The Jack I Knew

       When I arrived at his apartment, Jack was drunk. He was leaning against the wall, legs sprawled out in front of him and empty bottles from his wine collection littered about. He went on absently plucking a discordant melody on his violin for several moments before noticing my presence. "Klaus, my old friend! Whatever brings you to this neighborhood?" He slurred at me before tipping over. He blinked and looked up at me, "Nick," a brief moment of sobriety came over him, "thank you for stopping by; may I offer you a drink?"
       "I'm fine, Jack. What's going on? Are you celebrating?" His eyes met mine; I have never seen such grief and agony. The sunken look of him made me instantly aware that he was more than simply drunk. But even more worrisome was that he was obviously desperately holding back tears. His eyes looked completely defeated, void of all life. He would blink rapidly in bursts while clenching his jaw so hard that it seemed as if it would cause permanent damage. "God, Jack; what's wrong?"
       He looked at me with a dead gaze and slid a folded letter and his open notebook over to me without saying a word. The notebook contained what appeared to be the rough draft of a letter; it contained many crossed out passages and corrections written in the margins. Omitting the mistakes, it read:

           My dearest Elizabeth,

Forgive me for burdening you with this letter, but my drunken, half-mumbled confession seemed woefully insufficient. I chose to write a letter over an actual conversation, not out of cowardice, but necessity. Whenever I attempt to tell you how I feel, my normally silver-lined tongue goes numb and the words catch in my throat.

I'm sure it comes as no surprise that I am completely mad about you. My time spent with you leaves me happier than words are capable of expressing. I know you claim that I compliment you too much but it is so hard not to, and every word uttered is sincere--no matter how rakish the accompanying grin. I will not claim that you are the most beautiful woman on earth, you would scoff if I told you that your personality negates the existence of all other females. What I can tell you, with complete honesty, is that to me you are perfect exactly the way you are. Your beauty is an ideal by which all else is judged in my mind; your personality and mannerisms can fill me with joy on the darkest day; and your mind is absolutely intoxicating to me; I would not change a single thing about you. 

And I think we are grand together. We have such a wonderful balance of similarities and differences which meld together brilliantly. I always have an incredible time when I'm with you and I hope you have fun with me as well. And you have to admit that we are absolutely adorable together; we definitely win cutest non-dating couple every time we go out.

Our friendship means more to me than almost anything and I would be devastated if this letter were to do anything to jeopardize that friendship; but if I don't at least try, I will live forever in regret. Tell me to bugger off and I'll go on being your close friend; but if you feel any of what I feel, give me a chance and I promise to make you as happy as you make me.

As ever, I am always yours,

Jack

     

     I was shocked on several levels. This was not the confident and arrogant man I thought I knew; the roguish dandy who sneered at emotions could not have written this declaration of love. I was also confused that he would need to essentially ask her to court him. Jack and Elizabeth  had been spending every waking hour together for the last three weeks. He constantly told us that they were not dating, although he wished they were, but we had assumed that he was just being coy. The idea of Jack Newhouse not capturing the heart of a young lady had never occurred to us.

      I shook my head, stunned, "Jesus, Jack; you really love her, don't you?" He was overtaken by a fit of blinking, he bit his lip so hard that I saw blood, and motioned for me to read the letter. I unfolded it, it was written in a feminine hand--more feminine that Jack's--and seemed to be covered in drops of what I could only imagine to be tears.

Jack,

Wow! I am so flattered by this, I don't know what to say! I could never hold this against you. I want you to feel like you can always be honest with me. I have to be honest with you as well, though. The truth is, I have feelings for someone else and it wouldn't be fair for you not to have all of someone's heart. It's hard to say what the future holds but whatever it has in store, I hope it includes you.

Your friend,

Elizabeth

      I looked back at Jack, tears were freely streaming down his face and he was moving his lips, silently reciting the words of the letter. "Shit." It was all I could think to say. He laughed, a hollow laugh, but it was still good to hear. "So what have you taken?" He smiled at me.

     "How well you know me, my friend. I have perfected the ideal cocktail of drugs and alcohol. It allows me to function and maintain my cognitive abilities, yet cuts off most of my emotions; you know how I feel about emotions." I carefully looked him up and down, if this cocktail was blocking his emotions, I was terrified to see what kind of mess he would be when faced with sobriety.

       "Opiates?" I asked. He nodded. "And alcohol, you told me that; wine or liquor?" He motioned to his kitchen counter, there was a bottle of vodka, Riesling, and his prized French absinthe. "Christ, this is not going to solve anything, Jack! What pills have you taken?" He tossed a plastic bag at me, it was full of various opiate based drugs. I sighed, "Well where do you go from here?" 

       He looked slightly confused, "I'm going to smoke a cigarette, would you like one?" 

       "That's not what I meant, what are you going to do about Elizabeth? Are you going to move on? Keep pursuing her? Drink yourself to death?" He smiled a very frightening smile,

        "Ah, don't I wish I had that luxury. I shall remain her friend, whatever happens happens. I would love to move on or drink myself to death but neither option seems viable at the moment." 

         "He needs to play hard to get. Tell her to fuck off and make her come to him." A voice came from the bedroom. Jack's brother, Cavall emerged, clad in a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else. 

          "It's pointless playing hard to get when she's not actually trying to get me." Jack flung his tie in Cavall's general direction, missing him by several feet. Jack's dog came charging out of the bedroom, quickly followed by Cavall's dog; they tussled for a bit over the tie and then came to rest next to Jack, doing their best to comfort him. Cavall walked into the kitchen and came out with two beers, he opened one and handed the other to me. I opened it and we both sat down in the drawing room, Jack eventually crawled after us and collapsed on the couch. 

       I turned to Cavall, "Did you see this coming?" He shook his head,

       "I thought he was going to get married again, this one seemed a lot better than Lillian, though." I laughed, I had never known Jack's ex wife but I had heard plenty of stories. 

       "But has he ever been like this before? I'm worried about him." Cavall's usually mocking demeanor gave way to genuine concern.

       "He was pretty crushed when Lillian left him but that was more his fear of change than heartbreak. I haven't seen him like this since he was really young. You know he's high, too." I didn't believe him for a moment. Jack hated marijuana, he claimed that one as meta-cognitive as himself could not handle the debilitating mental effects. 

       "What the shit, Jack? You said your cocktail allowed you to maintain your cognizance." He half rolled over on the couch to face me, displacing the two dogs who had curled up on top of him. 

        "Only in the evenings, Klaus; I don't need to think in the evenings. And I don't want to think in the evenings." He turned on some old BBC reruns and lay there whimpering at what he must have thought to be an inaudible level until he fell asleep. Cavall eventually covered him with a blanket and went off into the guest bedroom. I sat for several hours, half watching the television, half reflecting on the entirely new Jack Newhouse presented to me that night.

        Only three weeks earlier I had stood in this very room, listening to a manic Jack profess his love for Elizabeth.

