A friend was having his birthday dinner at a tapas bar in Soho. I arrived horrifically late\u2014 they were at the coffee and dessert stage when I came in. It was my misfortune to be seated directly opposite Paul and Natasha. I had just passed a whole row of posters of Natasha on the street. Physically, her presence was even more disturbing. Thankfully Rob and Brit came round, I hadn\u2019t seen either of them in a while,<\/p>\n
\u201cSo what\u2019s this book project you\u2019re working on, Killers? Killer Style?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKiller Sequence<\/i>. Basically I\u2019m chronicling or cataloging tics in everyday mannerisms that are tantamount to murder\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMurderous tics?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know what she means, I feel like one myself\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s like this: I started out with archival photos of crime scenes, you know, the \u2018police line: do not cross\u2019, and then I got fascinated with the pictures of criminals themselves\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re looking for signs of pathology,\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, not quite, it occurred to me that these so called pathologies were rhythms or patterns rooted in everyday life, just stuff that everyone does,\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLike what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s the little mundane things, signature gestures\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSort of like Hitchcock, right? He has these perfectly normal gestures that seem unnatural\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, actually the first part of the book is film stills from \u201cClassic Hitchcock\u201d like the glass of milk under the naked bulb\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOr Tippi Hedren\u2019s hairdo\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou mean helmet,\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cExcellent, so what\u2019s the other half?<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m just going around photographing potential crime scenarios, perfectly mundane set ups where I have to zero in on the point de capiton<\/i> of a potential crime\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSounds ambitious.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI kind of like your idea about signatures, that\u2019s the beauty of whodunits, the criminal always leaves a trace behind, to get caught\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t think it\u2019s so much to get caught, as a signature to say \u2018I created this masterpiece\u2019. It\u2019s amazing though, I was looking at these turn of the century crime scene photographs from the Sur\u00eate, and people would commit these acts of passion like killing their lovers and then themselves and then put their hats in the middle like some kind of flourish\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSometimes it\u2019s not so much \u2018look at my masterpiece\u2019 as it is this weird \u2018Kilroy was here\u201d, just because no one else realizes a crime was committed\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen you have the signature doubling as witness\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cActually that\u2019s an interesting idea, I like the notion that the criminal is unconscious of his crime\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs it a crime then?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy not, it makes for the idea of normalcy as an even screwier pathology and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
I was temporarily blinded by flaring light, it was Natasha, applying her lipstick: the light hit her compact and then it hit me,<\/p>\n
\u201cAm I boring you Natasha?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot at all, I\u2019m stupid\u2014 haven\u2019t a clue about what you\u2019re saying. We bimbos like to dance. Who\u2019s coming?\u201d She got up and left the table. Obviously she hadn\u2019t forgiven me. Paul signaled a silent apology. It had been nearly nine months, and now they were engaged. As things stood, I had no regrets, although I could see that Paul wished that he could.<\/p>\n
Most people followed after Natasha and Paul, they were going dancing elsewhere. I decided to have dinner, so I stayed behind and moved over to the bar. Next to me was a couple deep in a very private and intense conversation, I couldn\u2019t help but eavesdrop. The one next to me, I think, had hurt the other one irreparably, I couldn\u2019t see his face\u2014 but I sensed his vanity. The other guy, the betrayed one, became aware of me: he glanced up, his eyes were clear green with pain. Unthinking, I fell in love instantly. The conversation continued in uncomfortable hushed tones. I disengaged.<\/p>\n
A waiter came up to me<\/p>\n
\u201cYou were with the Birthday Party?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI think one of your friends left this behind\u201d<\/p>\n
