Conditioned Love
by Max Christopher
|
Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3 |
conclusion
“How did it happen, Hooksie?” Sid asked.
The three young people were seated in a yellow-benched booth at Mogie’s. The remains of two large scrambled egg pizzas lay on the red table before them. Hooksie picked up a crust and began to gnaw.
“All right,” Sid said. “How did it happen, Sally?”
“It was so fast,” she said. “It must have been around the time you went in for the... ah... lip piercing.”
“It’s all right,” Sid said. “Hooksie knows.”
“That’s messed up,” Hooksie said.
“We did a lot of facetiming,” Sally said. “A lot of late night texting. I was hurt by your lack of attention and told Hooksie. He was hurt by... a lot of things. We shared.”
“Things I did?” Sid said.
“Relax, buddy,” Hooksie said. “Hey, maybe my parents conditioned me. They disguise all those facilities to fool the kids, right? Makes me suspicious of any new business that pops up.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Maybe my last teeth cleaning was actually a conditioning. I swallowed a little of the rinse.”
Sally punched his arm. “That’s not funny. I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.”
“Two sets of parents, operating in ignorance, engineering a triangle,” Sid said.
“Both men have to love the woman for it to be a triangle,” Sally said tartly. “And you both suck.”
“It’s appalling enough to be true,” Sid said. “Cruel punishment for trespassing in God’s domain.”
“Visited on the children,” Hooksie said.
“Unless we go crazy and murder our parents,” Sid said.
“Your parents would have been foolish,” Sally said, “not wicked.”
“Making their demise more tragic,” Hooksie said.
“I kinda feel bad for my dad,” Sid said. “I’d rather not kill him.”
“We could kill each other’s parents,” Hooksie said.
“Sounds fair,” Sid said.
Sally said, “Did I mention you both suck real hard?”
“Not to worry, Sally,” Hooksie said. “My parents wouldn’t give me that much thought.”
“But Sid’s treatment didn’t work,” Sally said. “You were conditioned to love your... your lip stud.”
Sid smiled at her. “You can say it.”
“Your filthy rotten bit of poisonous rusting junk,” Sally said, “that you named after that skankified hairdressing school dropout who probably paid for tuition by getting down on her flabby knees in an alley and... and... good manners forbid.”
“Can knees be flabby?” Sid said.
“The skin around them, perhaps,” Hooksie said.
“How did that feel?” Sally said. “Hearing me berate your lip stud like that?”
“You know, it’s perverse, but it kind of did me good. Maybe it had to do with how obviously you relished giving vent to your feelings. Or perhaps I’m a covert sadist who desires to see the adored object spattered with filth.”
“Maybe I dodged a bullet,” Sally said.
Hooksie said, “That was nothing for sheer venom. Sometimes I just put the phone down and play the old ‘Fallout’ reissue until the flow is spent.”
“She goes on about it to you?”
“Oh, yes,” Hooksie said. “It gives me pause to see how angry she is that the conditioning failed, knowing the intention was to get you two together.”
Sid looked at Sally. “Are you sure I’m safely friend-zoned?”
“Your feckless ass will always have a place in my heart, like the Bob Montana Archie comics and flannel. But you’re in the clear.”
“Why so angry, then?” Hooksie said.
“Wish I could say. My feelings for Sid were real. Before. Maybe...” She shook her head.
“Hey, maybe your parents conditioned you to love Hooksie,” Sid said.
“If they make saying the wrong thing an Olympic event,” Sally said, “you’ll bring home the gold every time. They’ll have to retire the event after you die.”
“Having flung yourself in the path of a garbage truck during a cascade of belated remorse,” Hooksie said. “But don’t worry. Sally’s parents don’t like me any better than yours do, Sid. Or mine, come to that.”
“I’ll never understand why your parents don’t think better of you,” Sid said.
“They just don’t get him,” Sally said.
“Having a kid was supposed to fix their marriage,” Hooksie said. “It didn’t. Mom developed gestational diabetes that turned into the permanent kind. She never stopped blaming my father. Not even after she started blaming me.”
“She can’t have said that,” Sally said.
“No,” Hooksie said, “but it’s there.”
“But you’re the best guy I know,” Sid said. “I’d rather be you than me, and I think I’m the tits on the Venus de Milo. I don’t know how they can fail to be proud of you.”
“Smart, pretty, busting with talent and strong like bull,” Hooksie said. “Very nearly a young god. Yet they manage.”
“You left out modest,” Sid said.
“I’m proud enough for both of them,” Sally said.