       When I arrived at his apartment that day, Jack was sprawled out in his favorite chair, languidly smoking one of his noxious imported cigarettes. I eyed him suspiciously, his tie was loosened, his top button was undone, and his coat was carelessly tossed across the back of the chair. He smiled at me, I frowned. "What's this emergency which required me to abandon my date?" He jumped up, tossed the cigarette out of the open window, and began pacing around the drawing room.

      "It's happened, Nick, I'm in love, it's finally bloody happened."

      "You were in love last week, Jack; it was hardly worth interrupting my date."

       "No!" He replied forcefully as he lit another cigarette and emptied his flask with one swallow. "That was a minor distraction; this, my friend, is love, true goddamn love." His use of commonplace vulgarity caused me to worry for his sanity.

       "What makes this one different, then? What separates her from any other girl who wins your affection by paying attention to you?"

       "True love, Nick, do you not understand true love?"

       "Apparently not," I replied rather crossly, "why don't you explain it to me, Jack?" He beamed a wildly unstable grin at me. 

       "True love, my friend, is when she calls you posh instead of pretentious!" I left the apartment.

     This was the Jack I knew, the Jack that he rarely revealed. Below the façade of the womanizing rake was a desperate romantic. And this is the Jack of whom I will write, some of the stories will match the tales, and some will fly in the face of the legend. It will be the truth, though; my tribute to the man who I loathed, loved, resented, and worshipped; Jack Newhouse.

How I Met Jack

      I first met Jack Newhouse when he was still in his late twenties, when he was still evolving into the legend known by so many today. He was an energetic young man, full of high ambitions and even higher apathy.
      I met him in a bar in Lansing, Michigan, it was a Friday night. I had just been turned down by a young lady whom I had asked on a date. Feeling sorry for myself, I walked into the first bar in sight. It was crowded and noisy but I made my way to the counter, hoping to find a seat. There were no seats and no tables, people were standing about, leaning on each other's stools and chattering back and forth. I was in no mood for socialization, I started to push my way towards the exit until a voice stopped me. “You need a seat, mate?”

      What was the first thing that I noticed about Jack? It must have been his voice, for I heard him before I saw him. It was a pleasant enough voice, friendly and even. There was a definite affect to it; the clipped endings of an Oxford education, a slight Irish or Welsh lilt, and Scottish vowel sounds. These specific qualities were unknown to me at the time—they were a product of my time with Jack—I merely thought he sounded Canadian. His appearance matched the affect in his voice, on that night he was wearing what was to become the stereotypical Newhouse attire; a perfectly tailored black suit with ghost pin-striping, a tailored silk shirt, a silk black tie with an impeccable double windsor, black paisley suspenders, intricately argyled socks, polished leather wingtips with spats, and a black trilby resting on the bar in front of him—Jack never wore a hat indoors. He was tall, not so tall to tower above a crowd and look awkward, simply a few inches more than most people. His dark brown hair was carefully parted in an archaic Prussian military cut which seemed to fit him better than any haircut ever could. His face was handsome, it was not angelic as most people will tell you; he had a balance of delicate features with an underlying masculinity which made you hesitate before referring to him as pretty. His ease and confidence was what made him loved or hated by all who encountered him. He was leaning back in his chair, carelessly riffling a pack of cards in one hand while stirring his cocktail in the other. He leaned over and removed his coat from the neighboring seat, motioning me to sit.

      I hesitated for what must have been a noticeable amount of time, this was the type of man who prevented me from getting dates. One look at him left me with the impression that he had never been turned down by a woman in his life. But his smile was enchanting, it left one feeling as if they were the only person who mattered to Jack. I couldn't help it, I thanked him and sat down. “Not a problem, my friend; I was waiting for a mate to meet me here but you seem like much better company.” That was Jack, always willing to show kindness to strangers despite his professed hatred of humanity. As we sat at the bar together, we conversed amiably; Jack loathed small talk with a passion so he oftentimes would lapse into silence until a worthy thought entered his mind.

      That was the night he first dubbed me Klaus, "Nick, huh?" He seemed to contemplate the name when I introduced myself, "Nicholas, I presume?" I affirmed his presumption. "I already have a friend named Nicholai, so we'll have to call you Klaus; you look krouty enough." He smiled that smile of his that made any protest instantly evaporate before making its way to my lips. To this day, no one other than Jack has ever referred to me as Klaus—despite his attempts to encourage its use.

      We were already good friends by the time his friend arrived, Jack introduced us—of course, I was presented as Klaus—and he leaned on the bar, allowing his friend to sit. The friend, Shane, was obviously a mere acquaintance. Jack made friends wherever he went but he rarely allowed anyone to get close to him; he would tell his few close friends that he didn't care about many people so he had to provide us with extra care to make up the difference. 

      Shane suggested walking around and looking for something interesting to do, Jack admitted his love of rambling and raised his eyebrows at me inquiringly. I went to pay my tab, only to discover that Jack had already managed to pay it without my noticing, my thanks were courteously waved aside as we walked out into the twilit city. 

      Jack instantly lit up what appeared to be a luxury cigarette from some European extremity, he offered them around and slid them back inside his coat when Shane and I both declined. His flask of French absinthe, however, was not turned down by either of us when proffered. We were soon giggling about nothing at all as we stumbled around aimlessly.    

      It was Shane who first noticed the girls standing outside of the arcade, at least he was the first to mention them. "They're nice enough," Jack responded instantly, "I might even give the blonde a bit of a discount but I would hardly consider them worthy of approach." I would learn later that Jack was actually completely incapable of approaching women, it simply had never come up for him.

      "YOU GIRLS WANT SOME COH-CAIN?" Shane shouted across the street before collapsing in a fit of hysterics. Jack and I both looked at him with disgust.

      "Jesus, Shane, what the fuck is wrong with you?" I slurred, hoping none of the passing people took us for rapists. Jack casually crossed the street and rounded the corner into the alley. We followed, Shane looking slightly shame-faced. Jack stopped and leaned against the brick wall to light up a cigarette. We awkwardly stood there for a moment before leaning up against the wall next to him. 

      "Whatcha doin' there, buddy?" Shane looked terribly confused.

      "Having a cigarette, Shane. You simply cannot be too drunk to observe that." Jack was not looking at us, he was casually glancing at the lip of the alley.

      "Well, yeah, but why did you stop? I thought we were looking for trouble." Jack glanced at him with a dismissive look in his eyes.

      "Trouble, hmmm; not precisely what I had in mind. Don't tell me you failed to see what just happened. Not even you, Klaus?" I had no idea where he was going with this,

      "All I saw was Shane making an ass out of himself and the two of us." Jack shook his head and smiled a knowing grin,

      "Trust me, lads; I know what I'm about." Just then, the two girls walked into the alley.

      "You've got to be shitting me." Shane muttered.

      "Did you guys just offer us cocaine?" The less attractive girl asked as the good looking one gravitated towards Jack, stopping inches from his face. 

      "I did." Shane announced proudly, as if this somehow would impress the girls.

      "Can you really get us some?" 