It was Natasha\u2019s mother of pearl compact. Poisonous and exquisite, viridian blue butterflies cloisonn\u00e9d on the lid, the evil thing gleamed at me,<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know who this belongs to, is this from one of your friends?\u201d<\/p>\n
Its opalescence made me ill,<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, it does belong to someone from the party\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCan you get it back to them?\u201d<\/p>\n
I didn\u2019t want anything to do with it. It unsettled me.<\/p>\n
\u201cOr maybe you can let them know, or give us a number to call\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
Why was he being so helpful? Perhaps he instinctively didn\u2019t want traces of Natasha around him either,<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sure she\u2019ll be back once she realizes she\u2019s lacking in arsenal\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The restaurant was closing. I looked up, Green-eyes was leaving, alone\u2014 it seemed his companion had long departed. He was just out the door when I realized he had dropped his cigarette case on the floor. It was an elegant silver gadget that looked slightly antiquous. I grabbed my coat, paid the bill and ran out after him. He was a couple of blocks ahead, I yelled out \u201cexcuse me\u201d several times but he seemed to be taken with his thoughts. I followed him silently a couple more blocks, then turned back, embarrassed by the thought that I might actually be stalking him. I took the cigarette case home. Inside it was a small stack of calling cards with his name and number. Curiously, his name was Paul.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cHello\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHello?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs this Paul?\u201d<\/p>\n
Of course it was, the voice flickered intensity, like the eyes,<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, this is he\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was at Barbary Coast<\/i> last night, you dropped your cigarette case,\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJesus, I\u2019ve been calling that restaurant all day, they\u2019re not open\u2014 how did you get my number?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou had your cards inside it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRight\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, I have it with me, you can pick it up anytime\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere do you live?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBrooklyn Heights, but I\u2019m in the East Village right now\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201c7th and A\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re just round the corner from me. Would you mind terribly coming up? We could have coffee\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo problem\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cCome in. I thought it might be you\u201d<\/p>\n
I was afraid he could hear my heart pound, I felt just as devastated by him as I did the night before. His apartment was sunlit with a dark luxury to it. It felt like all the drawing rooms of fin de si\u00e8cle Paris and Vienna. I would never leave, I\u2019d lounge here forever\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cHave a seat, would you like some coffee?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019d be nice\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOr Tea?\u201d Or me?<\/p>\n
\u201cCoffee\u2019s fine\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOr we could have an aperitif\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOr Irish coffee\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
He grinned<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have the right idea\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
We had Irish coffee with whipped cream, a pear tart and biscotti.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour card says \u2018lyricist\u2019\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI write musicals, OK, I know it\u2019s funny\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry, I didn\u2019t mean to laugh, but you don\u2019t meet Cole Porter everyday\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCole\u2019s my hero\u2014\u2019<\/p>\n
\u201cBut what sort of musicals, are you Stephen Sondheim or Andrew Lloyd Weber?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMore like Tim Rice, the Andrew Lloyd factor defected with my heart\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
He laughed bitterly,<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry. I couldn\u2019t help overhearing you two last night\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
He was silent. I couldn\u2019t look at him because I knew his eyes were misting. I got up,<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry, I should leave\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, please stay,\u201d I thought he was going to burst into torrents, instead he composed himself, \u201cI need the company right now. Let\u2019s just change the subject\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
