Free Nude Men by Amanda Filipacchi

watching the news. I blink with intelligence and laugh mechanically when they laugh. I am even able to appear bright and perky every time they address me, and to answer “I don’t know” with shrewdness in my tone, astuteness in the pacing of my three words, and wisdom in my eyes.
    Movie, movie, movie, I begin chanting in my head, while tears of boredom start running down my mind. Movie, movie, movie. Almost, almost, almost. Soon, soon, soon, soon. Move, move, move, move.
    “Let’s dance!” says Henrietta. A few people are dancing in the open area between the tables.
    I dance with Henrietta. Laura dances with her brother. I spot a dollar bill on the floor, being trampled by people’s feet. I point it out to Lady Henrietta. “Do you want to get it?” I scream at her over the music, which has grown louder.
    “No, it’s okay, but you go ahead,” she says.
    I shake my head.
    I see a thread dangling from my shirt-sleeve button. I pull the thread out completely. The button detaches itself. I put it in my breast pocket. Lady Henrietta is watching me. 1 smile. Ornamentally Interesting Moron. Outstandingly Intelligent Mute.
    We switch partners (not my idea, of course). I feel a little panicked, dancing with Laura. I keep getting the urge to take a Kleenex out of my pocket and raise it triumphantly, to be her Worthy dance partner.
    Finally, we are about to leave. Henrietta asks Laura if she’d like to join us for the movie. Laura accepts, to my great disappointment. It was supposed to be a private date, at least the movie was. Damon is invited, too, but says he already has plans, and adds, “unfortunately.” Henrietta acts very disappointed, and I am suave enough to know she’s not sincere; it’s all fashionable flattery.
    We see We Are the Taurus, the film about the toreador caught in the love triangle. I sit in the middle. Overwhelmingly Impressive Matador. Laura’s hands are resting calmly on her lap. She’s a relaxed, well-balanced person. Henrietta is sitting normally too. Halfway through the movie, I notice that she is not looking at the screen. She’s looking at the head of the man sitting in front of her. Toward the end of the movie, she is sitting forward in her seat, looking very closely at his head.
    “Are you okay?” I whisper in her ear.
    She whispers back to me, “That man is an O.I.M.”
    “What’s an O.I.M.?”
    “An Optical Illusion Man.”
    Wow. So that’s what I am. I’m an Optical Illusion Man! It sounds almost like the Invisible Man. Almost a superhero! “What does that mean?” I ask.
    “It means he’s almost something but not quite, or maybe he is and it’s impossible to tell if he is or isn’t. One second you think he is, and the next you are certain he isn’t.”
    I look closely at the back of the man’s head, to see what he almost is or isn’t. I feel very intelligent and perceptive, because I notice right away what she means. The man almost has a bald spot. His hair is thinning in the middle of his head. One moment I think he does have the bald spot, and the next moment I think no, no, he definitely doesn’t have it yet. It is a strange sensation, and it is the first time I have ever noticed an optical illusion in a person. I suddenly become anxious at the thought of what optical illusion Henrietta sees in me.
    The movie ends. I have had trouble focusing my attention on it, as I’m sure you can imagine. Nevertheless, my vague impression makes me pretty confident that my choice is not something to be ashamed of. I believe that We Are the Taurus gave Henrietta a favorable opinion of my taste in films. Not much happened in the story, which I am again refined enough to know is always a plus. Additionally, the ending was unhappy, which I know is a must (a European trait and therefore excellent): The woman the toreador loved got pierced by the bull’s horns, and the woman who loved him stopped loving him once her rival was dead. In his grief at the unfortunate perforation of