      "I probably could have, but my friend just moved so I can't anymore." Shane didn't seem to notice how pathetic he sounded. The blonde was now gazing into Jack's eyes,

      "Oh my God, you are so sexy." Her voice was slightly slurred but she didn't appear to be more than just a bit tipsy. Jack smiled,

      "Yes I am. Can I offer you some absinthe? I feel as if I should play the host since we were in the alley before you entered." The majority of his words washed over her as she took a swallow from his flask. She made a face and took his cigarette,

      "This cigarette tastes better than that drink, it's gross!" He looked at her with slightly lenient reproach,

      "I presume that results from a lack of sophistication on your part." She adoringly hung on every word of his insult as if he was reciting a sonnet to her.

      "We have to go," the less attractive girl called to her friend, "my boyfriend is calling and he's going to wonder where we are." The blonde waved her aside, and leaned forward. Her baseball hat hit Jack in the face. He laughed casually,

      "M'dear, if you are going to attempt to kiss me, at least remove your cap." She glowed at this, took her hat off and placed it backwards on Jack's head—his hat had been knocked off during her attempted kiss. After smiling at him in her hat, she proceeded to kiss him fervently while running her hands all along his torso. Shane, the ugly girl, and I stood there awkwardly as the blonde started to unbutton Jack's shirt.

      "We really have to leave now, he's calling me again." The less attractive girl interrupted. Jack's new acquaintance looked at her with a pout, glanced over Shane, instantly dismissing him, and then looked at me,

      "Tell him that I'm arranging a three way!" Jack looked at her with slight disgust,

      "The odds of that are quite slim, love. I will not be placing my erect penis anywhere near these two gentlemen and your friend has already revealed that she has a boyfriend."

      "I have a boyfriend too." The girl proudly announced. Jack seemed incredibly amused by this revelation,

      "Really?" The girl pulled a small lock on a chain out from her shirt.

      "See? I have a lock." Jack frowned,

      "I have no idea what that means, and I failed to pay any attention to it, choosing to observe your cleavage instead." The girl giggled and placed his hand on her breasts,

      "It means I have a boyfriend, silly." Jack thought about this for a moment,

      "Interesting. How faithful are you to this boyfriend?" She giggled again and went back to kissing and groping him. Eventually, her friend grabbed her and pulled her away,

      "We have to get you out of here before you blow this guy." The blonde reached for Jack,

      "I totally would!"

      "Perhaps you should go with your friend, now; I try not to make a habit of taking advantage of inebriated young ladies." Jack bowed to her.

      "I'm going to take advantage of you!" She yelled and grabbed at his crotch before her friend succeeded in pulling her back into the arcade.

      Shane and I were both gaping at Jack. He looked at us with nonchalant amusement,

      "Well lads, shall we proceed?" That was my first of many nights out with Jack Newhouse.       

Chet

      "No, I'm not actually a sociopath. God, I envy sociopaths, it's so easy for them; what I am is much more work than sociopathy." Jack was sitting in his drawing room, cocktail in hand, and going on about his favorite subject; himself. He had called me three days after our adventure with the young ladies in the alley, inviting me to a charity event which he had no desire to attend.
      My first impression of his apartment was incredulity, I had no idea that apartments like this existed in Lansing. Hard wood floors, twelve foot ceilings; perhaps Jack would have been able to find words capable of doing justice to the apartment, but my description would be terribly insufficient. Jack greeted me while fastening his cufflinks and putting the finishing touches on his bow-tie; he poured me a drink and conversed with me in shouts from his bedroom. As I attempted to select which terribly expensive piece of furniture I dared to sit upon, a great black beast erupted into the drawing room. Jack's dog, Kaiser Bill, was some rare breed of jet black Scottish Deer Hound, the size of a small pony, and the friendliest creature ever.
      After Jack had finished donning his unfairly perfect tuxedo, he poured himself a drink and sat down in a luxurious wingback chair that I would come to know as 'Jack's favorite chair'. We talked for a while, Jack always dominated conversations but managed to do so in a surprisingly non-offensive manner. His uncanny ability to instantly and accurately read people made inquiring conversation superfluous in his mind. The reverse also caused conversational difficulties; Jack's synapsis were connected in such a labyrinthine convolution of allusions and oddities that following his train of thought was not only impossible, but potentially dangerous. He would include some phrase, kenning, or allusion in a sentence which made absolutely no sense but somehow left you feeling as if he was condescending to you. When asked to explain himself, Jack would look shocked before apologizing profusely and launching into an explanation that left one even more confused than before. He would grin charmingly and profess that he often forgot that thoughts were not transparent. His close friends quickly learned to memorize a few of his allusions necessary for conversation and never ask about any of the others.
      I was saved from Jack's self aggrandizing meanderings by the arrival of his friend, Rajid. To call Rajid the friendliest man in the world would be a vast understatement; he immediately launched into a delightful interrogation, asking the most obscure questions and honestly caring about each superfluous detail. Jack looked on with warmhearted amusement as Rajid quickly discovered every detail about my past, present, future, my hopes, my dreams, fears, and everything in between.
      Jack seemed somewhat impatient as he fastened his obnoxiously loose watch, "Is Chet going to be at this bloody thing?" He asked Rajid. Rajid smiled at him,
      "Yes! And Dana is also going to be there." Jack burst out laughing, "That's not all," Rajid continued, laughing a bit himself, "Kelly is going to be there as well. And Chet hasn't seen her since that whole thing with you." They were both doubled over, laughing like malicious little children. I looked at them blankly, not sure if I even wanted to know. They turned to me, tumbling over each other in their eagerness to let me in on the joke. "Jack, tell him a back story about Chet, just so he understands."

