Chapter 24

Speaking of dentist visits, during the last one, when Mitchell clashed with the receptionist—someone else, the hygienist, had brushed her own teeth—she’d returned from lunch break in a hurry, in front of the mirror on the other side of the room, and he glimpsed her when she finished, smiling shyly or apologetically when she saw him watching. White toothpaste made a foam between her parted lips, and it looked to him like cum then, and he felt he shouldn’t be looking. She wasn’t all that attractive, big-boned with broad features, dark hair, pretty but not someone who would ordinarily turn his head. All the same, he found himself enjoying the show and finally looked away to avoid embarrassing her. What a horny guy he was, basically. He imagined the reaction Akemi brought to other guys, and she didn’t even have to be brushing her teeth in public.

A friend at work, funny guy into a lot of arcane things, told him once that there was a word for when someone imitated the sound or action of another person, not attempting to do so accurately—that didn’t matter to them—but close enough the intent was clear. He wasn’t necessarily after what you said but the manner, which he meant to mimic, mock. Mitchell guessed “derisive” was the word his coworker Mel had in mind, but Mel claimed there was a specific verb for the form of putdown he’d described. Mitchell couldn’t remember it, something like “mamoranoosh” that sounded more Middle Eastern or maybe Indian than American English. No, he’d forgotten. He tried to tell his students about it later but couldn’t clearly get the concept across, and after a few attempts gave up on nuance and said, “The idea is to make fun of the other person, tell them, in effect, ‘You’re a stupid idiot.’”

And what had the thought brought to mind? Akemi giving head, the sound her mouth made, and another guy imitating it, making fun of her as she sucked his cock. Mitchell knew a woman who was raped, and she’d told him the rapist mocked her appeals for mercy, repeating after her, “Please! Please!” He’d hit her, and she saw there was nowhere to turn—continued resistance would lead only to a bad beating. She’d even offered to give him a handjob, but he rejected that, laughing no doubt. There were some hateful people out there.

Mitchell wondered if there really was such a word, as his coworker claimed, or if the guy, a cut-up, had been joking with him.

Mitchell wished he could just quit his job, but there was no way. Even cutting back his hours made no sense. His boss expected a full commitment. And in any case, he needed the full salary. An endless procession of days stretched ahead. He felt glad at least Akemi didn’t have to work a job she didn’t like. No, he had never resented the freedom she enjoyed. He felt it was his surrogate freedom, relished her happiness, and expected nothing in return. Or so he told himself. Now that she’d been away a few hours, he’d spent a night alone, he wondered. It occurred to him that if she were really gone, he might review their marriage—out of her presence, see it differently. That was the last thing he wanted. At least leave me my illusions!