The Last Laugh

by Arjuna Ardagh

“Your Dad is a great man,” Joey went on. “I admire him more than … ,” he made big eyes at the oldest child, only about eight, “ … Superman.” The child took a sudden sharp in-breath. “Make very, very sure,” Joey bent toward the child in a conspiratorial whisper, “that you do everything he tells you to do. That’s important, if your mission here on Earth is to succeed.” The father straightened his back and knitted his brows, trying to remember where he had met Joey before, coming up with nothing.

  “And,” Joey went on, looking at the wife, “he’s easily the best-dressed man in this whole joint.” She shuddered a little and looked rapturous.

  And so we finally found ourselves an empty table, right in the middle of the restaurant, and sat down. Joey looked back at the five kids and waved. The table near the entrance where Joey had taken the fries was by now bubbling with animated laughter.

  “Ah,” said Joey. “God, I love humanity.”

  The waitress arrived with our menus.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen.” She greeted us in a thick Australian accent. In her early 20s, she was beautiful and buxom. Her blonde hair was tied back into a little ponytail, she had bright blue eyes, a freckly nose, and a strong athletic body. She had the look of a woman who had grown up with Marlboro men, and had wrestled many a fully-grown kangaroo to the ground, laughing all the while. As she bent down to clear the dishes from the table, Joey looked unabashedly down her white shirt at the top of her full brown breasts.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, like an art connoisseur at an exhibition. “Just beautiful.”

  The waitress stood up again, dishes in hand, and smiled, cocking her head to one side. A healthy clean country smile. “Well, thank you,” she grinned, as though she were just done with shearing 200 sheep and taking a break before doing more. “A girl does sure like to be appreciated.”

  “No, thank you, dear,” said Joey. “Your radiant and alive beauty has brightened my whole day. You are like a beautiful painting.” His gaze was unashamed, as he took in her whole body with complete relish.

  We ordered. A cup of tea each. Joey also wanted dessert, and insisted on hearing in detail about every item. He settled on chocolate chocolate-chip cheesecake. “And do you suppose you could manage that smothered with hot fudge sauce?” he asked. He tickled her with the word smothered. I writhed.

  “Oh, I dare say we could do that for you,” she joked back. “Anything else now?”

  “Marry me!” said Joey.

  The waitress left, looking quite perky. I was seething. Joey looked back at me in surprise.

  “Got a problem?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “How can you talk to women like that?” I blurted. “I mean, you were looking at her like an object.”

  “Hmmm,” said Joey considering. Then he smiled back at me. “But a very beautiful one!”

  “Yes, but she’s a human being, not just a sex symbol.”

  “Well, isn’t she a beautiful human being?”

  “Yes, she’s gorgeous, stunning, but that doesn’t mean that you can just stare right down her blouse.”

  “Why not?” said Joey. “That’s what everyone is doing, in their minds. And secretly, that’s what every woman wants: for her beauty, both inner and outer, to be relished. When her beauty is overlooked, she dies a small death every moment.”

  I had gotten heavily steeped in feminism at college, and he was committing every politically incorrect chauvinist blunder that had been hammered out of me by various girlfriends. “Well, aren’t you making some sweeping generalizations? Don’t men want to be appreciated for their beauty, too? Don’t women want to be appreciated for their brains and beliefs, and not just their breasts?” I was indignant now.

  “Sure, every one of us has masculine and feminine energy. But the trouble with your present generation is you have mixed it all up. Men and women are different. Their bodies are shaped differently, just in case you hadn’t noticed. And their psyches are shaped differently, too. A man has about thirty times more testosterone in his body than a woman does. And the woman, she has way more oxytocin. So you see, the average man’s life is more bound up with breaking through barriers and accomplishment, whereas most women identify more with being beautiful. If you want to support a man to feel his deepest essence, talk about what he has accomplished. If you want to do the same for a woman, notice her inner beauty.”

  The waitress returned with our cups of tea. “Here you go, gentlemen!”

