Читать книгу Seductio Ad Absurdum - Emily Hahn - Страница 4

Table of Contents

TYPE:

Virile, young, simple. A man who does not waste time on philosophical reflections; who knows what he wants and stops at nothing but sacrifice to get it.

SUBJECT:

Very young, semi-sophisticated. That is, she has been warned but not insulated.

APPARATUS:

1 Victrola

1 Radio

1 Bottle Scotch

1 Automobile

1 House—Anybody’s

1 Party

REMARKS:

The inclusion in the collection of this lesson is accompanied by some misgivings on my part. It is a method of which we do not approve. The true seduction does not depend upon mechanical devices such as alcohol. I counsel my students to save this method until all else fails, for it leads to a slackness and a lazy attitude toward the work. Moreover, it is against the law in this country to buy liquor or to carry it around.

JUST ANOTHER LITTLE ONE

1. The introduction. Give everyone full notice, but when her name is mentioned, employ the personal touch in your bow—the lingering glance shading off in friendly admiration.

2. Wait half an hour, perhaps employing the time with a drink. Dance with everyone else and be looking at her twice when she glances your way.

3. Suddenly walking over to her, you should look accusingly at the half-full glass in her hand.

“You don’t mean to tell me that’s your first?”

“Yes.”

“Say, who are you anyway? Have I ever seen you around?”

“No, Joe and Edna brought me. I don’t know anyone here very well.”

“Who’s Joe?”

“The little fellow over there.”

“Your heavy?”

“Silly! No, of course not. He and Edna just got married. That’s why they’re having this party, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. I was invited, that’s all I know. Well, see you later.”

Get up and go away at this point; too much at first is too much.

4. Soon after this it is likely that the lady will finish her glass mechanically; and the next one will go down with more alacrity. Keep an eye on her, and when she has finished the second one come back and ask her to dance. If you are a good dancer the whole thing is easier, but so few of you are.

Put her down when it is over, smile at her politely and go away again. This mystifies her.

5. Two drinks later. Don’t drink too much; this requires as much concentration as any other business. It’s time now to focus the attack.

After two or three dances the room seems uncomfortably warm, and now that she is accustomed to being monopolized she won’t be averse to stepping outdoors with you to get cool. Any car will do if it is unoccupied.

There will be a slightly awkward pause; breathless and afraid on her part. Then she realizes that your intentions are all right and she is ashamed of her own suspicions.

“My, but it must have been warm in there,” she says. “I didn’t realize it. What a lovely night!”

“Yeah, the gang’s crazy to stay indoors in this weather. … Say, what do you do all the time? I haven’t seen you around.”

“Well, I haven’t been in town very long. I’m visiting Edna.”

“Having a good time?”

“Oh, yes. Everyone’s been so nice to me.”

“Naturally they would be, to you. I guess you have a pretty good time wherever you go.”

“Aw, that’s an old one!”

“You don’t swallow everything you hear, do you? Well, that’s right.” … a burst of music comes through the window … “Say, I’ve got a drink or two here. Want one?”

“Oh no—I’ve had enough. But you go right ahead.”

“Nope, I don’t drink without company.”

“Well—just a little one.”

6. After the bottle has been tucked away again, settle down with a deep sigh and put your arm around her. While she’s wondering if she ought to let it stay there, turn around and pull her head over to yours, very lazily and comfortably.

“No! Please.”

“All right.”

Release her, avoiding all trace of petulance. She can think that over for a while.

7. After a long time, reach for the bottle again.

“Just another little one?”

Of course she doesn’t want to be a complete prig—

“All right. But aren’t you drinking a lot?”

“No. I never take too much.”

There really isn’t much to say. You don’t want conversation; she knows you don’t. She does—or does she? She doesn’t know what she wants, just now. You’ve flustered her and upset her and started her thinking and you aren’t doing anything to help her out. She wonders why you don’t say something. She can’t think of anything to say. She’s thinking too hard of something which you have evidently forgotten. It is almost a relief when you put your arm around her again. Something definite, anyway. Even when you kiss her she doesn’t protest. She thinks that it wasn’t bad anyway; in fact it was a nice kiss—not too long nor too enthusiastic.

And as a matter of fact, this particular subject should not be a connoisseur of kisses. She would like to discuss it. Whenever she has been kissed before, the occasion seemed more momentous, with prelude of conversation and aftermath of protestation. Your absolute indifference intrigues her. You’ve evidently forgotten all about it already.

8. And then you yawn. Yawn and burrow your head in her breast in an affectionate, friendly manner; dropping off to sleep immediately. She sits very still and straight, hoping that you’ll wake up, hoping you won’t, hoping no one is watching you from the porch, wondering why she isn’t objecting, wondering why she should, wondering about life in general. … It’s all because she drank so much of that whiskey. She really doesn’t feel so well. Sort of mixed up. Why don’t you wake up? She wants to go in and dance; it must be late. How did this get started anyway?

9. She stirs a little at last, for her arm is going to sleep, and this wakes you. Open your eyes and pull her face down to yours—it’s the most natural thing to do under the circumstances. “Sweet thing.”

She is reassured. You are thinking of her, then. You’ve become once more a person, a man, instead of an abstract problem. And she knows how to deal with people, even with men. It’s this other thing that worries her; this horrible impersonal wondering; this feeling of enmity that lurks in the air when people forget you and go to sleep. Although she couldn’t put it into words. …

10. “Another drink, sweet thing?”

“I guess so.”

“Sure, just another little one now.”

She isn’t thinking at all now. If she were she’d probably suggest going in, for it is late and she wants to dance. But it doesn’t seem late; it doesn’t seem as though time is going on at all. She isn’t thinking. She doesn’t start to think even when you kiss her more enthusiastically and not so lazily. This must be the way a plant feels on a hot summer day when it hasn’t anything to do but grow. Not happy; not sad.

It is only when she realized at last that you are growing importunate that she stirs herself and protests. She isn’t sure what to say; the protest is more a matter of habit than anything else. … Everything is a habit. … And once more, for the last time, you say “Yes. One more. Just another little one.”