Love Creeps Page 7

  Turning to Lynn, he said, “I don’t think you’ll ever see a woman who’s properly fucked going around stalking anyone. Which leads me to my next thought, which might be advantageous to the both of us. You could service the men who stay at this hotel, and they would pay a moderate fee, which we would split. It’s not a bad deal for you, since you wouldn’t be getting just money, but sex, for free. The men wouldn’t have to know that they were servicing you. Well, think about it.” He turned to Roland and said, “I’m sure that with a little urging she’ll accommodate any man in the hotel. Just a gentle prodding and poking.”

  Lynn glanced at Roland. He did seem improved by comparison. They smiled at each other with complicity. His smile looked like a squint.

  The tea came to an end, and Roland believed he and Lynn had obtained what they had sought: Roland’s increased attractiveness in Lynn’s eyes. They quietly climbed the stairs to Lynn’s room with this treasure. They were about to settle down and examine it, when Lynn broke the news to him that it was not there. It had, she said, vanished as soon as the manager had left their presence.

  Roland was distressed. There had to be another solution. “What if we had a photograph of the manager, which you could glance at repeatedly while you and I talked?”

  She remained silent.

  “Or you could have photos of a lot of despicable people, and line them up beside me while we have a conversation,” he said.

  She liked him more, at that moment, than she ever had so far. It didn’t quite make sense, though, for he was not exactly expressing his disgust in her. Nevertheless, she decided to follow her instinct. “Could you make more comments along those lines?” she said.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. But if you think of something similar, say it. It was endearing and generous and pathetic.”

  “Okay. I have to remember that. Endearing, generous, and pathetic.”

  “You’re doing it again,” Lynn said, puzzled.

  “Doing what?”

  “Being attractive. That’s very likable, what you just did.”

  “You mean trying to remember the words?”

  “And that, too!”

  “What?”

  “What you just said. When you said, ‘You mean trying to remember the words?’”

  “Did you say it was attractive?”

  “And that, too, kind of!”

  “DO YOU MEAN I’M BEING ATTRACTIVE?”

  “You are.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.” She nodded.

  They both felt sheepish.

  “We may not need the photographs after all,” he said.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  She paused. “I hope this won’t be too much of a … blow, but I’m afraid you’ve lost it. Or I’ve lost it. I don’t see it anymore.”

  He blinked a few times. “That’s okay. Maybe it’ll come back.”

  “It has. I think.”

  He smiled, not with excitement this time, but with something almost like sadness. He achieved that smile by wrinkling his nose.

  “Yes, it has,” she said again, more firmly. “I see it.”

  “I don’t dare move. I don’t dare speak. I don’t want it to go away.”

  “It’s still there.” She began advancing toward him slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. She didn’t want to frighten the appeal away.

  “Is it still here?” he whispered, barely moving his lips, as she got closer.

  “Yes,” she whispered back, almost inaudibly.

  She just wanted to touch it before it fled. Just touch it. She extended her hand toward his face, but before she touched him, she stopped. It had retreated a bit, even though Roland had not moved. She was awed by this evidence of her madness. Was it rabies, she suddenly wondered? She doubted it—it seemed like her usual brand of madness.

  When she regained the view of his attractiveness, she resumed her hand’s progress. She touched it. It was there. She looked at him up close, from the side.

  “You are attractive,” she said.

  He moved only his pupils.

  “No, don’t look,” she said. “It was better before.”

  He took his eyes away.

  “Yes, I see it now. I see it.” She kissed his cheek. She felt it. She saw it.

  It was best he not move. It minimized the chances of the appeal vanishing. She was taming the appeal. She kissed him closer to the lips, until she reached their corner. She was afraid of actually kissing them.

  “It’s there. And I don’t know if I should risk scaring it away,” she said.

  He said nothing. She gathered her courage and kissed his lips lightly. She looked at his eyes. They were glazed, staring ahead. Good. And his hair was nice, too. She tilted her head, watching his face, basking in her faint but definite appreciation of him. Appreciation was almost desire. She wanted him to kiss her back, yet she did not dare ask, afraid the animal would flee.

  He started returning her kisses of his own volition, and the appeal was still there; she could sense its presence even though her eyes were closed. And not only was it there, but it became clearer, unexpectedly. Their embraces became more passionate. They started taking off each other’s clothes. Suddenly, he stopped kissing her and offered to tie her up.

  “What?” she asked, having attained a sufficient degree of desire without needing more inducement.

  “I mean, do you really think we should go further without tying you down?” Roland asked. “I don’t want to catch rabies from you, in case you are rabid. I wonder if it’s sexually transmittable.”

  “I think it’s mostly through biting,” Lynn said. “I could just not bite you.”

  “So you say now. But if you get gripped by the urge, you might do it anyway. Unless I keep my face and body away from your head and you’re tied down.”

  She agreed. He tied her wrists to the railing of the headboard. He used a thin leather belt for one wrist and a terry-cloth belt for the other.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Yes?” Lynn replied, from the bed.

