At the store the next day, Mr. Oliver comes in and tells us that Roger has worms again. Susan gives him the medicine he needs, tells him he really should keep Roger out of the neighbors’ garbage, which she’s told him before, and then they stand and talk for almost an hour about the vet in Sound Beach who’s being investigated by the state. My opinion is that people like that ought to be put in jail with the key thrown away, after the things that vet did to the dogs, operating on them when he didn’t have to, just for the money so he could have a new driveway put in, but I don’t say anything, I’m still huffed over last evening and Dave. It takes me a while to get over things. I’m too sensitive for my own good, I know that. It’s a big problem and getting worse as I get older, and I should probably go see a psychologist about it. They say there are ways a person can desensitize himself.
Who should come in then but the scientist from yesterday, the squinty one who was looking for Oscar’s German Deli. My first thought is that he decided to buy Daisy after all even though she’ll drive him up the wall. People are drawn to parrots, I’ve seen that many times. But no, the scientist comes up to me instead and introduces himself. “I’m Bill Pfeiffer,” he says and holds out his hand. We shake hands. “I’m Martin Bogaty,” I say, as if no problem, scientists introduce themselves to me every other day. I’m glad I didn’t let my mouth fall open. “Well, it’s probably a silly idea, but all the sensible ideas haven’t worked,” says Bill Pfeiffer. He explains: “I was talking to some of my colleagues about this pet store and how you went on, Martin, about what animals are saying, and they suggested, seriously, that we give you a shot at the alien. And why not?” I nod, as if I understand what he’s talking about. Susan comes over, and the scientist turns and introduces himself to her. He gives her his card too. She’s suspicious at first, ready to be tough and angry, because this is a little strange and going on in her shop, but after a while she starts smiling. Mr. Oliver has come over, behind her, and is listening carefully. Before I know it, they’re all three of them smiling and talking. “I think it’s a great idea, Professor Pfeiffer,” Mr. Oliver says. “Marty will be thrilled,” Susan says, as if I’m not standing right there but somewhere else. “It’s an opportunity for him, too,” she says. Finally it begins to dawn on me: I’m going to get to see the alien, actually see him with my own two eyes. And not only that, but they’re going to let me talk to him. “Holy,” I say. I’ve never been so astounded in my life. Joe will have to sit down when he hears this one. Unless they make the whole thing classified and I’m not allowed to tell him. “What do I wear?” I say to Professor Bill Pfeiffer. “Just wear what you’re wearing,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder almost the way Joe does.
I have some trouble sleeping that night. They’re going to pick me up in the morning, at the house, in a special government car. I lie on my back and listen to the wind blowing, and in addition to the wind noise, Mrs. Piscopo has her television on downstairs. You can hear the television laughter. It’s not like those people are having a good time or that they even think some joke is funny, it’s just television laughter, that’s all it is, cold and mechanical. I’m thinking how lonely it is for an old woman to sit by herself in a living room with the television on and that cold laughter going in and going out like seawater at the beach. It’s probably the Leno show she has on. I never watch it. I watched it once, and that was it. I don’t like the way they make fun of people. From thinking of the Leno show and about how lonely it is to be an old woman, I start thinking about myself. It must be after midnight, and I’m still not at all sleepy. Meeting this alien will be the most important thing that ever happened to me. It’s a more important thing even than going to the White House to meet the President and the First Lady. I mean, we have a lot of presidents, we get a new one every four years unless he’s reelected, but tell me this, how many aliens do we have? Only one in the whole history of the world. You see my point. So I’m worried, afraid I’ll say something I shouldn’t, because sometimes I can be awfully dense, it’s in my nature. I remember the time I was in school, in the tenth grade, and the whole class was laughing at me, just roaring with laughter, because I said something I shouldn’t have to the teacher, and to this day I swear I don’t know what it was. Mrs. Black made me go to the principal’s office, but he didn’t explain to me what I said. He just sighed and said, “Marty again.” That’s when I decided to stop going. I didn’t see any percentage in being laughed at like that day after day. It didn’t matter if I didn’t graduate, I wasn’t going to be getting a good job anyway. I’m not stupid, I know what the score is. Even when I was in the tenth grade, I knew what the score was.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, it’s morning and I’m sitting up in bed because someone’s knocking at the door. It’s Mrs. Piscopo. I can tell her knock, I’ve heard it so often. She says, “Marty, there’s a car here for you.” “Thank you, Mrs. Piscopo,” I say. “Don’t keep them waiting, Marty,” she says, impatient, breathing on the other side of the door. “I won’t,” I say back, “but I got to go to the bathroom.” The fact is, I also have to wait a few minutes for my hard-on to go down before I can get into my pants. One of the good things about being over the hill physically is that you have less problems of that kind with your dick. When I was in the eighth or ninth grade, Jesus, I had hard-ons all the time and practically everywhere. It got so embarrassing that I wanted to stay home. Except that it wasn’t a real home I had, the kind with parents and your own room and a door you could close, so I couldn’t. One time, I’ll never forget it, I was called to the blackboard and wasn’t able to go, even though the teacher repeated my name twice. I guess she thought I was day-dreaming or something. I don’t have much of a problem anymore with my dick, particularly since I’ve learned to stay away from X-rated stuff and keep my eyes off women’s bodies, even when it’s summer and they aren’t wearing a whole lot. When you’re a person like me, you have to learn to be realistic, otherwise, Jack, you’re in major trouble. Just like I know that I’m not going to ever have a really good job or be a professional football player or walk on the moon, I also know that I’m not going to ever have a woman of my own. And that’s all right. I mean, it’s important to know your limitations and who you are. It saves a person a lot of grief.
There’s not much to see on the way to the Shoreham power plant, which Professor Pfeiffer told me has been turned into a laboratory to study the alien. It’s early and misty, and the men in the car don’t say much. They’re not rude, they’re just quiet. I wish Professor Pfeiffer was with us, but he’s not. “There’s not a lot of traffic here now,” I say. We’re on Wading River Road. One of the men grunts, so I talk about the traffic problem because of the alien. “Those people must be really pissed off,” I say, “to come here in a tour bus and not get to see the alien. All they get to see, from what I hear, is a five-minute videotape at Brookhaven, and the color’s no good.” “Yeah,” says the man who grunted. He has a nice voice. The other man is just driving. I figure they must be military or in the secret service, to be so quiet, even when someone’s talking, and to have such broad shoulders. I wonder if they’re carrying guns too. They probably are. “Do you think I’ll have to take an oath of secrecy?” I say. The men don’t say anything, and I guess that means I will have to take an oath. I don’t mind. Loose Ups sink ships. We come to the gate, and the guard at the gate lets us pass. He looks bored. As for me, I’m getting so excited, I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin. We pass some gray buildings, make a turn, and then I see the Sound and the huge cone. The car stops in front of a building, and we get out. This is so dramatic, it seems to me that I’m in a movie. Bruce Willis could be playing me. I love Bruce Willis. The first movie I saw him in was Die Hard. I saw it four times.