Love Creeps

Ten

Weeks passed. Summer classes ended. After a great deal of thought, Alan decided not to register for the fall semester. First, he knew his stalkers would follow him, and he wanted to minimize their interactions. Second, he felt he had improved himself and his life enough, and he wanted to devote more time to his girlfriend. Third, he had always looked at the classes as a crutch, and he wanted to prove to himself he no longer needed them to be happy.

He realized his stalkers, particularly Lynn, must be feeling frustrated now that the classes were over. He wondered why she never tried to follow him into a Stalkaholics Anonymous meeting. Little did he know she was always there, in disguise. But Alan’s sense of observation was no better than his sense of direction, so he never noticed. Plus, he was very trusting and unsuspicious by nature.

At his SA meeting, he talked to the group about how annoying it was to be stalked. The group complained that he was drifting away from the topic of the meetings. The topic was: how distressing it was to stalk, not to be stalked. Alan apologized and said they were right. So then he talked about how he sometimes had the urge to stalk his girlfriend. Or even just stalk strangers walking down the street. “It’s been a big help, though, being stalked by Lynn. It’s been helping me see how unattractive it is, how much I don’t want to be like that. And it really decreases my temptation to stalk again. The best thing that could happen to any of you is to have someone stalk you.”

As he was talking, Lynn discreetly began to cry. No one thought it was strange, because people sometimes cried during the meetings.

As time passed, Ray the homeless man was having more and more difficulty handling the change in the stalking order. The mystery of it was hard to bear. But he would not give in to his curiosity, would not ask them questions. When they passed, he closed his eyes and held his breath, to minimize his sensory contact with such tempting creatures. But in his mind, he screamed, Why have you changed direction? Why have you changed your order? WHYYYYYYYYY?????

One afternoon, when Alan was walking to his doctor’s office, followed by Lynn and, therefore, by Roland, his cell phone rang. He had grown to dread answering the phone while walking down the street because it was sometimes one of his stalkers, usually Roland, complaining about how long they had been walking. Roland would whine into Alan’s ear, “Are we almost there yet, wherever the fuck there is?”

This time, when Alan answered his phone, Roland said, “Let’s talk.”

Alan was supremely annoyed. “What do you mean let’s stalk? I’ve given that up, and you’re already in the middle of it!”

“I said let’s talk,” enunciated Roland. “As in chat. As in, over lunch.”

“Not interested,” Alan answered.

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“So talk.”

“In person.”

“Then catch up with me right now and tell me.”

“No, because then Lynn will do the same, and she mustn’t hear.”

Alan sighed. “I’m on my way to a doctor’s appointment. I can tell the doorman to let you in, and not Lynn. We can talk in the waiting room. It’s Dr. Reilly, third floor.” Alan turned off his phone.

In the waiting room, Alan read a magazine. There were two other people in the office: a young woman and a man in his fifties, arms crossed, legs not, staring straight in front of him, which happened to be at Alan.

Roland arrived. “Why are you seeing a dermatologist? Acne?”

Alan sighed. “No.”

“Melanoma?”

“No. My skin is dry.”

“You’re here because your skin is dry?” Roland said, sitting in the chair next to Alan’s.

“It’s very dry,” Alan said. “From the chlorine. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I assume you would like it if Lynn, and therefore I, too, stopped stalking you.”

“No. ‘Like’ doesn’t describe how I would feel. I would love it. Which reminds me, shouldn’t you be at work? What excuse did you give them?”

“I said I had something to do in court. And you? What did you tell your boss?”

“That I had a doctor’s appointment,” Alan answered, looking at Roland with meaning. “I think you’re missing even more work than I used to when I was stalking.”

Lynn waited outside patiently for the two men. A passerby noticed her standing there and stopped.

“Well, hello, Lynn.” It was Maria Stanley, a social-climbing artist.

“Hi there,” Lynn said.

“I heard you didn’t attend Jania and Peter Collin’s party. They didn’t invite you?”

“Yes, they did. I had something else to do,” Lynn said, trying to remember what had prevented her from going. She suddenly remembered she had been attending a Stalkaholics Anonymous meeting.

