Coe Review

irthday who played Henry's game as though the setup were some Disneyesque
ballroom spectacle, leaping into his arms as the ravished mademoiselle, finding
in his eyes a supernatural twinkle of the fated happily ever after marriage
with children, while Henry's grin rooted from nothing more than his
expectant hand crawling up her skirt. She flitted about the coffee shop with
a cell phone perched against her shoulder, mentioned "Daddy buying this"
to all her friends; days later she'd drive up in a new car, saunter in clutching a
new seven-hundred dollar purse, and then complain about the "proletariat"
staff taking too long with her drink, a cafe au lait, extra sweet to go with her
adorable smile; she'd skip into Henry's arms, and gasp hyperboles and sexual
metaphors, "Oh, Henry... it seems like years since we've seen each other.
Shall we dine out before having our desert?"
Henry tired of Sarah after only a few weeks, but, although he'd never admit
this, her money made her tolerable. Sometimes, I'd tag along for Henry's
sake, and she inevitably faded out of the conversation. At the end of dinner,
she'd slap her daddy's plastic on top of the check, huff, and glare at Henry
for not paying attention to her.
Around the first of October, along came Nadine, twelve years Henry's
senior, a Philosophy professor with over expressive non-verbal sexual gestures,
nearly girlish in nature, such as twirling her hair, feigning appeal to banal jokes,
her one rebellious finger that played circles on Henry's knee, all the while,
making high conversation on important topics like the debate of determinism
vs. free will and the twentieth century's geopolitical struggle toward socialized
government. Henry rafted the waters of discourse with expert linguistic application,
exploring every nuance of her overworked rhetoric and making sly
references, such as comparing the current state of government to a massive,
steaming train barreling headfirst into a dark tunnel, to the joys of sex he
foretold of their future. Henry delighted in this acquisition, because it proved
his skill in seductive rhetoric, and she challenged and refined his ability to
maneuver in and around the more skeptical intellect. He could infuse any
mind with fantasy, it seemed, and Nadine never noticed Henry's tricks.
Two others cropped up in his black book shortly after:
Luna was a sassy Latina, who pranced around in club wear wherever she
went, her steps made her ass pop and drop, pop and drop, she wore bright
silver loops on her ears that hung an inch from her shoulders, and she answered
her cell phone with her head tilted to exaggeration, her hair napping
out of place, and a roller coaster of Spanish words that sounded like bubble
gum between a school girl's teeth.
Marm was a well-paid tattooist in punk rock chic with spiked blonde hair
and a ring or stud in every facial orifice. She read Bizarre magazine, drove
a beat-up '93 Corolla with a "Fuck the Government" bumper sticker, and
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