“There are two conjectures here. One, that I am ultimately not lovable, except maybe when animals with thicker shells than your own are involved. And two, that everyone is as self-obsessed as you are. That no one else can appreciate another person on their own merits.”
“That’s three conjectures. And you’re lovable enough. And I’m not going to lie and say I’m not self-obsessed. And it didn’t used to be that way when I was unknown. That’s been foisted upon me by society.”
“So society got to you before Karen’s algorithm did?”
“See, we’re in this trap where we think that people who are fortunate, often through their own hard work, aren’t allowed to be unhappy.”
“Most of literature is about privileged people being unhappy. Anna Karenina much? Like, what the fuck does Uchi the hairdresser have to be upset about?” Uchi was a roommate on the Japanese reality show whose wooden box of prized beef, a gift from a grateful client, had been eaten by his girlfriend and other roommates without permission.
“They ate his meat! They stole a part of his identity.”
“And Karen’s algorithm stole your identity?”
“No, this is my identity.”
“？‘My identity by itself causes violence.’？”
“Huh?”
“It’s from a song. N.W.A.”
“Why do you know so much old rap?”
“Because I’m white. How is pursuing me your identity?”
“Because I’ve fallen in love—”
“Stop saying ‘in love’ so easily. It makes you sound even more programmed.”
The Actor sighed. “There’s no way I can make you look at me as something other than a cripple.”
“We’re going to fuck soon,” Dee said. “So I want you to start being more seductive or it’s going to be very lame.”
“Goddamnit it,” he said. “Why do you have to be like this? You’re so bellicose.” Dee thought of her mother, the angry way she flirted with policemen and magistrates and bill collectors. Bellicose. But it was too late for her to change the basic formula. Someone like Ed made sense for her. He cooked well; he spoke nicely; he would, as they used to say without irony, take good care of her. So why, besides “being central to the culture,” as Senderovsky had once described him, was she here with this man?
“I’m helping you,” she said. “I’m chipping away at the algorithm. I’m making you feel less special about yourself for being quote-unquote in love with me. Because Karen or no Karen, there’s nothing special about your feelings. The world is burning up, if you haven’t noticed. We’re all Generation L now.”
“Go ahead, quote your boyfriend. The only reason you like him is that you’re not intimidated by him.”
“Who wants to be intimidated?”
“People should be intimidated. Love should be a scary thing. We should tremble in its presence. Or else you end up like Sasha and his wife.”
“You mean your girlfriend.”
“Please. We’re all just trying to pass the time.”
“Unbelievable.”
“You know what I overheard him say once to his agent? He called me ‘the honey-eyed man with the rotten soul.’ This was before I touched his wife.”
“And you let that get to you? Sasha’s career peaked so long ago I can hardly remember what all the hullabaloo was about. Russia something-something.”
“Like you haven’t read his pilot script. Like that’s not why you’re here.”
“No, I’m not a spaniel who does as told. Though if I were you, I would just do this fucking show with him and get it over with. Not like your career’s going anyplace special these days either. I looked up the reviews for München am Hudson and Terabyte. Jesus.”
“Great. Thanks for that. And now you just want to fuck to get this over with, too, don’t you?”
“That’s life. It moves forward. To its logical conclusion.”
“You’re going to fuck me without any pleasure.”
“That’s entirely up to you.”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around. “No,” she said. “Don’t even try it like that.”
“I wasn’t trying—” He let go of her shoulders. “You know what?” he said. “I’m supposed to be the Actor, but I’m the only one of you who’s not acting all the time. I’m the only one who’s not just copying or imitating. Because that’s now what my craft calls for. Look at you bunch. The Russian writer. The soulful Brahmin. Asian Brideshead Revisited. And you. The drunk Southern fireball.”