“Oh,” Maria said, sounding disappointed. “They didn’t invite me. I felt excluded.”

“Yeah, I know how you feel.”

“But you were invited.”

“Yeah, but exclusion can come in all shapes and sizes.”

“I doubt you get excluded very often.”

“Not true. Just last week I was excluded by a club I tried to join.”

“What kind of club?”

“A club for people who want nice hair,” Lynn said, stretching the truth a little bit — it was actually a club for people who wanted hair. It was the Hair Club for Men.

Maria gazed at Lynn’s lustrous, dark blond hair. “You already have nice hair. Is that why they rejected you?”

“No,” Lynn said, self-consciously pushing a bunch of hair behind her ear. “But anyway, you shouldn’t get upset about not being invited to parties. Exclusion is like an apple. Getting a regular dose of it is healthy and keeps the doctor away.” She was suddenly reminding herself of poor dead Judy, with her extravagant theories on happiness.

Maria didn’t seem comforted by Lynn’s words. Lynn took pity on her and gently added, “Your invitation probably got lost in the mail.”

The artist smiled feebly. “What are you doing here? Are you waiting for someone?”

“Yes.”

Maria said good-bye and walked away.

“Let’s get back to my topic,” Roland said to Alan in the waiting room. “There is one way to make Lynn and me stop stalking you.”

“And what is that?”

“If I win her back.”

“You’ve been failing miserably.”

“I need your help.”

“I’ve already spoken highly of you to her. I don’t see what more I can do.”

“Redo the weekend deal,” Roland said.

“You’re insane.”

“I’m sure I can win her back if I just have one weekend with her.”

“But I don’t want to spend a weekend with her,” Alan said.

“I did it for you.” Roland looked as though he suddenly realized the extreme ineptitude of that argument. After all, he had ended up keeping Lynn for himself on that famous weekend. He quickly added, “I’ll do the weekend with her first, and I’ll win her over, like the last time. Then you won’t have to do the weekend with her, and she’ll be off your back.”

“But what if she still wants to do the weekend with me afterward? If I give her my word, I can’t back out. I’m not like you. Or like her.”

“I thought of that, and if it comes to that, maybe you should do it. It would give you a terrific opportunity to make her fall out of love with you. It’s a lot easier to be unappealing during a weekend than while walking down the street.”

Roland had a point. And made another. “And then you would be free of her, free of me, free of your stalkers.”

“Okay. It’s worth a shot. I’ll talk to Jessica about it. I think I can persuade her to trust me.”

When they were all back on the street, Lynn said to her stalker and stalkee, “I felt excluded just now. I know you guys were plotting something. It disrupts the stalking order, what you did, and that’s wrong. You two have nothing to discuss without me.” After a moment she said, “So what were you plotting?”

“Nothing,” they answered, one walking ahead of her and one behind her.

Alan and his girlfriend had a special day planned for the coming Saturday. Jessica had persuaded Alan to fulfill her rabbit suit/Central Park sexual fantasy. It had taken her months to talk him into it (she’d been trying since Easter).

A small part of him could see the appeal of it. After all, he had enjoyed himself at Halloween, when he and Jessica kept repeating “We really shouldn’t,” while having sex dressed as a priest and a nun.

But the reason he had finally agreed was that afterward might be a good time for him to ask Jessica if he could go on the weekend with Lynn.

When they woke up on Saturday, Jessica said, “It’s not too hot. It’s a perfect day for wearing a rabbit suit.”

Alan sighed, remembering Roland had guessed that the woman in the ocean had said, “It’s a perfect day for mangofish.”

Alan and Jessica went to a children’s playground in Central Park. They were being followed by Lynn, and therefore also by Roland, who were wondering why Alan was dressed like a big pink rabbit. Roland suddenly remembered Alan telling him months ago that this was one of Jessica’s fantasies and an ongoing point of tension between them. Roland chuckled to himself.

Alan was able to walk comfortably in the suit. It was not as heavy and hot and itchy as Alan had feared. Jessica headed for the jungle gym. She jumped, gripping an overhead bar. Her thin form lengthened and narrowed a little more. Alan glanced nervously at the hem of her very short plaid skirt. He knew she wasn’t wearing panties, and the elongated position she was in had caused her hem to rise. Luckily, no one was around, except for Lynn hiding in the bushes, and, therefore, Roland not far away either, but they didn’t really count.