      Jack cleared his throat to regain his composure. "What you have to understand, Nick, is that I was gifted Rajid, Chet, and a few others by my ex-wife, Lillian. Chet was constantly in love with Lillian in a terribly creepy manner for the entirety of our marriage. I managed to win his respect to enough of a degree to keep him from attempting any dramatics, but he was always there, waiting for his chance. Similarly, he never understood what kind of chaos I could release as a single man; Rajid knew, but Chet had only seen me as a family man." Rajid giggled a bit at this before motioning Jack to continue.
      "I took Chet with me to Grand Rapids for a bit of an adventure one evening. We called my good friend, Anastasia, to come meet us downtown. Chet and I played music for a while but it was quickly decided that the weather was far too cold for us to continue. Anastasia suggested a nearby bar and we made our way in that direction.
      "At the bar, Anastasia bought me a drink and we discussed whatever it is people discuss at bars. Chet and Anastasia had quite a few things in common so that saved me from having to participate in smalltalk. I excused myself for a cigarette and Anastasia invited herself along to split the cigarette with me. Outside, we passed the cigarette back and forth; I laughingly told Anastasia that Chet obviously had a bit of a crush on her. She visibly shuddered and made it clear that she had no interest in him. Eventually, the conversation turned to relationships and the lack of real men in this day and age. She discussed an ex of hers who was incapable of making the first move. She was a feminist but sometimes she just needed a man to toss her up against a wall and ravage her. I paused for half a moment before whispering 'slap me if you want,' and throwing her up against the wall and snogging her. She expressed concerns that we had perhaps known each other for too long. I told her to shut up as I grabbed her very nicely shaped backside, thrust my pelvis forward, and sank my tongue into her mouth.
      "Inside the bar, Chet was oblivious to the looks passing between myself and Anastasia. At one point when she had slipped off to the lavatory, Chet whispered that he would pee in her butt. I shuddered in disgust and told him not to get his hopes up. After several drinks, the bar closed up; Anastasia gave me a look that would make a lesser man weak in the knees and told us that she didn't think we should drive home. I was sober as a sud but readily agreed to go back to her flat for a bit.
      "As Chet and I followed her home, he confessed to me that he thought he might be getting lucky. I thought it only fair to give a shorthand version of what had occurred outside the bar. He looked so crestfallen that I almost felt bad. All sympathy quickly vanished as he suggested a threesome. I told him to keep dreaming and keep drinking.
      "At Anastasia's flat, Chet decided to start shouting belligerently in the hallway; I was forced to physically threaten him to shut him up. I poured him a drink and then threw Anastasia down on the couch, kissing my way down her neck. When Chet drunkenly crawled onto the couch with us, our revelry died down palpably. 'Chet, you seem like a great guy, but this has been five years in the making and we're honestly just waiting for you to fall asleep.' Anastasia told him in an incredibly sexy manner. He seemed to calm down a bit at that. We sat on the couch for a while, talking. Chet decided to give Anastasia a foot massage. She wasn't one to turn down a massage and I'm far too arrogant to experience jealousy so we gave it not a thought. When Chet exclaimed that she had the cutest little pinky toes he had ever seen, we decided that her socks should go back on. She suggested turning on the television, Chet jumped at the idea. 'Turn on Downton Abbey, Jack and I will both jerk off if you turn it on! Come on, Jack, tell me you wouldn't jerk off if she turned on Downton Abbey.' I informed him that I would not be jerking off to Downton Abbey. Anastasia informed him that he would not be jerking off to anything.
      "At this point, he collapsed on the floor and we assumed that he was asleep. We went back to kissing and groping on the couch. I noticed Anastasia freeze and opened my eyes to see a look of absolute terror in her face. 'He's watching us!' She panic-whispered in my ear. I turned around to find Chet perched directly behind me on the couch with the most lustfully disgusting look in his eye. He mumbled that it was cool, he just wanted to watch. We went to her bedroom.
      "Obviously, I had no sleep that night. At around six in the morning, though, our exploits were interrupted by heavy sighing directly outside of the door. We looked at each other with horror before darting back underneath the blankets. My phone rang. I answered it. It was Chet. He demanded that we leave. I told him to give me a second. He informed me that we had to leave immediately. I informed him that I had no idea where my clothes were. He hung up.
      "The car ride home was awkward to say the least. He complained that he hadn't gotten any sleep. I told him that I hadn't either; he was not assuaged. At one point, he told me that he was considering masturbating on the coffee table for some sort of sick vengeance. I responded by complaining how uncomfortable Anastasia's knickers were. He looked at me quizzically, I confessed that I couldn't find my pants so I was wearing her knickers (editor's note: Jack refused to speak what he referred to as "colonial", so in this instance, pants can be translated into underwear. Knickers can also be translated to panties). This ended all conversation."

      Rajid was rolling on the floor in hysterics as Jack finished the story. I was teetering on the line between amusement and disgust. I obviously needed to hear more about this person before daring to meet him and from the look on Jack's face, there was more to come.

Lessons Learned

      "Okay, now I'll allow Rajid to finish up with the most recent stories. Between the two of us, you should have enough of a backstory to fully appreciate what's about to happen this evening." Rajid looked verily giddy at the concept of continuing the story.
      "So, Chet has never been good at getting girls." Rajid began, "This sounds really mean but he just doesn't have the looks and he doesn't have the personality either. He has always been jealous of both me and Jack because we tend to attract girls all the time without trying. But he won't take our advice—"
      "Rajid," Jack interrupted, "Klaus is not going to judge you, continue on with your story."
      "Sorry, I just feel bad. Okay, a few months ago, Jack met my friend Kelly. She is good looking so obviously Jack decided to pursue her in his own way...smiling at her. He had already asked her out on a date by the time he discovered that Chet had a crush on her. Of course, Chet had known her for several months and never said anything about his crush but somehow thought that everyone should know. He got really mad at Jack and wouldn't talk to him; Jack would show up at places with Kelly and run into Chet. Chet would sulk in the corner and then bitch to me about it later. Once, Jack even wrote Chet a letter explaining that he actually kind of liked Kelly and he wasn't just pursuing her to spite Chet; it was really nice, but Chet somehow took that as a declaration of war. Kelly and Jack didn't work out—" Jack interrupted here again,
      "You can say it, Rajid, she rejected me because I wasn't a communist." Jack laughed, obviously not bothered by it one bit.
      "Yeah, but she wanted to fuck you, obviously." Rajid retorted before continuing his story, "Anyway, Chet still hasn't forgiven Jack and won't return any of his phone calls. I think Jack has given up trying to patch things up at this point." A nod from Jack confirmed this statement.
      "So, flash forward a few months, Chet has a crush on another one of my friends, Dana. I've known Dana forever and we're very close. Chet and Dana were out on what Chet thought was a date but I don't think Dana agreed with that assessment. They called me late in the evening, I was already in bed, and asked if they could stop by. I told them that they could come over if they wanted to crawl into bed with me. So they did. Dana crawled into bed beside me as Chet sat in a chair, staring a hole in the blankets. Now, you don't know me yet, but I am like this with girls. I love my girlfriend more than anything and Chet knows this. He also knows that I'm overly friendly with girls so I have no idea what his problem was. But it was pissing me off. So I decided to take Dana's bra off, with one hand. Then I had her mount me and give me a massage. Chet decided it was time to go. He didn't speak to me for a few days."
      Jack dusted his tux off and went to the door. "Well, I guess you're all caught up, Klaus, alons y!" As we headed for the car, Rajid whispered to me,
      "I arranged for Dana to be here tonight. Her being attractive, and Jack being Jack; Chet is bound to learn a lesson." I was impressed.

