Let’s go on. Next on my list is your obsession.
My obsession.
Your lust, Matthew. You are obsessed with the idea of sex with young girls. It really is time you admitted that. Why do you bring those binoculars to the ballet? You examine the dancers, the young ones in the corps.
Hey.
You forget that I’m privy to your thoughts, Matthew. I know what’s going on in here. I know the way you look at their breasts, focus on their crotches. I know you’re looking for something to suggest that slit you can’t get out of your mind — a dimple of cloth, a wet spot. And I know the fantasies you concoct. The one with that ballet student? You remember the girl, the one you saw walking along Newbury Street, with her headset on, bouncing to a rhythm you couldn’t even hear. Oh, yes, she was lovely, quite lovely.
Mm. She was.
How does the fantasy go? Oh, yes. The poor thing is impoverished. She’ll have to leave the ballet school because her parents can’t afford to maintain her in Boston. But she stumbles across you somehow! She pours out the whole story. Lucky thing! You have an extra bedroom. Food in the fridge. Plenty of spare cash. No strings, you assure her. You’ll be pals. She moves in. Ahh, but that night, the lonely, frightened, grateful child taps at your bedroom door.
Mm.
Let me ask you something, Matthew. Why do you always make them fall in love with you — in these fantasies? I mean, excuse me, but what difference does it make? If the point of the fantasy is that you wind up fucking the girl, why do you go through all that preliminary bullshit? Why not just cut right to the fucking?
Listen, you, maybe I’m not after fucking, as you insist on calling it. Maybe I’m after something more. Did you ever consider that?
I considered it. There’s something to it. But this — nobility you’re claiming is a fake. It’s really just timidity. Timidity in disguise.
Timidity again.
It’s not one of the deadly sins, but it’s killing you, Matthew. Timidity and, I would say, loyalty. Misguided loyalty to an idea. Some stupid idea of goodness or something that I don’t understand. Let’s have another drink.
I ought to get some food. Some food would be a good idea.
Fine, but get a drink. Buy one for the girl, too. You know the one I mean. The one in the skirt. The one with the ass. Don’t hesitate, now. Just do it. You don’t have to talk to her, just ask the bartender to give her whatever she’s having. You may have a chance there. If you ask me, you don’t deserve it, after sending Leila home, but as I said, you’re owed, and I think you’re getting another chance. Take it, will you? Take it!
I don’t know. I —
All right, I’ll take it.
“Excuse me,” says Matthew, lifting his hand, catching the eye of the bartender.
“Yo.”
“I’ll have another margarita.”
“I’ll have another margarita.”
“And give the beautiful girl in black another of what she’s having.”
“And — some nachos.”
Deadly, deadly timidity.
“And — give the beautiful girl in black another of what she’s having.”
[to be continued]
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🎧 548: Let’s go on.