“What are you doing?”

“I’m handling the many chores and duties that occur in the course of a given day.” Then opening my eyes, I asked him, “What kind of chores and duties occur in the course of a given day?”

“We’ll go into that later, right now I want you to explore your anxieties.”

“Huh?”

“Look, you don’t realize this, but you are on those dimensions simultaneously. Recollection is just calling forth those moments. Think about it. With any given situation there’s usually a predisposed action.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So when I ask you these questions you don’t have to think. Simply look and tell me what you see.”

“What was the question again?”

“We were talking about your sensations on this matter.”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes and went under: “I feel an impediment, I’m not as well trained on this as you…. I feel a certain anxiety over what might happen.” I was running dangerously low on bullshit.

“Have you ever participated in EST?” he asked.

“No.”

“Do you chant?”

“No.”

“Crystals?”

“No.”

“All right, we’ll go into more of that later. You’re lucky we met, I see a lot of headway I could help you with.”

“I’m looking forward to that.” Closing my eyes I suddenly started groaning. “Oh, I’m registering something within.”

“Good, good, what is it?”

“It’s stifling…I see…money….” I was answering like someone hearing voices at a seance. “It’s the stifling question of wage.”

“Yes.” He leaned forward energetically. “Good, go with it.”

“I’m speculating about the whole power structure.”

“Okay, that’s Pentagon; you’re referring to Pentagon,” he explained. Who the hell had mentioned the Pentagon? But I got the picture. This was a West Coast hippie with short hair whose destiny as a Haight Ashbury health food cashier had somehow been derailed and instead he had wound up in this bizarre and forsaken spot. Wherever he is nowadays, a transchanneler and a crystal would certainly be nearby. I was getting sick of his shit: “To hell with the Pentagon!”

“Good, excellent, get rid of all that hostility, but then let’s get back to the issue. Specifically, I’d like to hear what you thought when you saw me for the first time.”

This was going to be easy. He wanted to be flattered. “Well, I felt…an energy, you know, like a compass needle pointing north.” I then paused a moment and looked enlightened and blurted, “Of course, it all makes sense now.”

“What does?”

“Well, for the past few days, all these auspicious and portentous things kept happening.”

“Really?” he replied eagerly. “Like what?”

“Well, I felt this kind of Buddhistic suspension, as if nothing and everything mattered.”

“Really?”

“I broke up with my old lover.”

“What a sacrifice.”

“And moved out of my old house.”

“Holy Tao!”

“And I was drawn here randomly by an overheard conversation on a subway.”

“What karma!” he hollered, leaping out of his chair and giving me a hug. I softly pushed him back into his chair.

“Well,” I resumed calmness. “When would you like me to begin?”

Taking a deep sigh, he wiped the sweat off his brow. “How would you feel about starting your training tonight, right up until closing?”

I didn’t want to spend the night in this sleazy theater. “Well, I’m feeling a fear, a panic, my heart is palpitating, panting deeply, quickly. But I’m willing…” I faltered as I put my hand over my heart. “I’m willing to give it…a stab.”

“Maybe tonight is a bad idea. In fact, you better get some rest. You know, what you need is some miso and rest.”

He walked me to the door and concluded, “Give me a call tomorrow and we’ll arrange a time.”

“Thank you,” I said, breathing more easily. When he closed the door, the significance hit me. The replaced esteem, especially considering the long decline into hopelessness that had been averted by this eleventh-hour reprieve, the full impact hit me as I dashed excitedly through the dim, nefarious halls head on into some small guy, knocking him flat to the ground.

“I’m so sorry,” I said as I reached down, unintentionally grabbing him around the chest to help him back to homo erectus.

“Hey!” I heard a high-pitched squawk. “Get off, sleazebag!”

I realized that through the shirt I was juggling a set of boobs. Quickly I let go and she fell back to the ground.

“You’re a girl!”

“I’m a woman, manboy!”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m the projectionist,” she replied. “What’s your problem?”

“Oh, sorry,” I replied, flustered. Not knowing what else to say, I nervously said, “How do you do? I’m straight.” And then I bolted out.

I retreated back across Twelfth and down Broadway intending to return to Helmsley’s with the heartening news. But as I passed by the NYU dormitories, specifically the one that housed Eunice, I thought about that olive man in the white suit. Instant anger and hurt eclipsed the jubilation of the new job. I realized that this was something that had to be resolved. I wondered if they’d be together now.

It was still the lighter side of twilight, so I decided to try to find her. A guard insisted on announcing me, so she was on guard when I got to her door. When the elevator stopped on her floor and the doors slid open, she was standing there, leaning against her door holding a can of Tab, which she was sucking through a straw. We entered the room.

How could she do that to me? I stood still and stared at that milky, silky soft skin, her shadowless face. At first, I tried to remember and then I tried to forget his filthy hands fumbling over her and then I tried not to imagine what might’ve followed.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked after a patient interval.

“You probably heard I was fired.”

“I heard, but I couldn’t believe it….” She rambled on about what a shit Pepe was, and gave me some cinema updates. It sounded all so innocent; she didn’t realize that I saw her being felt up at the Ritz.

“I missed you dearly,” she soon concluded.

“How much?” I mumbled. I took a single step toward her and she took a couple of steps backwards until she was up against the small pullout sofa.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I know you didn’t go out West to visit the folks.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw you at the Ritz the other night with that old guy, letting him kiss you and feel you up.”

“I don’t see how what I do is any business of yours.”

“It is when I spend two months dating you in the cold until I lose sensation in my fingers, and my girlfriend and job.”

“Wait a second. You can’t dump all that on me.”

“You knew what I wanted.”

“And you knew what I wanted.”

“Yeah, to make yourself feel pretty at someone else’s agony. Fuck you.” I slammed the door behind me and left.

When I arrived back at Helmsley’s, I told him that I had the job.

“Good, this can be a double celebration. What are you doing tonight?”

“Nothing, why?”

“Because there’s someone very special I want you to meet tonight.”

“I’d be honored, but to be honest I’m tired, starving, filthy, and broke. Tonight might not be the night of nights.” It was only around six. He suggested that I nap an hour or two, take a shower, and then maybe we would go out, his treat. “It’s important that you meet her tonight.”

Three hours later we were at a local restaurant where Helmsley ordered the most expensive dish in the pasta category.

“A fine meal can alter one’s entire perspective,” Helmsley quipped as I gobbled deeper and deeper into the high-sided plate. I felt like Godzilla as I tore through the many pasta roofs and cheese floors. To do any real damage to that tomato and garlic structure was a gluttonous task. All Helmsley did the entire time was pour from a select bottle of vino and snicker. Eventually, though, he attempted to start a sentence, an opening to something he didn’t seem to know how to close.