Hot Night in the City

'Martha Zinberg.'

'You don't look like a Martha.'

'Fifteen years ago, I didn't look like a Martha, maybe. But I'm afraid I'm growing into it. But you, you really don't look like a Marvin.'

'Thank you. It's unfair that Marvin Lee should be so patently wimpy a name, while Lee Marvin sounds all sinew and balls.'

'Poetry's a funny thing.'

'True. I remember giggling all the way through Paradise Lost.'

She smiled. 'Do you come here often?'

'And what zodiac sign was I born under?'

'Hey, give me a break. I'm new at this sort of business.'

'Ah, the cry of the Sabine women. All right, yes. I come here often.'

'To pick up women?'

'Certainly not! Or, to be more precise... why else? And how about you, Martha? Did you come here to get picked up?'

'I thought so an hour ago. Now I'm not sure. It's my first time.'

'Your first time at Rick's?'

'First time anywhere.'

'Married?'

'Divorced.'

'Recently?'

'Very.'

'Children?'

'None. You?'

'Which?'

'Any of the above.'

'Married, yes. And I have produced an F-1... she who just yesterday was a little girl, all sugar and spice and unanswerable questions, but who will soon be entering Yale as what the acceptance letter called a 'freshperson'.'

'How do you earn your money, Marvin?'

'I don't actually earn my money. I'm a university professor. 'History of Western Thought.' Creating faculty positions is our culture's way of providing for brilliant people who are emotionally underdeveloped.'

'That has the sound of a rehearsed line.'

'Just what it was. What about you, Martha? How do you earn your money?'

'I'm a lawyer. My husband and I were in practice together.'

'Zinberg and Zinberg?'

'No. Just Zinberg.'

'Ah! And was that the problem? Insufficient recognition for your contribution?'

'...No, that was more a symptom than one of the problems. You want to hear about them? The problems?'

'Nope.'

'Oh.' She blinked. Then: 'Well then, do you want to tell me about your problems?'

'Sure. My wife is a wonderful human being. My daughter is a blend of beauty and wit. I got tenure eight years ago. And I publish articles in the major journals of my field with machinelike regularity.'

'These are your problems?'

'Seen from the inside, yes. You see, I always wanted to be captain of a tramp steamer on the South China Sea. Or a novelist. Or a movie star. Or an apple grower in Vermont. And instead? Instead, I have a departmental committee meeting in the morning. Now there's excitement for you. What about you, Martha? Did you ever want to be an apple-growing movie star adrift in the South China Sea?'

'No. All my life I wanted to be a lawyer.'

'Well then, you've won life's great battle! You've made out.'

'Not tonight, I haven't. My first shot at the swinging singles scene wasn't a screaming success. I realize that zaftig isn't in this season, but still... I mean, come on! This place was steamy with libido earlier on, and some of the boys were too drunk to discriminate. And yet... here I am. Still sitting here. Advise me, Marvin. What should I do? Offer green stamps?'

'Do I understand you correctly? Are you asking me for guidance on how to get yourself laid?'

'I think I am. I'm not sure. After all, this is my maiden voyage... if a matron can have a maiden voyage. This is my first time out since the divorce. Maybe I just want to talk. Share ideas, dreams, insights, wisecracks.' She tilted back her head and looked at me narrowly. 'Come to think of it, maybe you're not the person to ask for advice. I mean, you're obviously no hotshot at the business of seduction.'

'I resent that!'

'Well, you're still here, aren't you? You didn't find anyone for tonight.'

'Yes, well... that's the part I resent.'

She laughed. 'You're sort of fun.'

'Fun? Wow! Like a barrel of monkeys? Gee! Actually, Martha, I did make out tonight. I ran my patented, all-purpose, never-fail Switch Routine on a girl, and she fell like the Roman Empire. So you see, when you assume that I am here, rather than sweating on the belly of some highly desirable chick, because I lack persuasive skills, you are full of shit up to your pink, shell-like ears—if you don't mind my waxing poetic.'

'Wax away. Are you drunk, Marvin? You sound pretty drunk.'

'Only my mouth is drunk. My mind is perfectly pellucid. Hey, if I had slurred that 'perfectly pellucid', that would have been funny. So? Do you want to learn how I made out, or not?'

'Is it still raining?'

'Like a cow pissing on a flat rock, as wits say in the Big Bend country.'

'In that case, teach me, Marvin. I'm all ears... pink, shell-like ears, that is.' She crossed her legs and assumed an acutely attentive look.

'All right, here's how it went. I approached this fish, dangled my classic 'switch' line in front of her, and pow! She was on the hook. All we had to do was down our drinks and in half an hour we'd have been in her apartment, making the beast with two backs.'

'So why weren't you?'

'Well, you see, once the bait is taken and the hook is well set, my interest in landing the fish evaporates. I'm more a hunter than a killer. It isn't the tickle and squirt that attracts me. It's the constant reaffirmation that I can still harvest young flesh. Does that make any sense to you?'

'Sure. In fact, it's transparent. Even trite.'

'Trite?'

'So how does this classic 'switch' sting of yours work?'

'Like most landmark discoveries in mankind's slow rise from the stone axe to the atomic bomb, The Switch is based on simple principles. All these bumbling butchers around here run standard, banal dodges. They grope the fish's emotions by telling her she's beautiful; or they grope her mind by saying she's interesting; or they grope her self-esteem by faking a common interest in the Rolling Stones or Fellini or art nouveau. Me, I cut through all this tedious persiflage and do a complete switch—hence the name—on those worn-out ploys. Playing it for bittersweet, burnt-out, and tragic, I frankly admit that both she and I are here to get ourselves laid. Then I shake my head and say what a sick and silly thing that really is. Here we sit... so much finer and more sensitive than these animals sniffing each other all around us... and yet we find ourselves shopping in the same meat market as they, victims of corporal impulses that we can't fight, even though we know how stupid and ultimately unsatisfying it all is. I sigh and say that at least we can preserve our dignity by not conning each other with shams of tenderness and affection. We can call a spade a spade. (Note of caution for potential switch users: The 'call a spade a spade' line is a little dodgy when the target fish is Black.) And there you have it, Martha. My sure-fire switch scam... patent pending.