Tom Rachman - The Rise & Fall of Great Powers

“Okay, can I just tell you something? The thong is why Emerson and I broke up.”

“You found him wearing yours?”

“I wish. No, he wanted me to wear one, which — if you have any familiarity with my butt, there’s just no cause to expose more of it. He called it ‘a point of principle.’ ”

“Your butt, or the thong?”

“The one in the other.”

“So did you?”

“It’s a long-standing credo in my life that dental floss is not for covering one’s nether regions.”

“And this was an ongoing issue?”

“You have no idea. Once he fixates on something, you can’t pry him off it. Anyway, why don’t men have to wear a goddamn thong?”

“It wouldn’t work,” Tooly said. “They’ve got stuff to hold up.”

“They wear boxer shorts, and those don’t support anything.”

“Maybe they need an underwire thong.”

Noeline loved this and clapped her hands. “That’s a totally disturbing image.” As she continued her review of the Emerson relationship, squirmy details emerged, including sexual quirks and small cruelties. “When you see what looks like an ideal relationship from outside,” Noeline remarked, “you don’t realize how much crap is going on inside.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Just that your relationship didn’t seem all that ideal to me. You guys argued a lot.”

“How do you know that?”

“Thin walls.”

“Well, that’s kind of embarrassing.”

“And he was rude to you, I thought.” Tooly took a sip of water. “Are you offended if I say this stuff? Is it better that I keep my mouth shut?”

“The more awful things you say about him, the better. Badmouthing this jerk is my favorite sport right now. But wait — you didn’t like Emerson?”

“Noeline, I don’t think anybody likes him. There’s a saying: ‘Every cockroach looks beautiful to its mother.’ But when Emerson calls his mom she lets the answering machine get it.”

“That is fantastic!”

“I can keep going?”

“Yes, please!”

“He’s arrogant. He’s pushy. Constantly showing off. What is it with taking his shirt off all the time? Yes, we know he works out. Congratulations, you have abs. But it’s winter in New York, not July in Malibu. And I don’t doubt that he knows a lot, but it’s—”

“He doesn’t know one-tenth of what he claims,” Noeline interrupted. “He thinks he’ll do what I did and go from postgrad straight to teaching at Columbia. Dream on.”

“Really?”

“They like us to make our bones on the mean streets of rural academia. I got insanely lucky.”

“You were good, probably.”

“Lucky. Anyhoo, back to insulting the loser. I just used the guy for his body. I’m joking. Whatever. I’m pretty cynical about relationships. And I blame my parents. Even though they live on different continents, they keep up this amazing relationship. They’ve allowed each other to pursue separate careers. And they love each other still. So they’ve ruined me. Because that is not the rule. Most guys cannot deal with a smart woman. Male-female relationships are basically incompatible with mutual dignity. But society mounts all this pressure on heteros to mate for life or be outcasts.”

“How does society do that?”

“Like, consider the romantic comedy. That whole genre is intended to guilt us into breeding. Women are made to look lonely and pathetic if they ever dare be independent. ‘Fear not, loser girl — here’s dimple-cheeked Hugh Grant, who will save you with his mumbly bullshit!’ It’s social engineering to make us make babies.”

“Did Emerson want babies?”

“I could never procreate with a guy as stupid as him. Okay,” Noeline said, smile rising. “I’m going to tell you something. But don’t pass this on to anyone.”

“I don’t know anyone.”

“Seriously, it could bounce back on me. Get this: I basically wrote half his doctoral thesis. Not even kidding. You have no idea what shit he had in there before I looked at it.”

“What’s his subject again? Something about roller coasters?”

“ ‘The Sign, the Signified, and the Cyclone: Lacan Goes to the Fairground.’ ”

“What does that even mean?”

“Who knows. But fine, I worked with it. And then he goes and fucking breaks up with me ! Like, what is up with that?” She took a big mouthful of food, talking and chewing together: “Good to vent … My friends all hated him, so now they’re, like, I told you so…. Anyway. Duncan? How’s stuff with him?”

“Fine.”

“You in love?”

“Me? Gosh, I don’t know that I have that emotion. I like people,” Tooly said. “But there’s not a separate emotion involving stardust and harps. Nobody’s convinced me such a thing exists. What exists, I think, is liking to a greater or lesser degree. But this idea of a magical separate thing is sort of a swindle — like you were saying about romantic comedies.”

“I never said I didn’t fall in love. I do constantly. That’s my problem. You must not have met the right person.”

“I don’t think there are ‘right people,’ ” Tooly said. “Just variations on types.”

“How did you get so cynical at such a young age?”

The answer, which Tooly failed to give, was that these views were not necessarily hers. They belonged to Venn, and he was the most convincing person she knew. “It’s complicated.”

“Is this the part where you get all mysterious and clam up?”

“Probably, yes.”

The camaraderie cooled. “I don’t really fall in love, so I’m not with Duncan, no,” she said, trying to make reiteration sound like disclosure. “I do like Duncan. He’s a nice guy. And I feel sad for him.”

“Ouch.”

“Not in a bad way.”

“No, no — most men want to be pitied,” Noeline said sarcastically. “Actually, maybe they do. Holy shit! Maybe that’s the key to everything!”

“I don’t pity him. I’m just saying I don’t get sentimental about people.”

“Isn’t sentimental what you’re supposed to get about people? If you don’t, what’s the point of going out with Duncan at all?”

“There are rational reasons.”

“What’s the rationale of sleeping with Duncan McGrory, whom you sort of pity?”

“Well, we’re working on a business project. Me, him, and Xavi. This Wildfire online-currency thing.”

“That’s not serious, is it? I thought that was just you guys messing around.”

“It’s getting serious.”

“And that’s your reason for dating Duncan? I completely don’t believe you.”

“I have this friend,” Tooly said, “who is like an extreme version of me, in terms of not being sentimental about stuff. He’s purely rational — yet also decent to people who deserve it, and tough with those who don’t. Doesn’t care about rules, or how you’re supposed to act. He behaves how he thinks. That’s how I try to be.”

“You’re in love with this guy?”

“No, no, no — he pretty much raised me.”

“Aha! So, this is the guy you live with in some batcave outside Gotham.”

“I live with someone else, actually,” Tooly said.

“Your parents?”

“My parents aren’t in the picture.”

“You’re an orphan?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So mysterious! But I’m getting somewhere. You’re using Duncan, and you’re in love with a mysterious superhero. Only kidding! Hey, should we get more tea? You have to come to my place sometime — I have all sorts of awesome herbal teas. Are you into drinking tea and bad-mouthing guys sometime? We have to do that.”

“Name the date.”

“Tooly, why don’t you apply here to college? You totally should.”