Without warning he kissed me very gently on the lips. I was quiet, what was I thinking when I came here? Destruction settling in, I predicted a new eon of heartbreak for myself.<\/p>\n
My voice seemed far far away. He sat at the piano:<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry I\u2014\u2019<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t. I think we\u2019re just both in weird emotional climates,\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI knew you were listening last night, I looked up and saw you. I just felt like we\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
He stopped, as though he was crying softly. I stepped over to the window, there was a dresser with framed pictures and other curios. They were mostly stone figurines, Mesopotamian looking,<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are these? They look ancient\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey are\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
Inexplicably he appeared right behind me<\/p>\n
\u201cThey\u2019re love\/fertility goddesses. My Asheroth. This is Inanna, Sumerian goddess of love and war\u2014 known as Ishtar to the Babylonians. These two over here are Akkadian, or technically Babylonian, they date back to about 850 b.c.\u201d<\/p>\n
He was calmer. Speaking it seemed, reconstituted him,<\/p>\n
\u201cHow come you have a collection of archaeological valuables?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy father\u2019s a sumerologist, he\u2019s pretty well known\u2014 these were gifts to my mother and she left them to me. Here\u2019s the prize of my collection: Astarte, all five of her, do you know the Old Testament? The prophets of Yahweh berated the children of Israel for worshipping the Asheroth\u2014 Cannaanite plural for Astarte or Asherah,\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCan I touch?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure, \u201c<\/p>\n
He handed me one of the Akkadians, I closed my eyes and traced the curves with my fingers. I felt peaceful shimmers.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m fascinated with the way they would mass produce these goddesses in antiquity. People complain today about how mass reproduction strips an image of its aura\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
I thought of the posters of Natasha all over Soho,<\/p>\n
\u201cSurely it\u2019s not the same thing? None of these figurines are exactly the same\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, its how we perceive\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPerception?\u201d<\/p>\n
He was very close to me again and suddenly. I was unnerved\u2014I didn\u2019t recall him moving.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere has to be a certain investment in the object, a means of plugging in to it or divining it\u2014 that\u2019s the whole point of idolatry\u2014 it\u2019s not just the representation of an abstract idea, the graven image itself lives\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFunny, in criminology, all the objects at the scene of the crime become clues. The crime invests otherwise uninteresting objects with properties that give them the power of speech\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAll objects have the power of speech, they just need activation. You\u2019ve only to recognize divine signatures and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
For some reason he was further away, he edged closer. Something was wrong.<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you alright?\u201d<\/p>\n
Suddenly it struck me\u2014 I realized what was happening. He asked again,<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you alright?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you have a recording device?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPardon?\u201d<\/p>\n
Next thing he was standing over me, his face a mask of fright<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you have a tape recorder, get it qui\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
I was absent from the rest of the sentence. I found myself on the couch, now I was confused\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou told me to get a tape recorder because you are about to enter a trance\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI have these epileptic seizures, I\u2019ve had them\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
Absence. Presence,<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did I say?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat you\u2019ve had these seizures since you were teenager, and they\u2019ve been a secret to everyone including yourself. You only remember when it begins to manifest. Afterwards you forget. I\u2019m calling the paramedics\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo! Please, the only way you can help me is by recording me in trance. I need you to keep me luc\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