      We picked up Rajid's girlfriend, Marron, on the way. She was in on the "teach Chet a lesson" plan and talked about it with wicked joy. Jack waltzed into the event as he always did, like he was walking onto a yacht. The three of us were in tow as he greeted friends and clients, politely introducing me to those he deemed worthy.
      Rajid sidled up to Jack, pointing to a table at the other end of the room. "There's Dana, and Chet is at the same table. Oh shit, Kelly is there, too." He turned to me, Jack was already gliding through the crowds, tails flowing behind him.
      Jack hugged Kelly just enough to draw an uncomfortable look from Chet, who obviously had no idea that Jack was going to be at the event. Jack ruffled Chet's hair and kissed him playfully on the cheek, Chet turned from him and muttered what could have been a "fuck off". Jack then turned to Dana, bowed to her as he introduced himself and wrapped her in a "too warm for formality" embrace while kissing her cheek in a not so playful manner.
      I sat in a booth which Jack had somehow managed to secure. He was busy throwing back drinks which he had convinced other people to purchase for him. He was leaning over me, whispering to Marron that if she continued to buy him drinks, he would come home with her and make her take advantage of him. He looked around, "Where's Rajid? He needs to know what manners of perversity you're going to unleash upon my body tonight." Marron was laughing hysterically and play slapping him in mock desperation. We eventually spied Rajid, talking to three relatively attractive young ladies. "Uh oh, babes," Jack slurred, "looks like he has the same idea that you do. I'll go over to ensure he doesn't accidentally pick them up."
      We watched him slyly approach the group, exchanging words with Rajid and then presenting himself in his most flamboyant manner to the young women. They seemed to giggle more than usual and the conversation was obviously halted by Jack's presence. He politely made his exit and came sauntering back to us. Kelly had made her way to our table at this point and we were politely chatting as Jack reentered, climbing over me and planting himself on Marron's lap.
      Before she could push him off, Rajid was at the table, laughing hysterically. He launched into an explanation of his conversation with the three young women in the corner.
      "So I saw them all on their phones, giggling. I walked up and told them that there were so many interesting people around, it was a shame for them to spend all of their time playing on the phone. They told me that I didn't know what they were talking about. So, obviously I asked them. They said they were talking about that guy, pointing to Jack. They called him Jon Hamm and announced that he had a huge dick." Kelly choked on her drink at this point and tried to cover it up with a laugh. "I was so surprised, I asked them how they knew. They were confused and explained that they had been talking about the actor Jon Hamm, they showed me pictures of him in swimming shorts. I told them that Jack also had a giant dick." Jack blushed at this,
      "Christ, Rajid, is this your normal method of picking up birds?" Rajid brushed him aside and continued,
      "They asked if I could prove it—"
      "Oh, shit." Jack interrupted, "You didn't?"
      "I did, you're the one who sent it to me. I took out a picture of Jack in nothing but a bathrobe, open at the front, and showed it to them. That was right when Jack walked up so they were still giggling." Everyone at the table burst out laughing. Jack grinned and winked at the table of young women who were now staring at him.
      "I'm out for a fag, are you joining me, Rajid? Klaus?" Jack stood up and verily cat-walked out the door. Rajid and I followed him out.
      Our conversation about bicycles and hippies was interrupted by Dana rushing outside,
      "Rajid, who's dick are you showing to my friends from the book club?" We all laughed,
      "I think that would be mine." Jack said with a drunken smile. Dana looked him up and down,
      "No. They said it was big."
      "Hey!" Jack with mock sensitivity.
      "No offense, but they said it was really, really big." Jack smiled again,
      "That was so nice of them to say, gosh, I'm almost blushing." Dana looked him up and down again, an almost hungry look crossing her face.
      "You need to leave now," she pushed him inside the event center, "Rajid, show me that picture." Jack merrily danced back into the event to gleefully explain to Marron what was occurring outside. She didn't seem to thrilled that her boyfriend was pimping out their friend's penis picture but she shrugged it off and ordered another round of drinks.
      In the meantime, Chet and a few others had started playing a game involving men lifting up their shirts and women attempting to pop fire-snappers on their bare flesh. Jack watched the shag carpet that was Chet's stomach almost light on fire with rapt amusement. Dana, who had somehow managed to slip back inside unnoticed, suggested that Jack play. He politely declined, claiming that he was wearing too many layers. A group of people, mostly women, continued to pester him until he gave in and lifted up his shirt to reveal the obvious; a perfectly chiseled and hairless stomach. The girl throwing the fire-snapper completely missed, popping it close to his crotch. He said something sly and seductive and sat back down, readjusting his attire. Chet was mortified.
      By the time we decided to leave, the event had died down. Dana was dancing around Jack, Kelly was toying with her straw in an unconsciously seductive manner, and Chet was sitting in the corner, drinking, glaring at Jack, and attempting to draw the girls' attention by yelling stupid things from time to time. Dana gave Jack a disturbingly clinging hug while whispering something in his ear. He chuckled and said that he would see her at the next book club meeting.
      As Jack handed out phone numbers like party favors to us in the car, we unanimously decided that it had been a successful evening.

Prologue: The Bar

      "Prologue: The Bar." Jack began, pacing his drawing room while holding his leather-bound notebook. I was sitting on the sofa, sipping a drink and petting Kaiser Bill, who had cuddled up next to me. Jack had asked me over for dinner and then begged me to give him feedback on his memoirs. Being Jack, he refused to give me a copy to read over, he insisted that he narrate to me as we waited for dinner to cook.

    

"The wanderlust comes and goes; an event occurs which acts as the catalyst—usually involving the exit of a woman in my life—and I run wild for a time. But it never lasts, I begin to feel empty and I long to settle down. My entire approach to women changes. I no longer think of how quickly I could bed them or how much time I will have with them before they fall for me; instead, I start evaluating their potential for a relationship. Any current affairs quickly lose their allure, collateral damage in the ever present quest for the ideal woman. I essentially switch between two dissociative states; I have the traits of Tomas from Milan Kundera's fascinating novel, but they remain separate, never arising at the same time. Tomas the philanderer only appears when Tomas the lover has been rejected and heartbroken; I have never been unfaithful and I doubt that I would be capable of such an act. And this leads into my careful stipulations for entering a relationship; I refuse to acknowledge a proper relationship unless I can envision myself staying with this woman for the foreseeable future. Friends, sexual liaisons, and the like are carefully disassociated from relationships in my mind—dear Sigmund would be drawing some conclusions at this point.

And thus the scene is set as I walk into a small bar on a Sunday night. On the advice from a young lady on a dating site, I chose this particular bar. Perhaps we should back up as to why I was on the dating site. It was the advice of my brother's girlfriend's sister which caused me to sign up for online dating, an action which I would have found reprehensible in any other circumstance. Ah, but now we require a back story to explain my pseudo-courtship of my brother's girlfriend's sister. I suppose we must delve further into the past, back to the first girl who entrapped me into a long term relationship."

      "Shit, hold that thought." Jack threw the notebook into his chair and ran into the kitchen. He came back out holding something which smelled like absolute heaven. "This, my dear Klaus, is why I manage to pull so many women; it's not my good looks, my charming personality, or my sexual prowess; it is my cooking."

