Page 86 - The Myth and the Moment

Evening

Same type as Phil’s party-goers: clean but stylish, the nouveau elite.
Know which side of their whole-grain bread is buttered. Is ‘hypocrite
syncretist’ an extravagant description? To hell with them, definitely
part of the problem; upstairs, at the center of her web, a part of the
solution. I hope. Damned elevator reeks of their combined cologne,
perfume, and, yes, exudations of incense. What a bouquet: the smell
of money, the smell of success, the smell of seductive chemical
warfare. Am I allergic to it? Must be fatigue; I’m otherwise
impervious to the blandishments of wealth and excess.
Whoosh.
The doors draw back on invisible tracks. Déjà vu. And down the
hall, perspective unequivocally sucking me down to the vanishing
point. Snap out of it. What number? Mind’s a blank. No matter, I
hear a deadbolt sliding. The trapdoor spider strikes: her prey,
mesmerized, falls toward the abyss. Looks fairly calm, must have
been meditating; a method actor would get into it a lot and get a lot
out of it.
“Thanks for seeing me. I really need your help again. Sorry.”
Am I? Maybe I am. Such an ambiguous adjective.
“Oh, don’t be so formal, Nate; we’re old friends. This must be a
terrible experience for you.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
No ambiguity there. But don’t lose the point.
“Look: I spent all afternoon at Phil’s house. First he tried to sweet-
talk me; that didn’t work, so then he gave me the run-around. What a
yarn of double-talk that guy can spin! Finally, I think he was going to
poison me. No, no, you don’t have to argue about it. Whether or not
he tried to kill me, you know, deep inside, that he’s capable of it.”
“I can’t argue about events I didn’t witness.”
“No, of course not. But you may be able to argue with Phil better
than I can. I know you don’t want to get involved, but I am going to
be less than polite and put you on the spot. If I continue to be
frustrated by Phil’s intransigence much longer—and I am talking
about minutes or hours, not days or weeks—I will find some way to
get at him. He’s not impervious; a man that corrupt has a million
secrets to hide. In fact, I can remember a few names from the Blue
Dharma days, people he stepped on a little too hard to get where he
was going. I’ll find them, probably in the phone book. Does this

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