Absence. Presence. Question,<\/p>\n
\u201cYou said you need me to keep you lucid by questioning you during the trance. You also said this started because as a child angels would appear to you. You made the mistake of telling the adults, who made you afraid\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
Absence.<\/p>\n
Presence.<\/p>\n
\u201cMade me afraid?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMade you think it was demonic. You were afraid of possession. So you stopped seeing them, until you were a teenager\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen I would sense the presence of Angels, this is how the seizures<\/p>\n
this is how (it begins) is this is how? (it begins) how does (it begin?) it begins (to seize me) It begins (to seize)<\/p>\n
It begins (seizure)<\/p>\n
Begin\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
World without Presence. World within Absence. Spiral.<\/p>\n
\u201cI have my dictaphone here, what do you want me to do\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
Absence. Spiral. Flux: Presence within Absence:<\/p>\n
Angel<\/b>s.Se<\/b>izureAngel<\/b>s\/Se<\/b>izure<\/b>sAngel<\/b>Se<\/b>izin<\/b>gAngel<\/b>Se<\/b>ize<\/b>sAngel<\/b>s.Se<\/b>izureAngel<\/b>s\/Se<\/b>izure<\/b>sAngel<\/b>Se<\/b>izureAngel<\/b>s\/Se<\/b>izure<\/b>s Angel<\/b>Se<\/b>izin<\/b>gAngel<\/b>Se<\/b>ize<\/b>sAngel<\/b>s Se<\/b>izureAngel<\/b>s\/ Angel Angel<\/b>s. Se<\/b>izure Angel<\/b>s\/ Se<\/b>izure<\/b>s Angel<\/b>S Angel<\/b>s. Se<\/b>izureAngel <\/b>s\/Se<\/b>izure<\/b>sAngel<\/b>Se<\/b>izin<\/b>g Angel<\/b>Se<\/b>ize<\/b>sWA<\/b>RN<\/b>ING: ANGEL<\/b>SIEGE<\/b>: YOU A<\/b>RE<\/b> A<\/b>BOUT TO ENGAGE<\/b>: you A<\/b>rE<\/b> EN<\/b>tE<\/b>riNG<\/b> thE<\/b> rEAL<\/b>m of the<\/b> ANGEL<\/b>os:<\/b> coN<\/b>trA<\/b>ry to popuLA<\/b>r miscoN<\/b>cE<\/b>ptioN<\/b> AN<\/b> ANGEL<\/b> is N<\/b>ot AN<\/b> A<\/b>bstrA<\/b>ct cELE<\/b>stiAL<\/b> EN<\/b>tity:<\/b> ANGEL<\/b>s E<\/b>xist A<\/b>s A<\/b> rE<\/b>suL<\/b>t of iN<\/b>formA<\/b>tioN<\/b> rE<\/b>triE<\/b>vAL:<\/b> AN<\/b> ANGEL<\/b> is N<\/b>ot oNL<\/b>y thE<\/b> G<\/b>uA<\/b>rdiAN<\/b> of such kN<\/b>owLE<\/b>dGE<\/b> but AL<\/b>so its ANAG<\/b>rA<\/b>mma:<\/b> the<\/b> ANGEL<\/b> is ANAL<\/b>oG<\/b>oN:<\/b> AN<\/b> ANGEL<\/b> bE<\/b>comE<\/b>s thE<\/b> ANGLE<\/b> from which thE<\/b> uN<\/b>ivE<\/b>rsE<\/b> is pE<\/b>rcE<\/b>ivE<\/b>d:<\/b> thus thE<\/b> ANGEL<\/b>os dE<\/b>rivE<\/b> from thE<\/b> fusioN<\/b> Of subjE<\/b>ctivE<\/b> coN<\/b>stELLA<\/b>tioN<\/b>s iN<\/b> CON<\/b>JUNCTIO:<\/b> L<\/b>ikE<\/b> hoL<\/b>oG<\/b>rA<\/b>phic softwA<\/b>rE<\/b> iN<\/b>structioN<\/b>s thE<\/b> ANGEL<\/b>os A<\/b>risE<\/b> from the<\/b> E<\/b>CST<\/b>ASY of the<\/b> subjE<\/b>ct a<\/b>s it disA<\/b>ppEA<\/b>rs iN<\/b>to the<\/b> objE<\/b>ct or vicE<\/b> vE<\/b>rsA:<\/b> EA<\/b>ch ELE<\/b>mEN<\/b>t E<\/b>mbodiE<\/b>s its oppositioN:<\/b> this mA<\/b>rriAGE<\/b> is the<\/b> AL<\/b>chE<\/b>micAL<\/b> un<\/b>ion <\/b>of oppositE<\/b>s AN<\/b>d uL<\/b>timA<\/b>tEL<\/b>y thE<\/b> rEAL<\/b>m of ANGEL<\/b>s.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
(from transcript):<\/p>\n
Q: Why is this happening?<\/p>\n
A: It is the presence of Angels<\/p>\n
Q: Are there Angels here then?<\/p>\n
A: Always.<\/p>\n
Q: Always?<\/p>\n
A: Always. They are latent and then we approach. Activation.<\/p>\n
Q: How are they activated?<\/p>\n
A: Ecstatic union. They are the guardians of all knowledge transmitted by ecstasy. They are knowledge in themselves. Bearers of the Word and bringers of Light.<\/p>\n
Q: How did you enter a state of ecstasy?<\/p>\n
A: Love. All my constellations of love converge at this moment out of grief. I am falling deeper in this trance. I am falling,<\/p>\n
I have fallen<\/p>\n
I am two levels lower now. Please continue.<\/p>\n
Q: I\u2019m not sure what to ask, this is very strange … I\u2019m a bit confused\u2014<\/p>\n
A: Employ your Curiosity. Don\u2019t be afraid.<\/p>\n
Q: Why me? Why here? Why now?<\/p>\n
A: Because we converge. Because we are the calculus of similar love intensities. In our emotional resonances\u2014<\/p>\n
We glimpsed the Divine<\/em><\/p>\n in each other<\/em><\/p>\n and recognized it<\/em><\/p>\n I am shifting to another level.<\/em><\/p>\n Not a descent. A shift. A shuffle.<\/em><\/p>\n I\u2019m not sure what this is.<\/em><\/p>\n An unfamiliar room.<\/em><\/p>\n The questions will end. I will begin to speak in the Third Person<\/em><\/p>\n I will be the voice of the Angelos.