The room broke into polite but ambivalent applause and stayed hushed. The old waiter reappeared, followed by the bartender, and with the prospect of further drinking the room became louder, more relaxed. Several men lit their complimentary cigars. Like some of the others, I wasn't sure I believed what I'd seen, and I studied the faces of the first two men who'd eaten the fish as they described their experiences to the men close to them. I remembered the old literary man's claim that the demonstration was fraudulent, complete with ringers. Could he be right? Short of eating the fish myself, how could I be sure that the whole thing wasn't a charade?
Now the last eater of the fish stood, took a step, steadied himself, then walked to his seat. Shantelle took this opportunity to push the comfortable armchair to its dark corner and I did not mind seeing the back of her, her soft hips going left-right-left. I also did not mind that Allison caught me doing this. She came over and let her fingers fall on my shoulder with a certain proprietary design.
"Was it a good show?"
"Excellent."
"But I hear a tone in your voice."
"You do, yes."
Allison glanced around the room. She still had things to do. "So you may need further proof?"
I was about to answer but she left to talk with Ha as he cleaned up. He worked a bit more on the fish, it seemed, cut something out of it, dipped it in water, wrapped it in a piece of cabbage. I wanted to understand what he was doing and why Allison wanted to watch him, but I was distracted by the arrival of Shantelle next to me, whose golden tray, I saw at last, held a thoughtful selection of minute jars of caviar, premium tickets to Knicks games and Broadway shows, airline bottles of liquor, French cigarettes, ladies' wristwatches, combination condom/ Viagra bubble packs, Swiss chocolate, untraceable telephone cards in prepaid amounts, gift certificates to Victoria's Secret in denominations of five hundred dollars, gold coins, and several baseballs signed by prominent members of the Yankees.
"You have Derek Jeter?" I asked, examining the balls.
"I think," came Shantelle's voice. She pointed. "Yes."
I picked the ball up, liking the way the leather felt in my hand. Jeter's signature was tight, not floridly excessive. The ball felt lucky to me, something my son would like. Yes- something my son would like. "This is authentic?"
"Oh yes," she purred. "They come through a very reputable dealer."
"I'll take it."
Which I did. The price was ridiculous, but not when measured against Timothy's happy surprise, if I could get the ball to him.
When I looked up again Ha was wiping the counter obsessively. He sprayed it with soap from a bottle, then wiped it again. Everything he touched, I saw, went into the green bucket. Knives, rags, bits of fish, pieces of rice ball, everything. Then he reached under the counter and pulled out a bag of charcoal briquettes. A barbecue? No. Ha ripped open the bag and dumped half of it into the green bucket, adding a bit of water. He took a common toilet plunger, thrashed the contents of the bucket, dropped the plunger in, took off his white coat and hat, dropped them in, followed by his plastic gloves and goggles, then sealed the top on the green container. This he then taped shut.
"Charcoal?" I called to Allison.
"It absorbs all the bad stuff," she explained. "He dumps it safely."
"Diluted by the New York City sewage system."
"Something like that."
"One poison among innumerable poisons?"
Allison nodded. "Like men."
"Men being innumerable or poisonous?"
"Both," she said. "Just like women."
She nodded goodbye to some of the patrons as they left. "Yes," she said to one, "I'll let you know the next time."
Now she came over and sat down across from me. "Well?"
"I don't believe it," I told her. "It's got to be a trick."
"It's not," Allison said. "The stuff works."
"I don't believe that for one minute."
"Oh, you do. You don't want to, but you do."
"Nah."
She shrugged. "Try it yourself then, prove me wrong."
"Thanks, but no."
"Afraid?"
"The stuff's poisonous."
"I thought you said you didn't believe it."
"I believe in the poison, but not the brain magic."
"You don't get the brain magic without the poison. If you believe in one, you believe in the other."
"Sorry," I told her.
"You really think it's a fake?"
"It could be a bunch of ringers. Or maybe those bidders were real but Ha did something to the fish, sprinkled LSD on it."
"It's real," Allison said right away.
"I'm just not convinced."
"What are you convinced by, then?"
"Other things. I find other things more convincing, Allison."
Allison sighed, pushed a finger along my collar. "Hey Bill?"
"Yes?"
"Can you convince yourself to get your coat and meet me outside?"
She was all over me in the cab, a leg thrown over mine, holding my cheeks in her gloved hands, and I lay back and enjoyed this- although not without worrying that H.J.'s men were somehow cruising along behind us, having waited for me outside. I could just about convince myself that they were capable of that, too. They'd grabbed me once, so maybe they'd grab me again.
Somewhere in the East Eighties Allison told the cabbie to make his turn, and a moment later we were walking through the lobby of her building; Allison's salutation to her uniformed doorman on his stool was as sharp and quick as a flung knife- and nearly had the same effect; his head slumped onto his chest and he said nothing. I was not, I knew, the first man to follow Allison across the marble chess squares of her lobby, but never would I hear that from her doorman.
Upstairs the elevator opened into an enormous apartment, deep as a tennis court.
"Wow, what a great-"
"I'll show you it in the morning," Allison interrupted. "Come on."
So I did, following her directly to the bedroom. The bed was immense, large enough for three people. Allison stared at me, threw her purse on a chair, then took off her clothes. Shoes- flung over the carpet, dress- dropped in the chair, bra- a quick snap and her breasts were before me, panties- down past the knees, flicked away.
"Now you, mister."
In a moment I was naked as well and tasted the saltiness of her skin, her nipples in my mouth. It had been a painfully long time since I'd held a woman, any woman, and I felt grateful to Allison for giving herself to me, or taking me to her, so very grateful when she pushed me onto my back and sucked me with frank abandon. A moment later I was inside of her, and if I was not exactly heroic, then I was serviceable and of sufficient duration, and besides, Allison was easy- she took it in and made use of it for herself. Like mixing batter with a spoon. There is nothing like the velvety wetness of a woman, and my head swam with pleasure.
"Wait," Allison said suddenly. "Pull out a moment!"
"What?"
"It's okay. Hold your fire."
I rolled off of her in the darkness, baffled.
"I'll be right back, folks."
She grabbed something from her purse and ran into the bathroom. The light flashed on just before the door closed. I didn't know whether to be angry or hurt or amused. Then the door opened and Allison's naked shadow flew through the darkness right back into bed.
I wondered if I smelled something in her breath. "Everything okay?"
"A minor adjustment."
"Ah," I said as if I knew, trying to remember the obscure locations of certain forms of birth control.