JJ can’t stop himself from asking that common question. The question that only Inuit are asked in Canada. The question that signals their inbred lack of civilization. The question whose answer confirms what all white people think. After all, if you eat raw meat, you must be backward. Unless, of course, it is sushi.

“Yes,” smiles Quarta. She moves her hand into JJ’s crotch and whispers into his ear, “If I can chew and swallow that stuff, Baby, I can chew and swallow anything.”

JJ nods, his eyes staying locked onto hers. He notices her heavy false eyelashes. He notices her perfectly moulded teeth with a stain of cheap lipstick on them. He notices her wide, flat tongue. The tongue that looks like all of her. Wide, flat and dull. He wasn’t looking for brains and he won’t have to worry about that with this one. She would be a compliant companion. A no-muss-no-fuss kind of woman. Her type know their place and require very little training. And in return you had all your wildest dreams come true.

“You certainly can!” JJ replies and leans back in his chair. He can’t remember the last time he had a hard-on that mattered and was taken care of by something other than his right hand. He feels a small bump on his crotch beginning to rise like a lump of homemade bread dough in a warm bowl.

He has narrowed his choices and needs to make a decision. He seizes the moment. “If you’ll excuse me, I was hoping to use the men’s room.” JJ scurries away before his pants embarrass him.

But JJ doesn’t go to the bathroom. Instead he stands in the shadows of the lounge. He knows one thing. He knows that once he has stepped away, the members of the Rich Widows’ Club will show their real selves. He stands where he can hear them, but where he knows that they can’t see him. He tucks his right fist under his chin, a vertical posing of The Thinker. He waits for the show to unfold.

Panem et circenses, he thinks. He’d forgotten that phrase from his Latin classes until it popped back into his head a moment ago. It seems oddly appropriate for the moment: bread and circuses—that’s all one needs to rule the world. He smiles wryly as he watches Prima seat herself in JJ’s empty chair and lean in toward Quarta. Clearly, she has done her calculations and has chosen to re-enter the race.

“What in fuck do you think you are doing?” he sees her sneer. “You cannot be his winter travel companion! You can’t. You don’t have enough money to be with a guy like him. You do realize he expects you to buy your own travel insurance?”

“And not only that,” adds Tertia, “he wants a woman with good hips!”

“And no previous dead husbands!” blurts Secunda. “What is it with this guy?”

“Yeah,” moans Quinta. “What is it with all guys?”