The Conference on Beautiful Moments

MAYOR BAT

M a y o r B a t “Where am I?” “You were asleep,” the man said.“I just woke you up.” “Really?” “Yes, really.” “I must have passed out. I’m sorry.” “That’s fine, I didn’t mind. It was kind of peaceful, though I’m definitely glad you’re awake now.” “Why were you driving so long?” the woman asked. “Was it so long? Come on, open your door, let’s get out.” Outside it was extremely dark and they could hear the wind blowing through the trees around the parking lot. He walked around the car and took her hand. “Where are we?” “Wonderland,” he said lightly. “I believe it,” she said. “We must be way out in the middle of nowhere .” “When we were in Philly you only thought it was night.Now you know what night really looks like.” He opened a door at street level and they walked into the apartment. “Jesus Christ, it’s even darker in here. How can you see?” “Because I’m Mayor Bat, the mayor of Wonderland.” “OK, Mr. Mayor, could you turn on a light?” He walked straight ahead and turned on a dim lamp at the end of 81 82 t h e c o n f e r e n c e o n b e a u t i f u l m o m e n t s the living room. Then he went into the adjoining kitchen. “You want something to drink?”he said, opening the refrigerator,“or would you like something else?” “Yes, sure.” “Yes, sure, what?” “Yes to both of them,” she said, laughing and following him into the kitchen.“I need to get back into a wonderland kind of mood.” He looked at her. He was struck by how skinny she was (somehow in the bar she didn’t look that thin), although she did have a figure. “OK, Alice, I’ll see what I can do.” “Hey, who’s Alice? You don’t even remember my name, do you?” “You’re Alice in Wonderland, aren’t you?” “Oh, OK. I get it,” she said, taking the glass of vodka and tonic he’d poured her and immediately beginning to drink it. “So which character are you, the Mad Hatter?” “I’m Lewis Carroll.” “Who’s he? I don’t remember any Lewis Carroll.” “He wrote the book. He was an Englishman who liked little girls, especially a little girl named Alice, so he wrote a book about her.” She took a big swallow of her drink until it was practically gone. “So you think I’m just a little girl?” “Not at all,”he said.“You don’t look like one and you don’t kiss like one either. Come on, finish your drink.” “Why aren’t you drinking?” “I’m gonna smoke. With you. It’s not easy being Lewis Carroll.” “I’ll bet,” she said. They were in the bedroom,where there wasn’t much light either,smoking a joint. The room didn’t seem to have any secrets or even any personality, she thought. There weren’t any pictures anywhere, or even a TV. Just a generic kind of bureau and bed table, where the ashtray was, and a mirror on the wall. It looked more like a nondescript motel room than someone ’s bedroom, except that the walls looked thick and distorted, different somehow. She thought of asking him about the walls but was afraid he might take offense. When she went out, especially to bars, she invariably wound up with nothing or with nothing men, but Gordon seemed different , funny and smart. He’d made her laugh a lot in the bar and he really seemed to like her, so she wanted to be careful with him. The only thing about him that got on her nerves was the way he kept calling her Alice, but it also seemed too late to say anything about that. “Here, Alice,” he said, handing her the joint.“Finish it.” She took the joint and inhaled. The thing about drinking was you usually laughed a lot because things suddenly seemed so light and funny, but when you smoked pot, especially right after drinking, it was often like going down a slide and landing in a serious and silent world where the quiet could only be broken by sex. She braced herself...