The Game

made a prayer to myself. “Please, goddess of seduction and patron saint of pickup artists and guys trying to get nookie everywhere, please do not let Style be weird.”
    Talking too fast is usually a sign of a deep lack of confidence. People who feel that others aren’t interested in what they think talk fast for fear of losing the attention of their audience. Others are so in love with perfection that they have a difficult time editing it all down and continuously speed up in hopes of getting it all in. Such people usually become writers. That was it: weirdo orwriter. I hoped it was the latter. I needed a friend and equal in this world of seduction, not another student.
    I’d first heard of Style on the Internet. We had come to admire each other’s postings on a website dedicated to the art of seduction. He wrote with grace and eloquence. He seemed to be a positive guy who was focused on sharing. What he saw in my posts I can only guess.
    Style entered the room with a galloping lope. Were those platform shoes he was wearing? He made easy eye contact, beamed with a beautiful smile, and was a touch nervous in just the right amount to make him endearing—an effect I’m sure was deliberate. With his relatively short stature, baby-like shaved head, and soft-spoken voice, no one would ever suspect him of being a pickup artist. I perked up. This guy could be good.
    I liked Style right away. He was obviously very practiced at making people like him. He made me feel important. He had a way of summing up many of my more clunkily expressed ideas into simple, beautiful statements—all the while attributing the eloquence back to me. He was the perfect accomplice for an up-and-coming guru.
    And yet I wasn’t sure what his weakness was. We all do that as we get to know someone. Like a tabloid editor, we search for both greatness and weakness, jotting notes in our heads for future exploitation. We are never comfortable with those who have no visible flaw. Style’s softness was not real weakness. My only guess as to Style’s flaw was a pride in his ability to get others to open up and reveal themselves. Pretty lame as far as a weakness goes but that was all I had to go on.
    He was a cool guy. But he had a lack of confidence that made no sense, as if he felt there was something missing about himself—a piece that would make him complete. I was pretty sure he was searching for it outside when he would eventually find it inside.
    After lunch, we did exactly what all hot pickup artists on the make do in San Francisco. We went to the Museum of Modern Art.
    We walked downstairs and spread out—commandoes of seduction. I turned a corner in the dimly lit new media section and noticed a cute twenty-year-old. She was small. I love petite women. There is something about their inherent weakness that turns me on. I joined her at a video projection on the floor. The scene looped every minute or so—white petals falling delicately off seasoned branches.
    Height can be intimidating. I am the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz —talland thin with bits of prickly straw sticking out of my sleeves. I sat down on the bench there. She relaxed. Our eyes touched—hers almond green, mine bloodshot from jet lag. The best seductions happen when the woman seduces you. You have to lead to be a good seducer but you also have to follow. In that moment I realized I wanted her to take me by the hand to her secret camp in the woods. I wanted her to show me her goofy magic trick. I wanted her to read me the naughty poems she writes on coffee shop napkins.
    CLICKITY CLOMP, CLICKITY CLOMP, CLICKITY CLOMP.
    Style and his shoes were moving along the backside of the divider that bisected the long room. I didn’t want him to join us. It is not that I didn’t appreciate Style. He had me at a humble, “Greetings, I am the one called Style.” It was just that the vibe between her and me and the never-ending white petals was so…mesmerizing. And also because I am a wolf and this little doe separated from her herd was mine. If Style shows up, I might have to bite his face.
    The first thing you say to a woman matters very little. Some guys tell me they can’t think of anything or they need a really good line. I tell them they are thinking too much. You are not that important. I am not that important. We have never thought a thought so great that it needs to be wrapped with so much care. Give up your need for perfection. As far as opening lines go, a grunt or a