“The rest of your recycling must be dragged down the block to these bins on the sidewalk,” Luke was saying. “Separate bins for brown, green, and clear glass. One bin for tin, another for aluminum. But there’s always at least one Swiss person watching you like a hawk, waiting for you to fuck up, so that they can—”
“Sodomize you?” Greta said.
“I was going to say publicly humiliate,” Luke said. “But yeah, it feels… invasive.”
“It’s called the social contract,” Big Swiss said.
“Or… fascism,” Luke said, and smiled.
“If you go to a public restroom in Switzerland, there’s rarely urine all over the seat,” Big Swiss said. “And if there is, you know whoever did it wasn’t Swiss. We’re not obsessed with having unlimited personal freedom. We’re not careless assholes. We live in a beautiful place and we take responsibility for it. We don’t piss all over everything like spoiled children.”
“True enough,” Luke said. “You’re right about that.”
“I hate utopias,” Greta said. “I’d never feel at home surrounded by majestic beauty and obscene wealth. I wouldn’t be able to look out the window without wincing. Plus, is there anything worse than an Alpine hipster?”
“But isn’t that just like Hudson?” Luke said.
Greta smiled. “So that’s why I never leave my house.”
“It didn’t used to be like this,” Luke said.
“That’s what I keep hearing,” Greta said. “Sooner or later I’ll have to… move, I guess.”
“Where would you go?” Big Swiss asked.
Greta shrugged. “Somewhere cheaper. Trashier.”
“The only trash I ever saw in Geneva was the actual word ‘trash,’？” Luke said. “It was someone’s tag, and it was graffitied all over the city in messy black letters.”
“Maybe I’ll start doing that,” Greta said. “In Hudson.”
Or here, Greta thought, in this house.
“What’s going on?” Big Swiss said, and looked under the table.
Silas was under there, licking Greta’s foot with his weird spotted tongue. He’d been at it for a while now, but Greta hadn’t said anything. She didn’t want to get him in trouble, and besides, his warm, not-too-wet tongue was distracting her from the phantoms.
“He’s just hoping I’ll drop something. He’s probably dying for some cheese.” Greta leaned down to pet him. “Aren’t you, good doggy? Do you love cheesy bread? You do, don’t you. You love it, yes, you do. Don’t lie. Are you the best? Yes—”
“Stop using that voice,” Big Swiss snapped. “It drives me insane.”
“Why? I’m practically whispering.”
“It’s your tone,” Big Swiss said.
“Um, have you listened to your own voice?”
“I’m listening to it right now,” Big Swiss said.
“Yes, but have you ever heard it recorded?”
Big Swiss tilted her head.
“Like on voicemail.” Greta backpedaled.
“I know I don’t sound like you.”
“If your voice was on the radio, people would drive off the road,” Greta said. “They’d drive straight into trees!”
“At least I don’t mumble,” Big Swiss said. “You like to make people work hard to hear you, because you’re passive-aggressive.”
“Guys?” Luke said.
“Something’s actually wrong with you,” Big Swiss said, ignoring him. “Silas only licks people when they’re really sick.”
“That’s true,” Luke said, nodding. “He wouldn’t stop licking my jaw once. Turned out I had an abscess and the infection had spread to my neck. I could’ve died.”
“He’s trying to tell you something,” Big Swiss said to Greta.
Both Luke and Big Swiss glanced at Silas under the table. Greta covered her right foot—the fucked-up one—with her left. Silas pawed at her leg and whined.
“God,” Big Swiss said. “He’s really losing it, Luke.”
“Silas, go lay down, buddy,” Luke said.
Silas didn’t move.
“He’s just telling me I need a pedicure. Aren’t you, good doggy?” Greta turned to Luke. “Sorry about your neck. That must’ve been really scary.”
“Why do you keep scratching?” Big Swiss said, watching Greta’s hands. “Please don’t tell me you have fleas.”
“Dude,” Greta said. “You mind taking it down a notch?”
“What?” Big Swiss said.
“Seethe quietly,” Greta said.
Luke nervously played with the bread on his plate. Then he nervously played with his beard. Greta wished she didn’t like him so much.
“I meant to tell you this earlier, but you have gorgeous feet,” Greta told him. “They’re very rousing. They almost make me want to take up figure drawing. And figure skating.”
Luke smiled. “Thanks.”
“You have a psychotic preoccupation with feet,” Big Swiss said.
Greta sniffed. “I know.”
“And you always overdo it with compliments. It only draws attention to yourself, not the other person. Are you aware of that?”
“No,” Greta said.
“Well, when you lay it on extra thick, it makes it seem like you’re desperate for the other person to like you. Like you’re only giving in order to get. But what happens when you give and get nothing in return?” Big Swiss made a throat-cutting gesture. “All hell breaks loose.”
“Hokay, Big Swiss,” Greta said. “Maybe it’s time to lay off the chardonnay, honey.”
“What’d you call me?”
“Honey,” Greta said.
“Big Swiss,” Luke said, looking wistful. “I love that. That’s perfect.”
“It’s my secret nickname for her,” Greta told him.
“You call me that behind my back?”
“Whenever I’m able,” Greta said.
Big Swiss squinted at Greta’s forehead.
“You shouldn’t provoke me,” Greta said. “You might not like what happens.”
Big Swiss snorted. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“Ladies,” Luke said. “If you’re going to fight, use your fists, okay? Or wrestle. But please stop bickering like… sisters.”
“We’re more like mother and daughter,” Big Swiss said. “In my view.”
* * *
SHE TRIED PLOTTING HER ESCAPE in the powder room, which was difficult because the powder room was prison themed, or at any rate the walls were institutional green and decorated with Luke’s collection of shanks and shivs, all carefully mounted in black shadow boxes. Each box held five or six little weapons, some clearly very old, with a great patina, such as the shiv that was half a scissors, and another with the shank of a screwdriver and a doorknob for a handle, but most looked newish, more crude and brutal, the handles wrapped tightly in electrical tape, plastic bags, and filthy Ace bandages, with little blades scavenged from safety razors. To die, Greta would have to stab herself eighty-six times. So, that was out. But it seemed like the perfect tool for phantom lice removal （PLR）。