Jessica hung there, swaying gently, and said, “Frisk me.”

“Frisk you?” Alan said.

Her “Yeah” was a cavernous exhale.

Sometimes when he frisked her he found her gun.

He placed his rabbit head on a seesaw and approached Jessica. He pressed his palms against her ribs, against her back. He searched and came upon some very small, hard bumps, and he took them out, and they were pink foil-wrapped chocolate Easter eggs. He continued searching her body and he pressed his chest against her hips, and his face against her stomach, and he was turned on, not only sexually but romantically, and he loved her. She let go of the bar and slowly sank into his fluffy pink rabbit arms, wrapping her legs around his soft rabbit hips, crossing her ankles over his fuzzy white tail, and kissing him deeply.

Lynn sighed painfully in the bushes.

Alan was happy, but would have been even happier if Lynn weren’t hiding in the bushes. Hopefully, his weekend with her would be the solution to the problem. He had to bring it up with Jessica that afternoon.

But first, Alan and Jessica had sex on a bench. Jessica was sitting on his lap, facing him. There was a special opening in Alan’s rabbit suit.

Then they had sex on the grass.

Lynn and Roland knew exactly what they were doing, but not many other people did. It looked as though Jessica was just straddling the rabbit man lying on his back. She was barely moving.

She and Alan then went to the Ramble, and walked on the path holding hands. Alan brought up his possible weekend with Lynn.

No sooner had he explained the idea to Jessica than she started fleeing from him. She ran through the woods like a gazelle. Alan ran after her. Lynn and Roland ran after him, staring at his fluffy white tail bouncing crookedly behind him. It was poorly sewn on but cute anyway, Lynn thought.

When Alan caught up with Jessica, she said breezily, “Let’s go downtown.”

He couldn’t tell if her breeziness was benign or the type of breeze that turns into a hurricane.

“Okay,” he said.

Walking downtown, Alan kept his rabbit head on, hoping it would make her feel more kindly toward him. He finally, cautiously, asked, “So, how do you feel about this idea of my spending a weekend with Lynn?”

Abruptly, Jessica turned right, walking into a clothing store. Alan frowned. He had a feeling she was upset. Part of him was flattered that she might be jealous.

He followed her into the store, taking off his rabbit head like a gentleman taking off his hat upon entering a church.

Neither of them realized they had just entered a store for larger-sized women.

Jessica began compulsively trying on outfit after outfit, distraught and preoccupied by her own thoughts. There were no tags on the clothes indicating sizes, the store not believing in numerical sizes, so Jessica assumed the gigantic proportions were just a different, loose style.

Alan thought the clothes really didn’t look very good on her, and they were not at all her usual style of dress. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what was wrong with them, because his sense of style was not much better than his sense of direction or observation, but then again, he wasn’t giving it much thought either; he was trying to read his girlfriend’s mind through her gestures. His best guess was that she was fuming with jealousy and trying unsuccessfully to hide it.

Alan couldn’t have been further from the truth. Jessica was indeed very upset, but the one thought that kept running through her mind since Central Park was “I’ll try not to be too bad.” She was horrified at the prospect of being left to her own devices for a whole weekend. She was trying to bring herself to tell him not to go away with Lynn, so that she, Jessica, wouldn’t be able to indulge in all the fun she would be powerless to resist. Unable to make herself tell him, she decided not to think about it, hoping to gather willpower by finding an outfit that fit. None of the clothes suited her, which was weird; usually everything looked great on her. She was too perturbed to notice the reason.

Jessica did not consider herself a sex addict. She knew she used to be one, but believed she no longer was. Yes, she had affairs. Yes, she had a morning lover and an afternoon lover, but so did lots of women, and that didn’t mean they were sex addicts. Even though she was not a sex addict, she knew that because she used to be one, she was vulnerable to temptation. Temptation had to be avoided at all costs. Alan should know that. Especially since he was a strong proponent of the ridiculous notion “Once an addict always an addict.”

