"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.
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