What More Could They Want?

Amy Savage

The laboratory was immaculate and orderly, lit by fluorescent bulbs and computer screens. Humane but not human. A plate glass window separated the primatologists from their subjects. When the bonobos were not grooming each other, the so-called Love-Not-War apes ate ginger leaves, solved problems with genital rubbing, and studied fashion photographs of women. Brunettes and blondes. Women in shiny leather boots, women in furs. The blondes in furs seemed to arouse them more than the rest. With touched-up spreads of beautiful women, Margot stimulated the apes.

Dr. Donna P—, Margot’s immediate boss, insisted on being called Doctor by everyone but her own boss, Dr. Herman Z—. She let him call her Donna. Among bonobos, females dominate. Margot found it funny and sad that Dr. P—, a woman who studied a matriarchal species, would allow this pattern of subservience to continue. To herself, Margot called her superiors “Doctor Donna and Her Man,” as if a little internal mockery could equalize the hierarchy. She would have mentioned the irony of it all, but she was just out of college, eager for discovery, and needed to keep her job. Underlings are shed easily.

On Margot’s first day, Dr. Z— informed her, “In a female-dominated society, females turn each other on.” His smirk rose into his right cheek. “Everyone wants the one in charge.” He neglected to mention that the males were also aroused, as if he and his ape counterparts were immune to seduction. Over lunch, Margot asked Doctor Donna about Dr. Z—. The older woman paused. “He’s harmless,” she said. Margot understood then that Dr. Donna would never confront the big boss to help a fellow female.

Meanwhile, Margot was still attracted to men, despite the poor specimens she’d encountered and barely dated. Though her small eyes and bushy brows meant she looked nothing like the models she showed at the laboratory, Margot still hoped to find love. It wouldn’t be easy, working long hours with primates.

On her lunch break at the lab, she decided to set up an online dating profile. Just as an experiment. If she could prove some level of her attractiveness with securing a date, phase one of her experiment would be a success.

As an adolescent, Margot had tried to prove, with the use of the family dog, that she could be desirable. Her hypothesis had been that, if she displayed her affections on animals, the opposite sex would see how loving she could be; it might arouse their interest. Margot would man the roadside peach stand at her family’s small orchard. When the boys who lived in her town stopped by for fruit, she’d select the best baskets for them, but also keep her bloodhound by her side. Instead of making small talk, she would slap the hound’s behind, fondle his long tawny ears, and kiss his muzzle, hoping the boys would imagine themselves in his place. They told her she had a handsome dog.

Now, she typed into the profile field:

Animal lover and aspiring researcher. Shows monkeys sexy photos for a living. Don’t bother applying if you fear dominant females. Favorite drink? Scotch, neat.

She’d have to explain on the first date that bonobos were apes, not monkeys. But monkeys sounded better for a first impression — less intimidating, maybe even cute. She also didn’t really consider herself dominant, nor did she want a man who wanted a dominatrix, but the opposite was definitely not an option. She chose a photo of herself in enormous sunglasses to hide her eyes and brows and hoped her pithy ad would draw in a few males.

Regardless of Dr. Z—’s crass comments, Margot had mixed feelings about showing this hairy clan their equivalent of monkey porn, in part because there were three babies in captivity, this paltry excuse for jungle. Spread to form leaves and sky, acrylic paint colored the apes’ enclosure. Three long broken logs, triangulated for aerial stimulation, gave the space its geometry.

The baby bonobos sucked their crinkly black leather thumbs and rolled in the straw. They played airplane on their supine parents’ upstretched limbs. Touching their mothers’ mouths with their hands, they signaled their hunger. The babies’ inquisitive brown eyes and tucked-in pink lips gave them the look of pondering something serious. Margot knew the babies would have witnessed adult arousal in the wild, but it would not have been prompted by her. Her discomfort arose, too, from the apes’ clear preference for blondes — Margot herself was as blonde as when she was a child, though she took no pride in it. Just because you’re blonde, she told herself, doesn’t make you pretty.

