At seven o'clock on the dot I arrived at the restaurant of the Hotel Grande. I believe in being prompt, but I do not believe in being early. To be early is to seem excessively eager; to be late is rude to the customer, and as a salesman, both are to be avoided. In my right hand I carried a Mesmerizer 5200.
The
Mesmerizer 5200.
"Table for two," I told the waitress, with a smile. She was a nice looking young lady. Not too nice looking, and I'd have smiled at her if she was a boxer with a cauliflower ear, but I enjoy smiling at a pretty girl more.
"Will this do," she asked, showing me a table at the edge of the seating area, overlooking the lobby. It had a good view, one of the better seats in the house, probably. I might have earned it by smiling.
I shook my head. "How about that one?" I asked. The table I wanted lets one see one's fellow diners, such as they are.
"Oh! Alright," she said.
I put the Mesmerizer 5200 on the table, so that people would get used to seeing it there. It was about the size of a small tower computer. It had some good old-fashioned knobs on the side. A small, nearly invisible camera on one end. Two screens, each the size of a cell phone, on the other end. I was proud of it. On the other side from the knobs, a metal bracelet hung from a hook, attached to the machine by a USB cable. It had a handle on top for easy carrying. In today's mass produced world, individual craftsmanship is a thing of the past. The Mesmerizer 5200 was not only individually made, it was different than each of the earlier models I had made and sold. I remembered the first one, the 3000, fondly.
No one wants to buy the first, people. They'd be worried their brains would get fried. It's like personal checks, if you remember those. If you go into the business of making and selling mind control devices, always start at 300, at least. It's a trade where people are very suspicious of what you have to sell, and you need to do your best to put them at ease.
I looked at my fellow diners. A couple, middle-aged, sat in the corner. Two women, probably not a couple, sat at the table next to them. One of them was kinda cute, in a girl next door way; pretty face, not a great figure. I know, it sounds like I was sizing all the women up, but there were business reasons for that. There was a group of four old people, chattering away, with quite a pile of empty glasses. A man, casually dressed in a blazer, with a face like a movie actor, if not quite a leading man, sat at a table between me and the entrance. The word
lothario
sprang to mind.
"Something to drink, Sir?" asked a waitress a moment later. This was one was kind of cute, too. Busty. A little pudgy.
I smiled.
"A martini," I said. "And a water."
I waited some more. It was possible that Mr. Albert Wainwright would not show up, in which case the evening would be wasted, and Wainwright would wonder, for the rest of his life, what he'd passed up.
Mr. Wainwright was having wife troubles. Apparently, his wife was not providing for him in bed in the manner to which he wished to become accustomed. Apparently, his wife rather strenuously objected to the maid providing for him in that way, too, to the point of having her fired, and telling him that if he fooled around with the next maid she intended to get at least half his money in the divorce. I was glad I was not married to a woman like Mrs. Wainwright.
In fact, if I was as wealthy as Mr. Wainwright, I would consider giving up half my money to be free of Mrs. Wainwright to be a pretty good deal, and if that could be combined with fucking the maid, that would be simply value added.
The water and the martini arrived. I took one sip of the martini, and then sipped the water. I waited some more.
A tall man in a suit and a tie walked in, carrying a satchel, fresh from the office. Or not so fresh, perhaps. Worn. That was Wainwright. He was a well-built, athletic man, a habitue of the best, most expensive gyms. There was, I thought, something wrong with his face. His eyes were just a little off, his nose not quite straight, the bottom of his lip a little too full and the top too thin. Not an ugly man, mind you, but if it were not for his bankbook, he would not be god's gift to women, either. He spotted me, dismissed the waitress who wanted to show him a table with a wave, and headed my way.
He didn't make it. The lothario in the blazer suddenly slid his chair back, blocking his intended path. Wainwright managed to dodge the chair, walking into a table in the process. The lothario then turned, and clipped Wainwright on the back of the head with an elbow, not particularly hard.
"Why don't you look where you're going?" asked the lothario, rather unfairly, I thought.
"Why don't you -" Wainwright clenched his right fist, clutching his satchel with his left.
A waitress scurried over. "I'm sure it was an accident," she said.
