by Hubert Selby
He also knew that the fortune cookies did not really have anything to do with the sales, but he was not going to take any chances and so he continued with the candles in the morning and the Chinese restaurant in the afternoon.And business was good. It was great! As a matter of fact his sales were mounting so rapidly that it looked like he would be a shoe in for the salesman of the year award. And as the sales mounted so did his commissions and it was obvious that he would have to start looking for some sort of tax shelter. He smiled and grinned when he thought about it, not exactly a bad position to be in.
Things continued going almost perfectly for several months. Even the people who did not give him an order were very favorably impressed, telling him they would keep him in mind if their situation ever changed. But eventually the inevitable fly came into the ointment and Harry had to find a way to get rid of the fly without throwing out the ointment. He became a victim of the Chinese restaurant syndrome.
The first time it struck he ended up being late for an appointment but fortunately no harm was done and he survived the attack and got an order. At first, as he sat on the commode doubled up with cramps and sweat pouring from his pores, he knew he would have to stop going to the Chinese restaurant every afternoon. Then, after he returned with the order and relaxed in his office, he realized that he was being hasty. Its not that he was being superstitious you understand, but it just did not make sense to change a routine that was working so well.
The following day convinced him. And though he knew that his sales did not depend upon his eating in a Chinese restaurant every day, he still tried to find some way of continuing to do so without getting sick. Or more specifically, to get the fortune cookie he needed—no, no, he didnt really need it, but… well, what the hell, everybody has some sort of good luck charm. Certainly no different than a rabbits foot. He shrugged inwardly, what the hell.
The next day he went to a small Chinese food take-out store and took the fortune cookie out of the bag and dropped the rest in the first litter can, then went to lunch. He glowed with pride at his ingenuity and the ease with which he had solved the problem. Each day he went to the take-out stand and ordered a few items and threw them away after taking out the fortune cookie.
One day he noticed a couple of girls from his office at the stand and continued walking, then came back ten minutes later, looking around carefully to make sure no one else from his office was there. Now when he left the office for lunch he glanced over his shoulder to be certain no one who knew him was in the vicinity, carefully looking around again before dropping the bag of food in a litter can as nonchalantly as possible, studying the sky and whistling as he hurried away.
Soon the pressure of this routine started to create anxieties so he would eat lunch in the area first, then go to a take-out stand some distance from the office to get his fortune cookie.
After much testing, and some trepidation, he found he could safely eat in a Chinese restaurant every fourth day without fear of an attack. And so he sampled the Chinese food from one end of town to the other. He was in Chinatown one day when he made a happy and astounding discovery: a store that sold fortune cookies by the bag. Now he truly had nothing to worry about.
He kept a bag of cookies in his desk drawer and rationed them out to himself, one at a time. But then it started becoming a little difficult to understand some of the fortunes. Well, it wasnt that they were hard to understand exactly, it was just that they were ambiguous or simply did not apply to the immediate situation. So Harry was forced to open another… and another, until he found one that was pertinent to the day before going out on his appointments. Soon he had to buy bags by the dozen, wanting to be certain he did not run out, and when he left the office he was covered with cookie crumbs, the old anxiety giving him a slight twinge from time to time.
One morning Harry was studying reports and getting together information to present to a prospective customer. This was an international corporation and if Harry could close this particular deal it would be the largest in his firms history and would open undreamed of vistas for the firm and for Harry. Among other things it would mean an appointment to the Corporate Staff.
He had been working on it for six months, putting in endless hours and tremendous energy and creative imagination, and the final appointment, the yes or no appointment, was for tomorrow afternoon. He had everything together and was starting to review it again when he received a phone call advising him that his appointment for the following day would have to be cancelled, Mr. Ralston had to leave the country unexpectedly, and could Harry make the appointment for this afternoon at two, Mr. Ralston having no idea when he might be otherwise available.
