Supply and Demand #6
at work, discipline shaping citizens for capitalism—and just let it be? Sit back and benefit while others are ground down
under it? Especially here, in this country.”
“Can you name any other country with this level of innovation, or possibility? I see the downsides, I do, but life is a balance.
Choose the weight you want to bear in return for the profit you’re seeking.”
“You’re not bearing that weight, though! That whole approach negates the massive externalities inherent in capitalism.”
“I want the freedom to reap rewards equal to my effort. Nowhere is that as available as here. This country is a gift.”
“Only for some people,” she retorts. “Not everyone begins from the same starting line.”
“Tell me, then. What do you envision, in this ideal society you have in mind?”
“To start, free education. Universal childcare, healthcare. Serious climate action, full student loan forgiveness.”
“And how will you navigate the inevitable riots when taxes rise above fifty percent?”
“Tax the rich,” she snaps.
“Guillotines are also effective, I’ve heard.”
“You read my mind.”
He smiles, a condescending look. “Revolution is both exhausting and a disappointment. Change and chaos crush people more violently
than capitalism ever will.”
“That’s such a cynical attitude! You have to fight for what you believe, make the world a better place.”
He looks at her, cocking his head. “Why do you think it’s your responsibility to change the world?”
She gapes at him. “What alternative is there? Are you just content to live in the world as it is?”
“I have seen the world change, Lili. Many times over, and more significantly and drastically than you hopefully will ever
have to experience. It’s agony, seeing your country fall apart, and watching the world cheer.”
Lili falls silent, unsettled. Looking away, she glances across the room at the turned-away canvases leaning against the wall.
They remind her of the immense painting in his living room.
“Tell me that’s not a Twombly in your living room,” she says, changing the topic.
“Do you want me to lie to you?”
She groans. “Art like that should be in museums, open to the public, appreciated by all.”
“I appreciate it fine here.”
“I wouldn’t have thought you’d like modern art.”
“Technically, Twombly straddles the line between modern and contemporary art.”
“Only in the temporal sense.”
“And here I thought you were studying economics.”
Lili sighs, settling her head against his shoulder. “Don’t remind me. My draft is a mess.”
“Tell me about your thesis,” he says.
“Are you sure your capitalist heart can take it?”
His smile, caught in the morning light: She doesn’t want to like it.
“Try me,” he says.
She traces a line down his chest. “I’m exploring how the Protestant work ethic underpins late capitalism. How the doctrine
of predestination soothed their religious anxieties about salvation, made work a way of securing certainty of that salvation,
but then gets secularized. Responsibilization of self, conflation of individualism and liberation, neoliberalism, all of that.”
“A lot of Weber, I assume.”
“I have a trauma response to that name.”
“Noted. Religious roots aside, is it not a positive thing to have a strong work ethic, to find some meaning in your career?”
“It’s a capitalist sham. The idea that through labor you’ll attain meaning? Just the entire presupposition that waged labor
is inherently a social and political good.”
“What’s the alternative, then? Regulated, forced labor?”
“There’s actually a lot of great Marxist, feminist critiques about a postwork society. The concept of work today isn’t just
about productivity and economics, it’s about power and domination—making people internalize neoliberalism as their value system.”
He rolls his eyes. “You Americans have such a fascination with Marx. He’s both your monster and messiah.”
“Marx is turning over in his grave, hearing you call him a messiah.”
“Regardless, it’s ridiculous. It’s a failed vision of history, communism.”
“It is not ridiculous! Yes, Marxism isn’t the be-all and end-all, but Marxist theorists have moved beyond Marx.”
“I think I preferred it when you were an anarchist.”
“Hilarious. This exaltation—sanctification—of work, it’s what leads to people like you: worshipped in our society, enacting
capitalist violence in three-piece suits, and venerated as leaders for it.”
“I haven’t willingly worn a three-piece suit since the late nineties, at least.”
“Great, so about the time I stopped wearing onesies.”
“Hopefully also the time you started working your first job, like a good young capitalist?”
“Amazing. You support child labor, too. I can’t believe I just slept with you.”
His eyes grow warm, then—almost fond. The brush of his fingers is lazy against her bare skin.
