The Love Machine

by Nicholas Bruner

Tina sank back and fanned herself with a notebook melodramatically. “Mmm. Jason Burman. I love that boy.”

  “Are you sure?” Alcie said. She pulled the sleeve up on her oversized sweatshirt and dipped a fry in ketchup. “Everybody at school saw you slobbering all over Corn yesterday. Is he your new boyfriend or what?”

  Some of the girls tittered. Tina shoved Alcie playfully. “Shut up, I can’t believe I did that! I plead temporary insanity.” She took one of Alcie’s fries. “You know what the weirdest thing about that is?”

  “What’s that?” Alcie said.

  “Yesterday in choir, he had this kind of machine or something and held it up to my head while we were singing. And the next thing I know, I think he’s like the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

  “Oh my God, are you serious?” asked a girl with a bi-level haircut and an acid-washed jean jacket. “He must have scrambled your brains.”

  “Yeah. I only saw it for like a second out of the corner of my eye ’cause we were supposed to be watching Mrs. Collier. It looked like a cordless telephone or something, except it had all these wires sticking out of it and was glowing blue.”

  “Truly?” Alcie said.

  “I swear to God I’m not making this up. But where would he get a machine like that?”

  A skinny girl with glasses named Monica spoke up. “I know where.”

  “You do?” Alcie asked. “Didn’t you just move here like a week ago?”

  “It’s been a month, thank you. Have you not noticed me sitting here every day?”

  “Please excuse Alcie, she’s very self-involved,” Tina said. “So you were saying about the machine?”

  “Okay, I have gym class with these two guys, Barrow and Grunt. I think they hang out with Corn a lot, right? And I overhead them talking about something called a love machine that’s supposed to make people fall in love with you. It sounded like that guy Alva invented it.”

  Tina punched her fist in her hand. “Alva! That nerd.” She looked at Alcie apologetically. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Alcie said. The color drained a bit from her face. “I’m fine. It’s been six weeks since we broke up. And two days. I’m really fine.”

  “I think Alva’s kind of cute,” Monica said, pushing her glasses up.

  Alcie gave her a glance, got ahold of herself. “Forget about him. Nerd city.” She turned back to Tina. “So did Corn try to take advantage of you or what?”

  “Not really. I mean, maybe a little. He took me to his band practice, and then to a movie, and we pretty much made out the whole time.”

  “Ew,” a couple girls said in unison.

  “I know. It’s crazy. But then in the middle of the movie I came to my senses. He was trying to put the moves on me so I stood up and slapped him and walked out.”

  “Good for you,” Alcie said. “What are you going to do now?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t really do that much.” She flipped another of Alcie’s fries in her mouth.

  “But Tina, you have to do something,” a girl in a diamond-patterned cardigan over a white turtleneck said from the far end of the table. “Think about your reputation.”

  “Laurie’s right.” Alcie took hold of Tina’s arm. “You don’t want the boys thinking you’re easy. If you don’t do something they’ll get the wrong idea.”

  “I guess,” Tina said. “What do y’all think I should do?”

  “Tell everyone he has a tiny dick,” Acid Wash Girl suggested.

  Alcie waited until the laughter died down. “Not bad. But then she’d have to admit she’s seen his dick.” She narrowed her eyes at Tina. “You haven’t, have you?”

  “Hell no!” Tina said.

  The bell rang and everyone around the table stood up. Alcie walked next to Tina as they joined the crowd going out the door. “Is it okay if I spend the night tonight?”

  “Probably,” Tina said. “I’ll check with my mom.”

  “Perfect. I might have an idea. We’ll talk it over then.”

  Friday, 10:15 p.m.

  “Dude, make a move,” Barrow said to Grunt. The game board and pieces were spread on a table in the half of Alva’s basement that was still a den. Empty pizza boxes and soda cans littered the floor. Four sleeping bags sat jumbled in the corner, destined to remain unused. “It’s Risk, not watching paint dry.”

  “I really have to win this,” Grunt said. “It’s easy for you guys to meet girls, but I need the Love Machine.” He righted a horseman who’d fallen over. “Anyway, I’m counting my armies.”

  “You have forty-four armies in Indonesia,” Alva said. “And eight in New Guinea, being wasted. And you’ve been staring at the board for two minutes twenty-six seconds.”