That was when she walked in, striding past the empty greeter desk and heading directly toward the potential confrontation. People turned to look at her, as well they might. She was a natural blonde, her hair flowing down in waves, with a 36-24-36 figure. Her blue dress showed a bit of cleavage in front, not enough to look cheap, but enough to draw attention, and she knew how to walk, too, hips swaying. There was an exotic touch to her, because despite the Nordic hair, she had tanned skin, and a little slant to her eyes that hinted of something Asian.
She gave Wainwright a smile, and then sat down at the lothario's table.
The lothario grinned at her. "Be right back," he said, and then headed to the bathroom, ignoring Wainwright.
Wainwright stared for a moment, and then headed toward me.
"Did you see that guy?" Wainwright asked me, as he sat down. He took the far seat, the one with a view of the blonde woman with the east Asian eyes.
"Yeah," I agreed. "But don't let him bother you Mr. Wainwright. There's guys like that everywhere, and we have more important things to do."
Wainwright nodded. "This is it?" he asked, looking at the box skeptically.
"This is it," I said, beaming with pride.
"I'm an idiot for even thinking this could work."
"Or a genius." I sipped my martini.
"Tom Collins," Wainwright said, in response to an interruption from a waitress.
I waited for Wainwright to begin the conversation again, not wanting to look too eager.
"So," Wainwright said in hushed voice. "That's the device."
"Yep," I said.
"That little box can... make a woman do whatever you want?"
"Well, if she knows
what
you want. I mean, you have to communicate. But yes. You might have problems if you try to make a hooker out of a church matron, and you'd have to pick someone pretty vicious to begin with if you wanted them to murder anyone. But most girls, and most things, yes."
"One would think it wouldn't take too much of a nudge to get my wife to put out a little more often. I mean, she's my wife, she can hardly have a moral objection to looking after my needs now and then.
"One would think," I agreed. The customer is always right.
"But why limit one to a wife, huh?" Wainwright said.
"I think it's important not to limit ourselves. If I limited myself, I'd never have become an inventor. And then we would both be worse off."
"You married?" Wainwright asked.
"Yeah."
"Does your wife take good care of you?"
I grinned. "Of course she does. After all, I've tried every model of the Mesmerizer out on her, first."
Wainwright laughed. "Ah. Good point."
The waitress brought Wainwright his drink. We drank in silence for a bit. I let him think about it. Now and then, Wainwright glanced over to where the man who had elbowed him sat with the woman in the blue dress.
"You know, I don't really believe in this thing," Wainwright said.
I shrugged. "If you believed, are you ready to pay for it?"
"If. That's a big if."
"You'd like a demonstration."
"Yeah."
I pointed to the busty waitress. "How about her?"
"I'm not stupid," Wainwright said. "You've got that girl primed - you're probably paying her - and she'll do what we ask. Voila, mind control. I wasn't born yesterday."
"Neither was I," I tell him. "Show me that you have the diamonds, and then, you pick the girl."
"Anyone?"
"Sure."
He opened the satchel and took out a velvet bag. He opened it enough that I could see inside, but he didn't let go of it. He started to pull it back.
"Lots of things glitter that are not gold," I said. "Or diamonds. Let me look at one."
He hesitated, but then nodded. He pulled a rock from the bag and handed it to me.
I shook my head. "I told you I wasn't born yesterday either. You pick the girl. I pick the diamond."
He sighed and nodded. He showed me the bag. I reached in, picked out a sparkler at random. Then I pulled a loupe out of my pocket and gave it a good going over. "Okay," I said. "You're on the up and up. Although you're getting a bargain."
"If it works."
I put the diamond back in the bag.
"It works alright. You pick the girl. How about that college kid, off to your left?"
Wainwright made a show of looking around. Then he gestured at the blonde sitting with the lothario who'd elbowed him.
"The old biddy?" I asked. The old people were now totally blotto.
"No," he said, annoyed now. "The one in the blue dress."
"The blonde?" I asked.
"Yeah, the blonde."
"You know," I said, "I think she might be a little out of your league."
Wainwright scowled. "If this thing does what you say, it wouldn't matter, would it?"
"Well." I paused. "It should work. Alright, I'll get the machine moving. And show you how to use it at the same time. You need to get the girl on the screen here." I pointed at the top screen and flipped a switch. It showed the view out the camera at the front, and I moved the box until it was pointing at the girl. "Just tap on the screen when she's in good view," I said.
He tapped.