      I had to admit, Jack knew what he was doing. He had prepared filet mignon with caramelized onions, roasted garlic, and some divine jus from red wine and chalets. Perfectly steamed asparagus paired wonderfully with a whipped potato, bacon, and cheese concoction which I had never encountered. He set the table and poured us each a disturbingly generous helping of Chianti Classico of a surprisingly arcane date—admitting his preference for German wines, but claiming that the Tuscan reserve would enhance this particular dish.
      "Apologies for the lack of pomp tonight, I hadn't planned on company until the last minute; it will be wonderful but not too fancy, I fear." I stared at him, not sure if he was making a joke or fishing for compliments through false modesty. "Don't look at me in that manner, Klaus. I'm perfectly aware of how superb my eating habits are and you know my detestation for false modesty. I make no claim that this dinner is not far superior to what the peasants eat in their hovels; I'm simply stating that with proper preparation, we would be dining on a meal that could make The Sun King blush." There it was, the Jack Newhouse modesty which I had begun to appreciate so much.
      After laying his napkin on his lap and adjusting his silver(actual silver)wear—despite his love of servants and traditional gender roles, Jack was obviously familiar with Emily Post—I noticed a very strange occurrence. Jack bowed his head in an almost surreptitious manner and inaudibly muttered what could only be a brief prayer before looking up again. He caught my curious glance and attempted to laugh it off, "Do let me know if the filet(pronouncing the T with anti-continental flare) is cooked to your liking. I know it's cooked perfectly but I have yet to judge the refinement of your palate."
      My palate was apparently refined enough for Jack's standards because I had never tasted anything so wonderful. But I was not prepared to let his little prayer escape unmentioned. This man was quickly becoming my closest friend and yet he was still shrouded in self inflicted mystery; a subject as relevant as theology presenting itself was far too intriguing to pass by. "I didn't know you were a religious man, Jack." I attempted to maintain an easy and conversational tone. He grinned at me.
      "You are an observant one, aren't you, Klaus. I suppose it's my own fault for refusing to surround myself with dullards. I suppose you won't be willing to let this rest without further discussion." I smiled back in my poor impression of his rakish grin,
      "Not a chance, Jack. You're going to have to explain yourself in this instance. And no bullshit, I'm not some floozy eye-jobbing you in a bar; I'm your friend and I expect honesty from you." He sighed and put down his fork.
      "Very well. You have caught me in an interesting transition, theologically speaking. What I can say with absolute certainty is that I despise atheism; I loathe it with the very core of my being. Every smug, pseudo-intellectual moron claiming that science is the only god causes my blood to boil. I, as you already know, am the epitome of a hyper-logical mind; and logic defies atheism, it defies the piss out of it. Agnostics are fine with me, I don't see eye-to-eye with them, but they at least have the decency to admit that they do not have all the answers. As for myself, I am archaic in not just my dress, mannerisms, and tastes; I am also theologically archaic. I have always believed in the old gods. Not the rubbish neo-pagan, wiccan bullshit; the actual old gods." I was slightly shocked by this, despite his protestation, my mind was naturally drawn to images of hippy nature worshippers. It just didn't seem to fit the arrogant dandy sitting in front of me.
      "Recently, though," Jack continued, "I have been leaning more towards the followers of the White Christ. In the past, I have always viewed all forms of Abrahamic religion as foreign; not bad, mind you; not false; simply not the gods of my people. I have been slowly coming around, though; I even found myself praying in a little Austrian Chapel in Frankenmuth the other day."
      I was not quite sure how to respond to this, it was a lot to take in; a whole new side to the multi-faceted Jack. I sat their for a moment, eating the delicious dinner and reflecting on what Jack had just confided in me. "So enough about me," Jack broke the silence, "let's talk about me. What did you think of the prologue?"
      Knowing Jack, I was sure sycophantic praise would be appreciated but not respected. "Well at least you were good enough to allude to your source of plagiarism." I smiled playfully, hoping to lesson the blow. Of course, Jack was not fazed one bit, he grinned sheepishly.
      "Was it too close to his style? I do so love that novel, I can't help but envelop his pristine writing into my own."
      "I was just giving you a hard time. It is an obvious homage to Kundera but there is enough of your own voice to keep it from being a complete forgery. And from what I can tell, it shall be a much different tale being told. Are you not worried that the allusion will be lost on the average reader?"
      "I piss on the average reader," Jack scoffed, "I refuse to bring myself down to the level of the intellectually devoid. If anything, those few who have yet to read Kundera shall be drawn to a far superior author than myself. Again, this is not false modesty, Kundera is a god when it comes to writing, I am merely a demi-god." I laughed and shook my head.
      "Well then, let's clear up and you can read me a few more chapters over whatever delectable desert you have prepared."     

Valerie: An Introduction

      Desert was not prepared by Jack, he was admittedly rubbish at baking. Instead, it had been prepared by his seemingly invisible housekeeper, baker hybrid; Mrs. Wellington. To this day, I have no idea what was consumed for desert on that evening, but it was heavenly. Jack carefully served the both of us before vanishing into the other room and returning with his notebook. "Valerie: an introduction," he began, smiling at me over his fork.

"Journey back in time with me, dear readers, back to my youthful innocence. We can skip the mournful tale of Deborah Valentine—she was six and I was five, our love was cut short when she moved away—and the rest of the pre-pubescent love affairs of a boy raised on the daring exploits and tender love of Westley, Buttercup, and the rest. Sarah, Sara, Jenna, they are not inconsequential but they play no part in this particular narrative. Let us waltz tenderly past them and stop where Valerie stands, awaiting a dance partner.

"Valerie was first introduced to me whilst dating my friend, Dave. It was a brief meeting, I remember no details and would most likely have forgotten her very existence if she had not popped back into my life repeatedly. I believe our next meeting was when she attended the homecoming dance with my best friend and co-conspirator, Nik. Again, it was an eventless encounter, the repetition of her presence was the only detail worthy of note. Eventually, Nik started dating her, finally placing her in a position of permanence. Nik and Valerie were kind enough to note my loneliness and decided to arrange a double date with myself and Valerie's friend Alex. I recognize the futility of regretting decisions and actions in my past, our pasts shape our present and future and wishing away segments of our past is much of a muchness to wishing away our existence.

"David Eddings illustrates this point masterfully in his Belgariad series. The most dangerous action for a wizard in Edding's world is to command something not to be. Everything comes from something, he explains, and commanding an object to be not creates such an impossible scenario for the balance of the universe that the wizard foolish enough to attempt this action is removed from existence. He is not destroyed, he simply never was; a truly horrifying concept. Thus it is so with our past experiences, the very building blocks of who we are. Regretting past experiences to a degree or using our mistakes as lessons is not incredibly harmful. But actually wishing a past event to cease to exist is attempting to dissolve one of the blocks in the foundation of our lives. Obviously we will not physically cease to exist like the careless wizard but refusing to acknowledge our foundation will eventually result in the crumbling of our sense of self. David J. Leiberman speaks eloquently of the unhealthy actions resulting from a person with low self esteem; I cannot imagine a lower sense of self worth than mentally denying your own existence.

"But back to Alex, what a mistake, she was a perfect example of a horrible decision that one can only learn never to make again—of course I didn't, people rarely do. In summary, I was not quite swarthy enough for her taste. Add an insane father, a jealous friend, and a day in police interrogation and we have the end of that poor excuse for a relationship. Nik and Valerie experienced a similar amount of success as a couple but they managed to remain friends, so it falls that Valerie remained in my life. I don't recall exactly when my romantic interest in her started but start it did and it took a while to dissipate.

"Those of you who have seen photographs of me may find this hard to believe, but there was once a time when I was not able to capture every woman at whom my smile was directed. Valerie kind heartedly received my schoolboy advances with good graces...for a time. Eventually, she decided to push another friend my way.