  “I have to be sure,” Grunt said. He took a long swig from his two-liter Dr. Pepper bottle. “I’ve got to win this. Okay, Indonesia attacks Siam.”

  “I have one army there,” Barrow said. “You had to think for two-and-a-half minutes to decide to do that?”

  “Come on, y’all, just roll the dice so I can have my turn,” Corn said, tapping his fingers.

  Barrow rolled a two and Grunt rolled two fives and a four. “Hey, I won!” He pushed his entire force across the Malacca Strait. “Okay, that’s it for my turn. I get a card, right?”

  Alva handed him a card, rolling his eyes.

  Corn grabbed the red attacking dice from Grunt’s hand. “Yeesss, my turn! Let’s see, I get four armies. Now let me look, where can I kill Alva?”

  “You know you’re going to lose this game, don’t you?” Barrow said. “I mean, you’re not playing with any strategy. You’re just attacking Alva every time.”

  “Yeah, well I don’t need the Love Machine. You couldn’t pay me to take it.” Corn placed his pieces on the board. “Okay, Urals into Ukraine. Four armies against two.”

  Alva sighed and rolled his two defending dice as Corn rolled with a battle cry: “Screw you, Alva!” The dice rattled around the box top. “Oh, hey, I won twice. You lose!”

  “Yeah, thanks again,” Alva said. “Are you done?”

  “I suppose so.” He handed the attacking dice to Barrow.

  Friday, 11:43 p.m.

  “Girl, I would let Patrick Swayze touch me anywhere he wants,” Tina said, leaning forward until her eyes were about six inches from the TV screen. “And then I would suggest some places he hadn’t even thought of yet.”

  “Get out of my way, I can’t see the screen!” Alcie pulled Tina back onto the pink comforter. Everything in Tina’s room was pink and frilly, from the queen-sized waterbed to the frilly curtains to the multi-level shoe rack. “Also, you almost knocked over the popcorn.”

  “Oh my God, he has his shirt off in this scene,” Tina drooled. “I would love to be Doc Clay.”

  “Or that nurse,” Alcie said.

  “Or the bandage she’s putting on his abs. Look at them.”

  “I know it.” Alcie picked up the remote and put the movie on mute. “So. I’ve been thinking about how you can get revenge on Corn.”

  Tina’s mouth turned down a little at the corners. “Alcie, it’s not that big a deal.”

  “It is a big deal, Tina! You can’t let him get away with something like this. If he doesn’t learn his lesson, he’ll think he can do it to any girl he meets.”

  Tina sighed. “So, what’s your idea then?”

  “We have to get the Love Machine for ourselves and use it on him.”

  “Why?” Tina asked. “To make him even hornier? I don’t think he needs any help falling in love with girls.

  “No, he doesn’t, but that’s not what I mean to do. What if he fell in love with a girl all wrong for him? You know how he likes big booty girls, he’s always talking about it. But what if we made him fall in love with some skinny-ass girl?”

  Tina nodded and grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Okay, I see where you’re going. Then, when he recovered and realized what’d happened, he’d know what it feels like.”


  “Exactly!” Alcie said.

  “But who would the girl be?”

  Alcie pursed her lips. “I haven’t figured that one out yet.”

  “Hey, I have an idea,” Tina said.

  “For a girl?”

  Tina laughed. “No, for us! Come on, let’s go do our nails. Unless you want to finish the movie first?”

  “Nah,” Alcie said. “I’ve seen Roadhouse like twenty times.”

  Saturday, May 4th, 12:15 a.m.

  “Headbanger’s Ball? Are you kidding? They play the same shit every week.” Corn sprawled himself across the couch and changed the channel with the remote while Barrow sat on one of its arms, with Grunt and Alva still hunched over the gaming table. “Here we go. Roadhouse, son. Patrick Swayze is a badass.”

  “We’ve seen that movie a million times,” Barrow said. “And make some room.”

  “Think again,” Corn said.

  “Come on, just one cushion.”

  “Go find your own chair, this is my spot.”

  “Fine, have it your way.” Barrow slid off the armrest and stomped off. “And Patrick Swayze sucks.”