Outside, Lynn spied. She couldn’t understand why skinny Jessica was trying on large sizes in a store for heavy women. Suddenly, a chilling thought occurred to her: Perhaps Jessica was shopping for maternity clothes! Maybe she was pregnant!

Jessica continued trying on outfits, drowning in them, as the war within her still raged.

Alan thought she clearly seemed ill at ease with the weekend idea.

“Jessica,” he said, “you’re not answering me. I need to know if it’s okay with you if I go on this weekend. I need you to tell me how you feel about it.”

“Hang on, I want to find an outfit.”

“We can go somewhere else if none of these fit you.”

“No! I love these. The colors are gorgeous, and the material is soft and there is so much of it. I’ve never worn clothes this great. They’re unrestraining, I feel naked in them. I can feel my own flesh, it’s very sexy. Look, the armpits are so low, they come all the way down to the waist, practically. So the skin of my upper arm can feel the skin of my rib cage. It’s really fun and secretive. It feels like I’m my own lover.”

She was restraining herself from screaming to Alan, “Go for it! Fuck her brains out! And I will do the same with my own lovers. Leave me to my fun!”

The two large saleswomen sat there, watching Jessica.

Alan saw their perplexed expressions, went up to them, and said, “Can you be honest with her and tell her these outfits just don’t look right?”

One of the saleswomen exhaled, heaved herself up, and made her way to Jessica. “May I help you?”

“Yeah, is this how it’s supposed to fit?” Jessica asked.

“No.”

“Oh, good, I had a feeling I hadn’t put it on right. How does it go?” she said, turning to the woman and holding her arms out, offering her body for modification.

“These outfits don’t look good on you,” the woman said, without moving to help her.

“I realize that. Could you make them look good?”

“I can’t do it for you, but I can give you instructions.”

“Okay,” Jessica said, thinking this woman must have some sort of phobia about touching people.

“Go home, eat a box of cookies, a pint of ice cream, and six slices of pizza. Repeat every day. Come back in three months.”

“Oh.” Jessica looked around her and finally understood. To save face, and also because it was true, she said, “That’s pretty much what I eat every day anyway. So I guess I should just give up hope that these clothes will ever fit.”

The saleswoman nodded, and said, “Some things in life are unfair. It’s best just to accept defeat. Move on.”

Jessica chose to take those words as military advice regarding her inner war. She nodded to the woman knowingly. “Thank you for your help.”

They walked down the street without talking for a while, Alan carrying the rabbit head under his arm like a motorcycle helmet. Finally, he said, “I understand if you’re uncomfortable with this weekend idea. I just want to know your thoughts on it.”

She was trying to persuade herself that maybe she’d have enough willpower not to engage in the mock-bordello scenario she always fantasized about. In the fantasy, she was in a bedroom, and there was a line of twenty men outside, taking their turns with her.

“The foods that saleswoman mentioned made me hungry,” she said, and headed for an ice-cream store across the street.

The ice-cream store only served those perverted European cones where the two scoops of ice cream were positioned side by side, like testicles. She always avoided getting those cones because they aggravated her problem. Sick, those Europeans, to make an innocent ice cream look like a penis.

She considered not getting an ice cream at all, but she was afraid Alan would suspect her problem.

Or maybe he wouldn’t suspect anything — she could never tell how obvious sex imageries were, to other people. Nevertheless, not wanting to risk arousing his suspicion, she took the cone and gave the testicles a tentative lick, just to look natural. She tried to be relaxed, but her tongue came out pointy and tense. It jabbed at the balls in a manner that might not have pleased them had they been alive.

“So, what do you think about this weekend idea? Is it okay with you?” Alan asked.

She looked at the ground, holding the edible penis guiltily. “Yes, it’s okay with me.” She was disappointed that she didn’t have enough willpower to tell him not to leave her to her orgiastic fun.

Alan laughed. “Don’t seem so sad! You trust me, don’t you?”

She sighed and nodded. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close, kissing her temple and squashing her creamy testicles between his furry pink chest and her breast.

“Oops.” He grinned. They wiped themselves.