  “It’s Max. I just wanted to find out if you were feeling okay and that possibility of rabies we discussed.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Lynn said. “No rabies so far.”

  “Oh, good, good. Also, there’s a call from that Mr. Simon Peach, for Roland, who doesn’t seem to be in his room.”

  “He went out for a walk,” Lynn said, having trouble uttering her words because of Roland’s weight on her.

  “Okay. I will relay the message to Mr. Peach. See you later.”

  “Yup!”

  They heard the manager’s footsteps fading away.

  Lynn whispered, “What will you do if I start exhibiting rabid behavior while I’m tied up?”

  Roland tightened her bonds a little more, and said, “I guess I’ll have to call Max and have him shoot you.”

  “Just please don’t mistake other things for rabies.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, you know, like … ardor.”

  “Yes, that’s a good point.”

  They began. They looked at each other and did not kiss. They found it curiously exciting. Their lovemaking felt so good that at one point Lynn thought it must be the rabies and got scared. She discovered that it was pleasurable to be afraid of herself, to know that at any moment she might no longer be able to trust herself and might lose control.

  Afterward, when he was sleeping beside her, she managed to slip her wrists out of their bondage. She basked in her appreciation of him. She gazed at his resting body. His graceful legs. His hollow stomach. His locket. What was in his locket, anyway?

  When he woke up, she asked him.

  He stroked her hair. “It’s personal.”

  That’s what his father had said to his mother when they had begun dating, forty-two years ago. Except that he had added, “I need to have this one bit of privacy.” But Roland didn’t add that part. He needed a lot more than that
one bit of privacy.

  He retied her wrists, and they made love again. Her confidence grew stronger, her confidence that he had unblocked her, had allowed her to want again. She didn’t care or worry about anything else. And he didn’t either. He was handling her as if he didn’t care what happened, had no more fear that anything would vanish—certainly not his attractiveness; maybe his interest, but that was a whole other story.

  Alan had succeeded in coming up with another trouble he could go to. He had decided that he and Lynn should go riding on their weekend together. He took a riding lesson in order to be somewhat competent at it. He had a terrible time. It was a terrific trouble to go through, which made him feel that he was earning a positive outcome for the weekend. He fell twice. But he got right back on the horse, even though he was a bit hurt.

  When he got home, he was gripped once again by anxiety when he saw there was no message from Roland on his answering machine. Despite his aching, bruised right butt cheek, Alan performed his daily check of the stairwell doors in his building.

  He then sat sideways on his armless white easy chair, pressing his facial cheek against its plush back.

  Roland was alone in his room on Sunday evening after a whole day of lovemaking. It was almost time for dinner, and he was famished. He had just taken off his clothes to jump in the shower, when he heard the knock at his door.

  “Hi, it’s Max. There’s a call for you. It’s that Mr. Simon Peach. He called earlier, I don’t know if your stalker told you.”

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Do you want to take the call?”

  “Hmm. Okay,” Roland said, wondering why Max delivered these messages in person rather than by phone.

  Roland picked up the phone and said hello.

  “It’s me,” Alan said. “Did you get the message that I called, earlier?”

  “Yeah, um, listen, I’m very sorry to tell you this, but there’s been an unexpected twist. I’m afraid you won’t be able to get your weekend with Lynn. You see … she and I ended up hitting it off.”

  “Did you fuck?”

  Roland could not bear to answer that question, so he chose to misunderstand it. “Did I fuck up? I guess so.”

  “NO! DID YOU FUCK HER?”

  Roland sighed and lay down on his bed to try to think of a loophole. He held the base of his mostly limp penis between his thumb and forefinger and swung it from side to side, slapping his thigh with it. The light came in through the window in a lovely manner.

  Alan waited for an answer, staring fixedly at the stiff and erect riding boots he had bought for his weekend with the woman of his dreams, his queen, his goddess, his little bird. He could not accept the idea that he might have to return the boots.

  Roland searched for a way merely to mislead. Lynn had been tied up. Did that make it any less fucking? No. How about the fact that she was possibly rabid and might die soon? That didn’t do it either. If only he had been the one tied up, then he could have gotten away with saying that no, he had not fucked her, and have a clear conscience knowing that she had fucked him.

  “I guess I did,” Roland finally said.

  He could hear Alan breathing.

  “Was it nice?” Alan asked, quietly.

  “I’m sorry, Alan. I didn’t mean for this to happen, but when she told me she had been stalking me insincerely, in order to try to want me, it changed things for me.”

  “Whatever. I still think I should get my weekend with her.”

  “No. I wouldn’t be able to take it. It’s too late. She and I are involved.”

  “Traitor,” Alan whispered. “My whole life revolved around this woman. I would do anything to have a chance with her. Do you understand? Anything.”

  “Is that … some kind of a … threat?”

  “Think what you want. I have nothing to live for if she’s out of my life. And that also means I’ve got nothing to lose.”

  Roland stopped swinging his penis and sat up a little. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m getting the impression you’re threatening me.”

  Alan snorted, kicked his boots. He could still return them, even if he kicked them.

