Read Online The Müller-Fokker Effect by John Sladek - Free Book Online
Authors: John Sladek
Tags: Science-Fiction
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‘We’ll do a week of camera tests, keed. If you make it—and you have every chance, Mr Hines seldom fouls out as a talent scout—your face will become better known than Miss Liberty’s. We’ll have you on the soup, the cake mix, the hair drier, the freeze-dried banana-pimento pizza, everything. And on every network time-slot we can grab.
‘So you see, you’ll be a very big package. You’ll be out there, all by yourself, carrying the ball for National Arse. What do you say, kid? Any questions?’
There were no questions. He toed an invisible bag, stretched, and looked at her as if she were the runner on first. ‘Test tomorrow, check with Scheduling for the time. All set, babe?’
Mac Hines rubbed his hands with anticipation, a gesture he’d picked up from television.
‘So Bradd likes her. Well well well well
well
! This is perfect. She never should have been stuck in that dreary soap opera in the first place. Now she’ll appreciate my help—she’ll be grateful—and when I ask her over for dinner…’
Feinwelt fiddled with the gadget on the mantel. By its left breast, it was 3:30. In the right, the glass was falling, signaling rain. ‘Go on, Glen.’
‘There’s nothing more to tell. I didn’t make it, that’s all. I
never
make it.’
‘Hmm. Why do you think that is?’
‘There’s always something. Norma Jean had her period. Zelda was thinking it over when the phone rang. Jessina was afraid of her husband—I guess he
examines
her or something. Jully really wanted to, but she said she had this infection. Glinda was afraid I’d lose respect for her. Pippy was too tired. Heidi said she was just plain afraid.’ He sighed. ‘It’s always something.’
Sighing, he took off the straw boater and sailed it across the room. After a few moments he went to the hat closet, took down a bullfighter’s hat and put it on.
‘Anyway, tonight it’ll be different. I can feel it. I’ve got this hot little number named Lornette all lined up, see. Hank fixed it up. He says she…’
‘Glen, let’s cut out the crap. This isn’t going to be any different from any other night, and you know it. Face facts, you’re no winner. There’s no point in blaming the girls every time, is there? What about all the genuine opportunities you’ve had?’
Glen hung his head.
‘Until you decide what it is you’re really looking for, you won’t find it, believe me. Anyway, what’s important isn’t whether you get laid or not—is it?’
The torero hat fell to the carpet.
‘Visited your mother lately, Glen?’
‘Do you, indeed?’
Feinwelt’s psychoanalytic method was like three-card monte. The victim was tricked into a wrong choice and then it was explained to him how he came to be so stupid. The explanation itself meant nothing—it was but a further piece of misdirection—for there was no ‘right’ choice. Feinwelt believed that whatever a person believed about himself was, by definition, a lie.
‘You think I don’t like my mother, don’t you?’
Feinwelt played a game of church-and-steeple with his fingers.
‘Well, maybe I don’t like her. Maybe I feel she didn’t give me enough love, so—yes, that’s it, of course. I reject her now for her rejection of me in the past!’
‘Indeed? But wasn’t it really your
father
who rejected you? Didn’t you feel he was paying too much attention to Mom and too little to you?’
‘Of course! That explains everything! I’m so afraid my father will hate me for it, that I can’t make out…’
‘Not so fast. Does it really “explain” everything? Or are you just grabbing at explanations to avoid…’
‘To avoid realizing that I hated
both
my parents!’
‘Hated? No, what you bottled up for so many years couldn’t have been hate, Glen. Rather, let us say, lust.’
‘Ah? Maybe so. You’re right, Doctor.’
‘And
you
are too willing to agree with me. So willing that…’
‘I don’t know about
that
. I hope I know my own
‘So you see, you’ll be a very big package. You’ll be out there, all by yourself, carrying the ball for National Arse. What do you say, kid? Any questions?’
There were no questions. He toed an invisible bag, stretched, and looked at her as if she were the runner on first. ‘Test tomorrow, check with Scheduling for the time. All set, babe?’
Mac Hines rubbed his hands with anticipation, a gesture he’d picked up from television.
‘So Bradd likes her. Well well well well
well
! This is perfect. She never should have been stuck in that dreary soap opera in the first place. Now she’ll appreciate my help—she’ll be grateful—and when I ask her over for dinner…’
Feinwelt fiddled with the gadget on the mantel. By its left breast, it was 3:30. In the right, the glass was falling, signaling rain. ‘Go on, Glen.’
‘There’s nothing more to tell. I didn’t make it, that’s all. I
never
make it.’
‘Hmm. Why do you think that is?’
‘There’s always something. Norma Jean had her period. Zelda was thinking it over when the phone rang. Jessina was afraid of her husband—I guess he
examines
her or something. Jully really wanted to, but she said she had this infection. Glinda was afraid I’d lose respect for her. Pippy was too tired. Heidi said she was just plain afraid.’ He sighed. ‘It’s always something.’
Sighing, he took off the straw boater and sailed it across the room. After a few moments he went to the hat closet, took down a bullfighter’s hat and put it on.
‘Anyway, tonight it’ll be different. I can feel it. I’ve got this hot little number named Lornette all lined up, see. Hank fixed it up. He says she…’
‘Glen, let’s cut out the crap. This isn’t going to be any different from any other night, and you know it. Face facts, you’re no winner. There’s no point in blaming the girls every time, is there? What about all the genuine opportunities you’ve had?’
Glen hung his head.
‘Until you decide what it is you’re really looking for, you won’t find it, believe me. Anyway, what’s important isn’t whether you get laid or not—is it?’
The torero hat fell to the carpet.
‘Visited your mother lately, Glen?’
‘Do you, indeed?’
Feinwelt’s psychoanalytic method was like three-card monte. The victim was tricked into a wrong choice and then it was explained to him how he came to be so stupid. The explanation itself meant nothing—it was but a further piece of misdirection—for there was no ‘right’ choice. Feinwelt believed that whatever a person believed about himself was, by definition, a lie.
‘You think I don’t like my mother, don’t you?’
Feinwelt played a game of church-and-steeple with his fingers.
‘Well, maybe I don’t like her. Maybe I feel she didn’t give me enough love, so—yes, that’s it, of course. I reject her now for her rejection of me in the past!’
‘Indeed? But wasn’t it really your
father
who rejected you? Didn’t you feel he was paying too much attention to Mom and too little to you?’
‘Of course! That explains everything! I’m so afraid my father will hate me for it, that I can’t make out…’
‘Not so fast. Does it really “explain” everything? Or are you just grabbing at explanations to avoid…’
‘To avoid realizing that I hated
both
my parents!’
‘Hated? No, what you bottled up for so many years couldn’t have been hate, Glen. Rather, let us say, lust.’
‘Ah? Maybe so. You’re right, Doctor.’
‘And
you
are too willing to agree with me. So willing that…’
‘I don’t know about
that
. I hope I know my own
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