Amanda Filipacchi - Love Creeps

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.