“Speaking of diabetes,” Sid said.
“My father had too much to drink one night,” Hooksie said. “Mom had gone to bed with a consolatory cheesecake and Dad asked me to help him find the Swetflix remote. Partway through the old Twilight Zone with the little devil head in the diner, I said, ‘Why can’t the Captain Kirk guy just make a decision?’
“My father said, ‘It’s hard for some men.’ His eyes were glassy.
“I said, ‘You don’t have that problem. I never see you hesitate.’
“Dad didn’t say anything, so I figured it didn’t register,” Hooksie said. “After a minute or two, though, still looking at the screen, my father said, ‘I’ve had a mother, a much older sister, and two wives, and they did their work well. I know everything I do is wrong. Sure as you’re sitting there.’ He swallowed the last of his gin whatever and sort of heaved himself to his feet. ‘It’s kind of freeing,’ he said as he staggered to the kitchen. I doubt he remembers any of it.”
“Oh, my God,” Sally said.
“Wow, Hook. Jesus.”
“And yet he tries so hard.” Hooksie’s voice was quiet. “With her, not with me.” Sally placed her hand on his.
“Was that the sort of thing you two talked about while I was licking Brenda?”
“Not that. I didn’t know that. I shared my hurt and bafflement at your ignoring me,” Sally said. She peered into her soda glass. “And then my guilt.”
“Let me guess,” Sid said. “Because you knew what my parents planned and didn’t warn me. Because it was what you wanted too.”
“Not my proudest moment.”
The three fell silent.
After a moment Sid slid out of the booth and dropped bills on the table. “It’s cool, kid,” he said. “I’ll catch you knuckleheads later.”
Hooksie said, “Where you off to?”
Sid smiled at his friends. “Just window shopping for a new phone.” He took a step away from the booth and paused. He turned back, bent down and kissed Sally on the top of her head. Then he squeezed Hooksie’s shoulder.
“Hooksie and the Salmeister,” he said. “Don’t forget to give her the big contrite eyes.”
* * *
It was the same tiny room. The potpourri was mango but the waterfall print with the tall trees still hung on the wall. Brenda the technician was once again the picture of brisk efficiency, but it may be that there was something new in Sid’s manner.
“Your father told me you’ve got your own place,” she said.
“That’s right,” he said. “When did you talk to my father?”
“Oh, he’s been in.”
“For what?”
“Sorry.” She dimpled. “Confidential.”
“Ah. Then maybe you shouldn’t have brought it up.”
Brenda laughed. “I understand you had a birthday recently. How old are you now?”
Sid told her. “Why,” she said, “you’re only a year younger than me.”
Sid looked up. “You can become a conditioning technician at such a young age?”
“Sure. There’s only six months of training.”
“I thought you’d have to be older.”
Brenda placed her fists, vivid in purple nitrile gloves, on her hips. The gesture happened to pull her white lab coat open, like curtains held in place with swags of purple flowers, revealing her perky new cream half-top and smooth tummy. “How old did you think I was?”
“No idea.” He smiled. “And your affronted vanity is wasted on me. Just do your job and try not to botch it up this time. I want this done as soon as possible or I’d have waited for another technician. And didn’t anyone tell you a full shirt looks more professional?”
Brenda bristled, then shrugged. She turned to her conditioning apparatus, now in the open, and her gloved hands moved swiftly. Probably still stinging from my rejection, she thought. Oh, well.
“Where’s your lip stud?” she said.
“The charm wore off.”
“So what’s next? A tattoo?”
“Unlikely,” he said.
“I have one,” she said.
“Too bad. How women ever got sold on tattoos is beyond me.”
“Why?”
Sid sighed. “Because a woman’s skin is nicer than anything that goes on it.”
“That’s sweet. Mine’s here, on my back.” She swept the lab coat to the side with a practiced motion.
“Astro Boy?” Sid said, surprised.
“He changes color when you touch him.”
“I heard they were working on that,” Sid said.
“Try it,” Brenda said. “Touch him.” She backed up closer, her round little bottom brushing his bench.
Sid tentatively touched the tattoo, a fine rendition of the early anime character.
“Really press,” Brenda said. “Rub him.”
“I don’t want to bruise you”
“I’m tough. Go ahead. That’s it.”
“He’s turning pink,” Sid said.
“That means pleasure,” Brenda said.
“Oh,” Sid withdrew his hand as though she had gone hot.
“Astro Boy must like you,” Brenda said.
“Tetsuwan Atomu,” Sid said.
“What?”
