Like Warm Sun on Nekkid Bottoms - Charles Austen [120]
“Other than my parents,” she continued, a bit sadly, “I don’t know anyone who’s particularly benevolent, and I can’t get two people to agree on the same movie, let alone major life decisions. Some people like film as art—other, lesser intellects, or mental escapists, may prefer ‘high-octane, big-screen’ entertainment. Some people are smart. Some people are dumb. Some smart people do stupid things, and some dumb people are amazingly savvy.”
“Sooo,” I said, “it’s basically just a community like any other.”
She smiled, sarcastically. “Of people who like to be naked.”
I eyed her, sarcastically. “You seem kind of hung up on that,” I kidded, grateful she still hadn’t recognized I was an intellectual frog.
“This is going to sound strange, Wisper,” I said, a little afraid to finish my thought. “But why are you attracted to me?”
“What? What a question! Because you’re handsome, and nice, and...”
“I am?” I was genuinely caught off-guard.
“Why does that surprise you?”
“I don’t know. No one’s ever said it before.”
“Which part?”
“The handsome part. Well, either part actually. Wait. I take that back. Morgan says I’m nice, sometimes. Actually what he says is ‘you’re a chump’, but in Morgan-speak that means ‘is considerate, and will do things for others’.”
“You are considerate. Remember the first time we met?” she asked.
I did. It was a couple weeks before the water bottle incident. Manschingloss had introduced her to me as one of his choices for the fashion show. Part of my job was approving the models, which was entirely perfunctory as all final decisions were the purview of Manschingloss’, and I normally did it without much interest. Manschingloss was never overruled. But, contrary to many of the models I might have preferred not to hire, Ms. Nuckeby had been a delight. Polite and charming, and I, of course, had been immediately struck by her startling beauty, and so, did my best not to look at her in a desperate effort to cling to my job description.
“You were so shy,” she said. “You wouldn’t even look at me. But when you did, you looked into my eyes, not into my boobs, and made me feel comfortable. You asked me if you could get me something to eat or drink—you made me laugh,” she recalled, smiling at the memory. “The boss, wanting me to be comfortable and offering me a drink.”
“Maybe I was just hitting on you.”
“You never hit on anybody. Even before I met you, everyone said you were the perfect gentleman.”
“Well, contractually, I’m required to be.”
“I know men, Mister Wopplesdown. That rarely stops them. You can’t fake genuine kindness.”
I felt a bit of a glow. Apparently there was an impression of me in the general world of which I was not aware. People thought highly of me. How had that happened? But then, people thought highly of George W. Bush. Half a nation had elected him to our highest office because they thought he’d be fun at a barbecue.
“So, I already knew you couldn’t hit on me,” Wisper continued. “And we had to sign those papers at the agency, so I knew I had no chance with you. But then you asked me questions about myself, about my family, and made me laugh. Here I was, a new model— basically used to being treated like a glorified coat hanger—and you’re looking into my eyes and treating me like a person. A human being. A woman. I wanted you right there on the floor.”
“On the…” I choked. “On the…” I swallowed hard. “On the floor. Like in—wanted me?”
“Sure. It’s not that big a deal when you’re raised around here. Sexuality is more open, as you can imagine. If you’re attracted to someone, you do it. Il n'y a pas de quoi fouetter un chat.”
“What? What was that? Was that French?”
“Yes. It’s an idiom. Literally it means: ‘It's no reason for whipping a cat.’ But the real translation is more: ‘nothing to fuss over.’”
“So you can be smart in two languages.”
“Well—five. But I’m only really fluent in three.”
“I can walk and chew