A few blocks later, they passed a bookstore, and Alan wanted to stop in.

“Why?” asked Jessica. It had already been four hours since their last sexual intercourse, and today, on her day off, she expected more sex. Plus, the ice cream got her hot.

“I want to check out a short story called ‘A Perfect Day for Bananafish,’ that Roland told me to read,” Alan said. “Have you heard of it?”

She didn’t answer. Alan looked at her and saw a curious expression on her face. He had no idea how to interpret it, so he repeated, “Do you know it?”

“Yes. There’s no reason you should read it. Roland is a fool and an asshole. Let’s go.”

“Aren’t you curious to know why he wanted me to read it?”

“No”

“Because you already know?”

“Yes.”

“So why?”

“You obviously told him that story about when you were little and the woman said it’s a perfect day for mangofish and she helped you pet one. I don’t know why you open up to that bastard. You shouldn’t tell him personal stuff.”

“It’s not very personal.”

“Yes it is, as a matter of fact. It’s very personal.”

“Well, I don’t agree,” Alan said, swinging open the door to the bookstore and heading toward the literature section.

“Alan,” Jessica said, in a small voice behind him.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound harsh.” She stroked his neck affectionately and gave him a kiss. She looked sad.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded, smiled reassuringly.

He found the book. He skimmed the story and suddenly dropped his rabbit head, which went rolling down the isle. He sank to the floor. Jessica ran to his side, hugging him, kissing his cheek.

“Say something,” she said.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you can’t change the past. There was no need for you to know.”

“No need to know I was sexually molested as a child?”

“What’s done is done.”

Later that evening, Alan said, “I wish I had known years ago. My life could have been different.”

He didn’t say anything more about it.

But he thought about it. And thought about it. And thought about it.

His abuser was his mother’s neighbor, Miss Tuttle, and she had given him to pet what she claimed was a mangofish, but what he now learned was her vagina. He had been floating on her yellow raft. She had brought his hand under the water, his view blocked by the raft. She said the mangofish was shy and didn’t like to be seen. He remembered what it had felt like. It was mushy and it had folds. And yet, in all the years since, it had not occurred to him that he had touched the woman’s genitals.

Maybe he would pay her a visit one day and confront her about what she had done.

Over the years, Alan had frequently asked his mother how Miss Tuttle was doing. His mother had always told him Miss Tuttle was the same as ever, that she hadn’t moved and still earned her living mostly as a hairdresser, and occasionally entertaining children at birthday parties. He never understood why he inquired about Miss Tuttle. He didn’t care one way or the other about her. Now he recognized this neutrality was his repressed shame, his disgust, his hatred of her.

In awe, he thought, I am actually a normal person, who happened to have been abused. Deep down, I am normal. I was not born defective — I was damaged a little later.

Alan had always felt inferior to the other stalkaholics in SA meetings, who seemed more sane than he, because they talked about their childhood abusers, on which they blamed their stalking addiction. Alan had a happy, sound childhood, which made him feel like an outsider, a freak, a truer criminal than the stalkers with excuses.

Now that Alan had discovered he had not had a wholesome childhood, things were different. His sexual abuse was like religion. It explained his deficiencies, his problems, even his lack of artistic talent. All of it was the fault of that abuser. He almost felt grateful to her. Grateful that he could dump it all on her. His stalking habit — her fault. His poor sense of direction, of style, of observation — her fault. His facial expressions that were formerly too drastic and too frequent — her fault. His poor singing, poor dancing, weight problem, hair loss, poor muscle tone — her fault. Life made sense. Finally.

He pondered his problems with swimming. He wondered if there were swimming lessons made for survivors of aquatic sexual abuse. He thought of himself as a completely different person now: a victim. It was liberating and empowering. It raised his self-esteem. He marveled at how his life just kept getting better and better: First he had conquered his stalking addiction, then he had embarked on self-improvement and improved himself, then he had found a great girlfriend, and now he had just learned he was a victim of childhood sexual molestation!

Patricia informed Lynn, “The British Transport and General Workers’ Union has rejected your application for membership on the grounds that you are not British and not a transportation or general worker.”

Lynn nodded slowly, a look of concentration on her face.

