Big Swiss(10)

OM:?What’s special about Tamara? What does she have that your wife doesn’t?

AAG:?We hate all the same things.

OM:?Such as?

AAG:?Board games, truffle oil, magic realism, Harry Potter, politics, toddlers, the elderly, people who get excited about mac and cheese, scatting—

OM:?Scatting?

AAG:?That thing jazz singers do. It sounds banal, I know, but I’ve never had so much in common with anyone.

OM:?What do you do together?

AAG:?Are you familiar with the eating of the ortolan?

OM:?No.

AAG:?It’s an ancient rite of passage among French foodies. Ortolans are rare, tiny birds. The chef captures them, drowns them in Armagnac, and roasts them whole. Then the entire bird is eaten—feet first, bones included—with a linen napkin draped over the person’s head, to retain the aromas and, as the story goes, to hide from God.

OM:?This is what you do with Tamara?

AAG:?No, but that’s how I eat her pussy.

OM:?By drowning it in Armagnac?

AAG:?With a napkin over my head.



Greta inadvertently smiled at the wife, at whom she’d been staring like a creep. The wife returned her smile. Then AAG looked at Greta and smiled at her, too. Greta scowled at him and then stared at her phone, ashamed.

She was picturing herself walking down the sidewalk with a napkin over her head when she heard another familiar voice order a cappuccino. This voice was deeper and belonged to KPM, a guy in his thirties suffering from PTSD. KPM was being stalked by a lunatic who called herself a life coach, and so he often wore a disguise to Om’s office. Greta turned slightly, hoping to get a look at his face, half expecting to see Darth Vader in a turtleneck.


OM:?Is that really how your penis looks to you?

KPM:?Yeah. I think it’s a pretty common dick shape. Sometimes I imagine it whispering to me in the voice of James Earl Jones.

OM:?What does it say?

KPM:?[DEEP VOICE] “You do not yet realize your importance. You have only begun to discover your power.”

OM:?Do you believe that’s true?

KPM:?I’m kidding, dingus. My dick doesn’t talk to me.

OM:?Well, if it makes you feel any better, mine looks like it’s wearing a beret!

KPM:?Does it have the voice of Gérard Depardieu?

OM:?I wish.

KPM:?Yesterday I googled “How many bottles of wine does Gérard Depardieu drink per day?” Guess what the answer was.

OM:?Three?

KPM:?Fourteen.

OM:?Why would you google such a thing?

KPM:?Because I’m dying for a drink? Because I’m being stalked? Because I’ve been forced into this hypervigilant state and it’s fucking with my prostate?



As it turned out, KPM had the most unusual forehead Greta had ever seen. It looked as though he’d recently shed antlers and they were just beginning to grow back. Somehow this only increased his attractiveness, as though his forehead were a secondary sexual trait. Additionally, he had a full beard and Willie Nelson braids. He was not wearing a turtleneck but rather a neck brace, and she wondered if it was fake, or part of a larger disguise. He was currently being flirted with by yet another client, a man in his fifties with the memorable initials of BTW. Greta had identified his voice weeks ago—not at Cathedral, but in her own living room, because BTW, whose first name was Brandon, bought weed from Sabine.

Still, three clients in one day was unusual—a sign, perhaps. BTW was himself a huge believer in signs and yet never acknowledged the obvious ones, such as the bloody bandages on his fingertips—telltale signs, in Greta’s estimation, of onychotillomania, which happened to be Greta’s favorite mania and just fun to say out loud. His condition had never been mentioned in therapy. In fact, he seemed to think he’d achieved total enlightenment. He claimed his DNA was so extraordinary that the government was interested in collecting samples and performing a study. In his sessions with Om, he often practiced breathing instead of talking, which was why his transcripts were so short and easy to remember.


BTW:?I have two life lines. They meet in the middle, cross, and then wrap around my wrist. I have the conjurer triangle on my palm, which is extremely rare. I can conjure almost anything.

OM:?Can you conjure me a croissant? I’m starving and I forgot to bring lunch.

BTW:?I’m currently trying to conjure several hundred thousand dollars for myself.

OM:?How’s that going?

BTW:?We’ll see.

OM:?Let’s talk about what’s going on with your skin.

BTW:?I’ve told you twenty times. My aging process is reversing.

OM:?You’re fifty-two, correct?

BTW:?On paper, yes. But my wrinkles are disappearing—that’s why I have these little scabs on my face—and the rest of my scars are disappearing, including my belly button.

OM:?Oh? Where is your belly button off to?

BTW:?It’s vanishing entirely. That wound is finally healing. And some of my hair is falling out to make room for new hair. You should feel how soft it is. Here, feel.

OM:?It’s quite soft.

BTW:?My penis is also reverting to its original state.

OM:?Meaning…?

BTW:?My foreskin is growing back.

OM:?I’m afraid that’s not possible.

BTW:?Why?

OM: ?I hate to be the one to tell you, but it sounds like middle age. The penis shrinks, or become smaller in size and paler in color—