When Margot was born, she was as ugly as all ape babies, squished and wet, rashy and swollen. Margot’s mother had stretched sequined elastic headbands around Margot’s infant skull, snapped her up in puff-sleeved dresses; but by three, Margot’s bushy eyebrows and small eyes had not improved. Despite Margot’s easy nature, advanced mental development, and delight in outdoor play, her mother was still disappointed.

On a Monday morning at the lab, Margot selected a photograph of a blonde woman in a purple fur with a gold collar. She was surprised to notice the woman in the photograph looked just like her mother, who had modeled lingerie for catalogs for few years before Margot was born. There was the same pouting upper lip with sharp peaks and large, deep-set eyes. The same wasting thinness. Margot assumed this model’s beauty also was enhanced by a self-imposed sickness, denying her own hunger to please the lens.

Margot’s mother had greeted her every morning with her “face on,” thick foundation and penciled brows. Most days, her mother would smoke a cigarette and drink black coffee with a splash of scotch while she watched Margot eat breakfast. On Sundays, she would join her husband and daughter for the morning meal, gorging herself on white toast and thick-cut bacon. Most Sundays, she would disappear into the bathroom after breakfast. Margot wondered why it took so long for her to brush her teeth.

Margot wanted to hug her mother, to climb into bed with her, but her mother’s body frightened her. The thin fuzz on her skin like an aura was beautiful to Margot, but her mother’s forearms shrunk to the circumference of her daughter’s grip. Her cheeks receded, and when she leaned down, Margot could see, through her mother’s thin knit pants, a tailbone. Margot’s father tried to offer his wife nourishment, a clear soup he had prepared. “Just give me some color,” she’d said weakly. She then flung her hand clumsily toward the nightstand, reaching for her beside blush, the small compact clattering to the floor. A week later, her starved heart finally failed.

Margot studied the photograph of the model so like her mother. Slightly parted lips. Long yellow hair in waves that blended into the lapels of the golden collar. Skin airbrushed smooth of pores, her thin shoulders a glorified coat hanger under the purple sleeves. Her eyelids were laden with charcoal shadow. Her expression of torpor implied intoxication with the pleasure of fur hanging from her frame. Margot looked at the image a bit too long.

 “You like looking at them too?” said Dr. Z—. He gave Dr. Donna a look as if to confirm that a woman’s gaze could only contain one form of desire.

“Hurry up and show it,” Dr. Donna said to Margot, clearly embarrassed by the whole situation.

Margot held the image of her mother’s proxy up to the glass. One of the males was interested and became aroused. His pointy pink penis swelled and stood erect. He paced, excited, from the leafy mural to the staged tree trunks and back again. From a plastic basin of fruits, he grabbed an apple and offered it, and himself, to one of the females.

At home in her battered studio apartment, Margot poured herself two fingers of scotch in an old jelly jar. She checked her dating app. No responses. Margot set down her scotch on the bathroom vanity and opened the window. The scrawny tree on the curb readied itself to bloom. She checked her profile again and is pleased to find someone has “smiled” at her. A perfectly round and generic yellow smile from Carl247. She looked at the man’s profile picture. A pleasantly plain, slightly overweight, dark-haired realtor. His eyes were a bit too eager and his lips a bit dehydrated. Satisfied to have achieved phase one, she sent back a generic yellow wink.

Margot drew a bath. The cool white tiles and chrome faucet clean and civilized. She imagined she was a child again and her hands were someone else’s to bathe her. Margot envied the apes their group grooming, eager eating, freedom from necessary achievements.

By the sink, Margot’s phone beeped with an alert, a brief message from Carl247. “Monkeys? Interesting! I’d call myself a puppy in a man suit.” Puppy. Not dog. Margot wondered at his choice of words. Was it a hint at subservience, immaturity, adorability, or worse, incontinence? She typed, “Apes, not monkeys,” then deleted it. Not much to go on verbally, but he was employed with smooth cheeks and a tie. Too rigid? Or just the best picture he had? Certainly not the type she had expected to respond to her ad. The photo didn’t look altered, and the extra weight was a good sign.