“Tetsuwan Atomu. Mighty Atom. The character’s original name.”
“I just thought he looked cute,” Brenda said.
“That sounds about right.”
She turned and crossed her arms. “You’re pretty snarky for a guy who wanted my number so badly a few short months ago.”
“I asked you out twice. You said no.”
“That’s no reason to be nasty to me,” Brenda said.
“Your bungling made things damned awkward for me,” Sid said. “It almost cost me a friend. And not a word of apology from you.”
“Apology for what? You decided you didn’t want the conditioning. How did I bungle anything?”
Sid goggled at her from where he reclined in the treatment chair. “Did they not tell you?”
“Only that a client had come of age and elected for reversal,” Brenda said. “So the pretense is over.”
“Then you already knew my age when you asked.”
Brenda shrugged. “What of it?”
“This is a pretty rotten job you have,” Sid said. “Suppose I blab?”
“To whom? About what?”
“Those kids I passed in your waiting room, for starters. Sitting there with their parents, thinking this is just about cosmetic bling.”
“Go ahead. We fold up and reopen in new places all the time.”
“Or I could tell them how you screwed it up with me.”
“You keep bringing that up,” Brenda said. “Be so good as to explain.”
“You conditioned me to fall in love with my lip stud.”
“Excuse me?” she said.
“You heard me,” he said. He hadn’t been going to tell her, had imagined himself burning with humiliation. Instead he spoke simply, with a flicker of a smile and no embarrassment, holding her gaze until she looked away.
“Hold on.” Brenda brought up a screen. “Ah. We were having trouble with the titration then. Odd things happening, complaints.”
“Like what?”
“Sorry, that’s—”
“Confidential. Of course. And you gave me your number in the smug certainty that I wouldn’t pester you too much, that you’d get your vanity petted a little bit without having to reciprocate, which is just how you like—”
“Why don’t I get you another technician?” She turned to leave.
“No!” His bark made her jump. “You made the mistake. You fix it.”
“It wasn’t me. The titration—”
“You ran the equipment. You bear the responsibility.”
“Only for how I operate it. Not for the chemical mixtures.”
“Bosh. You’re still handling the patient,” Sid said.
“Are you responsible for the chemical composition of the gas in the car you drive?” Brenda said. “Or are you only responsible for operating the car safely?”
“So who screwed up?” Sid said. “Get him or her in here.”
“He’s gone.”
“Fired? Promoted? I hope he didn’t mix the colors in that tattoo on your pretty back. You’ll find it eating its way to your navel,” Sid said. “Probably leave a big scar.”
“That’s enough.”
“Have to get another tramp stamp to cover it.”
“Stop!” Her gloved fist came down on a loose sample tube. It shattered with a pop that startled them both. “Dammit,” she said. She reached for a paper towel to gather the glass splinters.
“Here,” Sid said, rising and crossing to her. “It tore your glove.”
Brenda threw the pieces into the biohazard bin, then dampened the towel at the faucet to wipe up the tiny bit of glass dust.
Sid caught her hand. “Did it break the skin? Lucky it was empty.”
“They’re always empty. We never use them. It’s for show.”
“Come here.” She didn’t resist and he led her back to the sink. He slipped off the glove. “There’s a scratch. Hold it under the water.” He set the flow to warm and pumped some antibacterial soap. Working it into a lather, he washed Brenda’s hand gently.
“That was a nasty thing to say,” she said.
He looked at her. “Yes, I guess it was. I’m sorry.”
“I liked you better when you did lame standup routines. They weren’t funny, but at least they weren’t nasty. They made it seem like you liked me.”
“Then you should have said yes when I asked you out.” He rinsed their hands and set the water to cold. He held her hand under it. “It didn’t bleed much. That’ll help it close faster.” He toweled her hand dry.
“You’re very gentle,” she said. “It that why you’re so abrasive? To cover up what a softie you are?”
“Let’s get some first aid gel and a little bandage on that.” He looked up impishly. “If you have them. Or are the drawers for show too? Wood slats with handles?”
Brenda found the first aid supplies. She let Sid apply the gel and bandage. He held her hand in both of his when he’d finished. She let him.
“A kiss to make it better,” he said. He brought her hand to his lips. He kissed more skin than bandage.
“Do you really think my back is pretty?”
“I think all of you is pretty. And prettier with some of the smug rubbed off.”
She bent her head. Her hair smelled like berries. “I have something to tell you.”
“Give me a chance to guess.” He glanced at the waterfall print and thought of wild dogs barking.
Copyright © 2018 by Max Christopher
