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."