“That’s Tupac. You like?” To be polite, I tell him I do, although I cannot usually understand the lyrics to rap. “I’ll burn you a CD,” he says.
“You do not have to do that,” I say, but what I really want to say is that it’s not ethical to copy music.
“It’s nothing,” he says. As he begins the burning process on his laptop, he says to Jefferson, “At least some people here have musical taste.”
Jefferson is reading a magazine on the couch. He wears the costume of the Japanese soldier in the movie: blue material like a bathrobe with shoulder armor. His hair is in a knot at the top of his head and he has an artificial sword at his waist. It is strange to see that outfit on a white person, although possibly some people would find it strange to see, e.g., a racquetball outfit on someone like me.
Dan offers me a drink, and I ask what he has. “Let’s see,” he says as he looks in his refrigerator. “We’ve got OJ, purple stuff, soda, Sunny Delight.” Jefferson laughs, although it is the class of laughter that does not utilize the lungs. I tell him I will have the same drink he has, and he retrieves a beer.
Two shelves like skyscrapers of CDs are near the stereo. From the plastic cases and the plastic materials in the CDs, I try to calculate how much petroleum they all contain, but it is of course impossible without knowing the precise material breakdown.
A shelf littered with books is next to the CDs. The lion’s share are finance books, but there is one large book on art. Possibly Dan has more interests than I previously estimated. Sometimes small details tell you more about someone than the big picture does, in the same way, e.g., that the infinity of real numbers between 0 and 1 is actually greater in cardinality than the infinity of all integers.
Dan also takes out two small sheets of paper and hands one to Jefferson. “Got this weekend’s point spreads. Fill it out now and we can drop it off with my doorman on our way out.” He rotates to me. “Want to bet on football?”
He explains to me the concept of the point spread, which is similar to strike prices with options. I ask Dan for advice on which teams to pick, but he says, “With the spread, it’s basically random — just go with your gut,” which is poor strategy, because a knowledgeable expert would find a way to calculate better odds, so I bet only $5.
“Ready for your costume, high roller?” he asks as he takes my money. He gives me a plastic bag. Inside is a wrench. Despite my skills with computers, I am inefficient with the repair of physical objects. My father is much better in this department. He tried to teach me many times when I was young, but I was never good at it and he always became frustrated, so finally he stopped.
“Do I say I am a wrench or a tool?” I ask.
Dan’s laughter always sounds like he exclusively understands what is humorous about a situation. “Whatever you want. But I suggest saying you’re a mechanic.”
When Dan is in the restroom, Jefferson says, “A ‘tool’ is someone who gets used by others.” He lowers his volume. “Dan’s a good kid, but a little immature. And with a narrow worldview.” He shakes his head. “Sometimes I think he’s just in this for the money.”
To reroute the subject, I tell him I like his costume and ask if he has visited Japan. “I did my junior year abroad in Tokyo,” he says. “And I backpacked through Southeast Asia in ’97, just when the financial crisis hit.”
We discuss the Asian Financial Crisis in more depth. Jefferson has a broad knowledge base and I learn some new facts, e.g., because Japan was the world’s largest holder of currency reserves at the time, the yen remained stable, but after the crisis, when Japanese manufacturers couldn’t compete with cheaper rival countries, the GDP real growth rate in fact fell into recession in 1998.
“They’ve bounced back, though. One thing those people know, it’s how to safely weaken their currency and create a current account surplus.” Then he says, “And produce fine women who think all white guys are goddamn Vikings. Even the runts.” I believe this is a joke but I am not 100 % certain, and therefore I produce the same laugh without lungs he used before, but he is serious and returns to reading Wired.
When Dan comes back, we drink more beers and watch a movie about a man with long hair who likes to bowl, and Dan and Jefferson state much of the conversation simultaneously with the actors. Before we leave, Dan gives me the burned CD and writes on it: “To: Karim the Dream, FROM: DAN.” I still feel nefarious about accepting it, but it’s a gift and Dan is trying to be more friendly, and possibly that compensates for the theft.
When we exit the building, Dan waits until no one else is around, then whispers to his doorman and transfers our three pieces of paper and some money to him.
Many men pass us in clusters as we walk south on 7th Ave. Although it’s cold, their costumes are low on material and emphasize their muscles. “You have a lot of gays in your country?” Jefferson asks.
“No,” I say. “Homosexuals can be imprisoned for five years and whipped.”
“Do they even consider that a punishment?” Dan asks.
“Don’t be a homophobe,” Jefferson says. “You’re not in redneck country.”
The party is in an apartment building that just one person lives in. We take an elevator up three floors, and before the doors open we can hear the music and people talking and feel the temperature rise.
The elevator doors open directly to a large room bottlenecked with men like the ones we saw on the street.
“What the hell, Dan?” Jefferson says.
“I swear to God I didn’t think it would be like this,” Dan says.
“‘Just because it’s a Halloween party in Chelsea doesn’t mean it’s gay,’” Jefferson says in a voice imitating what Dan must have said to him previously.
“Look at it from the other side,” Dan says. “The women here are probably desperate.”
Jefferson rubs his eyebrows like he does at the end of the workday. Small pieces of dead white skin fall. “I can’t believe we turned down the party at Pagan for this. All because you didn’t want to pay a $75 cover, you cheap-ass Jew.”
The elevator doors merge as we remain contained. “Well, it’s too late now, and the only other big party we know about is on the Upper East Side, and cabs are scarce tonight,” Dan says as he presses the “Door Open” button. “Let’s try it out for a few minutes.” Jefferson tells Dan that he owes him, and I follow them into the party.
Dan produces drinks for us at a table, but because they’re disputing with each other I don’t request a healthy beverage like orange or cranberry juice, so he makes me a Coke and vodka.
We stand near the drinks and observe the party. There are a few females, and some of them link their eyes with Jefferson’s.
“See?” Dan says. “It’s just a matter of finding the untapped market. We should’ve been doing this years ago.”
As I consume my second drink, someone contacts my shoulder. Rebecca stands behind me in a coat. A white dress of satin material descends under it to a few inches above her knees. It is the first time I’ve seen her wear a dress. She opens her coat slightly and I see Post-its on the material that display “OEDIPUS COMPLEX,” “SUPEREGO,” and “ID.” She also reveals her upper arms and shoulders, which are pale and shaped like lightbulbs.
“It’s a Freudian slip.” She closes her coat. “It’s idiotic and a cliché, but I didn’t have anything else. What are you?”
I hold up my wrench. “I am a mechanic.”
Then she says hello to Dan and Jefferson. Before I can ask how she is enjoying work, Dan says, “You guys want to play pool?” and he points to a black billiards table.
Rebecca says, “I don’t really play, but—”