Something in her chest stutters. Lili bites her lip, willing it back, and his gaze falls to the motion.
“Let me take you on a date,” he says, voice softer.
Lili tenses.
“Jesus, relax,” he says. He drags his knuckles up and down her spine.
“Why—why would you want to go on a date?” she asks, wary.
“I enjoy your company.”
“You’re enjoying my company right now.”
“I’d like to enjoy it more extensively.”
She doesn’t reply, searching his expression. His face is calm and relatively open, watching her watch him.
“This isn’t a trap, Lili.”
It feels like one. The amount she wants to kiss him, the amount that she likes his hands on her.
“I should go,” she whispers, after a few more moments.
A bit of the openness in his eyes shutters, but it’s a slight change; one she can only catch for a second before it’s gone.
“Alright,” he says.
Outside, the heavy summer air smothers her. Traffic is loud, wearing away her calm, replaced by a fresh bite of reality. A
faint hangover pounds in her temples. As she’d gotten ready to leave the loft, avoiding Aleksandr’s gaze, her phone had buzzed
incessantly, a stream of texts from her friends, farm staff emails about who’s managing next week’s volunteer schedule, a
ping from Kerr about her upcoming deadline. Plans in her real life, waiting.
A black car idles at the curb. Tinted windows. Lili checks Aleksandr’s text again—I have a car outside, he’d said upstairs. Don’t argue. This is the license plate number—and gets into the Maybach.
It’s a cool, mercifully air-conditioned interior. But instead of silent emptiness—a moment to process the morning—a vaguely
familiar man sits in the back seat. Expensive gray suit, close-cropped light brown hair, looking disgruntled at his phone.
“Uh, hello?” Lili says.
He looks up. She’s never met him, but he somehow already seems irritated by her.
“Hello, Miss Marwan. Do close the door, you’re letting the cold air out.”
As she gets in, wary, he tucks his phone into his breast pocket, and raps on the window.
“We can go,” he tells the driver. “Whatever address Petrov gave.”
Lili watches him suspiciously as the car pulls away from the curb. She can barely hear the city outside, insulated in this
pocket of cold wealth. “And you are?” she prompts.
“Michael. Mr. Petrov’s chief of staff.” Surprised, she suddenly locates the familiarity of his face: the photograph of a kind,
sweet boy on a park bench, barely into his twenties; a much sterner, colder man now, who seems put out at the very prospect
of having to speak with her. He glances down at his watch. “As you are likely well aware, Mr. Petrov is a busy man.”
Lili raises an eyebrow, wondering where this is headed.
“A very busy man,” he emphasizes. His accent is British, too. Hard and polished, but careful. Coldly intentional. “If we want
to be technical, the performance of entangled swaths of the global economy depend on his attention, focus, and dedication.”
“Excuse me, but does he know you’re here?”
Michael ignores her. “My job is to make sure that he’s able to do his job,” he continues. “To ensure he has the answers, strategy,
and resources he needs so we continue to deliver outstanding results to our investors.”
“I’m riveted.”
“He retains me to make his life easy, Miss Marwan.” He already sounds long-suffering, despite having only had to deal with
her for a few moments. “Efficient. Effective. You are none of these things.”
“Thank you,” she retorts.
He scowls. “Because of you, he rescheduled an entire morning of meetings today. Important clients—institutional clients—flew in from the other side of the world to discuss our shared aims and goals. Institutional clients whose performance affects the financial futures of hundreds of millions of individuals.”
“I’m not sure you can claim dogfighting with SoftBank and Blackstone for the Saudi sovereign wealth fund secures financial
futures around the world.”
Michael’s scowl deepens. Lili lifts her chin, unrelenting.
“I had to explain to these people—important people, Miss Marwan—why Mr. Petrov had to reschedule so suddenly. Had to assure
them, of course, that nothing but the utmost importance would take his attention away.” Michael’s stare is heavy and unflinching.
“And so, I find myself wondering, what is so important about you that demands his attention in this manner?”
Lili scoffs, kicking up her boots to rest on the seat in front of her. “Do I look important to you?”
He does not laugh.