  “Thank you, my dear,” said Joey. He took her hand. “Tell me,” he said. “My friend here is very upset that I complimented you on your lustrous beauty. Did it disturb you? How did you feel about it?”

  The waitress seemed amused. “Well … frankly, I rather liked it. I mean, there are not too many men around who are that honest. You know, direct. I like that. Reminds me of home.”

  “Ahh,” said Joey, reflecting seriously. “Yes, very direct people, the Australians. And how does it feel to be living inside such a young and alive body?”

  Now the waitress was more than amused. She flushed. “Mmmm … ” she made the tiniest sounds with her out-breath. “Well, it feels great, actually! I love to be in my body. I am just doing this job for the money, you know. I am really here in the States for the skiing.”

  “Yes, skiing,” said Joey, “I used to love to ski, too. Too old now, mind you. I am sure that your radiant healthy body gives you a lot of pleasure.”

  “Well, yes, it does.”

  “And you give me pleasure, too.” He paused. “My friend finds you beautiful, too,” he said. “But he’d rather not tell you about it.”

  “Oh well,” said the waitress, “sounds like most men.” She smiled at me. “You’d better let your mate here give you some training in girly appreciation, he’s a pro.” She turned and left.

  “I can’t believe you, Joey,” I blurted.

  He was right, I had to admit it; he was only saying and doing what every man feels, but keeps hidden.

  “See, the way you are with a woman is just like you are with all of life. One mirrors the other. If you hold back, if you are half-assed, life will turn from you and close to you. If you give everything of yourself,” Joey swept his hand to indicate the whole restaurant, and the canyon beyond, too, “she reveals her deeper beauty to you. All of life is just one huge beautiful woman. You have to learn to love her deeply, all the time. Find her ticklish spots, tease her, notice her infinite beauty, and tell her again and again and again.”

  The waitress came back from the kitchen with Joey’s cheesecake. She was standing behind him, waiting for the right moment to interrupt.

  “Kiss her, lick her, bite her. Give her everything you have. Whisper sweet nothings in her ear. She is craving for your presence. Give everything to her in every moment, like there has never been any other moment, and there will never be. She is screaming for you to make love to her.”

  The waitress didn’t move a muscle. I was making little eye movements to Joey, a pained expression on my lips. I was dying.

  “Huh-hmmm,” said the waitress, transfixed. “Here we go.” She gave him his cheesecake. “Extra chocolate sauce. Can I get anything else for you?”

  Joey looked up, with a twinkle in his eye that would eclipse the northern star. “I’ll let you know, my dear.”

  She laughed. I could feel her opening to Joey like a rose. It annoyed me that he could bring her out like this with his crudities. She tore herself away from him.

  “Now it’s your turn,” said Joey. I groaned, wondering what could possibly be next. “This is the eighth lesson,” he went on. “You’re almost done.”

  “Have a look around the restaurant. Tell me what you see.”

  I glanced around. “I see people. I see the view of the canyon. I see the Christmas tree in the corner.”

  “No,” said Joey, “look at specific people, tune in. Feel the people, feel their fears and pains and hopes and unsung dreams.” I looked again. I saw a young couple, sitting next to the window. They were
not talking, just looking down at their empty teacups.

  “Well, that couple over there, they, ah, they don’t know what to say.”

  “Exactly,” said Joey. “They are sitting in withholding. Look deeper; what is he holding back?”

  When I looked again, it was as though the scene now offered more information.

  “He is angry. He is disappointed. He is jealous. He could cry.”

  “Exactly, see, it is all there. What else? What about her?”

  “Well, she is guilty about something; she wants to say ‘sorry’ to him.”

  “What is she guilty about?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. Feel her with your body.”

  “She is ashamed. She cheated on him.”

  “Of course. That wasn’t very difficult, was it? Now, what do they need? What would bring more love, more space? How could you caress them with your total heart?”

  “I guess they need to let go and feel that they love each other.”

  “Right. Okay. See that vase of flowers over there by the entrance?” I looked. Sure enough, there it was. “Okay, when no one is looking, go take a flower, give it to them, and tell them that you can feel the love between them.”

