Amanda Filipacchi - Love Creeps

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.