Warren & Arthur | Lessons in Selfishness

[xp_longshot]

Warren coaches Arthur in the fine art of being selfish at a country club in the city, but what they get is bad luck and lemons.



Warren wiped the back of his neck with a towel, soaking up the sweat that had accumulated there.  He hated that part about exercising — he'd have to wash off his wings well, but for now, it was worth it.  Part of his life and his career was public image, and he needed to show up at the country club so that people knew that he was rich and important.  

It also had the added advantage of being a low-key, baby steps place for Arthur to assert his natural superiority aka selfishness.  So after a good session of squash, they were now putting away their equipment, staff wandering around throughout the place.  "Now, watch this," Warren said to Arthur.

He gave a short whistle, and the nearest staff came immediately.  He basically tossed the towel at her.  "I need another one.” Without any conversation, a new, clean towel was placed in his hands.  He turned it over and frowned.  "This isn't soft. I want soft. Why aren't you giving me what I want?"  

The staff apologized quickly, and went to the stack of towels, touching each one to see which was softer.

"See?  They're used to it.  You won't change anything by being nice right now.  And before you say anything, yes, we'll leave a decent tip."

Arthur watched this entire exchange with a bewildered expression. His own towel was draped over one shoulder — the man was still recovering, but was, all in all, looking remarkably better than he had any right. A few times during the exchange he raised his good hand to ask a question, but put it right back as the dance of service continued.

"Now," he began hesitantly, "Is the point to just ask for things just because you can, or are you actually that picky with towels? What's my motiva —"  That last thought was tucked right away.

"It's because I can.  I'm not going to sit here and think about how this is going to ruin their day.  That girl is being paid to make me happy.  Make me happy then.  Doesn't matter that I wasn't unhappy, they can make me happier."  And as if on cue, he received his towel.  With a nod, he dismissed the girl who took off to do who knew what; he wasn't going to waste anymore time thinking about it.  "The thing is, you need to accept sometimes that this is allowed.  Do I want to make her cry? Meh, not today and not in front of you.  That's behaviour I do with Felicia.  With you, we just need to have you more open to asking for what you actually want, rather than what you think they want.  If you are vague, you will make them uncomfortable."

"I see," Arthur lied. He was only loosely following. "So all I have to do is say what I want? Directly — instead of just getting it myself. Which I could do. Easily.” The hesitation in his tone was not a good sign. His eyes darted across the bustling staff, trying to pick a safe target.

Spotting the closest attendant, he raised a hand. "I would like a water, please." His tone was flat, completely un-Arthur-like in both enthusiasm and delivery. He wasn't playing Arthur Centino today, however. He was supposed to be himself.

Warren sighed.  So close and so far.  "Perrier.  Iced, but not ice-y.  I don't want my friend to choke on an ice cube because that would be your fault.  In fact, make sure there's a straw, not paper, plastic, and hurry up. We have lunch reservations in about a half hour."

While the attendant took off, Warren shook his head.  "Please is for poor people.  You want something, take it and explain.  Otherwise they will bring you what they think you want, not what you actually want.  And if you don't want what I just said, then you tell me to fuck off, you're a grown adult, you can order for yourself."  

Arthur's eye twitched. There was a distant squeal from the squash courts as a serve bounced poorly and somehow managed to snag perfectly in an unreachable corner of the court. Reality began to tense along with the lines of Arthur's face — lines that pulled into a thin smile as the man met his friend's criticism. "Okay," and his tone hardened in resolve, "I got this."

A flash of white, an offered glass with the fizz of sparkling water.

Arthur took a sip, and he channeled a frown with all of his worst impulses.

"I see. No lemon? I'd expect an establishment such as this to consider my digestive health." He gave the attendant an expectant look. "I expected this to be infused with citrus."

There was a flash in his left eye as the binary nature of reality swapped some zeros. This was followed by the low growl of a deep rumbling from the ceiling overheard.

Warren nodded approvingly while also glaring at the attendant.  He was starting to think things were going well until the sound from above.  It didn't sound very promising.  "Arthur.... what is that?"  

Arthur's eyes continued to shine, but his tone remained flat as it edged toward panic. "Warren, what's above the squash courts?"

The rumble had segued into the whine of stressed steel as the ceiling began to slowly buckle under building pressure.

"....the pool," Warren said, looking up nervously.  The attendant, who had now returned with the lemon water was also looking up with worry.  "Do we need to get a supervisor here?"  

"And is it one of those fancy lounging pools with a bar, or a lap pool?"

Normally, Warren would ask questions but instead, he simply raised an eyebrow.  "Relaxation pool.  Jerome, Jimmy, Jerald . . . whatever his name is, he's the bartender and he makes the best damn mimosas I've ever had."  He paused for a moment and leaned closer to Arthur, whispering loudly, "If something is going to happen, can we please save him?  It's so hard to find someone who knows how to properly muddle."  

This got Warren a glare that was completely alien on Arthur's face. His eye still burned. "I'm," he said through gritted teeth, "trying. No. One. Is. Getting. Hurt."

With each word, spiderwebs started to appear in the ceiling above the two. An unsteady drip had started.

"Warren, get an umbrella or get these people out.” It was a statement made through Arthur’s clenched teeth.

Warren sighed heavily and whipped out his phone while shooing away the attendant.  A few discussions later, and he'd made it very clear to the director of the facility that yes, they needed to evacuate, no, he wasn't going to explain and yes, he would find a way to sue if he wasn't listened to and/or buy the entire building and business and fire everyone anyways.   An announcement came overhead from the director.  "Due to a potential situation that has arisen, it is firmly requested that all guests and staff please leave the building and head to our sister club.  Drinks and meals, along with reimbursements for today's inconvenience will be provided."   Although there was grumbling, free food and being reimbursed worked its magic, and people soon were leaving the building in droves.

"Well, now what?"

Arthur wasn't listening.

He was standing now, hands folded in prayer position. Each breath was controlled, and the flare of his eye seemed to sync to the rise and fall of his chest. The spiderwebs continued to bloom overhead, but the whine and grumbling had subsided. He quickly took a deep inhale, and held fast to the forming shape of intent in his mind. Holding it was like holding a pose. The flow of a sun salutation.

The ceiling finally opened, and it wasn't a torrent or a deluge. Just enough clean water to deliver three suspiciously yellow objects that made little PLONKs as they emerged. Arthur, eyes closed, moved fluidly. One. A twist, and he caught it. The second was grabbed through a spin, and he let the first go to catch it in his elbow as he went down to one knee to secure a third full sized lemon.

The blond man sighed, bedraggled and wet.

Warren watched the whole process with a curious detachment.  He wasn't actually sure what had happened at all.  One moment he was teaching Arthur how to assert himself and his needs, and now there was literal water and lemons falling from the ceiling.  Was this an insurance claim, or would Warren have to buy this stupid business and building?  It was unclear at the moment.  All he could think to do was nod.  "Well.  When God gives you lemons....should we go find someone to make us lemonade?"  

Arthur stared at the other man for a long minute. "Lemons are man made," was all he could offer. His eye was no longer glowing, and Arthur was just left as a sad, wet dog of a man holding three lemons. "God never gave anyone lemons. But what I really want, more than anything right now, is to know where that went wrong."

"Unfortunately my friend, I can't help with that ... but I can find someone to make us an amazing Tom Collins."