Amanda Filipacchi - Love Creeps

“That doesn’t count. I assume there are real reasons why you could never, ever be interested in me, even if I never stalked you.”

He looked at her. “Yeah, sure.”

“And what are they?”

“I can’t explain it. You repulse me, that’s it, in brief.”

“Is there anything about me that doesn’t repulse you?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

He laughed, which for him was something between a sneeze and convulsion, and said, as if only just realizing it himself, “No, actually.” After a moment, he added, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re not, actually, bad-looking.”

“I assume you wouldn’t be stalking me if you found me bad-looking.”

Lynn fell into a long silence while they walked, and Roland did not break it. Lynn thought she detected twinges of her own desire. And yet she barely dared hope this could be true. It was just that it was so solid, his disgust. So refreshing and exhilarating. He began saying banalities about the scenery. It didn’t matter how banal he was — he didn’t want her and that mattered a lot. And what was more, he made it sound like there was nothing she could do about it.

“You look smug,” he said.

She smiled broadly. How would she react if he made a pass at her, she wondered? But of course, there was no way he’d do that as long as he thought she was his stalker. She’d have to set him straight on that one, at some point. Or maybe not. Suddenly, inexplicably, she no longer felt the twinge of excitement. She looked at him. He had lost the slight appeal he had momentarily gained.

Back in the city, the thought of Roland and Lynn spending this time together was making Alan sick. Alan was grateful that Roland had agreed to talk to Lynn on his behalf and arranged this weekend exchange, but why wasn’t Roland calling him as he had promised?

He tried to keep busy, went down the seventeen flights of his building verifying that all the stairwell doors were shut and went to a health food store to get some antistress herbs that might help him endure the weekend.

Lynn and Roland had lunch in the inn dining room. They were curious about the other guests. As they waited for menus, they glanced around and saw a man and a woman sitting together at a table, but could not detect any signs of unusually pronounced bourgeoisie or anything else out of the ordinary about them. Nevertheless, they could not help feeling flattered that Max had thought they were better than that couple, even if he was a madman, even if he was lying. It was always hard not to feel flattered by compliments, and doubly so if they involved being raised above other people, and triply so if the reason for the elevation was not at all apparent.

There were no menus. Max had no staff. He cooked mushroom omelettes for the diners.

He unexpectedly joined Lynn and Roland at their table. Stretching out in a chair, an elbow on the table, he asked, “So, who are you people, anyway?”

“Oh, just relaxing for the weekend,” Roland answered.

Max leaned over and put his hands on both their shoulders. He said, “Children, are you lovebirds?”

“No,” Roland said.

“I can rectify that. If you would like me to.”

“Uh, we’ll think about it,” Lynn said.

“I have methods and instruments that can induce the shift, in case you change your minds. So, what’s your connection?” Max asked, wiggling his finger between the two of them. “Are you relatives? Blind date?”

“No,” Roland said. Lynn noticed him looking down modestly.

“Is she your secretary, your nurse?” Max asked.

Annoyed by his sexism, Lynn replied, “I’m his stalker. He kindly agreed to give me a chance.”

“Really?” Max said. “I’m a scion. I think it’s good to be blunt that way.”

They just stared at him.

He went on. “My parents were friends of the Kennedys and Truman Capote. I grew up in splendor, but now work in this hellhole.”

“Why?” Lynn asked.

“Oh, because my parents and I aren’t getting along. It’s one of those rich-family fights. You know, the kind that happens in dynasties.”

Just then, Max was called away from the table by the other couple.

“This is the weekend from hell,” Roland said, concentrating on his food.

“What do you mean?”

Roland chose his words carefully. “I am in the company of people I can barely tolerate.”

“You mean him and me?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Do I really turn you off that much?”

“Yes.”

She smiled. She felt herself melting a little, and was suddenly reminded of the assistant manager’s description of the pleasure Max got from feeling embarrassed. She felt the same way, her pores opening, a warmth invading her, her aches and pains leaving her momentarily. What else could this be but serious masochism? She knew she’d have to ask herself why she was finding rejection appealing and try to remember the last time she’d been rejected.

She said softly, “I have to confess something.”

“What?”

“I’m not a stalker. I was forcing myself to stalk you.”

“Good,” he said, clearly not believing her. “Then, we can end this weekend right now and go home.”

“No, it’s not that simple. I no longer feel desire for anything or anyone, and so I picked you to practice on. I want to want you.”

He sighed and put his napkin next to his plate. He said he was going to his room to rest.

Alan was in a state of awful anxiety. Roland still hadn’t called. He tried not to think about it by busying himself with the preparations for his own weekend with Lynn. He looked for his lost driver’s license, because he didn’t want to seem unmanly in Lynn’s eyes by asking her to drive. After searching for it for twenty minutes, he figured he had more important worries. He planned the weekend in great detail. He made a list of topics of conversation. He went shopping for attractive clothes. He researched hairdressers. He went to the gym.

But it all wasn’t enough. He would not deserve her if he didn’t do more to make up for his deficiencies. Go to more trouble , he told himself, but he wasn’t sure there was any more trouble available.

Later, Roland suggested to Lynn that they go for another walk. She brought along some bread to feed the squirrels. The air was pleasantly cool at five-thirty. Their voices seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet of the country.

Lynn wore a cream shirt and brown suede skirt. She was a becoming woman, Roland thought. It didn’t make sense that she would be stalking him, not that he was not becoming himself, or that becoming women didn’t stalk, but there was just something that didn’t fit.

He said, “You were putting me on, right, when you said you were forcing yourself to stalk me?”

“I so wish I was,” Lynn said. “But no. Stalking you is an ordeal. I don’t know how Alan manages to stalk me with so much energy.”

“Listen, I have no idea if what you’re saying is true, but it’s certainly quirky. You know, I could have liked you if we had met some other way.”

“I wish I could say the same to you, but I’m sorry, there’s no manner in which we could have met that would have made me like you.” After a pause, she added, “You, or anyone, of course. I don’t always add that, because it gets wordy.”

Softly, he said, “I think you should add it, even if it gets wordy.”

“Oh, okay.”

They came upon a bench and sat down. Lynn was on the lookout for squirrels.

Out of the bushes appeared a little pointy face. A raccoon. She threw bread at the raccoon, not quite far enough, in order to lure the animal closer. It worked.

“You should not feed this animal. It’s vermin,” Roland said.

“I strongly disagree.” Lynn kept feeding it, bringing it closer.