Kapitoil_ A Novel Part 9

In 90 minutes I have spent two weeks of my new salary. My stomach becomes dizzy. I consider returning one or two of the suits, but I have made my decision and I should not reverse it, and it would be humiliating to return it immediately because the employees would know it was because I overspent.

A taxi stops for me, but I pick up my bags and shake my head at the driver and walk west. After a few blocks my arms slightly pain me.

When I reach 7th Ave. it starts raining, and everyone runs to the buildings for protection. The rain contacts the ground like bubbles on the surface of a new gla.s.s of c.o.ke. Someone says it will continue all night.

I have just two blocks remaining, and there is even a nearby empty taxi that no one else is taking yet because they are either hoping the rain will stop or they have umbrellas, but I certify that my shopping bags are shielded from the water and walk.

My hair and current suit quickly become hydrated. Although sometimes I enjoy walking in the rain in Doha under the gray and black sky and feeling as if I am alone in the world but strong from my independence, now it is uncomfortable and my forehead coldly burns from the wind and the walk seems to take an infinite amount of time.

After I dry off at home, I wear a new shirt and tie and the gray suit with blue stripes and evaluate myself in the mirror.

It was worth it. I truly look like a cream of the cream American businessman.

I cook rice and vegetables for dinner while still wearing my suit and guarantee to myself I will not spend any more money on clothing while I am here.

digs = living areadon't be a stranger = remain in contact with othersghetto = undesirable neighborhoodmastermind = innovate as leadernefarious = immoral

JOURNAL DATE RECORDED: OCTOBER 31.

Zahira emails me a humorous newspaper story while I am at work about a thief who fell asleep during a bank robbery. I say, "Rebecca, this is humorous-" before I remember I'm alone in my office. I forward her the email and a few minutes later she replies that it's funny, but our exchange is not equivalent when communicating via email.

In the afternoon Dan knocks on my door and enters before I can respond. "Karim the Dream, looking hot hot. I'd do you. New threads?" I thank him for the compliment, although I don't mention that I asked for help from Jefferson. "That an Aeron chair?"

"I am uncertain," I say, although I know it's an expensive chair and is more comfortable than the chairs in the normal pods, but I don't want to appear boastful about my chair, especially because I know Dan likes to spend money on seats.

"Hey, sorry about that joke the other day," he says. "Just trying to burn off the stress about the layoffs. Put it in perspective, you know?"

"Some people already have sufficient perspective," I say.

He touches the name bar on my desk and rotates it 30 degrees before letting go. "Anyway, Jefferson and I wanted to let you know about this Halloween party on Sat.u.r.day. Some dot-com dude's town house in Chelsea. You in?"

I've never celebrated Halloween in Doha, but it would be enjoyable to see what it is like in the U.S. In addition I haven't been to a party at someone's home yet here. Even though I didn't have a very profitable experience at Cathedral, I tell Dan I'd like to go, and he says he will provide a costume for me when we "pre-game" at his apartment.

After he leaves, I rotate the name bar back to its original position and shoot Rebecca an invitation. She replies: Thanks, but I'll pa.s.s. Dot-com a.s.shole's party + Dan/Jefferson = my personal Halloween horror movie.

I'm disappointed, but I like how Rebecca expressed her lack of interest with an equation, although to be clearer she should not have used a slash sign between Dan's and Jefferson's names because it looks like a division sign.

Before I leave my apartment Sat.u.r.day night for Dan's apartment, I receive a telephone call, which is rare for me if it's not Zahira. It is Rebecca.

"What is happening?" I ask.

"I don't know," Rebecca says. "What are you up to?"

"I am leaving for Dan's apartment to pre-game."

"Pre-game?"

"It is the term for consuming alcohol in an apartment before a party."

"I know, I just didn't think..." She has a very pleasant voice to hear on the telephone. I predict she is a good singer to boot. "Well, I was kind of thinking about going out tonight, and I was wondering if-"

"Would you like to pre-game with us?" I ask.

"I don't know about pre-gaming, but maybe I could meet you guys after?"

"I will ask Dan right now."

"Wait," she says. "You don't have to do that."

"It is careless," I say. She is about to interrupt again, but I tell her I will call her back.

Dan says "Go for it" when I ask him, and I provide Rebecca with the address.

On the subway to Dan's apartment on 22nd St. and 6th Ave., the females mostly wear minimal materials for costumes. One veils her face and body with a sheet like a ghost, except it doesn't cover her legs and a hole reveals a large part.i.tion of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s where they are bisected.