Harry quickly agreed and automatically reached into his drawer for a fortune cookie. He read the fortune, frowned and threw it away. Who needs that: He who hesitates is lost, but it is better to be lost than dead. What kind of nonsense is that? He opened another… and another and another, becoming increasingly anxious and annoyed. He had been bothered by the ambiguity of some of the previous fortunes, but now they were being downright negative. He reached for the last one and it too was the same. If he took the advice of the cookies he opened today he would go home and lock himself in a closet. Right now he wished he could do just that. He hated the idea of trying to close this deal feeling so nervous and negative. He frowned and looked at the pile of cookies and fortunes in his waste paper basket. What the hell was going on? Why was everything suddenly against him? Krist, he wished he could cancel the appointment! But if he did it would be all over. He would never get another chance. Not like this. He would not get the Corporate appointment. He had to see him today. But why was everything going wrong? He had lit his candles this morning. Why should this be happening to him? He looked through all his drawers for the third or fourth time hoping to find a stray fortune cookie, one that he had somehow overlooked, but to no avail. There just wasnt any left. He was completely out. And there was no way he could get anymore before going uptown. Unless he had an early lunch in the Chinese restaurant next door. He brightened, Yeah. Thats what I’ll do. Thats where it all started anyway. I’ll have a quick lunch and get uptown in plenty of time. He brushed the cookie crumbs from his suit and left his office.
Something told him that he was not being too wise having lunch here today, having had lunch in a Chinese restaurant yesterday, but he was forced to dismiss the thought. He would be careful. He wouldnt eat much. He wouldnt take a chance on being victimized by the Chinese restaurant syndrome. Not today, and a faint voice way in the back of his head said: Famous last words.
He ate the soup and a little of the chop suey and quickly grabbed the fortune cookie when the waiter brought it and crushed it and read the fortune, then stared at it: There are times when the wisest thing to do is nothing. He could not believe it. This was insane. He waved to the waiter and asked him if he could bring him another fortune cookie. He nodded and when he brought it Harry cracked it open and almost moaned aloud as he read the fortune. Another one. I must be dreaming. Somebody must be playing some sort of trick.
He called the waiter again and asked for a dozen fortune cookies. The waiter looked at him for many seconds, Harry said excitedly that he would pay for them, breaking into a forced smile and explaining that it was for a joke. Eventually the waiter shrugged and brought another dozen fortune cookies. Harry stared at them for a moment, the waiter glancing at him from time to time, talking to the other waiters, then shrugging and shaking his head. Harry took a deep breath and relaxed as best he could and got ready to open the first one, girding his loins as if he were about to dive off a hundred foot tower into a tank of water through flaming oil. He opened the first one, read it quickly, tossed it aside and went to the next, repeating the same routine, his knot of anxiety growing with each one, becoming more and more sick, until he had opened them all (all the waiters were watching by this time, scratching their heads) and he sat staring at the pile of broken cookies and crumpled fortunes. Harry was on the verge of tears. H
e could not believe this was happening to him. All the way to the very brink of something great and then the entire world suddenly turns on him. He hadnt done anything to anyone. He lit his candles every morning. Why should this happen to him? It wasn't fair. Goddam it, it wasnt fair! Im not going to put up with it! I’ll be damned if I will! NO!!!! He spoke the last word aloud as he brought his fist down, hard and loud on a pile of broken cookies, the plates and little bottles jumping and clanging, people suddenly silent, sitting still, forks suspended in air, looking first at each other, then turning around to find the source of the disturbance; the waiters too stopping in mid-motion, looking at Harry and blinking as Harry ground his hand into the cookies and shouted, Im not going to put up with it! Thats it! Harry continued to mutter to himself as he paid his bill, unaware that everyone was staring at him, commenting that he was as mad as a hatter.
Harry was full of energy when he entered Mr. Ralstons office. The first thing Mr. Ralston did was to inform Harry that he was very busy and did not have time for superfluities. That was just fine with Harry as he was well prepared and wanted to get on with it too. He presented all the figures quickly, giving Mr. Ralston a copy of everything, noting the salient points, answering all questions easily and succinctly and when the meeting was concluded he left Mr. Ralstons office with the order.
When he got back Harry went directly to his office and plunked himself in his chair. By now his body was wet with perspiration and his insides were a turmoil of confusion and disbelief. He had the signed order right here but the fact seemed to be somewhere outside him. He knew it was real but it did not seem to have any pertinence to him, and the reality of the entire situation became increasingly vague the more he pondered it because he just could not believe it happened. How did it all come about? He could barely remember being in Mr. Ralstons office. He thought and thought and simply ended up increasing his confusion.