Patricia admired Lynn’s devotion to her rejection method, her perseverance in applying it despite getting rejected by Alan on a daily basis anyway.

Alan and Roland told Lynn about their idea of redoing the weekend deal. They gave her no choice as to the order — she’d first be going with Roland, then with Alan.

She agreed.

Ray the homeless man still closed his eyes and held his breath when the stalking chain passed. He had long ago stopped his therapeutic comments. These beguiling crazy people.

When Roland and Lynn arrived at the inn, Max exclaimed warmly, “Ah, Roland and his stalker!”

“Not quite,” Lynn said. “Things have changed. Roland is now my stalker, and next week I’ll be coming with the man I’m currently stalking.”

Lynn scrutinized Max. He hadn’t changed at all. He still had his long curly hair, his ruffles, his codpiece. For some reason, Lynn suddenly wondered how Max and the sex addict Jessica would have hit it off if they had met. After all, he was the guy who thought female stalkers were whores and wanted to be fucked. Jessica would probably have no problem with that. If he were to say to her, “Come and sit on my cock,” she’d probably say, “Are you sure you don’t mind?” It could free up Alan.

When Roland was carrying their bags up to their rooms, Lynn said to Max, “The girlfriend of the guy I’m stalking is a very pretty sex addict. And in complete denial of her addiction. I think you guys would really hit it off. If I succeed in winning him over, she’ll be free. She forced her boyfriend to dress up as a big pink rabbit and have sex with her in Central Park.”

“That seems a little tame,” Max said.

Lynn coldly replied, “I think she would like you. That’s not tame. And neither is the fact that she has a gun.”

When Lynn was unpacking, Roland found Max and asked him if he could speak to him privately. They went into Max’s office.

Roland discreetly dropped a button. “I need you to help me win Lynn back.”

“Sure, man. How?”

“Make yourself as unattractive as possible.”

“Why? You don’t need to worry about her being interested in me.”

“I know. What I’m looking for is the contrast.”

“Contrast?”

“Between you and me. We need to increase the contrast. Even more.”

“Why?”

“So I’ll shine by comparison.”

Max produced an amazed chuckle. “You think that would work?”

“Yes. It did the last time.”

“What do you mean? I wasn’t trying to be unattractive the last time.”

“No, but it worked anyway. So it should work even better when you’re actually trying.” Roland realized he was being mildly insulting, and he didn’t know how to get himself out of it. So he tried this tack: “Lynn thinks that you and I are a perfect match, that you are my most sublime enhancer. You know, like a precious stone and its most perfect setting.”

“You mean you shine, next to me, by contrast?”

“Yes,” Roland said, as if this were a good thing.

Max was silent. His mood had undergone a shift. He gazed at Roland fixedly. “Do you really think I can make myself even more unappealing than I already am? I mean, do you think there’s room for me to get worse?”

“I don’t know. I would be at a loss how to do it. You would know.”

“I guess I would. I’m honored that you have confidence in my judgment.”

“Well, it worked the last time, and you weren’t even trying.”

“No, I wasn’t trying to be unappealing. On the contrary, I was trying to be charming and entertaining. So you can just imagine how gross I’ll be when I’m actually trying to be repulsive.”

He waited to see if Roland would say anything, object in any way, but he didn’t. Roland just nodded. And that’s when Max’s heart, which had gradually been sinking, finally hit bottom and broke. But he didn’t let on.

Back in the city, Alan was sitting on his spotted white easy chair, stroking Pancake, who was sprawled on his lap, and dwelling on his abuse. He was relishing it and cursing it in turns, but he didn’t want it to take over his life, so he tried to distract himself by perusing some of his continuing education catalogs, even though it was too late to register for fall classes. In one of the catalogs, he came upon a particular swimming class he had not seen before. The name of it was, Swimming: For Adults Afraid in Water. There was a picture of a woman with a dolphin, and it said, “You can learn how to swim quickly and painlessly — and to love the water and the spectacular creatures in it!”

Spectacular indeed, those creatures! He slammed the catalog shut. He felt mocked. How naïve he was. Or had he, in fact, known, deep down? That was the question that haunted him. Why else would he have attached a fish tail to the vagina he had sculpted in Goddess class, producing a vaginafish?