Dan greets me at his apartment door in a President Clinton mask and a cigar in the corner of his mouth. Rap music plays on his stereo. I ask who the musician is.

"That's Tupac. You like?" To be polite, I tell him I do, although I cannot usually understand the lyrics to rap. "I'll burn you a CD," he says.

"You do not have to do that," I say, but what I really want to say is that it's not ethical to copy music.

"It's nothing," he says. As he begins the burning process on his laptop, he says to Jefferson, "At least some people here have musical taste."

Jefferson is reading a magazine on the couch. He wears the costume of the j.a.panese soldier in the movie: blue material like a bathrobe with shoulder armor. His hair is in a knot at the top of his head and he has an artificial sword at his waist. It is strange to see that outfit on a white person, although possibly some people would find it strange to see, e.g., a racquetball outfit on someone like me.

Dan offers me a drink, and I ask what he has. "Let's see," he says as he looks in his refrigerator. "We've got OJ, purple stuff, soda, Sunny Delight." Jefferson laughs, although it is the cla.s.s of laughter that does not utilize the lungs. I tell him I will have the same drink he has, and he retrieves a beer.

Two shelves like skysc.r.a.pers of CDs are near the stereo. From the plastic cases and the plastic materials in the CDs, I try to calculate how much petroleum they all contain, but it is of course impossible without knowing the precise material breakdown.

A shelf littered with books is next to the CDs. The lion's share are finance books, but there is one large book on art. Possibly Dan has more interests than I previously estimated. Sometimes small details tell you more about someone than the big picture does, in the same way, e.g., that the infinity of real numbers between 0 and 1 is actually greater in cardinality than the infinity of all integers.

Dan also takes out two small sheets of paper and hands one to Jefferson. "Got this weekend's point spreads. Fill it out now and we can drop it off with my doorman on our way out." He rotates to me. "Want to bet on football?"

He explains to me the concept of the point spread, which is similar to strike prices with options. I ask Dan for advice on which teams to pick, but he says, "With the spread, it's basically random-just go with your gut," which is poor strategy, because a knowledgeable expert would find a way to calculate better odds, so I bet only $5.

"Ready for your costume, high roller?" he asks as he takes my money. He gives me a plastic bag. Inside is a wrench. Despite my skills with computers, I am inefficient with the repair of physical objects. My father is much better in this department. He tried to teach me many times when I was young, but I was never good at it and he always became frustrated, so finally he stopped.

"Do I say I am a wrench or a tool?" I ask.

Dan's laughter always sounds like he exclusively understands what is humorous about a situation. "Whatever you want. But I suggest saying you're a mechanic."

When Dan is in the restroom, Jefferson says, "A 'tool' is someone who gets used by others." He lowers his volume. "Dan's a good kid, but a little immature. And with a narrow worldview." He shakes his head. "Sometimes I think he's just in this for the money."

To reroute the subject, I tell him I like his costume and ask if he has visited j.a.pan. "I did my junior year abroad in Tokyo," he says. "And I backpacked through Southeast Asia in '97, just when the financial crisis. .h.i.t."

We discuss the Asian Financial Crisis in more depth. Jefferson has a broad knowledge base and I learn some new facts, e.g., because j.a.pan was the world's largest holder of currency reserves at the time, the yen remained stable, but after the crisis, when j.a.panese manufacturers couldn't compete with cheaper rival countries, the GDP real growth rate in fact fell into recession in 1998.

"They've bounced back, though. One thing those people know, it's how to safely weaken their currency and create a current account surplus." Then he says, "And produce fine women who think all white guys are G.o.dd.a.m.n Vikings. Even the runts." I believe this is a joke but I am not 100% certain, and therefore I produce the same laugh without lungs he used before, but he is serious and returns to reading Wired Wired.

When Dan comes back, we drink more beers and watch a movie about a man with long hair who likes to bowl, and Dan and Jefferson state much of the conversation simultaneously with the actors. Before we leave, Dan gives me the burned CD and writes on it: "To: Karim the Dream, FROM: DAN." I still feel nefarious about accepting it, but it's a gift and Dan is trying to be more friendly, and possibly that compensates for the theft.

When we exit the building, Dan waits until no one else is around, then whispers to his doorman and transfers our three pieces of paper and some money to him.