  “You’re delusional.” Corn called from the couch. “Hey Grunt, who’s the best action hero?”

  Grunt ran his hand through his hair at the gaming table. “Umm, Sly.”

  “What, Stallone? No way!”

  “Dude, Rambo and Rocky,” Grunt said. “But I really have to concentrate now, okay?”

  Barrow stopped by the table. “Y’all are on hour number three, you know.”

  “It’s almost done,” Alva said, tapping his fingers on the table. “Grunt has about eighty armies in Siam. I think he’s going to break out soon.”

  “Well, good luck,” Barrow said. He put his hand on Grunt’s shoulder. “Maybe you should attack this turn.”

  “I don’t know,” Grunt said. “I just don’t know. I really need this chance with the Love Machine. I’m not sure I have enough armies yet.”

  “I’m pretty sure you do,” Barrow said. “Say, Alva. Where’s that old remote control you fixed up?”

  “Somewhere over there,” Alva said, pointing to some metal shelves. “Don’t touch anything else.”

  “Who do you pick, Barrow?” Corn called.

  “Mel Gibson,” Barrow called out from where he peered into the dusty shelving unit.

  “Mel Gibson, that’s solid,” Corn said. “Hey Alva? What about you?”

  “Best action star? Jackie Chan, of course.”

  “Jackie who?”

  “He’s from Hong Kong. Police Story. Drunken Master. You should see ‘em.”

  Corn clicked his tongue. “Man, why do you have to nerd everything up? I don’t wanna see your Hong Kong-phooey shit.”

  Grunt adjusted a piece and traced a finger around Asia. “Okay, I think I’ve got it. Siam into China. All my armies against your one.”

  “Okay, got it,” Alva said, rolling his die. “A one.”

  “Two sixes and a four!” Grunt said. “Got you. Let’s keep going. China into Mongolia.”

  “Found it!” Barrow yelled from the shelving unit. He ran back to the TV, pressing buttons as he ran and leaping over the back of the couch where he landed on Corn’s legs. The TV started flipping through channels.

  “Hey, knock it off! I’m watching this!” Corn picked up his remote and tried to switch the channel back.

  “Ha, won’t work, I have the Alva-Control,” Barrow said. “Overrides regular remotes every time. Headbanger’s Ball, here we come.”

  “No way.” Corn leaped up and ran to the set, attempting to change the channel manually. “Change, damn it! Change!”

  Heavy metal blared from the speakers and a long-haired guitarist appeared on the screen, his head banging as he played. “All right, Death Angel,” Barrow said, settling back on the cushions.

  “Mongolia down, now for Japan!” Grunt called out from the gaming table.

  “It’s not working,” Corn said, repointing the antenna on the TV set. Barrow tipped over laughing on the couch.

  “That’s because the rabbit ears don’t do anything,” Alva said as he rolled the dice. “The TV’s hooked up through the cable box.”

  “Then why’d you even leave them on top?”

  Alva shrugged and rolled again. “I didn’t have any place else to put them.”

  “Screw you, Alva!” Corn shouted as the screeching guitar solo segued into a thundering drum solo. “Screw you!”

  “Hey, I won again,” Grunt said. He took a long swig from the Dr. Pepper bottle. “Japan into Kamchatka! The Love Machine is going to be mine!”

  Chapter Six

  Monday, May 6th, 8:26 a.m.

  There she was at her locker. Blue jeans and cream blouse with lacy patterns on the sleeves. Hair so red it flamed like…like… well, it was really red, anyway. Come on, Grunt, you got this. Doesn’t matter if it’s awkward, you got the Love Machine. You can fix anything wrong later. Just do this.

  Grunt gulped and stepped forward. “Hey, Kyna, how’s it going?”

  “Hi Greg,” she said. “What are you up to?”

  “Just, uh, going to class. You know. So, I was wondering if you might, if you’re not too busy, want to do something some time? Like go to a movie?” She’s not saying anything. Just standing there. Is it awkward yet? How much time has passed? Oh God, how long has it been? Say something! “Or something?” No, you idiot!

  She fixed him with those eyes. Her eyes were green. So, so green. “I would love to. Can I give you my number?”

  “Um, yeah, right, let me get out some paper.” He fumbled a sheet of notebook paper from his backpack. Somehow she already had a pen out. It had a little frog on the end. A green frog. That matched her eyes.