And what made it even more perplexing was the fact that he knew this would change his life. Every aspect of it. A house in Connecticut with trees and a garden. A summer place in Marthas Vineyard. Cars. A boat. Yeah… maybe a forty foot sloop and he would sail before the wind feeling the spray and breeze on his face…
But he would be functioning on the Corporate level now….
The thought was frightening. How could he possibly function on that level? How could he possibly make a speech before the Board of Directors (the mere thought sent tremors through his mind and body) giving them progress reports… advising them of projected sales… O krist, thats right. I’d have to continue making deals like this. I’d have a position to maintain! How could I do it? This one was a fluke. Theres no way I can do this again… Jesus, the Board wouldnt be satisfied for long theyd want it done again and again and again…
O God, I cant do it. I could never take the pressure—he glanced at the pile of broken fortune cookies in his wastepaperbasket—I wouldnt know what to do. Being a salesman is one thing, but Corporate Staff… the responsibility…
and he’d be stuck with the house in Connecticut and the summer place in Marthas Vineyard and the boat and cars… O God, no… no…
He felt icy cold and shivered as panic twisted itself through then around him, squeezing him tighter and tighter, making it almost impossible to breathe… He struggled to gulp air into his lungs, then leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk and held his head, sinking deeper and deeper into his despair…
Then he noticed something in the newspaper on his desk At first it was a blur but something forced his attention to that area and he found he could not move his gaze away from it. He blinked his eyes until his vision cleared and he realized he was staring at the daily horoscope, his horoscope for today: Today is the day to assert yourself. Great opportunities are yours if you just take the bull by the horns. Dont take no for an answer. He read it over… then again… at first just the words got through, and then their meaning, his body becoming more and more erect as he read, his face relaxing into a smile…
then he slammed his hand down, hard, on the paper and jumped to his feet, Of course! Thats it! I knew it! I just knew it! I knew today was my day!!!! Thank God Im not superstitious or I might have let those damn cookies ruin my life. Now I know how to do it—tapping the paper—right there all the time. Haha, theres no way I can be stopped now! He snatched the signed contract from his desk and went to the Executive Wing to advise the President in person that he had wrapped up the deal. After all, he may just as well start getting used to his new neighborhood!!!!
A Penny for Your Thoughts
He didnt think of her breasts at first. He simply noticed how attractive she was. And too it was extremely unusual to see a young girl without makeup. She probably was no more than 18. He was waiting for the subway after work and she was standing among the crowd with a few friends. She wore a black coat and a black kerchief. Her skin appeared very white and her eyes were dark and sparkled. He kept glancing at her. He stood near them on the train and was surprised when they got off at his stop. He walked slowly and tried to listen to their conversation, but the only thing he heard distinctly was her name: Marie. A block from the station she said goodbye to her friends and turned along the avenue and he continued home.
The next morning he saw her on the station. He stood near her trying to determine the color of her eyes, but couldnt (at least not without being obvious) and was amazed again at her natural beauty, not glamorous, but quiet, exciting. They got off at DeKalb Avenue and he walked slowly up the stairs behind her and her girl-friends hoping he might see a bit more of her legs, but she held her coat tightly around her and with straining and falling behind as she climbed the stairs he was still only able to see her calves. They were very attractive though. Even with those flat slippertype shoes on. She turned at the exit and walked off in a different direction than the one he had to take, so he stood for a moment watching… then turned and went to his office.
He didnt see her that night on the platform. He looked around and had almost convinced himself that he should wait for another train, one that would be less crowded, but there was an area that was big enough for 3 or 4 people and the train remained there for a few seconds with the doors open and he felt guilty and conspicuous standing there when there was all that room and suppose someone he knew should ask him what he was waiting for or what if there should be some kind of a police investigation for some reason what could he say? And there are witnesses to prove there was room in the train—he stepped forward quickly just before the door closed.
After dinner he stretched out on the couch and tried to conjure up an image of Marie. All he could see was a vague outline, his wifes voice making it impossible to flesh out the image. He stopped trying and got up from the couch, went out to the kitchen and helped his wife with the dishes, his wife surprised, but saying nothing.
