“Matthew!” Effie calls when she sees him, as if she were at a high school picnic. “Hey, you look terrific. How’s the war-toy business?” This is one of their jokes; it’s the first thing she says when she sees him once a year or so.
“Excellent!” he says. He’s ready for her. “Never been better. I’m getting good responses to a new idea: generic insurgents.” A go-ahead grin. “Blood ’n’ Guts Action Figures, I call them.” The introductions ought to occur here, right here, Matthew realizes; he ought to introduce Belinda now, but he doesn’t; he and Effie are having their banter, and Matthew doesn’t want to interrupt it, doesn’t, in truth, want to end it at all.
“They’re little action figures,” he goes on. “You know, toy soldiers. Dolls. But they’re sort of racial mongrels — they can be just about any race, religion, or nationality the kid’s nasty little mind wants them to be. And, with the appropriate Guerrilla Garb Kit — sold separately — the kid can dress the miniature fanatics in the garb of the guerrilla movement of his or her choice.”
“No kidding.”
“No kidding. We’ve got the trappings of all the lunatic religions, political movements, and other terrorist groups. Actually, though, the market tests show that the parents are going to buy the garb of the guerrilla movement of their choice, but what the heck. We’re even thinking this could boost sales in the long run. The kids will start buying more figures and dressing them up to mount a force in opposition to the force their parents are backing. Soon — it’s war! Great potential for escalating profits. Unlimited, really.”
“I’m impressed.”
“I’ll let you in on my best idea of all.” From the corner of his eye, he sees that Belinda is watching this performance with something like tolerant surprise. She doesn’t know about Effie, and she has never heard Matthew joke about his work.
“Mmm? What’s that?” asks Effie.
“Weapons. International weapons. The next big thing. A whole arsenal of weapons. Perfect replicas of the best sellers in the international arms trade. Full size. Can’t tell them from the real thing. All the deadliest stuff from China, Russia, Israel, South Africa, and, of course, the U. S. AK-47s, Uzis, Stingers. That sort of thing.”
“Terrific.”
“Watch for ’em at Christmas,” Matthew says. He turns to Richard. “Hi, Richard. How are you?”
“Fine, Matthew,” says Richard. “Just fine.” It seems to Matthew that there is always a certain coolness in the way Richard speaks to him. He has wondered whether Richard thinks that he and Effie were lovers, and because he likes the idea, he tries to encourage the suspicion by giving Richard a wry grin and a little wink whenever they meet. The wink is not exactly a wink, more a blink of one eye that could be interpreted as a wink, the kind of fleeting wink that might be exchanged by men who have enjoyed the same woman — if men who have enjoyed the same woman exchange fleeting winks like that. Matthew hasn’t the slightest idea whether they do, but such a wink seems like a token of the sort of camaraderie that’s supposed to exist among guys, coach types. Matthew doesn’t pal around with any guys of that type, so he doesn’t know what kind of sign to look for in a guy who has enjoyed any of the women he has enjoyed. Liz, to name one. She hasn’t remarried, so Matthew supposes that quite a few guys have enjoyed her, though he doesn’t know. On the rare occasions when he and Liz have gotten together since the divorce, they haven’t discussed their romances. Matthew is curious, but he guesses that he’s just as happy not to know. He does wonder whether Liz is curious, though. He has looked for evidence of curiosity — in her eyes, around the corners of her mouth — but he can’t be sure what he has seen there, can’t decide whether she has any interest in his sex life or not.
“I want you to meet Belinda Sadler,” Matthew says at last. He puts a hand on her shoulder. “Belinda, this is Effie Parker and this is Richard Parker.”
Issue Number 15 of The Babbington Review is now on Substack.
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🎧 436: “Matthew!”