The Art Of Deception - Without It The World Would Be A Very Dull Place Indeed

The Devil in The Brothers Karamazov tells Ivan that he has always been misunderstood. I am always seen as this grotesque evil, he says, a macabre figure responsible for the worst things in the world, but I am nothing of the kind.  I am a trickster, a vaudevillian, a jokester responsible for making life worth living.  Without me it it would be a sodden, sanctimonious affair, an endless string of holy masses, propriety, and good sense. 

So against the grain I serve to produce events and do what's irrational because I am commanded to. For all their indisputable intelligence, men take this farce as something serious, and that is their tragedy. They suffer, of course ... but then they live, they live a real life, not a fantastic one, for suffering is life. Without suffering what would be the pleasure of it? It would be transformed into an endless church service; it would be holy, but tedious

 

Franchot Gunn, a man of infinite charm, seductiveness, and an irresistible wit who was neither a politician nor a vaudevillian, was profoundly dismissive of tedium and the 'truth' ; and as such was the best and most telling example of the America's dalliance with deception.  How hungry for it, desperate for it, needy for it we are!  Gunn was modest in aspirations and crowd appeal; but in a way he was as deceptively seductive as Ivan's Devil. 

Franchot Gunn had a silver tongue and an effusive charm, and no one could resist him. Professors, women, colleagues, supervisors, and competitors were all seduced by his grace, intimacy, and personal concern.  They had no interest in really knowing who he was, what motivated him, or from what compassionate or spiritual spring his sympathy and understanding came.  He was so good at his elegant ballet, that people were enticed, engaged, and finally hooked

They needn’t have bothered.  There really was nothing of great interest beyond Franchot’s engaging smile and direct, warm gaze.  He was complex, deeply introspective, and rigorously disciplined. He knew that the only thing that mattered in life was figuring out What Was What, wrestling with the same angels as Jacob and Job, and taking the words of the Teacher of Ecclesiastes to heart – eat, drink, and be merry; for tomorrow we die.

“Charm and a silver tongue will get you everywhere”, he told his young son. “The only lesson you will ever need to know.”  This bit of wisdom is of course not new, and ‘There’s a sucker born every minute’ was the the guiding principle of P.T. Barnum, the greatest huckster in American history.

 

Vicki Brand didn't consider herself a particularly credulous woman - she kept her own counsel, was chary to engage with the wrong kind of man, recondite in her opinions, practical and rational in her business decisions, and all in all very stable and well-ordered. While it was true that she had made some bad romantic decisions, she had learned her lesson, was back in the saddle as remote and confident as ever. 

She met Franchot at the Old Ebbitt Grill, watering hole for White House aides, Treasury Department accountants, and K Street lawyers but for her a convenient stopping off place for a martini and oysters before heading home to Bethesda.  She went there with no expectations - she was not looking for anything or that particular someone.  She had been through a number of unhappily ended affairs and was not looking to enter another.  

She had just treated herself to a second martini - bad girl, she knew, especially since John did not spare the Stoli - when Franchot sat down beside her.  'Is this seat taken?', he asked in the polite protocol of the Washington bar scene.  No, she replied, at first irritated - it was nice to have leg room at the usually crowded bar - but then gracious.  

The man who sat down and signaled the bartender ('Ah, Mr. Gunn, the usual?') was not the usual government employee - slightly frumpy, badly tailored suit, scuffed shoes, and badly knotted tie. On the contrary, he was dressed impeccably - Armani, designer glasses, Italian shoes, silk socks with a touch of color - and he could have been taken for a model. 

A man like this was not a Washington bureaucrat, nor even one of the capital's power attorneys or real estate investors.  He was simply...dreamy.  As soon as this wholly romantic, cheap dime store novel thought came into her head, she dismissed it.  There was no room in her universe for treacly love-at-first-sight, and she quickly returned her attention to her drink - was it the second or third? It never really mattered once you were on your way. The world looked nice and sparkly either way. 

The fact that he was irresistible and that he knew it added to his allure.  That diffidence, that seeming uninterest, that vacancy was always his long suit.  Women were simply, ineffably, irresistible drawn to a man who not only seems indifferent to them but is as desirable as Franchot Gunn, and so it was that she spoke first, the chit-chatty nothings that are the stock-in-trade of the bar scene.

Franchot replied courteously, spoke to the man on his right, signaled John for another drink, but showed Vicki no interest; but such was her feminine pique at such indifference that she spoke again and again. 

Now, Franchot had been down this road many times before.  He knew exactly what was going on in this woman's head, knew exactly the kind of bait to use, the right hook, and the proper tension on the line.  He was a ballet dancer with graceful moves.  From feigned indifference to faux interest, all carefully choreographed and scored.  He was a master of deception, seduction, and marvelously evil intent. 

Not only that, he understood women - the ones recovering from a badly-ended affair, those who had been months even years without a man, and those who had that clueless vacancy when it came to men.  They were still trying to sort the wheat from the chaff, the good men and the predators, the liars and cheats from the sincere, honest souls. 

There is always some degree of credulousness in women - a tendency to believe despite all odds and conditions that they are desirable, and that peculiar susceptibility clouds their eyes - the man who recognizes their inner beauty must be someone special. 

So Franchot realized immediately that Vicki was one of these needy sorts, and knew that the evening would end up well. 

Why should a man like Franchot Gunn even bother with wallflowers like Vicki?  Why should he waste this time when other more beautiful, desirable, and alluring women were there for the asking?

Because they were there, that’s why; because for a man like Franchot whose very case in point was virile confidence and universal sexual appeal, reeling in the desirable and the undesirable was simply a day on the river. Why not?

For all Vicki's assurances that she had recovered from Jason, a woman does not easily get over being left on the curb.  She had loved Jason, or at least thought she did, and then one day he was gone, disappeared into the woodwork, absent, and not even a note on her pillow.  

She cried for days, sniffled and snuffled at work, drank more than she should have, and finally recovered her composure.  Months passed and she felt she was back on an even keel. 

Franchot sensed all of this like an animal.  He had a feral sense for emotional pheromones and knew when a woman was aching.  He took pride in this sensitivity and in his ability to bed any and all comers. 

And this was why he was a worthy descendant of Ivan's Devil.  He was out to make trouble, to stir the pot, to sniff out the most needy and wounded partners, and to make hay. 

Women needed him to show them how to behave; men needed him as an example of unfeminized manhood; society itself - now more sanctimonious, censorious, and thin skinned as ever - needed him. 

He was just like the Aaron Eckhart character in the movie The Company of Men who seduces a deaf girl - the most lonely, forgotten woman in the office.  He does it because he can, because such deceit and conscious duplicity are part of the most satisfying game in the world - the Devil's game. 

Of course women who have been pursued, bedded, and left by Franchot - and other fortunate men like him - cry 'Cad!', the most despicable, heinous example of misogyny ever; but yet they forget complicity. It takes two to tango.  

Worst of all, women are not the strong, independent, fiercely confident women feminists make them out to be.  They fall hook, line, and sinker in the thousands for men like Franchot Gunn.  It is not a level playing field nor has it ever been. 

The Devil exposes himself to Ivan in another bit of chicanery, but no one else knows of this vaudevillian, this mountebank; so he goes on causing trouble to his heart's content; and so it was with Franchot Gunn, an unrepentant, uncontrite, master of deceit and troublemaking duplicity.  

There will be not much to say about him when he is gone, nor was he expecting anything - nor more than the Devil expects his due.