  She spoke as she wrote. “You know, the drama department’s putting on a play Wednesday night. It might be fun to go to that.”

  Grunt took the paper back from her, looked it over. Her name in cursive was light and perfect and beautiful. “Play. Wednesday. Right.”

  She smiled. “You can call tonight and we’ll talk it over.”

  “Good idea,” Grunt said. The bell rang. “Tonight. Okay. The bell rang. I have to go to class now.”

  “Me too,” Kyna said, shutting her locker door with an adorable little push. “Tonight.”

  Monday, 8:38 a.m.

  “Hey, Alva,” Monica leaned across the aisle and whispered while Mr. Shumacher passed their physics tests back. “I heard you’re in a band.”

  “Sure am,” Alva whispered back.

  “Y’all play parties?”

  “We do if you’re having one.”

  “What kind of music do you play?”

  Alva thought a bit. “Oh, a little of everything. Funk. Rock. Metal.”

  Mr. Shumacher stepped into the aisle and handed Monica’s paper back with a disapproving glance. A D+ was circled in red at the top.

  Monica frowned and leaned out again after Mr. Shumacher passed. “How much do you charge?”

  “I don’t know. We’ve never played a gig. Forty bucks?”

  “Really? That’s it?” Monica pushed her glasses up. “Okay, forty bucks. The Latin Club spring party is Friday after school. Four o’clock. Can y’all play then?”

  “Definitely. We’ll be there.”

  Mr. Schumacher cleared his throat and passed Alva’s test back. A-.

  “So how are you in charge of Latin Club?” Alva whispered back. “Didn’t you just start school here last month?”

  “Only trying to make friends,” Monica said. “By the way, what’s the band’s name?”

  “Umm. The name?”

  “Yeah, to put on the flyers.”

  Alva mused a few moments. “Alva… and the Hip Monks?”

  “Alva and the Hip Monks,” Monica said. “Got it.”

  Wednesday, May 8th, 8:54 p.m.

  “Kyna, would you trust me if I asked you to close your eyes, and don’t open them no matter what happens?” Grunt asked.

 
“Sure,” she said. “Could you tell me what for?”

  Kyna sat in Grunt’s passenger seat. The play was over. He’d laughed in all the right places, and they’d even held hands for a while. Some Shakespeare thing: A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It actually hadn’t been too boring. He’d liked the dude who turned into a donkey. Of course, with Kyna, doing anything would be fun.

  “Um. Can I tell you afterwards?” Grunt shifted a little uncomfortably.

  “No problem.”

  “Okay, go ahead and close your eyes then.” She did and Grunt reached into his backpack behind his seat, pulling out the Love Machine. He pushed the button and it hummed and glowed. He placed the machine behind her left ear.

  “Is there supposed to be a humming?” she asked, giggling but keeping her eyes closed. “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing. I’ll tell you when it’s done. Just about thirty more seconds.”

  “Okay,” Kyna said. “I’ll be patient.”

  The time passed and he clicked the machine off. “Okay, you can open your eyes.”

  She glanced with surprise at the device in his hand. “What’s that? Some kind of portable telephone?”

  “It’s a…love machine. Do you feel any different?”

  Kyna looked at him. He was his same usual adorable self. Mussed up hair like a little boy. A big, sexy tummy under a black Megadeth t-shirt. A concerned expression furrowing his eyebrows. “No, should I?”

  “I don’t know,” Grunt said.

  Kyna smiled. “You’re so silly.” She leaned over, holding her face near his. He leaned forward too, and their lips brushed each other. Abruptly, Grunt pulled back.

  “What’s wrong?” Kyna asked.

  “It’s not right,” Grunt said. “I’m sorry, it’s not right to do it this way.”

  “Do what? We’re not doing anything wrong.” She put a hand on Grunt’s shoulder. “I don’t understand.”

  Grunt turned the key and the engine in the Nissan roared to life. “Stupid Love Machine,” he muttered under his breath. “Stupid Alva.”

  “Where are we going?” Kyna asked. “Did I do something wrong?”

  Grunt sighed and pulled the car out into the roadway. “Nothing. I…I have to take you home now.”