Many men pa.s.s us in cl.u.s.ters as we walk south on 7th Ave. Although it's cold, their costumes are low on material and emphasize their muscles. "You have a lot of gays in your country?" Jefferson asks.

"No," I say. "h.o.m.os.e.xuals can be imprisoned for five years and whipped."

"Do they even consider that a punishment?" Dan asks.

"Don't be a h.o.m.ophobe," Jefferson says. "You're not in redneck country."

The party is in an apartment building that just one person lives in. We take an elevator up three floors, and before the doors open we can hear the music and people talking and feel the temperature rise.

The elevator doors open directly to a large room bottlenecked with men like the ones we saw on the street.

"What the h.e.l.l, Dan?" Jefferson says.

"I swear to G.o.d I didn't think it would be like this," Dan says.

"'Just because it's a Halloween party in Chelsea doesn't mean it's gay,'" Jefferson says in a voice imitating what Dan must have said to him previously.

"Look at it from the other side," Dan says. "The women here are probably desperate."

Jefferson rubs his eyebrows like he does at the end of the workday. Small pieces of dead white skin fall. "I can't believe we turned down the party at Pagan for this. All because you didn't want to pay a $75 cover, you cheap-a.s.s Jew."

The elevator doors merge as we remain contained. "Well, it's too late now, and the only other big party we know about is on the Upper East Side, and cabs are scarce tonight," Dan says as he presses the "Door Open" b.u.t.ton. "Let's try it out for a few minutes." Jefferson tells Dan that he owes him, and I follow them into the party.

Dan produces drinks for us at a table, but because they're disputing with each other I don't request a healthy beverage like orange or cranberry juice, so he makes me a c.o.ke and vodka.

We stand near the drinks and observe the party. There are a few females, and some of them link their eyes with Jefferson's.

"See?" Dan says. "It's just a matter of finding the untapped market. We should've been doing this years ago."

As I consume my second drink, someone contacts my shoulder. Rebecca stands behind me in a coat. A white dress of satin material descends under it to a few inches above her knees. It is the first time I've seen her wear a dress. She opens her coat slightly and I see Post-its on the material that display "OEDIPUS COMPLEX," "SUPEREGO," and "ID." She also reveals her upper arms and shoulders, which are pale and shaped like lightbulbs.

"It's a Freudian slip." She closes her coat. "It's idiotic and a cliche, but I didn't have anything else. What are you?"

I hold up my wrench. "I am a mechanic."

Then she says h.e.l.lo to Dan and Jefferson. Before I can ask how she is enjoying work, Dan says, "You guys want to play pool?" and he points to a black billiards table.

Rebecca says, "I don't really play, but-"

"Perfect," Dan says. "Cutthroat's better than two on two."

He defines the rules, the central one of which is to pocket your compet.i.tors' b.a.l.l.s while protecting your own. Dan says, "What do you say we put a little money on this, just to make it interesting?"

Jefferson doesn't want to at first, but Dan says, "Money won is twice as sweet as money earned," and they agree to betting $20 each, which I don't want to do either, as I know I'll lose, but they also provided me with alcohol earlier and invited me to this party, so it's parallel to owing them $20.

Rebecca watches us play, and Dan and Jefferson begin by pocketing some b.a.l.l.s of each other and ignoring mine, which is logical because I'm an unthreatening novice.

On my first turn to strike the white ball, I miss 100%. Dan says to Rebecca, "You want to get behind him and show him how it's done?" Rebecca doesn't say anything, but Jefferson stands next to me and demonstrates proper technique. They allow me to strike again, and I hit the white ball but it doesn't contact anything else.

I watch Dan and Jefferson shoot and practice my striking motion. Dan strikes like a puncher, fast and with quick oscillations, and Jefferson does one long withdrawal and launch like he is shooting a bow and arrow. When it's my turn, I aim like a sniper at the ball and produce solid contact, and it knocks in one of Jefferson's b.a.l.l.s.

