THE LORTON METHOD

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

David Lorton has almost completed the arrangements for Moira Royce’s visit to the city on December 4. She will travel in a new car recently purchased with monies obtained in her divorce. Lorton has expressed interest in the car, but he is much more interested in the divorce. Royce, a longtime friend of his and a former colleague at the JTC Corporation—she oversaw the department responsible for publishing tech specifications in a form digestible by the general public; he was an engineer—has also been a secret love interest of Lorton’s for years. When Royce was initially hired at JTC, she carried her maiden name, Howard, and after their first meeting (“Mr. Lorton,” said Umberto Pogglioni, “this is Miss Howard”), Lorton told a small circle of confidantes that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, “both inside and out,” he hastened to add, worried that focusing only on her appearance was a form of objectification, or at the very least diminishment, though he told an even smaller circle of confidantes that while he was in fact thoroughly impressed by her command of her department, her awareness of the corporation’s broader goals, and her expertise when it came to both American and Asian history, especially labor history, he was completely floored by her appearance, “knocked out loaded” as he put it. He planned to marry her, which he told no one. But he never made a move, and Keith Royce from the technology branch of the company made several, after which the two of them, Mr. and Mrs. Royce, sought a transfer to the JTC headquarters fifty miles away. No spots were open but Keith Royce opened them. Keith Royce was an aggressive man. Word filtered back through the grapevine that he remained aggressive, sometimes excessively so, and that he too often fell into a trough of dark depression. Lorton does not often feel depressed. He also has never been aggressive: he was not when he meant to marry Moira after that first meeting, and he still has trouble mustering any real force to give shape to his desires. The best that he can do is to timidly and repeatedly suggest that she meet him for lunch. She agrees immediately. “I’ll pick you up,” she says. “Hot new car. I think you’ll like it.” He calls ahead to the restaurant to make sure they have seating in the room that overlooks the lake. Then he waits outside for Moira to pick him up, his heart going like a greyhound that has never even led a race but still believes that he may one day win.