A FAKER'S FABLE

Once there was a girl who wanted to be Whole. By which I do not mean in her body or demeanor, which were pleasing and pleasant, but in knowledge. She realized she did not Know all she should and had no idea of what she should read, hear and see to help her attain her goal. She thought about this quite deeply, being a rather precise girl. College taught her enough to attain her career, but to learn Arts she needed specialized knowledge, taught by Artists. But how was she to attain it? She thought and she thought. Then one morning as she passed her mirror she got an idea. She could lure young men to teach her what she wanted to Know, using her pleasing and pleasant demeanor. One for each Art would be enough. Say three or four. One for Literature, one for music, and one for painting and sculpture. She could even attract a brainless good-looking hulk to act as arm candy for a sham boyfriend. After all, she reflected, she can carry on a decent conversation and looks fairly good. Lead them on, and just give in enough to get what what I want, she thought. With her goal well established in her mind she set out to find some suckers-er, teachers (though suckers is the right word, I do not want to offend anybody. Not even fellow suckers. After all, whom do you think is writing this?
She claimed to come from Florida and spent a lot of time in Philadelphia. She took some classes at Columbia, which is where I met here. She came over to my bookstand and Used Her Demeanor to get me to recommend books. It got to the point where I was lending her volumes from my personal library, so attracted was I by her Looks and Personality. I do not know if it worked on the other Artists, but it worked on me.
From the beginning she sustained an Air Of Mystery. Now that I look back it probably meant she didn't want to get caught. I never learned her last name, where she worked, or her address, and she was very reticent to give out personal information. Although she had a cell phone she never spoke on it, instead using it for texting. Even her mother had to text her, but her mother would get calls back. To give the devil her due, I only saw her talk on the phone once, and that was for a few seconds. She would vanish for several days, usually over weekends, and claim that it was for work. If she thought I was that stupid, why would she want my help? I stockpiled some books for her and suggested we meet at a cafe close to us both, as she had now moved fairly close to me. To get her to agree to even this was a struggle, but I think she saw she would have to make some concessions to achieve her goal. She would only spend an hour with me, and that was grudgingly given. Sometimes I would ask her if she'd like to go to dinner, or to a concert or movie, and she'd claim she didn't have the time. While I didn't believe her I'd go along, not wanting to lose what I had. Which was probably why she chose me. Somebody more sure of himself would have told her to go to hell.
Finally she applied the straw that broke the camel's back. When I said one day that I didn't like feeling I was there just as a book supplier she told me that's what I was, and she respected my knowledge and liked me, but sort of said she had "friends" to help her with other things and a sort of boyfriend whom, I guess, had learned not to make too many demands.
Two weeks later the crack appeared. She came by claiming her phone was broken and she was too sick to make our date, but thanks for the books and she'd reschedule. When I tried her phone some fifteen minutes later it worked. Smoke started to come out of my ears since after a while even an idiot should be able to see what was going on.
The next day I tried to reschedule and was told she'd be busy all week. I angrily replied that nobody's so busy they can't slot in an hour for a friend.
Finally the Artist decided to stop masquerading as a doormat. I texted her goodbye and when she asked where I was going I said I was walking out. I didn't consider her a friend, didn't like being used and would rather be by myself than be used. This evolved into an almost daylong series of texts which one call would have made superfluous. You can't show emotion on a text, as was proven when she said she was texting me to see if I was all right. Nope, I said, we were fighting. We finally got together, and she told me she was moving to Philly. She'd keep in touch by looking up my blogs (which she'd only do if she didn't have to leave her E-mail address. Anything to keep somebody from finding her0
I wasn't certain about the Philly move. I never saw her except when I saw her, if you catch my drift, and she never looked at my blogs. Never texted me either. I finally and against my better judgment, texted her and got the usual BS that she'd be in NY in a couple of weeks and see me then.
Yesterday I was on my stand when somebody came over and purchased a lot of paperbacks. They asked me to pick out some SF and some CDs for next week. Seems they're a medical person living on 109th and Amsterdam, about where she lived. This' the type of stuff she'd have bought. Picking up a phone and telling somebody to do this for her is something she's fully capable of. After all, her puppet cut its strings, right? I'm gonna subtly question this person if they show up next week, and if they are indeed doing this for her I'm going to tell them if she needs anything from me she can damn well call me and make plans to see me. Thw worm's got teeth!