Chameleon On a Kaleidoscope (The Oxygen Thief Diaries) Read Free Page B

her. I mimicked a man testing the
ground with his foot and then leaned back in mock-horror as an
imaginary explosion leapt from the tiled surface of the roof
garden. Veronique smiling eyes met mine and we turned to enjoy
Yvette’s confusion. The moment felt good and strangely just. This
was my cue to produce the glossy book of Gauguin prints from my
shoulder bag and hand it to Veronique.
    “ Pour toi
Maman.”
    I had been forewarned that
she loathed people who tried to speak French to her but I had spent
a hundred and eighty dollars on the book so I wanted my money’s
worth.
    Inhaling loudly and
ooh-la-la-la’ing she bowed to kiss both my cheeks again. Real
full-on wet kisses not make-up-saving facsimiles.
    She wiped my face like I
was a rascal and stepped back to regard me. Later, back in her
apartment Yvette put away her phone after a long muffled
conversation in high speed French. The verdict was in.
    “ Maman says
she thought you loved me passionately and that it was clear to her
we would be married. She also said that she herself liked you very
much and that you were of superior intelligence.”
    But then she went on to
say that her mother’s boyfriend was using the fact that she was too
old to have children as an excuse to end their relationship. He was
thirty-nine (same age as me) and she was forty-nine. Mother and
daughter now shared the same fear of abandonment. Yvette was
worried that Maman was on the prowl. It was true she flirted with
me but I just assumed this was what French mothers did. She said I
would look great in an ornate suit of armor that had been
commissioned by the wife of an Austrian count. The sexual
possibilities of being the filling in a mother and daughter
sandwich were not lost on me but I couldn’t suppress the thought
that her clit was at least as big as my dick.
    .
    *****
    “ Dare to be
average.” said Dr Susie.
    Dare to give me a fucking
break.
    If I succeeded in being
any more average the likelihood of her getting three hundred and
fifty dollars an hour would diminish somewhat. We had agreed that I
would write down my dreams and so when she asked me if I had
anything for her I took out my notebook and read her the following
scenario; “I’m setting out chairs in the gym for my Sunday night AA
meeting when I become suddenly conscious of making too much noise.
I look around and there, between the stacks of chairs are at least
seven or eight young boys arranged in sleeping bags on the floor.
It’s a strange sight but I assume for some reason that they are a
junior basketball team who made bad travel arrangements and need
somewhere to sleep. As I continue putting out the chairs they begin
to wake up and without speaking they stand up and bunch together by
the wall waiting for me to finish. This is when I notice they have
no arms. I wonder how their vests can possibly remain in place on
those smooth rounded shoulders. And because they are well-behaved
and respectful it somehow feels ok to introduce them to some of the
AA members who by this time are starting to arrive I feel proud of
these boys even though I have no idea who they are.
    “ That’s so
beautiful, can you see what it is?”
    I stared at
her.
    “ It’s your
sub-conscious telling you it’s ok now to bring your younger self
into the AA meetings. The boys have no arms because that’s how you
felt when that guy was touching you.” The boy was contacting the
man.
    Later that night Yvette
called me an asshole with such conviction I almost felt grateful to
hear such an honest utterance. Advertising had all but gutted me of
any genuine emotion. We had been talking about us . Or rather
she had been talking about us while I stewed.
    “ Do you want
to be that guy who has to change his girlfriend every three
years?”
    Silence.
    “ Because
they’ll all want the same thing.”
    Silence.
    Every three years didn’t
sound so bad to me. If anything, it was a little optimistic.I
prayed that I might be struck in love with her. She