David Mamet observed that the "con" in "con man" comes not from the con man taking the confidence of the mark, or victim; rather, it is from the con man giving his own confidence to the mark.
Suckers will always fall for the confidence of a good con man, because if he's really good, we'll desperately want to believe him. It might be embedded in our subconscious, but it is there - we want to believe that what we are being told is the truth.
Someone told me a story recently that reminded me about confidence. He's an English actor, a genuine, salt-of-the-earth bloke. He was telling me about an acting gig he had on a large US TV series. The female lead was a hugely respected and famously intelligent American actress of the same vintage and calibre as Helen Mirren or Meryl Streep. The production was based in a remote fishing village on the northwest corner of Vermont. My friend and this actress got to talking, got along quite well, and, over the course of the next 10 days, they became friends, meeting in the interminable breaks between takes to play Scrabble in a trailer.
He learned that she had recently got divorced after a long-term marriage, but there was no flirtation or sexual chemistry between them. She was looking for company and my friend was missing his wife, so the new friendship suited both of them well. After two weeks of filming, she asked if he would accompany her to a formal dinner with 11 others that night. Why not? They were friends. He liked food. It might be fun. She asked him to wear black tie, because the restaurant was stuffy.
On the night, when they arrived at the restaurant, he was glad he had rented a tuxedo. Inside, the maître d' led them through a beautiful dining room and up a flight of stairs to a private room at the top of the building. Two men in black suits were stationed outside the door, and when my friend said "hi" to them, nothing was offered by way of reply. From within, the door was opened, and my friend quickly appraised the scene. Senator Ted Kennedy sat at the top of the table, flanked by Kofi Annan and Madeleine Albright. An assortment of silver foxes and distinguished women in expensive gowns turned to greet them, and the actor nearly fainted. His date was known for moving in rarified circles - minor poets, activists - but this was ridiculous.
Dinner began, and apparently, between sitting down and finishing the main course, the person with whom my friend spoke most was the waiter. Mainly, he asked him for refills. The guests seemed nice enough, but the gulf was too wide, the dominant conversation too elevated - monetary funds, unknown diplomatic figures and apparently famous speeches which he had never heard. But he knew he had to mark his presence with one utterance, and finally something came to him. It took him a few minutes to pluck up the courage to clear his throat, but when he did, he instantly had the attention of the room, in much the same way as the gravy boat would have, had it decided to speak. Ted Kennedy turned to Kofi Annan.
"He said he's got a joke."
Madeline Albright smiled warmly. Feeling himself falling through air, my friend cleared his throat, took a breath and began.
"Okay, so Richard Nixon is alone in the White House late one night, and he's looking for his wife, and he cannot find her anywhere. He's checked the treaty room, the Lincoln room and even the press briefing room, and still no Pat. He's baffled. Where is she?"
Ted Kennedy leans forward, a hopeful smile forming at the corners of his mouth. Taking encouragement, my friend ploughs on, feeling his confidence return.
"So finally, even though Tricky Dicky doesn't know what Pat would be doing in there, he decides to check the Oval Office, just to tick it off the list. So he opens the door, and looks in, and he can't believe it. There is Pat, his wife, naked, lying across his desk, and, in front of her, the secretary of state . . . emmm, who was the secretary of state?"
The minute my friend looked up hopefully, Edward Kennedy was there for him.
"Kissinger?"
"No. Actually, he was shagging her."
The punchline hung in the air and the actress wrung her napkin. Annan turned to Kennedy.
"What did her say about Kissinger?"
"He said he was shagging her."
Now that Kofi had a punchline, the humiliation was complete. Everyone had heard the joke, and my friend pushed back his chair to leave. Then, a deep, rumbling laugh began, and my friend realised that Kofi Annan was laughing deeply, and uncontrollably. "Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho."
Then Kennedy joined in.
"Haaaaaaaarrr. Harrrr."
Then Albright got it, then the silver foxes, then lastly the actress. Everyone laughed like drains, tears were dabbed away with linen napkins and thighs were slapped. Such confidence. For the record, do I believe it? Of course I do. Why? Because I want to, desperately.
John Butler blogs at http://lozenge.wordpress.com