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.
BS:?I’m not a movie person.
G:?Not a straight answer.
BS:?So, Gretel, do you live in a gingerbread house with a cannibalistic witch?
G:?She’s not a cannibal. She sells cannabis, though, if you’re ?interested. The house we live in is very old and full of holes. It’s like living outside. Which is why the rent’s so cheap. I pay $400 a month for the largest room I’ve ever lived in.
BS:?Do you have a brother?
G:?Half brother. His name is Jaime. He’s ten years older.
BS:?Did your stepmother abandon you in the woods?
G:?My mother died when I was thirteen. I was raised by aunts.
Was this why she hated ants? Should she order another drink?
BS:?How many aunts?
G:?My mother was a twin, and she had six sisters and one brother, and they were all under two years apart. My grandmother never wanted kids, but she liked sex, and it turns out the rhythm method doesn’t really work.
BS:?How did she die?
G:?Old age.
BS:?I meant your mother.
G:?Suicide.
BS:?Oh. God. Sorry to hear that.
G:?It was my fault.
Big Swiss blinked at her.
G:?I’m kidding.
BS:?Did she leave a note?
G:?Wow.
BS:?What?
G:?Nosy.
BS:?I’m not usually like this. I’m just picking up what you’re putting down, as they say.
G:?People don’t really say that anymore.
Big Swiss smiled again.
G:?You’re probably aware of this, but you really turn heads when you enter a room. I bet you could turn heads of lettuce.
BS:?It’s just the hair. If I wear a hat, no one looks twice, believe me.
G:?Uh-huh.
BS:?Put on a blond wig and walk down the street. See what happens. You’d be shocked. And bitterly disappointed. A lot of dim men are into blondes.
G:?Maybe, but it’s also your eyes. They have a lot of power. In fact, if this gynecologist thing doesn’t work out, you could probably find work as a cult leader.
BS:?Well, I grew up in a cult.
G:?[COUGHS] Which one?
BS:?It was near Geneva, but they ran workshops all over Europe. I spent summers in places like Hungary, Slovenia, and Denmark, attending workshops with my parents.
G:?Was it religious?
BS:?Their religion was something called radical authenticity.
G:?What kind of workshops?
BS:?I remember one called Authentic Movement. It was run by a nut named Yara. She made noise on a guitar and you were supposed to close your eyes and “wait to be moved.” Some people rocked back and forth like lunatics, while others pitched themselves onto the floor and cried, or pounded the rug with their fists. It was… improvisational, I guess. One guy scratched behind his ear like a dog and then violently swung his arms back and forth, while this other guy jumped straight up and down—
G:?Sounds like a mosh pit.
BS:?What’s that?
G:?Never mind. What was your authentic movement, or do you remember?
BS:?I did some shaking. Like, from rage.
G:?So, it wasn’t your scene.
BS:?I envied the Catholic kids in my neighborhood. I craved structure, rules, discipline, uniforms. You, I can picture in a uniform. Are you Catholic?
G:?After my mother died, I stayed with an aunt who convinced me that my mother was burning in hell, in a literal lake of fire, because she’d killed herself. She said I would eventually join my mother because I was a horny nightmare. So, I accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior.
BS:?As a joke?
G:?I was fourteen. To my credit, it took two solid months to brainwash me. Then I was born again, praise Jesus, and that was that.
BS:?Where?
G:?In the bathtub. After thirty-six hours of labor, I emerged from my aunt’s vagina. Just kidding. We did it in the living room. She called a preacher on TV, and the preacher prayed for me and said my name on the air, which was thrilling at the time, and I wore a yellow dress, and my aunt kept chanting “Praise Jesus” while the preacher went through his spiel, and then she held me while I wept. And boy, did I weep. It felt—not like a baptism, but like an exorcism in reverse, except it was Jesus who entered my body. I felt totally cleansed and purified, as if I’d fasted for forty days. I still consider it my first real high, and it turned out to be the happiest, most peaceful three months of my life.
BS:?Then what?
G:?Did you put something in my drink? I don’t usually talk about this on a first date.
BS:?This is a date?
G:?Isn’t it?
Big Swiss finished her wine.
BS:?Can you be born again and again and again until you actually die?
G:?No, it’s a one-time deal. There’s no reversing it and it doesn’t wear off. That’s part of the appeal. So, in other words, I can kill someone with my bare hands and still get into heaven.
Big Swiss didn’t say anything.
G:?I haven’t killed anyone—yet—but several attempts have been made on my own life over the years.
BS:?Who’s trying to kill you?
G:?Me.
BS:?Have you tried medication?