  “But I can’t feel the love between them.”

  “Exactly. That is where you can bring your gift. Do you think I actually liked that guy’s shirt? Give a little.” He paused. “Now.” He glared at me.

  In agony, I forced myself to get up and sidle over to the flowers. Looking around like a pickpocket, I slipped a flower out of the vase, took a huge breath, and strode over to my prey.

  “Excuse me.” They looked up, startled. “I’m so sorry to disturb you like this.” I grinned stupidly. “And I know this must seem rather unusual. But my friend and I … ,” I cleared my throat sounding theatrical. “We were just remarking on how much … um … well, you know … um … . love we felt between you. And in grateful appreciation, no I mean in … um … celebration … ” God, I sound like an idiot. “ … We would like to present you with this … um … er … rather small rose.”

  There was a stunned silence. They both stared at me in shock. They looked at each other. The man turned panicky for a moment. He scanned the room, as if looking for law enforcement. Then he spoke.

  “Well, thanks. Actually, we really needed someone to say something just like that today.” He laughed nervously.

  “Yes, how totally sweet of you,” she added. She almost sang the word sweet. She had a cultured voice. “Such an unusual gesture.”

  They looked at each other and she reached for his hand.

  “Well, good,” I said. “Um … mission accomplished. I mean, good luck to both of you.” They both smiled and I beat a retreat back to Joey, kicking myself.

  “Good,” said Joey.

  “Thank God that’s over with.” I slumped back into my chair.

  “What do you mean? That was just a warm-up. Look around, what else do you see?”

  “No, Joey, really, I am not very good at this.”

  “I know,” he replied. “That’s why you need practice. What else do you see?”

  Reluctantly, I scanned the room again. There were probably 50 tables in all. And then, on the far side of the restaurant, I saw something I could not believe. Bruce Pushar, the man who forced me from my job, and Will Thurston, the owner of KYQD, were engrossed in a fierce argument.

  “My God,” I said to Joey. “My old boss is there with the man he hired who pushed me out.”

  “Pushar and Thurston?” Joey had an amazing memory. “Nope,” he said, absolutely unimpressed by the coincidence that they were here at all. “That’s too advanced for you right now. Pick another table, look for someone else.”

  All kinds of feelings swirled in my chest. So there they were, the man who had most blessed my life, and the one I held partially responsible for ruining it. But obediently, I moved on.

  Two teenage girls sat in the corner. They wore heavy makeup and tight sweaters with plunging neck lines. I could see platform shoes under the table. “Well, those two girls look bored, like they are waiting for life to begin. They are pretending that they are above it all, but actually they are dead scared.”

  “Pretty good,” said Joey. “You forgot to mention they are both virgins and obsessed with getting laid.” Now that Joey mentioned it, I saw that he was right. It was written all over them.

  “So what do they most need?”

  “Sex?” I offered.

  “No,” said Joey. “They are young tender flowers. That’s what they want but not what would most open them.” Once he put it that way, I looked beyond the layers of makeup and provocative clothing, and also felt their innocence. “No, they just want to feel wanted,” he continued. “Okay, so go and ask them to go out with us.”

  “Joey, no, absolutely not.”

  “Do it,” Joey said. He looked at his watch and started to read the menu. The unspoken message was clear. This was day seven. I was running out of time. I was failing my eighth lesson.

  So I just did it. Like pulling a Band-Aid off a hairy part of one’s body, I strode straight over.

  “Well, hello there, girls!” They looked up. The one facing me sneered just a little. Her expression said “weirdo,” but I braved on anyway. “My friend and I noticed how gorgeous you both are, and we were wondering if you would grace us,” I was on a roll now, “with the pleasure of your company.” There, done. Still alive. Just.

  “You what?” said Sneery.

  Her friend was obviously more of a gambler. She had more acne spots on her face than I had ever seen. The makeup did a poor job of hiding them. “Where’s your friend?”

  “He’s the … ” What was the best adjective here? “ … mature gentleman sitting over there.”

  “Him?” said Acne, disappointed.