Rather than prolonged messaging, Margot suggested meeting that coming Friday. She could freshen up and get changed after work when everyone had left, thus sparing Dr. Z— the pleasure of mocking her. “How’s 8PM?” she asked Carl247.

Margot turned the hot water on again, her naked legs reddening with the scalding water. Several minutes later Margot looked at her profile. There was another yellow smile. Maybe Carl247 is too eager after all. But it was a different smile. Or, rather, the same smile, but from a different man. Beginner’s luck. A classic alpha male: square-jawed, broad smile, even teeth except for an upper incisor that protruded slightly. Smallish eyes under sturdy peaked — but not too pointy — brows. Rob_Royce. No profession listed. He wrote, “Dominant male seeks dominant female. Goofy guy who can monkey around. Favorite drink? Bourbon, any style. Compatible?”

Margot sighed. Rob_Royce was handsome enough to lure, bland enough to prevent too much disappointment. For the sake of her experiment, she knew to standardize her responses, but she was only human. She looked back and forth at the profile pictures of the two respondents. She responded to Rob_Royce. “Perhaps… Meet next Friday at 8:30? Don’t forget your (mon)keys.” Leave your own desires ambiguous, match his bad jokes to placate. She suggested the same bar where she planned to meet Carl247. She’d experiment on herself a little, testing at the last minute who she would choose. Too excited to soak in her bath, she pulled the plug, toweled off, and reached for her faded green bathrobe.

Her robe reminded her of the olive coat she wore as a child, frayed at the hems. After her mother had died, her father offered to find her a new coat on end-of-season clearance. His last effort to have her play dress up, to prove she could pass for pretty. Spring’s damp earthy wind filled the air, that scent that reminds people they are animals. They drove to New York City.

At Macy’s, Margot and her father followed the signs for coats up the escalators to the fifth floor. Furs. By the time Margot’s father realized his error, two young men in white gloves had ushered them through the heavy vault doors into a bank of coats, stoles, and muffs. Glossy black sleeves, gold spotted collars, downy beige trim.

The guards in white gloves explained how the furs were made, from tanning to patterns to seams. They asked Margot what she would like to try on. She had no answer so they suggested a mink. Looking back at this moment, Margot remembered the shame she felt as she saw the young men’s gaze linger on the cheapness of her coat as they put it aside. Out of a vault, they brought a thick glossy purple mink. The men held the garment for her as she slid her arms into the sleeves. Two men attended to her and her father admired her, in a way she had thought she longed for. The coat hung down to her knees and past the tips of her fingers. She stretched out her right arm and saw how the sleeve caught light and shadow in ripples and mounds. She touched the left sleeve, a pocket. Then the breast. She slipped her hands under the armpits, losing them in the dense fur.

“You look just like your mother,” her father said with a mixture of bewilderment and praise. Margot knew her father expected a smile, but she couldn’t manage it. The two attendants’ gloved hands quickly drew the mink off her shoulders and placed it back in the vault where it belonged.

Now Margot stood in her old green bathrobe, finishing her scotch. She thought of the models, their airbrushed veins and apparent pleasure to be seen in another’s skin. She, too, wanted to feel enveloped and admired. Neither Carl247 nor Rob_Royce would be impressed by a ratty robe. Time to buy something sexy.

On Friday, Margot looked in the mirror before going to work. She decided to pluck her eyebrows, the first time since high school. A little shape to something that’s already there wasn’t false advertising. She yanked at the follicles. A bead of blood rose to fill the hole where a hair had been. With enough money, Margot could be almost any kind of woman. She could pay a surgeon to carve her cheeks and eyelids and remold them for the appearance of larger eyes. She could buy contact lenses to simulate larger irises. Large eyes like a baby’s, what men have been taught to want.

At the lab, Dr. Donna said, “You look different.” Reluctant, but not unpleasant, with that lingering ring that expects explanation. Dr. Z— squinted at her for a moment, like he’d mistaken one thing for another.

That evening, when the others had left, the laboratory lights on their timer suddenly dimmed to save power. The building was as quiet and unsettling as a vault. The apes’ enclosure was dark and the animals were already asleep. Margot looked through the window down to the parking lot and saw the two familiar security guards chatting near the building’s entrance.

