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He nodded, he expected to hear exactly this. He spoke to the woman in their language and laughed, as if everybody had a talent.
She said the equivalent of "Ta-dah" and was holding the cash. The man turned toward me and put out his hand to stop her.
"What is your talent?"
"You can hire actors for your movies, can't you?" I was being very careful.
"Sure, sure," he said quickly, a little irritated with me.
Rita scolded him in their language, her hands on her hips.
He snapped at her, so meanly that my eyes locked onto his eyes. I took his side in their argument, only because I thought it would bring me to Rita in the long run. Rita threw up her hands. She appealed to a god. I could tell that.
"We have studios," he went on in a quiet voice, looking at me intently. "We have studios in California. We are always looking for new talent. What is your talent?"
I wanted to tell him, but I couldn't. "It's embarrassing," I breathed.
"No," he said. "Your talent is your soul. You must be proud."
"I want to be proud," I said. Then I looked to Rita, who avoided my eyes.
"Then tell me," the man said. "Don't be shy."
"All right," I said, my heart starting to beat in my ears. I looked nowhere in the room: "I can suck my own dick."
He whistled soft and low. "Impossible," he said. Rita put her hand to her mouth, as if she were about to sneeze.
"I've done it," I said.
"I don't believe you." He picked up his camera and took another picture of the TV. I saw myself leaving that
While I took down my pants, I felt like a con escaping from jail.
room and getting into my car and driving back to Todd's Pizza Mountain, my tip a few coins of change, if they even had enough for the whole bill.
"I can prove it," I said.
He lowered his camera and squinted at me. "He says he can prove," he said, as if he were speaking to Rita, but he didn't take his eyes off of me.
She slapped him on the shoulder and swore. He ignored her. He had hypnotist's eyes, and he knew it. "So prove," he said. "And maybe I pay you extra, huh?"
"How much?"
He made a clown frown and nodded his head from side to side. "Five dollars," he finally said.
"I am looking for work," I said, looking right back into his eyes. "Sir, I really hope that if you are pleased by my demonstration, you will give me a ten-dollar tip — plus a job. I'll follow you to California in my car. Sir, I am very serious about this."
Rita appealed to a god again.
A small part of the man's smile came back. "Okay, let's stop this fucking around. Okay? Go on. Prove."
I took a long drink of beer and set the can down on the dresser with a trembling hand. I thought my time had come. While I took down my pants, I felt like a con escaping from jail, taking off my striped prison outfit. I was sweating a lot under my arms. I touched my skin and my fingers were ice cold. I was shivering.
Rita whispered to him in a quick urgent voice, but he shushed her.
The man took pictures. I thought Rita might be getting undressed.
When I was naked except for my T-shirt, I crawled on the bed. I stared at Rita, her face, her breasts, the gathering of cloth in her crotch. I swung my legs over my head and went into the position. I moved my leg so it would block the man from my view, but so that I could see Rita through my legs. Because of the angle, I could only see her face, her sweet, confused, face, which was turned away. It reminded me of some of the second-rate faces my various friends had had, but I loved these faces. These people all had to have a lot of inner resources to make it with second-string looks. I respected that.
I got my dick in my mouth and went at it. The man took pictures. Rita stepped away to where I couldn't see her. I thought she might be getting undressed to join me in my audition, which would be the first in a famous career. Maybe gay films, but I didn't think like Dwayne. I thought anyone would be interested in seeing a sexual feat. Or maybe I'd branch out and do the straight-ahead stuff and only do my trick by myself, at the end, as the credits were rolling. We would all live in California, where Dwayne was. I would leave the apartment and the bills just as Dwayne had. I sucked my own dick. I was really going at it.
At first I didn't even notice the laughter. I only noticed it when it was going full blast, when the man was slapping his thigh and sucking air in a spastic rhythm and Rita was giggling hysterically. Then I saw her face hanging over me. It reminded me of Stephanie's hovering face and how much I had loved kissing her, and for an unbelievable instant I thought Rita still might join me. But her cheeks were streaked with tears of laughter. In a soft accent that killed me, she said, "We are so sorry. We are not pornos. Tibor — he has a bad sense of humor."
I looked into her mouth. For a second, I could see the bottoms of her two wet front teeth, then her lips closed like curtains. I looked at my shrinking dick. "That's okay," I murmured.
If you took off all of your skin, so that the surface of your body was just a land of Hooksexups, you would try to be completely still, because even a little air blowing on you — maybe the moving air between the rooms of a house, or the little wind you make when you turn your head — might be enough to make you scream bloody murder. When I was getting dressed, I tried to hold myself still like that. I kept telling myself I didn't know these people, I'd never see them again. But as still as I was, just the warm air escaping from their bodies raked my open Hooksexups. I could hear the sounds of a scream echoing inside my head like a yell from deep in the freezer.
Gradually, though, I got numb. I remembered Stephanie face down on the bed, maybe fighting off the spins. Why had she taken on both of us that night? Was she needling Dwayne? Or looking for humiliation? Or just trying to come?
Up close, Rita's face showed damage. She put money in my hands. Tibor sat and stared at the TV. "Good-bye, Tibor," I said. "Good-bye, Rita."
"Pizza man," I said. The door to 219 opened.
I closed their door with a soft click and walked down the hall, trying to make sense of what had happened. I had believed Tibor, and I needed the money, and I was not afraid. Yes, they had seen everything about me, but then it occurred to me that you can't rely on yourself if you feel ashamed of yourself. I had done what I thought might help me. What else can you do? And then I thought I could even go back and sit and talk with Rita and Tibor — and it wouldn't matter. I wondered how anyone could possibly fear relations with other humans. I wondered how humiliation worked, because I couldn't see that feeling anymore.
I guess I'm saying that all I had left was a strong feeling. It was a Mary Tyler Moore feeling, a you're-gonna-make-it-after-all feeling. I saw a light on under another door. I knocked.
"Who is it?" a woman's voice said.
"Pizza man," I said. Deception seemed necessary, and now I would do what was necessary, but I couldn't actually lie.
The door to 219 opened, pulling the chain tight. Part of a middle-aged woman's face appeared, in the gap.
Our eyes met as she moved her head to take me in.
"I've come to set you free," I said.
She slammed the door.
But I thought positively. I was self-reliant. The self-reliant man relies on himself not to give up. The self-reliant man does not fear rejection. He is useful to himself at all times.
I went down the hall, looking for light under the doors. n°
Andrew Mozina has published fiction in Tin House, Fence, Alaska Quarterly Review, Mississippi Review, The Massachusetts Review and elsewhere. His collection of short stories, The Women Were Leaving the Men, was published this past June by Wayne State University Press. His fiction has been named a Distinguished Story in Best American Short Stories 2005 and mentioned in Pushcart Prize 2006 and Pushcart Prize 2008.