  “You’ve got to be fucking joking,” said Sneery. “Piss off.”

  “Well, thank you for your time. Have a nice day.” I walked back.

  “They turned us down,” I reported.

  “’Course they did. What did you expect?”

  “Then why have me do that?”

  “Not to spend the evening with them. Have a look now. How are they doing?” I looked over. They glanced at me, but immediately looked away. They were talking to each other and laughing. They looked happy.

  “See, you don’t give a damn to get something. You give a damn to give. To add color where it is missing. You just made their day. You just allowed them to feel desirable and beautiful. Now look at your other handiwork.” He gestured to the first couple with his eyes. She was crying big tears into her empty teacup, and he was caressing her hands, obviously pouring forth forgiveness.

  “Now how do you feel?” he asked me.

  I checked in. I was surprised. “I feel alive,” I admitted. “I feel open.”

  “Exactly,” said Joey. “You become what you give. This is the eighth lesson. Be generous with yourself. Make love to life in all her forms. All the time.”

  Our waitress brought the bill. “This one’s on me,” said Joey and pulled out his wallet.

  Just at that moment, Pushar and Thurston rose from their table. They were still involved in their dispute. I realized they would have to walk straight past our table to make it to the entrance. I braced myself.

  Thurston saw me before Pushar did.

  “Matt, is that you?” he said. He looked worried and angry. Pushar stood beside him, sullen.

  “Hello, Will,” I replied. “Good to see you.” I ignored Pushar, just as he was ignoring me.

  “I was just hearing,” he breathed deeply, “among other things, that you are no longer with the station. And I’m sorry to hear that, Matt. I always thought you were the best we had to offer.” Pushar flushed. His lip quivered.

  “Yes, I’m sorry, too. I’ve missed you, Will. How have you been?”

  “Hawaii has been good to Carol and me. Gave me a complete break from the station.” He paused and
added in a lower voice, “which was perhaps not such a great idea after all.”

  He turned to Joey, apologetically. “Will Thurston, KYQD.” He extended his hand to Joey, who grabbed it with enthusiasm. “And this is Bruce Pushar, our station manager,” he added reluctantly.

  “KYQD?” said Joey. “Ah yes. Joey Murphy.” He paused, and added very slowly, with a sparkle, “KYSH. KYSH.”

  “Really?” replied Will in surprise. “KYSH, eh? So what do you think of our Matt here?”

  Joey looked over at me, sizing me up as though we had just met for the first time. “Matt,” he said thoughtfully, “is one of the most inspiring people I have ever met. He has a heart to ignite the world.” There was a pregnant silence.

  Will and Pushar offered a few more pleasantries, and then left. As they made their way out of the restaurant, I could see that Will was even more angry with Pushar, who was cowering at his side.

  “KYSH is his main competitor, Joey. It’s a radio station. He thought I was being courted by the enemy.”

  “Really?” he replied, looking bored. “Innocent mistake.”

  CHAPTER 22

  DARK NIGHTS

  We got back to the city, still in its post-Christmas repose, that evening. Joey slept most of the way after we left the restaurant. I drove him to West Broad Street and stopped the car. Without opening his eyes, he spoke.

  “Go home. Get some grapes and some water. Then go up to your room. And sit still. Don’t read, don’t write, don’t meditate, don’t exercise, don’t go out, don’t talk to anyone. Sleep when you need to, otherwise just sit there and wait. With your eyes open. Eat once tomorrow, in the middle of the day. And come to the meeting in the evening. Don’t use a watch. I will arrange for someone to collect you and bring you there.” He opened his eyes, looked at me with an empty expression, and casually added, “Good luck.” With that he got out of the car, pulled his bag from the back seat, and was off down the alley.

  I went to bed that night looking forward to a couple days’ rest. This must be a pause in the training. I had done well, passed all the tests, and deserved a break. Three more days, two more lessons, and it’s over. Then who knows? Perhaps just better luck. For now, I was happy to be home, like Ulysses after his voyage. I sat on my foam pad for a while, quite content with my spartan surroundings. I felt like a monk. Finally I slept.