XXIX. Dave Shows his Class
Dave “the Dude” Devoran, free‑market ambassador, is seeking the end of the rainbow along the banks of the Duna. What follows is Episode XXIX.
By Berger Bronte
(© Tom Popper)
I suppose this is what I wanted. I am watching a drunken American man with a funny tie, a white shirt and ill‑fitting pants shake his hips, stick his groin at us in a very ridiculous way and sing “Push it! Push it good!” Behind him is a video of the group Salt ‘n’ Peppah. Although he obviously feels no shame, I am terribly embarrassed for him, and I think that everyone here who is not completely drunk feels the same.
I am also embarrassed for myself, because this man is my date. But I wanted this, or something like this.
For reasons that make sense to no one — including myself — I really care about David “the Dude” Devoran, but he never seemed to notice me. Then, when he got arrested, I got his mother and that stupid American lawyer who’s always sticking her chest out to help him. After that, I contacted the Lithuanian mob to steal some weapons out of David’s house, so he could get rid of the gun runners who were bothering him.
Finally, the other day, he tells me: “Gee Erzsébet, I’ve noticed you help me a lot, and at first I couldn’t figure out why.”
“Well David ...” I start to speak but he interrupts.
“You really care for me, don’t you?” he says.
I feel the blood rushing to my face. I look at my feet. Why am I so embarrassed?
“That’s OK. You don’t have to say anything,” he tells me. “I’m used to this sort of thing. I’ll tell you what: You’ve done me favors so I’ll do you one. I’m going to take you to some nice places that you’ve probably never been to. You see, I know all the classy establishments where westerners go.”
“Well David ...”
“Great. I’ll pick you up Friday night.”
So now I’m here in this really classy place where westerners go: “The Sticky Napalm Karaoke and Billiard Club.” What is my attraction to this arrogant, mindless person? Maybe I feel sorry for him. Maybe I’m a masochist. I don’t know, but I do know I have some sort of feeling for him, and I know I was looking forward to this date — before.
I also know that when this song ends, everyone will see the man on stage walk over and sit at my table. I wish I could prolong that moment, so I could figure out the appropriate behavior for this situation. But I also want the embarrassment to end.
Finally it does: David is kneeling with both hands in the air. A few people are staring. A drunk is yelling something, but I don’t think it’s at David. He jumps off the stage and plops down next to me, smiling and sweating.
“That’s karaoke babe? Isn’t it great?”
I feel the blood rushing to my face. I look at my feet. “Well David ... It’s so ... so western.”
“Dontcha wanna try?”
“I couldn’t. I’m just not as musical as you.”
“Yeah, I guess coming from this country you wouldn’t have as much soul.”
What is my attraction?