      "Really?" I responded, "David Eddings? Why not just start quoting Star Trek?" Jack grinned and asked me to kindly shut my filthy mouth. He continued on for a while about how David Eddings was the greatest visionary to come out of the Pacific Northwest. Eventually, after coming to the conclusion that Jack was simply in love with Princess Ce'Nedra, I said goodnight to Jack and left him pondering the difficulties of inter-species relationships—namely human, dryad.

Journeys With Jack

      "I'm attempting to discover whether Kaiser Bill has DID or Paranoid Schizophrenia." Jack announced to me as I walked through the door. He was sitting on the floor, Bill was sitting in his 'I'm too tall to do anything with grace' position across from Jack; they were staring into each others' eyes. Jack didn't turn away from Bill when he spoke to me but Bill greeted me with bemused eye contact and a wag of the tail; Jack gently took Bill's head in his hands and turned the shaggy face back towards himself.
      "Jack, what the hell are you doing to that poor creature?" I asked wearily as I hung my coat on the rack and removed my shoes.
      "The other day, Bill attempted to remove a young lady's face, I'm doing my best to non-verbally psycho-analyze him."
      "What? Bill attacked someone? What did she do?" Jack finally broke eye contact with Bill, sighed and got to his feet.
      "He was quite friendly with her and when she went to leave, she got in his face to give him kisses. He growled for an instant and then leapt into her face, snapping and growling like a hell hound. He didn't really hurt her, she was just scared. I felt terrible until she started bawling; then I just felt disgusted, you know how I feel about emotions. It was inexcusable on Bill's part, but her reaction was simply ridiculous."
      "That's horrible, he's never done anything like that before." Jack hesitated for a moment, looking slightly shame-faced.
      "Well...he actually has. One time he was extremely hungry and growled at anyone who came near his bone. Another time he growled and lunged at Elizabeth when she went to pet him. He also tried to kill the electrician the other day. It's very strange, they are all people he likes. A sudden change comes over him and he feels horrible afterwards, apologetic and remorseful. I have it narrowed down to DID or Paranoid Schizophrenia, I'm hoping to rely upon therapy but I may be forced to seek out canine anti-psychotics. I refuse to entertain the idea that it could be a brain tumor." The last sentence was very quick and dismissive, a warning that the possibility was not to be discussed further. I was at a loss for what to say, this was not a conversation which I had been prepared to undertake.
      "Um...is there anything I can do?" Jack smiled, suddenly looking carefree.
      "Not to worry, Klaus, my parents are going to watch him for the week; I'll be dropping him off before we depart. You love grandma and grandpa, don't you?" This last bit was said to Bill, earning a woof and a run around the apartment in response.
      "...Before we depart? Are we going somewhere?" I asked somewhat nervously. Jack grinned.
      "We're traveling to Indi-fucking-ana! Michigan's piss-pot!"
      Yes, Jack had attached himself to my company training event in South Bend, Indiana. Don't ask me how, I still have no idea what he did for a living. He explained away my questions with some insufficient prattle about being an expert in the field of mental manipulation and the owner of my company owing him a favor. I sighed with resignation, there was no possibility of dissuading Jack once he had an idea in his head.
   
      "The other day, I was informed that our lives are merely stories being read from a book." Jack said with nonchalance as he danced the car along the highway. It had taken me a bit of time to grow accustomed to Jack's dance-driving; he insisted that driving in any other manner was far too plebeian for him to consider. I looked at him with slight curiosity,
      "That doesn't really sound like the philosophy you usually go for, bud." He grinned a wild grin,
      "You're right of course," he said, continuing his casual tone, "it's absolute pseudo-philosophical, queer rubbish. But it got me thinking; if my life was a book, I think it would be a dissociative, self aggrandized memoir, based upon wild exaggerations of actual events in my life, and narrated by my passive dissociative identity." Any response or request for clarification on my part would be beyond moot; I went back to reading my book. Jack continued erratically dancing the car and wildly conducting the music with his hands, grabbing the wheel only when absolutely necessary.

      When we arrived in South Bend, Jack was notably calmer. I was driving and he was sitting in the passenger seat, contemplating the telephone number written on the back of his toll receipt. "Jack, we're here." He looked up at me, slightly dazed,
      "I still don't understand why you wouldn't let me stop for a quickie in the toll booth; you know I've never done that before." I looked at him. "You're right," he sighed, "it wasn't the right time. Perhaps I'll go back after we leave the bar." I gave him a suspicious glare.
      "The bar?"
      "The bar." He smiled and lit up a cigarette.

      The hotel where we were staying was decent, luxurious by most peoples' reckoning—but of course, not by Jack's. We settled in—Jack had managed for us to each have our own suite—and decided to explore the town. All in all, South Bend was a fairly nice town; there were a myriad of upscale restaurants and several friendly neighborhood bars. We, of course, stopped in at almost every location; Jack charmed the patrons and told his usual collection of interesting stories(/lies), but all in all, nothing very interesting happened.
      The next day began with mimosas and an English breakfast in Jack's room. Luckily for our somewhat lethargic minds, the conference was being held in the hotel—this had been discovered at three in the morning when a panicked and inebriated Jack had telephoned the front desk and slurred out a request for the conference location. Jack took a morning swim and waltzed into the meeting glistening with water and looking like Neptune in an Italian suit.
      As far as sales training goes, this was a rather well done seminar. I had been expecting some very dull reiteration of how to metaphorically rape a client. It was there, of course, but only in a relatively small amount. The rest of the training session was quite interesting and helpful. Jack sat in the back, seemingly lost in his own mind, only interjecting to correct the pop-psychology delivered by the trainer.
      At lunch, Jack had managed to scour the hotel for enough ingredients to concoct his favorite Brandy Old Fashioned. He sat across the table from me, sipping his drink and seemingly unaware that everyone else was eating. He politely declined any offerings of the lunch provided by the company. When a miraculously hot and fresh plate of Duck Confit arrived at his table, it was clear why he had abstained from the lunch-boxes of cheap sandwiches.
      "I'm genuinely surprised at how well this seminar is going," I remarked to Jack as he offered me some of his food. "Aside from the outdated psych, it is actually pretty helpful." He nodded absently and continued eating and leering at the spattering of attractive females at the neighboring tables. "I just wish they would get more into the art of reading people, maybe even hypnotic suggestions; you know, the actual psychology of persuasion." Jack shook his head and managed to garble a response through his mouthful of duck liver,
      "They won't teach you that here, it would be a waste of time." He laughed at my affronted expression, "Not for you, Klaus; you would understand but the majority of the trainees would get bogged down and completely lost in the information. That's actually one of the reasons they allow me to attend these soirées; I take note of anyone who shows potential and recommend that the company invests more time and effort with them. In case you were wondering, I suggested you the day after we met." This last bit filled me with great pride but planted a seed of suspicion in my mind.
      "So we didn't meet by accident? You were assigned to investigate me by the company?" Jack laughed easily,
      "I can see how you might draw that conclusion, apologies. I freelance myself in this capacity to most corporations operating in the area. When I discovered your employment status, I simply called up your CEO and gave him your name. I also tell them who to hire, if I encounter someone particularly competent and working a menial job, I call whichever company would best suit them. It's more of a hobby for me, but I still charge them outrageously for the service."
      "Can you teach me?" I asked excitedly. Jack frowned,
      "I don't know, Klaus. I merely do the things I do, to explain them is far more difficult than performing them." Without knowing Jack as I did, I might have taken this as boastful. It was, in actuality, simply his matter of fact explanation.
      "Can you just try?" I realized I was pleading but I was too excited by the prospect of learning Jack's subtle art to care. He sighed, pushed his plate away while politely motioning what appeared to be a rented busboy to clear the table. After thanking him and tipping him what I could only imagine to be a week's salary, Jack seemed to recede into his mind for a moment. He returned after a moment and looked penetratingly into my eyes.
      "Okay, I'll give you a simple exercise with which you can practice your ability to read people. If you manage to master it, I will continue your tutelage in the most informal manner possible. Deal?" I quickly nodded. He motioned to an attractive young lady in a provocatively professional skirt-suit. "Tell me how she styles her pubic hair."
      I gaped at him, "What the shit, Jack; can we concentrate on the lesson before you attempt to bed every woman here?"
      "This is the lesson." He glanced casually in her direction, "Her provocative dress and flirtatious manner rules out an untrimmed nether-region. The slightly conservative manner with which she approaches business, however, suggests a well maintained bit of hair. The vegetarian girl sitting next to her is completely untrimmed. Despite her outward appearance of trendiness and approachability, she harbors deep hippy tendencies. Now you go, the minx sitting across from them."
      "Completely shaved," I responded without missing a beat. "She is overly sexual and extremely progressive." Jack smiled at this,
      "Very good!" He exclaimed,  "But you're ever so slightly off. She is what one versed in street vernacular would refer to as a 'freak'. Adding that to your very well thought out analysis, we can presume that she has some creative form of bonsaied pubic hair; an arrow, lightning bolts, some crazy shit which holds little to no interest for me." We spent the rest of lunch carefully guessing at the pubic grooming of every female at the conference. It was strange but oddly enough, it truly helped me to notice and digest every detail about the women.

