Amanda Filipacchi - Love Creeps

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.

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 think 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.