<\/em><\/p>\n I will be the genii in the arbor of delight<\/em><\/p>\n The Genius of Love in this garden tonight<\/em><\/p>\n I am light I am light<\/em><\/p>\n a thousand wattage megabyte<\/em><\/p>\n I\u2019m the genius of love<\/em><\/p>\n this bower of sighs<\/em><\/p>\n I\u2019m the genius of love<\/em><\/p>\n this haze of lies<\/em><\/p>\n I\u2019m the genius of love<\/em><\/p>\n this maze of flight<\/em><\/p>\n I bring you glad tidings of my delight<\/em><\/p>\n at this subsequent emancipation<\/em><\/p>\n (which is really the basis of my creation)<\/em><\/p>\n My purpose always to destruct<\/em><\/p>\n My purpose also to instruct<\/em><\/p>\n Listen closely and you will hear<\/em><\/p>\n The Reason by which I did appear:<\/em><\/p>\n <\/em><\/p>\n a bright crescent glows on an ill pitch night<\/em><\/p>\n and there was a woman struck by the light<\/em><\/p>\n of a flaring compact in the night<\/em><\/p>\n blinded,<\/em><\/p>\n she fled, pursued<\/em><\/p>\n by ninety djiin<\/em><\/p>\n of that particular female whose trouble she\u2019s in<\/em><\/p>\n rescued by<\/em><\/p>\n a cigarette case<\/em><\/p>\n silver, like a crashing meteorite<\/em><\/p>\n a young man in the street<\/em><\/p>\n as deep calls to deep<\/em><\/p>\n and grief, grief<\/em><\/p>\n the pursued pursues<\/em><\/p>\n and stops and delays<\/em><\/p>\n that arrow<\/em><\/p>\n so deftly primed<\/em><\/p>\n to strike chords of terror in your minds<\/em><\/p>\n and derange the tripping of your heart<\/em><\/p>\n this is the phenomen of my art<\/em><\/p>\n a deftly warped calculus of love<\/em><\/p>\n for and I am that Genius of Love<\/em><\/p>\n that Cupid, that metaphysical dove<\/em><\/p>\n and I have speared you with my revolve<\/em><\/p>\n and I have spared you no dissolve<\/em><\/p>\n your fate, sharper than before<\/em><\/p>\n behold!<\/em><\/p>\n Jealousy as cruel as sheol<\/em><\/p>\n Love: strong as death<\/em><\/p>\n Flashes, flames<\/em><\/p>\n the Eye of God!<\/em><\/p>\n Many waters cannot quench<\/em><\/p>\n love,<\/em><\/p>\n Nor will floods vanquish it<\/em><\/p>\n Surrender the diamonds of your heart<\/em><\/p>\n And still be utterly<\/em><\/p>\n utterly<\/em><\/p>\n utterly contemned<\/em><\/p>\n <\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n And there were many more things said, but they do not pertain to this story.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u00a9 1999, 2013<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A friend was having his birthday dinner at a tapas bar in Soho. I arrived horrifically late\u2014 they were at the coffee and dessert stage when I came in. It was my misfortune to be seated directly opposite Paul and Natasha. I had just passed a whole row of posters of Natasha on the street. Physically, her presence was even more disturbing. Thankfully Rob and Brit came round, I hadn\u2019t seen either of them in a while, \u201cSo what\u2019s this book project you\u2019re working on, Killers? Killer Style?\u201d \u201cKiller Sequence. Basically I\u2019m chronicling or cataloging tics in everyday mannerisms that are tantamount to murder\u2014\u201d \u201cMurderous tics?\u201d \u201cI know what she means, I feel like one myself\u2014\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s like this: I started out with archival photos of crime scenes, you know, the \u2018police line: do not cross\u2019, and then I got fascinated with the pictures of criminals themselves\u2014\u201d \u201cYou\u2019re looking for signs of pathology,\u201d \u201cWell, not quite, it occurred to me that these so called pathologies were rhythms or patterns rooted in everyday life, just stuff that everyone does,\u201d \u201cLike what?\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s the little mundane things, signature gestures\u2014\u201d \u201cSort of like Hitchcock, right? He has these perfectly normal gestures that seem unnatural\u201d \u201cYeah, actually the first part of the book is film stills from \u201cClassic Hitchcock\u201d like the glass of milk under the naked bulb\u2014\u201d \u201cOr Tippi Hedren\u2019s hairdo\u2014\u201d \u201cYou mean helmet,\u201d \u201cExcellent, so what\u2019s the other half? \u201cI\u2019m just going around photographing potential crime scenarios, perfectly mundane set ups where I have to zero in on the point de capiton of a potential crime\u2014\u201d \u201cSounds ambitious.\u201d \u201cI kind of like your idea about signatures, that\u2019s the beauty of whodunits, the criminal always leaves a trace behind, to get caught\u201d \u201cI don\u2019t think it\u2019s so much to get caught, as a signature to say \u2018I created this masterpiece\u2019. It\u2019s amazing though, I was looking at these turn of the century crime scene photographs from the Sur\u00eate, and people would commit these acts of passion like killing their lovers and then themselves and then put their hats in the middle like some kind of flourish\u2014\u201d \u201cSometimes it\u2019s not so much \u2018look at my masterpiece\u2019 as it is this weird \u2018Kilroy was here\u201d, just because no one else realizes a crime was committed\u201d \u201cThen you have the signature doubling as witness\u201d \u201cActually that\u2019s an interesting idea, I like the notion that the criminal is unconscious of his crime\u2014\u201d \u201cIs it a crime then?\u201d \u201cWhy not, it makes for the idea of normalcy as an even screwier pathology and\u2014\u201d I was temporarily blinded by flaring light, it was Natasha, applying her lipstick: the light hit her compact and then it hit me, \u201cAm I boring you Natasha?