      The regional president was taking us all out to dinner; the news spread through the seminar in an excited whisper. I briefly reflected at how terribly boring these peoples' lives must be for this to cause quite a stir but soon gave that up and joined in the muted revelry. A slightly upscale Italian chain was suggested as the destination and the majority of our company approved; Jack, of course, had issues with this decision. After briefly speaking with the president and vice-president, Jack changed our destination to a budding version of Versailles. In the hour between the end of the training session and dinner, most people relaxed and changed into more comfortable clothes. Strictly speaking, Jack did as well; he went for another swim and changed from his suit into a flowing tuxedo and black paisley bow-tie.
      In a swift turnaround from his reserved and aloof treatment of the trainees during the seminar, Jack moved his way up and down the table, glad-handing and charming everyone present. He engaged in a palpably flirtatious discussion about Manchester United with the English waitress, and managed to simultaneously offend and seduce the vegetarian in an argument about liver pate. Jack had convinced several members of our party to join us at the local Irish pub for his version of a night-cap. He handed out directions before engaging the regional vice president into a verbal waltz of seduction. She swooned as he opened her car door for her and wished her a goodnight. A moment after she drove away, a silver Bentley pulled up to the restaurant. A small and stately chauffeur popped out, made a slight bow to Jack, and opened the back doors for us.
     On the way to the bar, Jack cheerily explained the childhood, inspiration, and psychology of my RVP. He had apparently gleamed it in its entirety during his brief conversation with her. "Putty in my hands, Klaus, once you understand how they work, they become putty in your hands."
      At the bar, Jack was in fine form. He started drinking heavily upon his entrance and continued to escalate. He quickly befriended the musicians on the stage, politely and reverently accepting the violin from the fiddle player and sitting in on several lively numbers. He purchased obscure and archaic drinks for people based on their particular personality; hopping over the bar and mixing them himself when the bartender became too flustered. I left Jack delicately performing card and coin tricks for a group of extremely attractive women and started up a conversation with some of the other trainees. Halfway through my conversation with the young lady in the skirt-suit, I was still having difficulties not envisioning her pubic hair. Our conversation was brought to a standstill as across the room, Jack leapt onto the bar, shouting, "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings! Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!" The bartender laughingly and playfully pulled him off of the bar into a passionate embrace.
      As the last of our party drifter back to the hotel, I looked about for Jack. He was leaning on the bar, next to the bartender, and discussing the finer points of mixing an old fashioned. He caught my eye and motioned to the door, the chauffeur was attentively awaiting me. He explained that he would drive me to the hotel and then return for Jack. I waved goodbye to Jack and followed him out.
      I awoke to my phone buzzing. It was four in the morning. I had a text from Jack. I was not pleased. I sighed and opened the message: "Jeg skal knulle en kanin i kveld!" Goddamnit. Jack had a propensity to forget English as he drank, in its wake remained a horrid pidgin of French, German, Latin, Irish, Norwegian, Italian, and God knows what else. I opened my google translate app with a smile; as a linguist, Jack hated google translate with a violent passion and berated me whenever catching me using it. The automated voice read, "I will fuck a bunny tonight." I turned off my phone and went back to bed.

     The next morning was a bitch. We had to check out of our rooms before arriving at the conference at eight. My hangover and lack of sleep did not help the situation. I managed to make it in time and scanned the room for Jack, he was nowhere to be found. I shrugged it off and helped myself to coffee and donuts. At ten minutes after eight, we were still waiting for Jack. Everyone recounted stories of his drunken revelry the night before. One young lady piped up saying that she hoped he wasn't in the room above hers. She explained that she had been kept up all night by some very loud and passionate lovemaking.
      Fifteen minutes later, Jack strolled in, cheerful as ever. "Apologies for my tardiness, I was attempting to load everything in the car."
      "We figured you were hungover in your room." The trainer said playfully. Jack smiled.
      "I am quite hungover, but that shouldn't be an impediment."
      "We also thought you might have been in the room above Dawn." She continued.
      "What happened in the room above Dawn?" Jack seemed only partially interested.
      "What room are you in?" She asked innocently.
      "Room 201."
      "What room are you in, Dawn?" Dawn blushed,
      "101." Jack looked confused.
      "Did you have company last night?" Dawn asked with a wicked yet embarrassed grin. Jack erupted into a huge smile and began to laugh.
      "I'm so sorry, Dawn, did I keep you up all night." Dawn blushed again,
      "Actually, I was almost jealous."
      "So I sounded as if I performed rather well?" The trainer cut them off at that and began the session. Of course, Jack was continuously berated for the duration of the training about his nightly activity. He loved every minute of it.
   
      On the way back, we got lost three times, wound up in Ohio, accidentally picked up a truck stop hooker, and battled a group of drunken frat boys at a rest station. It was an interesting journey.