Teddy Wayne - Kapitoil

I miss my shot, and two females ask Jefferson if they can have the next game. The one who asks is thin and has blonde hair and wears false cat ears and has drawn whiskers on her cheeks, and her friend is heavier and in the clothing of a waitress from the English Middle Ages that provides her breasts with high visibility.

While Dan shoots, two men dance in the middle of the floor dressed as a policeman and the singer Madonna. They kiss, and then the man in the Madonna costume deposits his hand inside the front of the policeman’s pants. Although part of me wants to keep watching, it also disgusts me, not only because it is two men, which bothers me (but I am in the U.S. now and specifically in New York and that is the custom here), but because they aren’t respecting the privacy of others or even themselves.

Dan pockets the remainder of Jefferson’s balls and loudly informs Jefferson that he sucks. Jefferson doesn’t listen, however, as he’s conversing with the cat. Then Dan deposits all of my balls in the table pockets except the last one, which is a difficult shot that he misses.

On my turn I take more time observing the table before I shoot and deciphering the optimal ball to hit. I link my stick between Dan’s number 6 and the pocket, as I’ve seen Dan and Jefferson do, and aim at where the stick bisected the number 6 ball, and strike slowly and deposit it. I am also now in position to get another one, but this time I miss, and I leave my last ball vulnerable.

Dan has an easy shot, and he lines up and retracts and extends his stick several times, then he looks at me from the corner of his eye quickly as if he is certifying that I’m watching, and shoots. It misses, very slightly, and the white ball rolls into a strong position for me. He says, “Can’t believe I missed that,” and shakes his head, and now I know he missed on purpose, because when people are truly upset with themselves for making an error they are either more angry or mute.

I pocket Dan’s number 9 ball, which leaves his last one. Now it is easier to focus, because (1)there are fewer variables (fewer balls), and (2)there is less need for prediction (I don’t have to worry about placing the white ball after this). I strike the ball cleanly and Dan’s number 7 ball rolls into the pocket.

Dan puts the three $20 bills in my hand and holds it above our heads and says I am the winner and still undefeated, even though I have never played before so of course I am still undefeated, but I don’t feel triumphant, as it was a fraudulent win and Dan intentionally lost to me because I am now a higher-up.

Then Jefferson invites the two females to play against him and Dan, and I find Rebecca, who stands behind the two females. She compliments my pool skills.

“You could perform as well if you tried,” I say. “It is merely a combination of geometry-based strategy and hand-eye coordination.”

She smiles and says, “You certainly have a distinctive way of seeing the world.”

I smile as well, but it is forced, because while I do enjoy the use of numbers and logic, her comment suggests that it’s all I have to offer others and that, parallel to Dan, I have a narrow worldview.

Possibly Rebecca recognizes I’m offended because when I ask how the pod is, she says, “It’s something to listen to Dan and Jefferson’s repressed flirtations without any other witnesses. A truly unique experience.” I want to tell her that I would like to have other witnesses in my office as well, but I don’t want the risk of her asking what I’m working on or to appear ungrateful for receiving a private office. Then she adds, “Except you can’t say something is ‘truly’ unique. It’s either unique or it’s not. Like pregnancy.” I had not previously considered this idea. Placing an adverb before “unique” is similar to multiplying a number by zero: It will remain zero no matter what the modifier is.

I consult with her about the Y2K project, but she instead asks how my sister is. I tell her Zahira has developed an interest in biology and is performing well in school. “But I wish she displayed more interest in economics,” I say. Rebecca asks why. “It is an interesting field and one that she would excel at.”

“Maybe it’s more important for her to find out what she’s interested in and what she excels at,” Rebecca says.

I do not reply, but it is a valid point, and possibly Zahira is not truly stimulated by my conversations and emails about finance and programming.

Rebecca lights a cigarette and accidentally exhales smoke in my face. “Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry,” she says as she waves her hands to push it away, although once smoke has touched you it has already inflicted its odor and damage.

But I say, “You do not need to apologize to me. You should apologize to your own body.”

“Thanks, Mom,” she says. “I was in the mood for a lecture about something I only get reminded of 50 times a day.”

“Then why do you not stop smoking?” I ask.

“Stop smoking,” she says as if she is considering the idea for the first time. “Why didn’t I think of that? I should just quit — it’s so easy to do!”

I look directly at her and say, “That is an attitude of defeat. Your body is more powerful than cigarettes, and your brain is more powerful than your body, and you can overpower them if you truly want to.”

Her eyes move slightly as they stay with mine. She deposits her cigarette inside her beer bottle. “Sounds a little Tony Robbins, but what the hell, nothing else has worked,” she says. She looks at the long line for the restroom. “Save my spot?” I tell her I will, although I don’t think anyone will occupy her spot to talk to me.

But soon a man in a costume with wings on his back that mirror light bumps into me. “Excuse me,” he says, and from his voice I decipher he is a homosexual.

“It is not a problem,” I say.

“Let me make it up to you,” he says. “What are you drinking?” I tell him Coke and vodka, and he says, “My kind of guy.”

I hope Rebecca returns before he does, but he’s back quickly. “One vodka and Coke for Mr.?” he asks.

“Karim Issar,” I say, and I shake his hand with great force.

“Easy, tiger,” he says. “I need that. Jamie Spalding.”

He asks where I’m from and what I do and how long I’ve been in New York, and I answer each question in a calm and quiet voice, which is simple because my normal voice is not very stimulated and is a facet I’m working on, as business people respond to enthusiasm and energy.

When I tell him that I don’t mind working long hours, and in fact I prefer them because sometimes I’m uncertain what to do with myself when I don’t have a project, he laughs very hard, even though nothing in my statement is humorous. Then he touches my chest and says, “Do you consider dancing a project?”

I must remind myself that I am a guest at this party and in this country. “No, I do not,” I say. “But I have to rejoin my friends now.” Before I depart I shake his hand even though I don’t truly want to.

At the pool table, Jefferson introduces me to the cat (Melissa) and the English Middle Ages waitress (Bonnie). He says, “Karim works with us at Schrub. The boss fucking loves him — he took him to the World Series the other night.” I don’t know how he knows this, and I wish he didn’t know it. Then he whispers in my ear, “Bonnie’s been asking about you. Talk to her.”

I don’t believe him, and I also think he wants me to talk to her so that he and Dan can possess Melissa exclusively for themselves, and it frustrates me that Jefferson always secures the optimal female, but Rebecca is still waiting for the restroom and I do not want to be alone or have Jamie converse with me again, so I engage Bonnie. She is studying for a master’s degree in sociology at a university in New York, and although she is friendly and intelligent and I do not think females who are slightly overweight are unattractive, as Jefferson and Dan do, I keep looking over at Melissa and partially listening to her, even though what she is saying is vapid (she is discussing where she bought her costume and how the idea launched from a television show), but Jefferson and Dan pretend to be very stimulated.