Conrad had three particular qualities that suited him most advantageously for the endeavors of his new predilections. First, his physical appearance that was a tender beauty almost beyond belief in a representative of the male sex. Second, a talent for understanding the nature of each individual encountered which seemed to border nearly on clairvoyance. And third, a strength of will culminating in a patience which suggested that he was, or at least believed himself to be, operating within the constraint of geologic time rather than within the fleeting term of a mere human life. A fourth quality, which was certainly no liability, was an unshakable confidence that he would succeed in everything he attempted, and that it was inevitable that everyone he attempted to charm and seduce would, eventually, succumb.
Conrad implemented his plan. He began modestly. Waiting in line one day at a coffee shop he initiated a conversation with the woman in line behind him. He knew he had his mark when, as he let her watch his gaze slide over her, delicate cherry blossoms bloomed in her cheeks. He gave her a grin to let her know he had seen her blush, and then turned his back on her, stepping to the counter to place his order. He paid her no more attention as he collected his drink and took a table by a window. He did not allow her to catch him watching her as she waited for her beverage, or as she carried her cup and her heavy book bag to a table across the room from him. Discreetly he kept an eye on her as she somewhat awkwardly arranged her books upon the table and began her studious endeavor, flipping through pages of multiple books, scribbling notes on a legal pad.
She was very young and rather average. Average hair. Average face. Average body. But her manner, her posture, suggested a girl painfully shy. Insecure, perhaps. Closed in on herself, imagining away the outside world and its inhabitants. He wondered if she had ever been fucked.
He let thirty or forty minutes go by. Then he approached her. He stood at the edge of her table, looking down at her, waiting for her to look up. It took her a long time, as if she were certain that he were standing there looking at some art on the wall, or maybe looking for a table. But at last, she raised her head and met his gaze. He gave her his warmest, sweetest grin… utterly innocent. No hint in it of the wicked intentions he had.
“Marx, Keynes, Veblen, Galbraith. I wonder if you have time for any other men?”
“Sorry?”
She gave an awkward little laugh, obviously embarrassed at not understanding.
“I’m wondering, my dear, if these gentlemen could spare you some evening, so that I could enjoy the pleasure of your company.”
She just stared at him.
He laughed a soft, warm, disarming laugh.
“I’m Conrad. What’s your name?”
“Elsie.”
“What a pretty name.”
Another blush.
“May I join you? Just for a moment—I promise not to distract you from your studies for too long.”
She gestured toward the empty chair opposite her. She looked distinctly like someone being beckoned by a sidewalk huckster.
“You study economics?”
She nodded her head in affirmation.
“I’m afraid it’s a topic I know nothing about.”
He sat there, gazing at her in the silence following his confession, watching her flush once more under his stare. She kept glancing down, trying to evade his penetrating stare, but each time she raised her eyes once more she found him still looking, in a brazen, almost challenging manner. She was getting more and more flustered. Her chest was swelling and dipping with excited breath beneath her sweater. Finally, desperate to break the power of his holding stare, she spoke.
“You’re British?”
“Right. London.”
She tried a smile. She was pretty when she smiled.
“I love London.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Last year.”
“And what was the most memorable moment of your time in London, then?”
“Oh…”
She giggled again, on the spot.
“…seeing Warhol at the Tate Modern.”
“A match made in heaven.”
No hint of the condescension in his mind was evident in his voice.
She nodded, smiling a little less awkwardly now.
