Page 71 of Lovebug
“Listen, everybody. Don’t get me wrong. I love sheep. They’re beautiful, gentle, giving creatures. Without sheep and their fluffy generosity, I wouldn’t get to luxuriate in my lambswool socks, as I read Proust by the fireplace, my toesies soaking in the cozies.”
This guy has a very odd way with words. Is he giving some weird speech? Also, he reads Proust?
“Without sheep—and I apologize to the vegans out there tonight—I couldn’t fill my belly with my mama’s mutton stew on lonely winter’s nights watching HGTV. Without sheep, I couldn’t sit and admire a glorious green field speckled with wondrous white grazing creatures while crisp breezes carry the sweet scent of manure up my nose holes…”
Nostrils. Why doesn’t he just say nostrils?
“Without sheep—”
Good lord, he’s still going.
“I couldn’t visit a precious petting farm with my nephews and marvel at the beauty of delighted children nuzzling their muzzles while inserting the ass ends of carrots into their mouths. So let me be really clear here. I. Love. Sheep.”
I have to hand it to him, for better or for worse, he has absolutely everyone’s attention.
“But do I want tobeone? Do I want tobea sheep? No. Because you know what else sheep are? They’re meek. Docile.They play follow the leader. Their whole damn lives. And as I look around this crowd tonight? It pains me to say it… but everyone in this room is a damn sheep.”
Alright, I have to step in now.
“Wallace!” I’m up on my feet, doing my best to maintain a reasonable tone. “Please. Clearly, this isn’t the business for you, so why don’t we just go?” I gesture toward the exit.
“We?” Bert’s on his feet again, and I marvel for a moment on how he turned the one-syllable word “we” into a three-syllable snarly one. “Since when is there a we here? Are you going to leave with this guy?”
“There isn’t a we!” I exclaim. “No way! No we! He and me, we are not a we! I just meant I brought him here, so I should politely escort him out, no?”
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks, no?” Wally says, then takes in Bert’s beet-red face. “Kidding, buddy. I’m sure she doth protest the exact right amount.”
“I think you should go,” Bert says through clenched teeth.
“Agreed. On my way out. Gimme just a quick sec to wrap things up, pal.”
Bert opens his mouth to respond, but Wally disregards him completely and continues to address the room.
“I’ve been a bit verbose tonight, friends. So let me get right to the point. This lady here?” He gestures to Doreen, who has sunk back into the shadows a fair amount, something I’ve never seen her do. “Sweet as she may seem? She’s not. No, friends. This lady here is a sheepherder hell-bent on pulverizing all of your piggybanks.”
Doreen gasps and steps forward. “That is ridiculous. That is completely and utterly—”
“True.” Wally finishes the thought for her. “It’s completely and utterly true. And don’t ask me how I know. I have sources. So many sources it would make your head spin. You know something, Doreen? Sheep are givers. Wool, milk, cheese… the list goes on.” He gazes out at everyone assembled. “The people in this room are givers. They’ve given you their time, their trust, their enthusiasm. And you have disrespected that gift. You, ma’am, are not a giver. You are a taker.”
“I am not a taker! I am a—”
“Friends!” he shouts. “Raise your hoof… forgive me, raise your hand if you’ve received a paycheck from this woman.”
Doreen’s mouth shuts in a tight line, and her eyes widen.
Out of fifty attendees, only five people raise their hooves. I mean hands.
Doreen starts to babble. “Well. Most of them are new. Paychecks go out monthly and—”
“Okay, five of you. Out of the five of you, what are we talking? Are we talking the big money you’re being promised?”
“Hell no!” sweet Mr. Gaddis, who runs a house cleaning company, shouts, surprising everyone around him who knows him. Up until this point, I’ve never heard the man speak above a murmur. “I’ve been at this for six months!” Mr. Gaddis continues, “And I’ve spent more than I’ve made!”
“I don’t doubt that’s true, sir,” Wallace says to him. “And I’m sorry to inform you that it’s going to continue being that way in the future.Hey, hey! Ho, ho! Stick with this biz, you’re gonna be po’!” he begins to chant. That’s right. This strange man I invited here tonight starts a full-onchant.
I lock eyes with first Doreen and then Bert, and they. Are. Horrified.
Freida Newton, the young woman whose dream of opening an acupuncture practice is on hold until she makes a dent in her student loans, speaks up next. “She keeps showing me these bloated weekly payouts she’s getting, but the biggest check I’ve seen so far is twenty-five bucks!”
