the matchmaker's wages

"prices...have the function of neutralising something infinitely more dangerous than paying in money, namely, owing somebody something” lacan, seminar ii

remembrance ball on board, james tissot

she could not take her boyfriend’s best friend’s crush on her seriously enough to be validated by it. although she was hardly immune to flattery, she couldn’t help being aware that she was almost the only woman he spoke to regularly, or that he hadn’t dated in a while. she was protected from temptation even to toy with him, because she did not feel chosen.

when she looked at things from a market standpoint, there was no real reason he should be lonely. he was big, and had a good job and was nice. why did someone who had read emma multiple times decide to do what she did?

some genuine matchmaking advice: wu wei. she planned a movie night. invited another couple & him & her friend. the couples of course sat together, which pushed him and her friend together. she played a cult horror film—the kind of thing they both liked more than she did. during a jump scare she saw her friend gasp & grip his arm. then after the movie, she could complain that she still didn’t like this kind of thing, & they could argue against her, on the same side.

it took them longer than she’d hoped to settle into a pair. was he gameless or did he enjoy a little trouble? either way she was impatient to hang out as four instead of three.

a four-legged table is more stable when you’re worried about what loads it can support without tipping. but a tripod is more stable when the ground beneath is uneven. things did not play out like she expected. he suddenly lapsed into petty nastiness towards her. once the four of them rented a place together for a weekend trip. our heroine complained about the air conditioning, asking if they could turn up the thermostat a few degrees. he said, “or you could start wearing more clothes.” the pique in his voice silenced all of them. she was in pants, a croptop, & a sweater—not noticeably less modest than his girlfriend’s t-shirt & shorts. rather than point this out she diffused the tension by saying “i guess i’m cold-blooded.” a general low laugh. the thermostat stayed where it was.

then another time she asked him for some small favor—the kind of thing he had done a million times before, the kind of thing she frequently did for him, for anyone—and he turned her down flat. this mortified her. she’d always thought he was just nice. in retrospect she should have diagnosed it as a symptom of his crush, but he’d always been so unobtrusive about it, so free of the self-conscious knight-errant chivalry w which most men do flirtatious favors. apparently that was because he just didn’t know how.

she was shocked by his lack of gratitude. even if pussy had been all he’d ever wanted from her—she had given him pussy! pussy that didn’t even cost him a friendship! of course, she thought, her goal had been the minimum necessary intervention, like the reality-changing bureaucrats in the end of eternity. and she knew that he was not necessarily very socially sensitive in the first place, one reason he had ended up in the position to need her help. he probably just did not know what she’d done for him.

what hurt was how uncomfortable his girlfriend was obviously made by his little lashings-out. our heroine hadn’t been moved by his crush because she didn’t feel like he had chosen her over anyone else. his girlfriend didn’t even feel sure that he wouldn’t choose our heroine over her.

by whose agency did the couples finally spiral apart?