“You too?” he said.
“Yep,” I answered, surprised he’d received the axe as well.
He sighed. “It’s all about numbers.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” he asked. “I missed one mortgage payment while I was off in the Bahamas. A day after the deadline, three of my credit cards were canceled. I spent four weeks fixing the problem, screwed up a big contract, and now they’re giving me the can. Can you believe it?” He sighed. “What’d you do?”
“I had surgery on my face and no one wants to look at me anymore,” I answered.
He burst into laughter, then turned grim. “Too much wit killed you, eh? Personality, charm, individualism — quirks of the past. You want to survive now, be like a virus.”
“A virus?”
“Symmetrical, methodical, easily reproducible, but still susceptible to improvement and change. The perfect employee.”
“I guess so.”
“You guess so?” he said, and a mad glint flared across his eyes. “You’re a number, I’m a number… but I’ll show them I’m not just any number.” Around the corner, the valet was bringing a SUV. The VP charged out in front, arms wide open, about to get run over. I sprinted at him, slammed into his body, both of us rolling as the SUV skidded to the side.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.
“Saving your life!”
“My life is already over! What am I gonna tell my wife? I’m just a goddamn number they replaced?”
“Being a number isn’t so bad,” I said. “It’s the most guys like us can hope for.”
He looked at me, said, “I’d rather die than be a number.” Then burst out crying. “Can you hold me?” he asked.
A minute later, the valet pulled up in the VP’s Porsche. He didn’t say good-bye as he drove off.
III.
Nikki met me outside our office building and we decided to walk towards a local bar.
We chatted about the charm of a childhood driven by infatuations, wondered why drugs had become so emotionally trendy, then pondered which new disease would end up destroying civilization.
“I used to work at an epidemiology office,” she said. “The disease center I worked at thought we were due for a big plague that’ll down the population in half.”
“Half?”
“Yeah, half.”
“Were there any diseases that were especially nasty?” I asked.
“Lupus.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s when your cells start committing suicide and your immune system makes antibodies that attack your own tissue, making your face bloat up like a wolf.”
“How’d you go from there to here?”
“Be surrounded by diseases or people all day. Which would you choose?” she asked.
We arrived at Dash, a three-story bar filled with young, rich singles. In Asia, I was used to people’s friendliness: you could approach almost anyone and strike up a conversation. Here, I saw the disdainful looks from girls who’d size me up and dismiss me, the millions of unspoken rules that were inviolable. I’d forgotten how divisive love could be.
Certain I was doomed to futility, I was surprised when Nikki downed three Long Islands and said, “Ever since I first saw you, I thought you were hot.”
“You did?”
“You know, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but a lot of girls are really attracted to you. Is it true you had surgery?”
“Yeah,” I answered.
“Well I didn’t see you before, but it looks great. I had my boobs done and I’ve had a tummy tuck too. If it looks good, who cares, right?”
“Right.”
“Why aren’t you drinking?” she asked.
I shrugged, looked at the bar. Saw some ketchup and mustard. “Wanna see something gross?”
“What?”
I grabbed bottles of both, asked for a cup, poured a mix of the two in.
“You’re not gonna actually drink that, are you?” she asked.
I took the cup and downed it.
“Oh my god.”
“When I was in China,” I explained, “I had a craving for American food but everything tasted a little off, so I started drinking ketchup and mustard.”
She burst out laughing. “I’ve heard of people going crazy for their cravings, but you’ve just taken it to another level. Tell me more about Asia.”
“Like what?”
“Something that sticks out.”
I thought about it. “In Thailand, I saw a bird that got caught in a spider web. It was tangled up and there were hundreds of baby spiders crawling over it, sucking its life away. I felt so sorry for the little thing.”
She put her hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go back to your place right now.”
“What?”
“I can’t bear to see you sad. Let’s go,” she said, her breath reeking of alcohol.
“I’m sorry, I’d rather not.”
She appeared stunned. “Excuse me?”
“I’d rather not.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No.”
“I’m saying let’s go back to your place to, you know,” and she twisted her hips back and forth.
“I know. And I’m sorry, but I’d rather not.”
“You really are a freak, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“Yeah, everyone thinks you’re a freak. Why do you think we got rid of you?”
“There’s no need to be hostile.”
“You’re such a freak. I’m glad they got rid of you.”
I bit my tongue, stood up.
“Yeah, get out of here you freak! FREAK! FREAK!” and she stumbled.
“Nikki,” I said, helping her to get up.
“Get away from me!” she yelled, splashing her drink in my face.
A guy with a crew cut and muscles the size of boxes rushed to her aid. “Is he bothering you?”
“Get him out of my sight!”
“You should leave,” he admonished, prince to the rescue.
“Nikki.”
“Didn’t you hear her?” he said. “Get out!” And he swelled his chest up in a menacing pose, clenching his fists.
I stared incredulously.
“Did you hear me?” he demanded.
“I heard you. So go ahead, hit me.”
“What?”
“Go ahead and hit me.”
“You crazy?”
“Yeah I’m crazy, and if you’re gonna threaten me, carry through.”
“You’re nuts.”
And though he glowered, I glowered back.
He shook his head, backing down.
I turned around. Saw him trying to comfort her as I made my exit.
Outside, I was fuming, the muted blast of hip-hop resonating through the street. Drunkards staggered along the block, ranting about misplaced desire, while swarms of women were being chased by horny guys hiding their loneliness with exaggerated machismo. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with Nikki. Quite the contrary. It’s just, I could still feel the embers of May shining light-years away even though she’d supernova’d into nonexistence.
I walked without direction, traversing aimlessly. While I passed an alley, I heard a shuffling sound, a pile of garbage collapsing on itself. I looked more closely. A scruffy dog emerged from the bundles of trash. He was an ugly mutt, hair patched together. He crashed into the wall, dumbly falling over. Was he blind? He stumbled his way over and growled suspiciously.
“It’s okay, I’m…”
But he made several rapid barks before charging me, biting my arm.
I could have lashed out but didn’t. Instead, I petted him, trying to soothe his rage and calm his nerves; he was scrawny and I knew he just wanted food. After a minute, he let go, his anger sated. He actually looked guilty, wagging his tail and standing there helplessly. “Wait here,” I ordered.