Margot took her bag and went to the bathroom. In the mirror she arranged her hair loosely about her shoulders. She put on lipstick and smelled the waxy red paste on her mouth. She reached into her bag and pulled out the fur, found a few days earlier in a bargain bin uptown. An eggplant purple cloak complete with hood and gold clasp to secure it at the neck. The fur was fake, synthetic, man-made. Unnatural. But it was thick and warm, the color of royalty, of honored family lines.

Little Purple Riding Hood, going to meet the wolves. As trustworthy as they try to be, men were always a threat. Carl247 and Rob_Royce competed for the same mate, unaware. Margot figured she could just tell them to take a hint from the bonobos and rub their scrota together in a conciliatory gesture. She chuckled as she stripped.

Margot stood nude under the fluorescent light. Her skin looked sickly with the reflection of the blue wall tiles. Her ribs stuck out under her small breasts. Her shoulders and torso were too narrow for her hips, but at least she had hips. She turned and looked over her shoulder at her backside in the mirror. Little brown moles on her back, squarish buttocks dimpled with cellulite above thin pale legs. Under the ill blue light, she saw her mother’s body, the one she preferred to remember, the one that, at one point, had invited touch.

She fondled the purple fur, then draped it over her bare shoulders. She felt its itchy backing, cheap and coarse. She pulled on the hood, shadowing her eyes. She didn’t want to get her hopes up too much about the men, but there they were, rising. Her heart raced a little, her stomach jittery. She needed this to work.

Margot pulled the fur around her and walked in bare feet back down the corridor. The little black dress stayed crumpled in her bag. In the laboratory, she approached the glass window and turned on the lights. The apes squinted in the sudden brightness. The timing was wrong, but they expected a certain routine with the lights. The alpha female turned her head toward Margot and stared.

Margot was blonde. She was a woman in fur. She felt the thrill of sentient eyes upon her. Why show them a picture when they could have something real? They recognized her, the woman behind the glass. But the apes were not aroused by her synthetic purple cloak and blonde hair. Margot opened her fur.

Unchanged, the bonobos simply stared, waiting. They soon turned away from her to groom each other.

What more could they want? Margot thought desperately. She stepped out into the corridor and faced the locked door to the bonobos’ enclosure. A fire extinguisher and ax hung on the wall. She grabbed the handle of the ax and swung the blade at the door handle, breaking it with a loud clang and crack. She could hear the apes’ frightened hoots and shrieks. The security alarm, synced to the laboratory’s outer entrance door codes, began to blare. Margot shook the broken handle loose and quickly stepped inside. The apes were pacing, agitated. Margot shut the door behind her, trespassing into the last space the apes had to themselves. She turned to face them.

Suddenly, the alpha female lunged for her. Terrified, Margot covered her face and head. The ape tackled her, embraced her in powerful bristly arms. With leathery hands, the bonobo pressed Margot to her chest. As shock turned to awareness, Margot’s fear changed to surrender. Her naked skin tingled against the coarse hair and warm bosom of the ape.

The alarm still piercing, Margot turned her head and saw, through the glass, the security guards entering the door on the far side of the dim laboratory. Soon they would tear her from the bonobo’s arms. If offered a phone call, Margot could try to reach her father or a lawyer. Out of an ingrained sense of duty, she could call Carl247 and Rob_Royce, to inform them she’d changed her mind.

Margot saw the guards rush through the laboratory. But, reflected in the glass, she also saw her own small pale face surrounded by dark fur, under the bonobo’s face and shining dark eyes. She tried to meet those reflected eyes with her own, but the ape turned her head. Margot closed her eyes and turned her cheek against the ape’s flat elongated breasts. She inhaled deeply a sweet musky scent. Whether the bonobo was offering protection or restraint, Margot might never know. But she was relieved. She had discovered something, a pleasure more primal than success or seduction. It felt so good to trust being held, no matter the benefit or burden of her body on the one who held her. Margot relaxed into the bonobo’s embrace. The ape kept her close, touching her hair as any mother would.