Barkley Bohner, Celebrity Philosopher

Chapter Seven

Meanwhile, one fine day in 1983:

"What's a twelve-letter word for someone in business?" Trudy asked, not looking up from her New York Times crossword. We had been together for five years.

"Entrepreneur?" I suggested.

"Bores-the-fucking-shit-out-of-me fits better," she snapped.

I could tell this conversation wasn't going to be about the crossword. Sure enough, she put down her pen and looked me straight in the eye. "Why, Barccles, why?" she pleaded. (Barccles was her pet name for me.)

When we first met, I was pursuing a rather unique double career in music and philosophy while running some businesses on the side. Ever so slowly, my businesses started taking up more of my time, then virtually all of my time.

"But it's the music business," I said in self-defense.

"What's so interesting about talking to lawyers and accountants all day?" she demanded.

"But you talk to lawyers and accountants all day, too," I replied.

Officially, Trudy was an importer of vanilla beans. This was part of the same business as her father, Madasgascar Fred, also known as Rick after Bogey's character in Casablanca. Since I was now family, I was allowed to address him as O'Toole, after the actor who played Lawrence of Arabia in the classic David Lean film.

Earlier in his career, some representatives of the philanthropic arm of the Mexican vanilla bean cartel had beaten him to a pulp and left him for dead. This meant that like my father, he had also encountered God in the belly of an anaconda. He also corroborated my father's account that God wears brown shoes and white socks with blue suits.

But I digress.

"My lawyers and accountants are far more interesting," Trudy shot back at me, as if this were supposed to make sense. Actually, on second thought, it probably made a lot of sense.

Then she switched tack. "Barccles," she said. "Do you recall when I fell in love with you?"

Never ask a man a question like that.

"It was when I named the dog, Anaxagoros," she answered for me. "You not only knew who Anaxagoros was, you actually incorporated him into a joke involving three philosophers walking into a bar."

Actually, I think she was making this up, but I could see her point. Immediately following the christening of her new dog, we were making mad passionate chord-crashing love under her Steinway baby grand.

You can see why I was attracted to Trudy, especially during the middle of our romp when we knocked over the piano bench and a police revolver went flying out.

What I think she was driving at, apart from the serendipitous juxtaposition of an ancient philosopher and the underside of a piano, not to mention a gun on the floor, was that I used to be interesting. Apparently, I was no longer interesting.

"Remember how we used to lie in bed naked discussing William James the psychologist versus William James the philosopher?"

I had to admit that was interesting.

"Remember the secret word?"

"Uh, that would be epiphenomenalism."

"Remember when you said it to me in the elevator?"

Yes, I had to admit, that was very interesting.

"You made me feel like a woman," she reminded me.

Yes, yes. I acknowledged.

"I used to get wet just hearing the word."

Yes, but …