Hape cracked open his portfolio to reveal a sleek laptop, which he opened to Danny’s dismay and started the presentation. This was his ace in the hole. He’d helped put this thing together, and it not only briskly revealed the technological superiority of the FlexTelligence E line, but broke the news that Head had bought no less than three super-high-profile endorsers away from rivals : Gil Fisher, Ainsley Chong, and the apparently unbeatable Ricky Phil Stiller. Stiller was widely expected to sweep the Grand Slam this year on the strength of his terrifying serve and shrewdly evil baseline play. It was commonly speculated that his endorsement of the “Claymore” model racket had been the only thing keeping the Prince corporation alive.
The presentation video was fast-paced, well-produced, and hard-hitting, saving the Stiller endorsement for last and introducing a flashy new model co-designed with Stiller – the “Big Brain”. That epithet was one commonly applied to Stiller early in his career, when his primary method of winning matches was making fools out of aggressive opponents by exploiting their positions with his surgical shots from the baseline. Since, he had developed a high-velocity first service to match his better opponents, but the name stuck. Hape could never shake a vague unease with this title and Head’s adoption thereof, however – he felt that it was mildly anti-Jewish. There were plenty of cerebral players out there – wasn’t this sobriquet a way to shove Stiller into that old “Jews are smart but lack brawn” box?
Danny, who generally loathed presentations, found himself quite engaged by this one, and the news of new endorsements softened his heart a bit toward Head. Hape, who was watching Dracula’s face like a poker player throughout the presentation, began to notice the details of Danny’s appearance. His close-cropped blond hair amplified his ruddy complexion to an almost alarming degree, and his left ear had no lobe to speak of. The faint shininess of skin around his neck suggested corrected scarring and made Hape suspect that Danny had been in a bad auto or industrial accident. His white Ping golf shirt was pressed, but had a small red stain on the left shoulder blade that Hape surmised Danny had missed, given the meticulous condition of Danny’s Nikes and the impeccably creased pleated khakis he sported. Hape imagined how the stain might have gotten there unnoticed : did the offspring of Dracula sneak up with a Crayola marker? Unintentional dribble of Kool-Aid from a hoisted toddler’s lip? Shirt taken from irregular stock? Hape realized with a twinge of regret that he would never know the answer. (37,973)
The icy October wind lashed at Sue’s cheeks as she made her way across the parking lot to her car. An unseasonably cold evening in which was planted the spore of an unseasonably hot romance. She had caught a glimpse of him from the coffee shop and tried to go out to him, but by the time she’d reached the threshold, he was already gone – evaporated into the gloaming.
In the brief magnetic instant that she’d seen him, he appeared loping purposefully down the sidewalk, his head turning slightly from side to side as he observed everything. His eyes were concealed behind a big black pair of sunglasses, but she imagined them to be green and intense. The collar was turned up on his leather bomber. The swing of his arms was a counterrhythm to his long stride. She could see even from a distance that he had a tattoo on his right hand.
She felt her heart crumple as she stepped out into the crisp afternoon air and craned her neck in vain to catch a glimpse of this man. She’d been harpooned with the most powerful of feelings, like this man would write the next chapter in her life, could shape her sadness into something towering and worthwhile. He was gone, though – slipped away like the lifesaving rope from a doomed mountaineer.
--
Ch. 2
All the heartbreak of years past came galloping, trampling back all of a sudden. Sue’s mouth turned down like a baby’s does when it’s about to wail. She could not prevent the single hard sob that escaped her throat. A terrible wave of loss settled through her body like poison.
She bumbled heavily back to her chair and gripped the paper cappuccino cup for support. That man in the sunglasses was receding ever further from the possibility of togetherness, and dragging, unravelling along behind him a feeble thread of her hope. She could feel it pulling out of her, like the stringy guts of a bee after it’s stung you.
Sue sat in the chair for another half-hour, bruised. Then she forced herself to get up and leave the coffee shop, moping on down the street in her car, back to her apartment. She flopped onto her huge couch and stared at her blank computer screen on the coffee table. She didn’t move for two hours. Then, the leaden blanket of sleep slipped over her. It was a fitful slumber. (33,060)
OK, serial novella, LW-style. Finish this one up for me, cro-mags.
__
I had a horrible toothache, so I made an appointment to see the dentist. The rest of my work day was a living hell, as I tried to keep my face from screwing up into a mask of agony during meetings and snapped inappropriately at people on the phone. I heard that the boss was mad about my behavior but managed to sneak out of the office before he could chew my face off. My drive home was pockmarked with near-misses and roiling road rage as the tooth beagle kept gnawing away at my nerve. When I got home, my wife gave me a kiss on the cheek which sent swords of pain through my jaw and into my cranium. I took a bunch of Ibuprofen, cursed the fact that I hadn't saved any Vicodin that I had left over from my foot operation, and headed to to bed. Of course, sleep was impossible until sheer exhaustion overtook the machete sensation and I passed out.
When I woke up I was starving, but I forewent my customary bowl of "Kashi" brand cereal due to the blinding pain in my head. At this point, I was totally unfit to drive and couldn't even really speak, so my wife took the morning off from her job and drove me to the dentist. I signed my pathetic name on the sign-in sheet and sat twitching in the waiting room until the nurse called me.
I walked into the white room and sat down on a dentist chair so high-tech that I'm surprised it was declassified. Even through the pain I could tell it was really cool and was barely able to suppress an urge to bark Picard-style space commands. The nurse came back in and took my blood pressure, which I thought was odd for a tooth extraction, but whatever. The nurse looked pretty hot; her "Spongebob" scrubs were about a size too small and her short hair was tinted a kinky purple. This didn't really help ease my blinding discomfort, however.
The doctor came in, looking very much like a thinner Gene Hackman. He had a big bluish birthmark on the side of his cheek and I remember that he smelled like Tabasco.
"Hi, I'm Doctor Cartwright. Looks like you're in some pain, huh?"
I nodded gingerly.
"OK, Hank, you just hang in there. We're going to get you all fixed up. Edie, let's get Hank set up -- administer the anesthetic and get him secured."
The nurse, Edie, said "You'll feel a pinch" and inserted an IV of clear fluid into my arm and began to manipulate some apparatus behind my chair. Within a few seconds, the murderous pain had dulled to a throb and I was feeling more relaxed. Edie swivelled some metal pieces out from behind the chair and snapped them in place at the side of my head, locking it in place.
"Hey!" I drawled.
"Don't worry, Hank," Edie said with a wink. "This is just to immobilize your head so it doesn't move while we're working." In my peripheral vision, I could see that she was doing something with the IV.
Shortly thereafter, I felt a metallic chill and started to hear things in a weird, crunchy, amplified way, like as if I was listening to the world through a paper cup.
The doctor popped back into my frame of vision. He looked different. He said, "How we doing, Hank?" and his mouth curled in a sickening, inhuman smile. Behind his eyes I could see a bonfire of hate, and I would have screamed. But in fact, I couldn't speak at all.
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