I have always admired professional con artists. Of course many people have heard the stories of Frank Abagnale and David Hampton, or professional hoaxer Alan Abel, but I think the best con artist are the ones we don’t know about. The more mysterious a person is, the more interesting they usually are. Cons can be used for many things, but I am less concerned with many things and more concerned with one: getting laid.
I have always fancied myself as a con man of sorts, but maybe I am just a good liar. Or maybe, girls are just very gullible. Any or all is possible, and it doesn’t really matter which. The important thing is that at some point during high school I became fascinated with the art of lying. I was very interested in writing, and creating short films, and of course lying is an integral part of both professions. Creating characters is an essential step, and the best part is they can be anything you want.
I often found myself thinking of grandiose ambitions or dangerous schemes I could attempt, but I never had the means to follow through with. I could, however, always write about it.
In high school I began to blur the line between my imagination and my reality. I might start telling a true story, but I would often find myself exaggerating details or simply embellishing the entire thing.
I was dating a girl during my senior year. One night I had just dropped her off at her house, and she had gone inside when I realized that she had left her jacket in my car. I called her to come back out and get it, and then I saw an opportunity. I remembered that I had a Journey CD in the car, and so I quickly fast forwarded and pressed pause. When I saw her coming out of the house I grabbed the jacket, hit play, and turned up the volume. Her eyes glinted a reflection of the lights off the damp street. It was cold. She moved to take the jacket and I pulled her close to me. Looking into her eyes I saw beauty. I kissed her as Faithfully took off. It was the perfect scene.
This was my first taste of deception. I had created an atmosphere, a setting, that wasn’t real. Of course, this girl was very smart (one reason I actually liked her), and she saw right through the gimmick. But I loved the rush. I loved the control. I loved the power.
I began to script my life. Plan scenes and carry them out. When I reached college I found that meeting girls in clubs and bars was the perfect place to hone my skills. If I was just trying to get laid then why be honest? I could literally tell these girls whatever I wanted, and they wouldn’t know the difference. That is exactly what I did. I had many personas and countless professions.
Most of the time I would say that I was a grad student. Maybe a psychology major, or basically anything more interesting then political science. One night I was a med student doing my residence at Tallahassee Memorial (finger banged her in the bathroom). One night I had just passed the BAR exam and was considering putting off a position at a firm to travel(laid). One night I was a lawyer for Raymond James Financial (make-out, blow-job). Having an actual career instantly made me more appealing than ninety percent of the other guys at a party. If I had a wing man then I could have him corroborate my story, but usually a little bit of information was all it would take to convince. “Oh I work for Pierce and Pierce,” ever heard of it?” Too easy.
One night I went to one of those downtown clubs that try to look much more classy than they are. It’s all very posh inside and out, but most of the people (especially the women) were college age, and trying very hard. Tight, short dresses made me think of smooth, soft, legs, skin, sex. It was time. We passed through the line at the front like we knew the fucking owner and strolled right in. Confidence equals respect and respect gets you privileges.
I was wearing Ralph Lauren pleated trousers and fitted shirt along with a Ralph Lauren skinny necktie. Although it was about eleven thirty I was wearing my Ray Bans because I didn’t care.
When we got inside we realized it was packed and the idea of pulling any good looking chicks from the crowd was intimidating,but I wasn’t too worried. I had been in this situation before, and if there was anything I had learned it was to be patient, because anything can happen (and it often does). Acknowledging this, I proceeded to relax and take up a position at the outside bar. Looking good was assured, creating an aura of intrigue was necessary. I lit a cigarette with a silver zippo and waited. Sipping a drink as everyone else pounded them. Phil was getting worried, and to be honest I was too. An hour in, and there wasn’t much progress. I was walking up some stairs with Phil when a girl I had seen earlier came down with a guy who looked as if he meant to take her home. She made eye contact with me, and as I attempted to disregard her obviousness, her lips made the words, “help me.”
It really wasn’t all that serious. She just didn’t want to go home with this guy. I took the initiative and grabbed her hand saying, “Hey, you can’t leave everyone is still inside!” The guy she was with turned with her to look at me as I waved for Phil to cover me.
“Oh yeah,” she said turning to the guy and kissing him on the cheek. “I’m sorry, I can’t leave yet.” Cock-blocked.
I took her to another area where there were less people and Phil followed probably wondering what is going on. We began talking. She thanked me and I realize this was an opportunity. She kept touching my shoulders, tugging my tie, and I glared at Phil giving him the signal to start the game.
The formality of small talk makes anticipating questions and more importantly answers much easier. I don’t like small talk in important conversations, but when crafting a well thought out lie small talk is essential.
“Where are you from?” I asked moving closer.
“I’m living in Ft. Myers. I go to Florida Gulf Coast,” she said.
“Really? I’ve got some friends down there. I like the town. I heard the club scene is pretty good.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t gone out much yet. I’ve been rushing,” she said.
“Oh yeah what sorority?”
“Tri-Delt.”
“That’s a good one,” I said. I was looking at her now and she wasn’t a hardbody, but she wasn’t bad. She was wearing a red mini dress, I think, and some very high heels. She didn’t really seem like Tri-Delt material, but I imagine as far as sororities go FGCU is a 2A school.
“Yeah I, like, really like it,” she said. “So where do you go to school?”
“I don’t,” I said glancing at Phil to make sure he was in. “I’m a lawyer. I’m working in JP Morgan’s legal department,” I said without hesitation.
She looked at me almost dumbfounded. “Really? You look young.”
“I’m the youngest one, I’m twenty-three.”
Then Phil chimed in to authenticate my story. “He isn’t lying. He really does work for JP Morgan. This kid is the smartest guy I know. How many years did it take you to graduate at Florida State?”
“Two and a half,” I said as if I wasn’t meaning to brag. “It’s been a trip. I came out because Phil told me the Sigmas were gonna be here tonight. What are you doing in Tampa?”
“I came up to meet my friends,” she said,
“You should introduce Phil to one of your friends,” I suggested trying to repay Phil’s favor. There wasn’t enough time, however, because maybe seven minutes after meeting this girl I had my tongue in her throat. I was a beast.
One day I’m sure karma will take me down. If I ever actually love a girl I will probably lie about something, and then she will think she can’t trust me. Honestly, doing what I do, I don’t see myself meeting the girl I could love anytime soon. Hardbodies are hardbodies they come and go.
I lie because I like the rush. And in some dark bar, some deserted dance floor, some slow drone of bass trails off. A black dress drenched in sweat and a necktie pulled loose hangs low from the collar. Empty champagne bottles cover white tables with their sparkle. Another beer, another shot, another hit, another line, another bar, another party, another club, another girl, another night, another week, another month, another year, another life. In some dive I’ll be waiting, with my Ray Bans on. Lurking. Still lying.
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