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Article Excerpt
1
ONE MINUTE HE WAS THERE, the same as ever, and the next--What!--he was in this other place where everything had lost its thickness, was deflated, flat. For a moment he wondered if maybe the world was as solid as ever but his mind had collapsed--a thought that made his head spin, or would have if a young woman hadn't turned up just then, saying, "Here we are."
"Oh! I. Yes! Here we are," he said, trying to gather his wits.
The young woman had her hand on the door of a life-size photograph of a glossy black sports car, a cut-out photo backed with wood or stiff cardboard so it stood there looking as if it were real.
"As you can see, the Alfa Romeo Spider is a beautiful two-seater convertible," she told him, smiling. "It replaces an older version, the Spider Nine-sixteen model, which was introduced back in 1995."
His head had cleared and he saw it wasn't a photo but the thing itself, a gleaming black sports car, a two-seater with golden brown leather seats. The woman was in a skimpy white dress, more like a stretched T-shirt than a dress.
"Where am I? What's happening?" he said.
"What's happening nowadays is a Type Nine-thirty-nine with front-wheel drive and six-speed manual transmission." She had leaned into the cockpit and, still looking at John, placed her hand gently, caressingly, on the knob of the erect shift. "As you can imagine, it has power and lots of it!"
"I'm not interested in cars," he cried. "I don't know what I'm doing here or how I got--"
Her smile vanished for a moment, but then she brightened. "I know what you're wondering. And the answer is nine point four miles per gallon," she told him, smiling once more.
"Listen, maybe you can tell me--" he started to say.
But she was walking away, her high heels making a brisk tap-tap-tap on the shiny showroom floor. Her back was bare just to the cleft of her buttocks and her dress appeared not filled by her body but merely held against it by the slender white ribbon tied in a bow knot at the nape of her neck.
"This is impossible," he muttered, following her toward the big glass door.
"Impossible?" she said, turning to him with a smile. "Almost impossible. But, yes, this is a 1963 Ferrari, a Two-fifty GT Lusso." She trailed her hand up the rear of a dazzling red car. "One of the most sought after classic Ferrari vehicles. Beautifully restored, the black leather interior is as soft as glove--"
John had shoved open the glass door, stepped outside, and was looking around. He didn't recognize any of the buildings. He discovered he didn't have his cell phone with him; he jammed his hands into his pockets, felt his wallet and his apartment keys--all there. He walked to the end of the block, stopped at the cross street and saw that the sign was missing--no surprise--then he turned around and began walking to the other end. The block was composed of expensive shops selling men's shirts, electronic gear, wine, sunglasses, fancy driving gloves, and sports equipment.
He was standing on the curb, wondering if this was a part of Manhattan he didn't know, when she said, "Here we are again." Now she was wearing a yellow swim top and a short brown suede skirt.
"You've changed, but you look familiar," he said, puzzled.
She laughed. "We were in the auto showroom, remember?"
"No, no, no. I mean from before then." He had closed his eyes and was rubbing his forehead with his fist. "I don't understand--"
"I do photo shoots. Not as many as I'd like, but maybe you saw one of my spreads."
He looked at her. "You know this part of the city?"
"Not really.--Oh, look!" She had abruptly squatted, half kneeling to display a dazzling white inner thigh, and was now scratching the curly head of a friendly terrier. "Oh, you cute, cute doggy!" She rubbed her cheek against the dog's muzzle. The terrier wagged its tail, jumped backward, and dashed off. "Bouncy little dog."
"A Jack Russell terrier," he said. "Not my favorite breed."
"Can you imagine meeting a fun dog like that? So cute and friendly! That's why I love the city."
"What city?" he asked, intending to find out what city this was. "What city do you love?"
"I love San Francisco for its wonderful views. I love Boston for its historical sites. I love New York for its great museums. And also Washington, D. C., for its historical sites and great museums, I think."
"I'm sure we've met someplace before," he murmured. "You live around here?" he asked her, still hoping to learn where he was.
"Certainly." She stepped off the curb into street traffic and hailed an onrushing cab. "Let's go."
In the cab he asked her name. "Veronica London," she said. "What's your's."
"John Mousse."
"Moose? You mean like the animal? The one like the reindeer?"
He peered out the cab window at the building facade sweeping past, flat as a photo. "Yeah, the one like the reindeer."
"Now it's your turn, John, so what's your favorite city?"
"I don't like cities."
2
In her apartment Veronica asked, "Can I get you something to drink?" John looked around. "I don't know what I'm doing here," he told her.
She smiled as if they were about to have fun. "Oh, I think you do. I think we both know what you're doing here. Or going to be doing."
"I'm just lonely," he protested. "That's all I am, and confused."
"Forget about that," she told him. "Let me get you something to drink."
"It's too early in the day for me to start drinking."
"I have an ex-presso machine. I can make you some presso," she said.
"Presso?"
"It's European coffee."
"It is? Oh, that! Yes. Espresso. I'll have that," he said.
She smiled. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll get things started."
Veronica returned carrying a small tray with two diminutive cups of coffee. She was in a semi-transparent slip or nightgown or...
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