“Nah,” she said, taking my arm. “At best, we’re the robot spiders. Our members are welcome anytime to concentrate their energy. Between us, that part isn’t as effective as the more concrete elements, you know? But it will be.”
“You really believe in all this?”
“Umm, do I believe in a business model that will make us rich while helping people get over themselves? Do I believe it’s possible to apply energy toward spiritual rejuvenation? Umm, yeah. Clive’s a genius.”
“That’s a big word.”
“Six letters.”
“That’s a big word to throw at Clive Glenn. Have you forgotten who we’re talking about? Or maybe the blood rushes out of your brain when you bow to him like a lovesick geisha.”
“You’re so crotchety. This is why you need help. So who’d you see?”
Her eyes were like saucers but like flying ones. They darted around my face, searching for a good place to land. When I told her about Jonathan, she didn’t remember him. She seemed disappointed not to be able to appreciate the full extent of him.
“He must be from Clive’s list, from before I knew you.”
“You guys made lists?”
“Obviously.”
“Can I see the lists?”
“Do you think you can see the lists?”
She ushered me into an office that once belonged to a rabbi. There were two holes, set at an angle, inside the door frame. On the far wall, you could still make out the outline of framed degrees and in the middle was a matted photo of Clive’s Modern Psychology spread on Soren J?rgensen. J?rgensen is almost too tall for the page and looking uncomfortable dressed as a bellhop, standing in the elevator of an art deco hotel. The headline read: “Going Up? Connectivity and Higher Consciousness.” This is the elevator repairman, the Scandinavian colossus, whose “teachings” Clive had decided to emulate and sell.
On the opposite wall was an old map of the neighborhood featuring a blue stripe from when Canal had been a canal.
“Where?” asked Vadis.
There were three pins already, representing Amos, Willis, and Dave. I pointed. Vadis pressed in a new pin.
“I feel like we’re linking a crime spree,” I said.
The Korean woman in the white tunic I’d seen the other day was stationed on the far side of the room, wearing headphones around her neck. She was manning a horseshoe configuration of screens, meters, and external drives, a shrunken city of cubes with oblong lights. Beside her was a pile of cassette tapes and a manual. There was also a device that looked like a polygraph test except this one was circular, like a motion-activated toilet seat. Vadis introduced me to the woman, Jin, who asked me to lick a suction cup.
“Just the one,” Jin clarified, offering it to me. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to ply you with electrodes. This is to monitor your biofeedback. Better your spit than mine.”
I leaned forward and licked the rubber with my tongue while it was still in her hand, coming to it like a horse. She scrunched up her face.
“I was going to hand it to you.”
I granted Jin permission to reach up my shirt. Her hands were cold as she taped wires to my wrists, cutting the tape before it covered too much arm hair. She clipped two pulse monitors to the fingers on my left hand.
“Where’s Clive?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
I didn’t want to see Clive. But I did want to know if he was leering at us from behind a two-way mirror.
“Chantal emergency,” Vadis said.
“What happened, she get an eyebrow pencil stuck up her ass?”
Jin stifled a laugh but gathered herself. Clive was her leader. Best not to trash the boss’s girlfriend in his temple.
“Shall we begin?” asked Vadis.
They took turns asking me questions, which were surprising in number and arbitrary in nature. If the objective was to get me exasperated enough to produce uninhibited answers, it worked. Jin turned a few dials. I had to confirm where I was born, my profession, political affiliation, any allergies, the last book I read, aisle or window, right or left side of the bed, an item of clothing I regret purchasing, an item of clothing I regret not purchasing, my astrological sign, my rising sign …
“I’m a Virgo too,” Jin interjected, which struck me as unprofessional.
That I now thought of this enterprise as professional enough to break its own rules was disconcerting.
“I don’t put stock in astrology,” said Vadis.
“You always say I’m judgmental because I’m a Virgo.”