He opened the catalog again and read the rest of the class description: “A variety of swimming aids are used, from swim noodles to floating devices.”

Again, he felt mocked. Was the catalog implying he was a noodle? In his own swimming classes they hadn’t used noodles. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t made more progress. Maybe the noodles were necessary for noodles like him, dense noodles abused in water.

Alan went to check the stairwell doors in his building. He hadn’t been as good about checking them every day these past few months and had taken that as a sign of his increased mental health. He also knew that neglecting the doors was dangerous.

As he walked down the seventeen flights of stairs, making sure the doors were all closed, he wondered if he would ever actually visit Miss Tuttle. He wondered what he would say to her and how she would react.

The next time Lynn and Roland saw Max was at breakfast the following morning in the dining room. They were stunned. Max was barely recognizable. He was gorgeous. He had cut his hair, gotten rid of his ruffles and codpiece. He was dressed for the twenty-first century.

Roland was confused. He looked at Lynn. She looked dazzled.

Max said to both of them, “I hope my music didn’t keep you up last night. I was listening to Maria Callas sing an aria from Il Trovatore … wonderful. You should get a disc of her arias, if you don’t have one already. Or I’ll make a copy for you.” After a pause, he said, “By the way, I can suggest lovely spots around here if you’d like to picnic. The kitchen can prepare you a basket.”

“When you say ‘the kitchen,’ what do you mean?” Lynn asked, knowing he didn’t have any staff.

“I mean me, of course,” he said, smiling. “I could prepare you a picnic.”

Roland was outraged. It was obvious to him that Lynn was charmed by the transformation. He could kill Max.

After breakfast, Roland sought out Max.

“What have you done! I asked you to make yourself worse!”

“I did. I got rid of my few attributes. I cut off my luscious locks. Do you know how many years it took me to grow that hair? And I put away my wonderful ruffled shirts, and my manly codpiece, and now I’m wearing these wimpy pants.”

“You look marvelous!” Roland said, giving him a fierce push in the chest. “You’ve ruined it. And what the hell did you do to your personality? It’s even more changed than your appearance!”

“I’m glad you noticed. I turned myself into a clean-cut, anal prick, for you! So that you could shine in contrast!”

Roland decided he had to take matters into his own hands. He tried to be charming all day. He even offered to feed the squirrels and raccoons and any other wild animals there might be, like rats and skunks and snakes and bears, anything at all. It was all to no avail. Lynn was cold and uninterested in him. He bad-mouthed Alan. He warned her that they would have ugly children. But nothing seemed to soften her up.

As a last resort, he made a feeble attempt at forcing himself on Lynn physically, something she had enjoyed in the past. This time she sprayed him with Mace.

As Lynn sprayed him, she felt as though she were spraying a giant mosquito. It was a tired and weak mosquito that seemed almost at the end of its life. It buzzed around her heavily, unnervingly slowly, not aware of its own sluggishness, which made it perfect for killing.

She hoped that spraying him would make him so mad that he would leave her alone for good and give up all hope of a reconciliation. Instead, he wailed and made her feel so guilty that she had to nurse him.

The weekend was turning out to be a fiasco.

Just before leaving the inn, Roland privately gave Max instructions.

“When Lynn and Alan come on their weekend, I want you to stay exactly the way you are now. Don’t change a hair. Alan will pale by comparison.”

“Sure.”

Roland concluded with, “You and I will be in contact via cell phone the entire weekend. I’ll want constant reports.”

The next day, Roland was called in to see his boss, the solicitor general.

She said to Roland, “You told me you were going to review David Lester’s brief of the Garcia case and take out that shitty First Amendment argument.”

“I thought I told him to take it out,” Roland said.

“Also, you missed the deadline for filing a notice of appeal in the Freestone Industries case.”

“Yes, I know, I’m sorry.”

“What’s the excuse this time?”

Roland considered saying, “I’ve been stalking somebody, and my job has been interfering.” What he said was, “I’ve had some personal problems. Health issues. I’m sorry. I’ve got things under control now.”