\u201d \u201cNot at all, I\u2019m stupid\u2014 haven\u2019t a clue about what you\u2019re saying. We bimbos like to dance. Who\u2019s coming?\u201d She got up and left the table. Obviously she hadn\u2019t forgiven me. Paul signaled a silent apology. It had been nearly nine months, and now they were engaged. As things stood, I had no regrets, although I could see that Paul wished that he could. Most people followed after Natasha and Paul, they were going dancing elsewhere. I decided to have dinner, so I stayed behind and moved over to the bar. Next to me was a couple deep in a very private and intense conversation, I couldn\u2019t help but eavesdrop. The one next to me, I think, had hurt the other one irreparably, I couldn\u2019t see his face\u2014 but I sensed his vanity. The other guy, the betrayed one, became aware of me: he glanced up, his eyes were clear green with pain. Unthinking, I fell in love instantly. The conversation continued in uncomfortable hushed tones. I disengaged. A waiter came up to me \u201cYou were with the Birthday Party?\u201d \u201cYeah?\u201d \u201cI think one of your friends left this behind\u201d It was Natasha\u2019s mother of pearl compact. Poisonous and exquisite, viridian blue butterflies cloisonn\u00e9d on the lid, the evil thing gleamed at me, \u201cDo you know who this belongs to, is this from one of your friends?\u201d Its opalescence made me ill, \u201cYeah, it does belong to someone from the party\u201d \u201cCan you get it back to them?\u201d I didn\u2019t want anything to do with it. It unsettled me. \u201cOr maybe you can let them know, or give us a number to call\u2014\u201d Why was he being so helpful? Perhaps he instinctively didn\u2019t want traces of Natasha around him either, \u201cI\u2019m sure she\u2019ll be back once she realizes she\u2019s lacking in arsenal\u201d The restaurant was closing. I looked up, Green-eyes was leaving, alone\u2014 it seemed his companion had long departed. He was just out the door when I realized he had dropped his cigarette case on the floor. It was an elegant silver gadget that looked slightly antiquous. I grabbed my coat, paid the bill and ran out after him. He was a couple of blocks ahead, I yelled out \u201cexcuse me\u201d several times but he seemed to be taken with his thoughts. I followed him silently a couple more blocks, then turned back, embarrassed by the thought that I might actually be stalking him. I took the cigarette case home. Inside it was a small stack of calling cards with his name and number. Curiously, his name was Paul. \u201cHello\u201d \u201cHello?\u201d \u201cIs this Paul?\u201d Of course it was, the voice flickered intensity, like the eyes, \u201cYes, this is he\u2014\u201d \u201cI was at Barbary Coast last night, you dropped your cigarette case,\u201d \u201cJesus, I\u2019ve been calling that restaurant all day, they\u2019re not open\u2014 how did you get my number?\u201d \u201cYou had your cards inside it.\u201d \u201cRight\u2014\u201d \u201cWell, I have it with me, you can pick it up anytime\u201d \u201cWhere do you live?\u201d \u201cBrooklyn Heights, but I\u2019m in the East Village right now\u201d \u201cWhere?\u201d \u201c7th and A\u201d \u201cYou\u2019re just round the corner from me. Would you mind terribly coming up? We could have coffee\u2014\u201d \u201cNo problem\u201d \u201cCome in. I thought it might be you\u201d […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3495,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_mi_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[5,6],"tags":[119,195,118,120],"class_list":["post-279","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","category-short-story","tag-asheroth","tag-fiction","tag-ishtar","tag-short-fiction"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thememorexe.com\/wordpress\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/279","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thememorexe.com\/wordpress\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thememorexe.com\/wordpress\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thememorexe.com\/wordpress\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thememorexe.com\/wordpress\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=279"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/thememorexe.com\/wordpress\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/279\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3496,"href":"https:\/\/thememorexe.com\/wordpress\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/279\/revisions\/3496"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thememorexe.com\/wordpress\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/3495"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thememorexe.com\/wordpress\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=279"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thememorexe.com\/wordpress\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=279"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thememorexe.com\/wordpress\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=279"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}