Big Swiss(46)

“Flavia,” Big Swiss said.

“This round is on me,” he said. “Salut.”

He played it cool and wandered away. Big Swiss plopped two cubes into her wine and took a dainty sip. The thing to do now, Greta decided, was to be as off-putting as possible so that Big Swiss never contacted her again.

“Nice sweater meat,” Greta said.

“Thanks,” Big Swiss said, oblivious.

“I can see your… pillow corners,” Greta said. “If you know what I mean.”

Who was this? A shitty nine-year-old?

“My what?”

“Your Freudian nips,” Greta said.

Big Swiss’s eyes widened. “Have you been here all afternoon?”

“I beg your pardon,” Greta said, “but I’ve been here twenty minutes. I typed all day. I transcribed a very intense interview with an extremely famous person.”

What was more off-putting than name-dropping? Nothing in the world. Her choices, as far as local celebrities: Daniel Day-Lewis, Jessica Lange, Claire Danes, Parker Posey— “How’s the pay?”

“Who?” Greta asked, confused.

“It must pay pretty well,” Big Swiss said slowly.

“Oh,” Greta said. “Yeah, no, not really. I’m, like, drowning in debt. But I’ve lived hand-to-mouth my entire life, so I’m used to it. I wouldn’t know what to do with money except piss it away as quickly as possible.”

A lifelong romance with poverty. Meow, kitty.

“Have you always been a transcriber?”

Greta shook her head. “I’ve been a pharm tech, waitress, data-entry clerk, barista, ice-cream scooper, pizza slinger.”

“I’ve always wondered if people who work from home bother to get dressed,” Big Swiss said.

“I work in my underwear,” Greta admitted. “When it’s warm enough. Otherwise, pajamas. The house I live in isn’t insulated, so it’s like camping. Except it’s a beautiful house with indoor plumbing, so maybe it’s more like glamping.”

Glamping—gross. Camping—also not her thing, though she’d done her share with Stacy.

“Anyway, if you know anyone who transcribes interviews from home, chances are they spend most of the day furiously masturbating,” Greta said.

Surely, an unsettling visual for someone like Big Swiss, who’d only masturbated once, and not very furiously. So why was Big Swiss smiling? She had not one but several spaces between her teeth. Although the spaces were narrow and uniform, as if placed there on purpose, they made Big Swiss seem mischievous and fun to be around.

“Personally, I’d have to put on a suit in the morning,” Big Swiss said. “And shoes. Just to stay awake. Do you have an office?”

Jesus, these were boring questions. But she also seemed to be suggesting that Greta was the boring one, or, at the very least, fighting sleep in her skivvies all day.

“No, I work in my bedroom. My setup isn’t very ergonomic. My wrists fucking kill. My hands throb in the middle of the night. Also, I sit on a stool, so I have a lot of back problems.”

The luxury of self-pity. Greta wasn’t sure how long she could keep grossing herself out, but Big Swiss seemed strangely enthralled.

“I also have a habit of transcribing every conversation I hear,” Greta went on. “In my head, I mean.”

Like a mental patient.

“Are you transcribing our conversation?” Big Swiss asked.


G:?I am now.

BS:?Must make it hard to be in the moment if you’re, like, typing in your head the whole time.

G:?No, I’m taking it all in. Listen, I’m pretty sure JD has a thing for you. He keeps looking over here longingly, but, my god, he should wait until this song is over. Or maybe he selected this song on purpose? I bet he did.

BS:?What song?

G:?You can’t hear it?

BS:?I don’t know what it is.

G:?The Velvet Underground?



Big Swiss nodded vaguely.


G:?“Linger on your pale blue eyes,” hint, hint.



Big Swiss shrugged.


BS:?My eyes are gray.

G:?You know, now that I think of it, you remind me of Nico.

BS:?I don’t know him, either.

G:?Her!

BS:?Are you going to make obscure references all night? Because I don’t know much about American pop culture, and I don’t care to know.

G:?She’s German!

BS:?Relax. Drink your drink. Take off your coat.

G:?It’s a cape.



Greta removed the cape and hung it on a hook under the bar. The Japanese voile, or whatever the fuck, clung to her back, which seemed to be covered in sweat.


BS:?Gretel.

G:?What?

BS:?Gretel.



Greta looked around wildly. Obviously, Om was here somewhere, communicating with Big Swiss via sign language, and had spelled her name wrong.


BS:?Your outfit. It reminds me of Gretel. From “Hansel and Gretel”? You keep looking over your shoulder. Are you expecting someone?

G:?You’re not one of these Disney freaks, are you? How many Disney films have you seen in the theater? As an adult. Be honest.



More than zero and Greta would feel justified in asking for the check.