Michael Ian Black

His name was Rico, and he told me he was in "real estate." Only later did I understand what he meant. That night he introduced me to a friend of his, a girl named Mordeena. 

We were in a nightclub. One of those greasy, bass heavy places where you have to shout to be heard. Rico wheeled a six foot tall blonde towards me, and left to have a drink. 

"Mordeena," I said. That's an interesting name.

"It's French," she said, and even though I had taken six years of French and spent a year in France, and even though I had never heard of nor met any French people with the name Mordeena, I believed her.

Did I just want to believe her because she seemed so interested in me, so alert to my jokes, so complimentary of my appearance, never once mentioning my extra arm? 

I suppose I did. 

Within fifteen minutes it was clear we destined to be together. At least it was clear to me. She was coquettish about the subject when I brought it up. "Don't you think we were destined to be together?" I asked her.

"For how long?" she asked. And right then I should have known.

Within half hour, she excused herself to go freshen up. Rico approached, "You like my friend?" he asked. 

"She's great," I said. "I think we're destined to be together." 

"I think so, too," he said. "For the right price." 

Slowly, the realithy of the situation began to sink in. "Real estate." He bought and sold "properties." Mordeena was his property, and he was selling her to me. 

No wonder she didn't mention my extra arm. Normally that's the first thing people talk to me about. Normally we don't even get past the topic of my third arm, the one that protrudes from my stomach, and is longer than my other two arms. No wonder. She wanted me to believe that she was interested in me. In me, the way other girls never were, even though I often implied to them that that extra arm was capable of incredible feats of prestidigitation, which is a word sleight of hand magicians use, but which I have appropriated for my own. 

I began to wonder if Mordeena was even her real name.

At first I was offended. Offended that this character thought I would need to find companionship with a professional simply because of my abnormality. But then I reconsidered. The truth was, I did. I was alone on the road; the rest of the circus was back at the campgrounds or cavorting around the town. I never liked hanging out with them, anyway, didn't like the attention we drew to ourselves. 

Flippy, the Seal Boy. Mr. Boulders, the man with No Shoulders. The Girl with Two Heads. Elephant Guy. 

They were freaks. Not me. I was well-read and conversant in all manner of topics. I just had another extremity. The irony of that word "extremity" never escaped me.

Five minutes later the deal was consummated, and Mordeena and I retired to my trailer at the edge of the woods at the edge of the town. 

I was nervous at first, but she was kind and slow with me, and soon we forgot ourselves with each other. I held her with two arms and with my third, I did things that made her gasp and shudder. I have spent my life among freaks and frauds and masters of misdirection. I know when somebody is lying to me and when somebody is not. Mordeena may have been a professional liar, but with me, that night, she told the truth.

Afterwards, I slid her most of my week's pay. She counted it out and put it in her pocket. Then she opened the door of my trailer and walked out into the night. I watched her through the blinds. She stopped once and looked back. Then she got into Rico's car and drove away.

I made myself a sandwich with two arms, With my third, I combed my hair.

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