  “Come on, man, be realistic,” Roland said. “It’s not that big a betrayal. I don’t even know you that well. It’s not as if we’re old friends. Or even much of friends at all. Listen, I’ve got to go, okay? But if you want, call me tomorrow when I’m back in the city.”

  Alan didn’t answer, so Roland said good-bye and hung up. The room felt cold. Roland put on some clothes and sat back down on his bed.

  Five

  Patricia felt guilty about having forced Lynn to go away on that weekend, even though Lynn had forced her to force her to go. Patricia didn’t have to obey Lynn’s orders. Some orders in life were best not obeyed. And had Patricia really believed the weekend would help Lynn? No. She had pressured Lynn to go partly for her own entertainment. It was as gruesome as that.

  Which was why, when Lynn arrived at the gallery Monday afternoon, after having gotten her first rabies vaccination that morning, Patricia said, “I will not force you to go away next weekend with your stalker. I don’t care if you fire me. You can’t force me to force you.”

  “I’m glad you won’t force me, because I won’t go,” Lynn said.

  After Lynn amazed Patricia by telling her all about the weekend, Patricia asked, “But why would your desire be awakened by Roland not wanting you? Hasn’t anyone not wanted you before?”

  “Not in a while. Or at least not that I noticed. I haven’t been rejected by anyone or anything in the past year or two.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “How can you say that after you’ve witnessed the ordeal I’ve suffered?” Lynn said, with a scandalized frown. “It’s not lucky, especially for someone like me, who thrives on resistance. I’ve succeeded, perhaps too consistently, too well, at everything I’ve set out to do. I’ve gotten everything I’ve wanted.”

  “But what about when Roland started wanting you? Why didn’t your desire disappear then?”

  “Maybe because it just had to be reawakened, and once it’s awake, it’s awake.”

  “But what if it happens again, one day?”

  “It will never happen again.”

  “How can you know?”

  “Because I won’t let it. I have a method I’ll use.”

  “What is it?”

  “To make sure I’m rejected on a regular basis.”

  “But what if you’re not?”

  “I’ll make sure I am! I’ll apply to clubs which would never, in a million years, have me as a member.”

  “But what if there aren’t any?”

  “That’s impossible. I’ll apply to men’s clubs, children’s clubs, Mensa, if I have to. And I’ll find other ways of being rejected.”

  “You might get into Mensa.”

  “I’m very flattered you think so, but I doubt it.”

  “How often do you think you need to be rejected to maintain optimal health?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll play it conservatively and make sure I get rejected at least twice a month.”

  Lynn was right. She would never again lose her desire. Whether that was because of her rejection method was another question.

  Finally getting rid of a plaguing problem tends to make one lose sight of the fact that other problems are usually waiting in the wings.

  “Let’s look at some slides!” Lynn said.

  They went through hundreds of slides sent by artists over the past few months. Lynn wanted to see if her desire had been restored in areas of her life other than romance, particularly that area in which she made her living.

  It didn’t take long for her to feel certain that it had. She had regained her taste and judgment in art. She felt smart and confident, like her old self.

  Patricia asked a delicate question. “Do you think you can fix things with all those artists you’ve alienated?”

  Lynn thought about it.

  Patricia added, “Do you t
hink you can lure back the ones who’ve joined other galleries?”

  Alan sat on his white chair for hours after Roland told him of his betrayal.

  His love for Lynn was the only thing that had given his life meaning. His father had died a year ago. His cat had died soon after. His ex-girlfriend, who had been his best friend, had become a successful secretary and apparently gotten bored with him, because she no longer called and rarely returned his calls.

  Roland had been wrong when he had said, “It’s not that big a betrayal. It’s not as if we’re even much of friends at all.”

  Roland was Alan’s only friend. And, therefore, his best friend.

  Alan asked himself what would it matter if he had a friend to talk to, anyway. He couldn’t talk to him about his thoughts of murder. Maybe he should get a pet. He could tell a pet about his thoughts of murder.

  He went to a pet store and looked at the various animals, trying to imagine himself talking to them about murder and seeing what kind of expression they’d have on their faces. He did this little exercise with the kittens and puppies first, but they were too cute and floppy. The snakes and lizards were not bad, but he felt they were mocking the mildness of his evil, which gave him a feeling of inferiority. The rabbits posed the opposite problem. The fish just turned their backs to him. And the mice were oblivious.

  He was sure he would never murder anyone, but thinking about it was helping him get through this tough period.

  As Alan walked out of Petland petless and looked down at the curb, he thought of the ideal animal to confide in. He went back and asked, “Do you have any rats?”

  A rat would be perfect. He could send it murderous thoughts for hours on end and get satisfying vibes back. He was certain of it.

  “We have just one.”

  It didn’t look like the ideal type of rat to receive murderous thoughts, for it was mostly white with a few brown patches, but the mere knowledge that it was a rat would more than make up for its prim coloration. If he ever felt uncertain, he’d just stare at its eyes and nose and repeat the word “rat” in his mind, and he’d get a metaphorical hard-on. He just knew it.