Page 50 - WTP VOl. X #3

Everything Flirts (continued from preceding page)
The issue remains undecided. I have some sympathy for Dan, though I won’t defend him. I would want to hear an ape’s love story. But defending Dan, I know from experience, causes him to believe you under- stand him, which in turn causes him to issue invita- tions to dinner.
“Apes flirt,” Dan insists, a parting shot. And that, I can believe. Everything flirts.
We play the game sitting in a large circle on the floor. There are eight of us, and as always, more men than women. Three tonight, Anna, a biologist who was once Jacob’s girlfriend; Greta, a German grad student working in Jacob’s lab; and me. Greta is here with a boyfriend, Fritz, a computer science grad student I somehow haven’t met.
Rajiv, a physicist and the best player—impossibly good, he will win, the rest of us merely try for second place—is God first. God has mismatched socks. As always. Rajiv’s wardrobe is made up of tee shirts collected at physics conferences over the years. His socks always match some of the colors
in his shirt, but never each other. The background of tonight’s shirt is blue, and his socks are a garish pink and orange picking up on the colors of car- toon quarks labeled, in lime green, Strangeness and Beauty.
Rajiv will think of a rule, but won’t say what it is, and the rest of us will take turns attempting to place cards that fit the sequence he has in mind. A simple rule, too simple for a good game, would be red black red black. Rules can be based on obvious properties such as a card’s color, number, suit, or any combina- tion of these, or on more subtle properties such as mirror symmetry of the card’s design. There is too much potential information to take in all at once, and that’s what makes the game interesting.
Jacob is the official keeper of our huge Eleusis deck, six decks of cards all mixed together in a box. He counts out ten cards for each of us. Rajiv doesn’t take a card at random from the box—our first clue—but looks for one, selecting a two of hearts. He puts this face up on the floor. Correct plays will go to the right of the last card played, making a line across the floor, while incorrect plays go below it.
The seating arrangement is also not random. (Is it ever, in a self-seated group of eight humans?) I was a bit rude to Jacob, I had to be somewhat pushy to squeeze between him and the man to my left, Terry, the man I am trying not to stare at. Jacob looked
pointedly at wide gaps in the rest of the circle. I smiled and asked him to scoot over a bit. In retro- spect this wasn’t such a clever move on my part. If Terry were across the circle from me I could watch him more easily; staring at close quarters is difficult, too conspicuous. But as always, I have gone for the possibility of accidental touch. It’s what I have for a sex life these days, an eroticism of highly magnified brief contacts: rubbing elbows at talks and in the- aters, brushing hands while passing books or papers or plates of food, pressing thighs if I squeeze onto a bench where there is not quite room.
It seems there is a list in the back of my mind, a list of men who might have been, men I might have dated, had I been single. I don’t always know who is on
it. Then suddenly, like tonight, I am reminded: yes, him. I met Terry once before, about a year ago. We ran into him and Jacob at a movie; the four of us
had coffee after. He didn’t say much, nothing I now remember, though I remember a resonant voice and a British accent. He hasn’t said much tonight, in fact he may not have spoken since I arrived. But surely he will answer direct questions.
Terry’s most noticeable trait, and the reason I recog- nized him so easily, is his long hair: truly long, mid-back, dark and slightly wavy. A bit tangled, not recently brushed or trimmed. He also has extremely thin fingers. As I stare at his hands I realize they are quite beautiful, so well-shaped that simply holding his fan of cards they are graceful, all tapers and fine bones.
The skin on Alex’s hands was so tough he could handle dishes straight from the oven. I sometimes accused him of not feeling what he touched. And his fingers were thick, too thick for mine. Should one be methodical about this? Decide there are certain traits one will have in the next lover?
The cards so far: the two of hearts, and under it, some wrong plays: six of clubs, ten of spades, and ace of diamonds. Then two correct plays: four of hearts, six of hearts. Under the six, another four of hearts. This ruled out only hearts are correct, and moving by twos, both of which were too simple. This early in the game, most patterns are deceptive.
Just to my left, slightly behind me, is my paper plate, the pizza gone but with a few carrot sticks and slices of baguette. I am still slowly eating these. Terry reaches over and picks up a half-eaten piece of bread. Without even a glance at me for permission, con- centrating on the row of cards, he eats it. He doesn’t
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