothing to show me. “I’m going to talk to some friends,” I said. “I’ll give you five minutes to think of something.”
    I wandered away and struck up a conversation with a cherubic little punk named Sandy. Ten minutes later, the twins approached.
    “We have something to teach you,” they said proudly.
    I actually hadn’t planned on speaking to them again. I didn’t thinkthey’d come up with anything. But they stood there and taught me sign language for five minutes. IOI.
    We sat down together and made small talk, which the PUAs refer to somewhat disparagingly as fluffing. The girls were easy to tell apart, because one had chicken pox scars and the other had punctures in her face from removed piercings. They were visiting from Portland and planned to fly home the next day. They told me about their striptease show, in which they dance on stage and simulate lovemaking together.
    As we talked, I realized they were just ordinary, insecure girls. That’s why they’d been so quiet. Most men make the mistake of believing that an attractive woman who doesn’t talk to or acknowledge him is a bitch. Most of the time, however, she’s just as shy or insecure as the less attractive women he’s ignoring—if not more so. What made the Porcelain TwinZ different is that they tried to compensate for their inner plainness with outer ostentatiousness. They were just sweet girls looking for a friend. And now they had found one. As we exchanged numbers, I felt the window open. But I didn’t know whether to go for one twin, the other, or both. I couldn’t figure out how to separate them, but I didn’t know what to do to seduce them simultaneously either. I was stuck. So I excused myself and went to find to Sandy.
    As I talked to Sandy, she sidled up next to me. She seemed like she wanted something. So I did the evolution phase-shift routine, then pulled her into the bathroom to make out. I wasn’t really attracted to her: I was just excited about being able to kiss women so easily now. I was already abusing my newfound power.
    When we emerged ten minutes later, the twins had left the party. I’d blown it once again by taking the easy road rather than pushing myself.
    I returned to my apartment in Santa Monica empty-handed. Mystery was sleeping on my couch, and I told him about my failure with the twins. Fortunately, the next day, I received a message from the girls. Their plane had been canceled, and they were stuck at a Holiday Inn near the airport. I still had a chance to redeem