About 10 oclock he said he was going to bed as he was bushed from the extra work in the office and was relieved when his wife said, no, she wouldnt come to bed now, but would finish the ironing first. He lay in bed and thought of Marie. He thought of her dressed in a beautiful tight sheath with dark stockings, but the image continually blurred. He had never seen her with her overcoat off and without a kerchief around her head. Actually he didnt have the slightest idea of what her body looked like, only what he assumed from looking at her legs and face. She obviously wasnt fat, but he still didnt know exactly how she looked. How about her tits? She might be flatchested.… Cant really tell with that overcoat. NO NO! She must have a nice pair. Large and firm. Sure… She must…
He ate breakfast just a little faster the next morning wanting to be certain to get to the station in time to get the train she always took, but not too fast so his wife wouldnt ask questions. Marie was there on the platform and he got on the train with her and her friends and rode to work trying not to stare, but listening to her voice and watching from the side of his eye and hoping her coat would fall open when she reached up to adjust her kerchief, but it didnt. While still watching her c
oat and hoping, he looked at her face and noticed the small blemish on her right cheek, but it didnt bother him. It didnt affect her beauty. And anyway it was just a small spot. Probably temporary and nothing that would scar her skin. He did wish that she didnt go to work with her hair in curlers, though she does look much prettier than Alice with her hair set. Actually it was only the front she kept set. The back hung loose. It was long, wavy and very pretty. If she put something on it to make it blacker and shinier it would really be something, but it was very nice the way it was. Really nicer than Alices, but that was something else. He was just curious about this girl. She must be 10 years younger than him. It's just that shes unusually attractive. Good Lord, cant a guy look at a girl and find her attractive without something being made of it. Alice certainly wouldnt mind… It was their stop and they got off and he turned looking once more, then went to work.
When he mentioned the girl he saw on the platform to Alice he tried to do so with an in passing attitude, but he wanted to be certain he didnt overdo it. He was sure she didnt think twice about it as the conversation drifted to a natural tangent after he mentioned how attractive this girl was and it was a shame she didnt put her makeup on properly instead of smearing it all over. You know how these kids do it, and then they were talking about high school or something and he felt better, much better. Now when he thought about Marie he wouldnt feel guilty. And anyway, why should he?
He saw her every day, twice, for the next 4 days and he watched her the whole time from the moment he saw her on the platform until they parted at 3rd Avenue… still he didnt see them. And this was January. So long before spring and lighter coats that would be allowed to fall open and so much longer to summer when only dresses and blouses were worn– and he stared and stared… Hello. I hope you dont think Im too forward, but Ive seen you every day for quite some time now and I am sure you have noticed that I have been staring at you. I suppose it is a little unusual to just speak to a girl on the subway like this, but it is just that you are so attractive–a train came in and they got in and he tried to reach her, but couldnt get through the crowd or continue his imagined conversation; and then the train stopped and he got off and stayed a few feet behind and watched her and tried to go back to where they were on the platform and he was telling her how beautiful she is and she was about to smile (shyly perhaps) and tell him he was right, that she had noticed him looking at her and he would be able to understand (from her tone and attitude) that she was flattered—but he couldnt get back there and whenever he tried to isolate just them, alone, he suddenly tried to remember the color of Alices eyes. He tried pushing the thought from his mind, shoving it away with his hand, but there was felt no resistance and it just flowed around like an amoeba, an enormous amoeba; he tried gripping it; kicking it; dragging it; but the thought just floated and flowed. He even closed his eyes for a moment as he stood on a corner waiting for the light to change, but the thought wouldnt move so he stopped trying to keep it out of his mind and conjuring up his wifes eyes it slowly disappeared; then he tried to make his wifes eyes bigger and bigger so he could see what color they were, but he failed. It was impossible. But they must be blue. Shes so fair. They must be. They have to be. Blue Blue BLUE!!! Still he couldnt believe they were. But that doesnt mean anything. You know yourself how you forget things like that. But Maries eyes are brown. A deep dark brown. And they sparkle. Dont they? But thats different. How can you doubt I love Alice? I really know the color of her eyes. Its just trying to force it like this. Thats why I cant remember….