But now I'm in poor position to make another shot, and I realize that a smart pool player has a 1,000-mile view of not only (1) (1) where the ball he is striking will go, but also where the ball he is striking will go, but also (2) (2) where the white ball will end up after, similar to how a chess player must think several turns ahead. This is why computer chess programs are now better than the best human players (and why a strategic and accurate robotic pool player would beat the best human player, because pool also denies the accident), because they can make infinite predictions that humans cannot, and this is why I believe Kapitoil is superior to human financial a.n.a.lysts. Although it is true that chess programs are where the white ball will end up after, similar to how a chess player must think several turns ahead. This is why computer chess programs are now better than the best human players (and why a strategic and accurate robotic pool player would beat the best human player, because pool also denies the accident), because they can make infinite predictions that humans cannot, and this is why I believe Kapitoil is superior to human financial a.n.a.lysts. Although it is true that chess programs are not not robust at endgame strategies, because there are too many variables that humans can in fact filter more efficiently. Therefore, chess programs have maximal databases of all possible endgame strategies and positions. They follow these databases mechanically and don't utilize their conventional artificial intelligence. robust at endgame strategies, because there are too many variables that humans can in fact filter more efficiently. Therefore, chess programs have maximal databases of all possible endgame strategies and positions. They follow these databases mechanically and don't utilize their conventional artificial intelligence.

I miss my shot, and two females ask Jefferson if they can have the next game. The one who asks is thin and has blonde hair and wears false cat ears and has drawn whiskers on her cheeks, and her friend is heavier and in the clothing of a waitress from the English Middle Ages that provides her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with high visibility.

While Dan shoots, two men dance in the middle of the floor dressed as a policeman and the singer Madonna. They kiss, and then the man in the Madonna costume deposits his hand inside the front of the policeman's pants. Although part of me wants to keep watching, it also disgusts me, not only because it is two men, which bothers me (but I am in the U.S. now and specifically in New York and that is the custom here), but because they aren't respecting the privacy of others or even themselves.

Dan pockets the remainder of Jefferson's b.a.l.l.s and loudly informs Jefferson that he sucks. Jefferson doesn't listen, however, as he's conversing with the cat. Then Dan deposits all of my b.a.l.l.s in the table pockets except the last one, which is a difficult shot that he misses.

On my turn I take more time observing the table before I shoot and deciphering the optimal ball to hit. I link my stick between Dan's number 6 and the pocket, as I've seen Dan and Jefferson do, and aim at where the stick bisected the number 6 ball, and strike slowly and deposit it. I am also now in position to get another one, but this time I miss, and I leave my last ball vulnerable.

Dan has an easy shot, and he lines up and retracts and extends his stick several times, then he looks at me from the corner of his eye quickly as if he is certifying that I'm watching, and shoots. It misses, very slightly, and the white ball rolls into a strong position for me. He says, "Can't believe I missed that," and shakes his head, and now I know he missed on purpose, because when people are truly upset with themselves for making an error they are either more angry or mute.

I pocket Dan's number 9 ball, which leaves his last one. Now it is easier to focus, because (1) (1) there are fewer variables (fewer b.a.l.l.s), and there are fewer variables (fewer b.a.l.l.s), and (2) (2) there is less need for prediction (I don't have to worry about placing the white ball after this). I strike the ball cleanly and Dan's number 7 ball rolls into the pocket. there is less need for prediction (I don't have to worry about placing the white ball after this). I strike the ball cleanly and Dan's number 7 ball rolls into the pocket.

Dan puts the three $20 bills in my hand and holds it above our heads and says I am the winner and still undefeated, even though I have never played before so of course I am still undefeated, but I don't feel triumphant, as it was a fraudulent win and Dan intentionally lost to me because I am now a higher-up.

Then Jefferson invites the two females to play against him and Dan, and I find Rebecca, who stands behind the two females. She compliments my pool skills.

"You could perform as well if you tried," I say. "It is merely a combination of geometry-based strategy and hand-eye coordination."

She smiles and says, "You certainly have a distinctive way of seeing the world."

I smile as well, but it is forced, because while I do enjoy the use of numbers and logic, her comment suggests that it's all I have to offer others and that, parallel to Dan, I have a narrow worldview.

Possibly Rebecca recognizes I'm offended because when I ask how the pod is, she says, "It's something to listen to Dan and Jefferson's repressed flirtations without any other witnesses. A truly unique experience." I want to tell her that I would like to have other witnesses in my office as well, but I don't want the risk of her asking what I'm working on or to appear ungrateful for receiving a private office. Then she adds, "Except you can't say something is 'truly' unique. It's either unique or it's not. Like pregnancy." I had not previously considered this idea. Placing an adverb before "unique" is similar to multiplying a number by zero: It will remain zero no matter what the modifier is.

I consult with her about the Y2K project, but she instead asks how my sister is. I tell her Zahira has developed an interest in biology and is performing well in school. "But I wish she displayed more interest in economics," I say. Rebecca asks why. "It is an interesting field and one that she would excel at."