Love Creeps (30 page)

“I'm sure it was unique,” Ray said. “But each one is unique.”

“Perhaps,” said Alan. “But this one felt more unique.”

The days were passing monotonously for Alan. He was depressed and lonely. It didn't help that removing his chair had left a hole in his living room, a void which Pancake, Bugsy, Toto, and Fuzz-fuzz were only partly able to fill. Alan had trouble getting used to that hole. It kept reminding him of the special opportunity he had failed to grab. He decided he would buy a new chair, another white chair, to plug up the hole and help him stop thinking of the girl he could have met. But he wasn't sure the new chair would do much good, because in his heart, he'd know it was not the same chair.

He told himself he'd pull through this bad period. The pets were a help. And he was forcing himself to go out more, meet new people. He would turn his life around. He had done it before; he believed he could do it again. There was a new beading class he had his eye on and was keen on taking. If he never found an ideal mate, or even a vaguely adequate mate, he could still be happy. If he worked at building a rich and fulfilling life for himself, happiness would come eventually, even if a soulmate didn't.

One late afternoon, his doorman buzzed him. “There's a woman down here who wants to see you.”

“Who is it?”

“She says you don't know her, but that she has something for you.”

He took the elevator down, not wanting to let any strange woman into his apartment.

In the lobby stood the pretty girl who had taken his chair.

Approaching her, he said, softly, “You have my white elephant.”

She smiled, looking puzzled. “No, your driver's license. It was in the cushions of your chair. I wasn't sure how long ago you lost it and if you had already gotten a new one. I didn't know if I should even bother giving it back to you.”

“Yes, you should. They card me incessantly.”

She laughed, handed him his license.

Looking down thoughtfully, he murmured, mostly to himself, “Sometimes, when you lose something, you find something more precious.” Suddenly worried he had sounded corny, he said, “I lost my chair, but I found my precious driver's license.” He looked up at her. “Listen, I'd love to get occasional reports on my chair. Can I give you my number?”

She laughed. “Sure. I'll just give you my card.” She took a business card out of her handbag. “I'll write my home number on it. I don't always do that, because I've had problems with stalkers.”

Flustered and off-balance, Alan chuckled. While she wrote her number on her card, he tried to think of what a normal, healthy, average man would answer.

Finally, he said, “Don't worry, I gave up stalking long ago.”

She looked at him with a startled air and laughed.

They had dinner and drinks twice that week. He was carded each time and showed his driver's license.

Soon, he got to see his chair again. He got to sit in it. And do other wonderful things in it. And see his soulmate sitting in it. And see her sitting on him sitting in it. And him on her, in it. And him in her. And them in it.

THE END

(for the faint of heart, do not read further)

Seventeen

“I met the girl of my dreams, my soulmate,” Alan told Lynn, Roland, and Ray.

“Tell us,” Ray said.

“I don't know how to put it, in order to do it justice.”

“Just blurt it out any which way,” Lynn said.

“Very well. I was lost. And she returned me to myself.”

“Nice,” said Roland. “Could you be a little more concrete? We were concrete.”

“She found me in the folds of what I had discarded.”

“A little less poetic, please. More specific?”

“Just like your soulmate, Roland, she returned to me what I had lost.”

Ray, Roland, Lynn, and even Patricia were eager to meet Alan's new girlfriend, Ruth. So they decided to have another dinner. “For a change,” Lynn insisted on arranging a catered dinner at her gallery.

When the others arrived, they noticed Lynn's walls were bare again. Tactfully, no one commented on it.

They sat at a round table that was bull's-eyed by a magnificent bouquet of creamy roses brought by Lynn's florist soulmate. He was seated next to her, and Roland's translator soulmate was seated next to him. While they waited for Alan's to arrive, they asked him various questions about her, including what she did for a living.

“I don't know,” Alan said.

“Didn't you ask her?”

“Yes, I did, but she's being evasive. That's the one thing that bugs me about her. She's hiding her profession from me.”

“Ah, yes, that must be bothersome,” Ray said.

“Actually, I'd be grateful if one of you could get it out of her during this meal.”

“Maybe she doesn't have a profession. Maybe she doesn't work,” Ray said.

“Yes, she does,” Alan said. “She's often mentioning having to go to work or being exhausted from work. But she seems to work at irregular times.”

“Does she like your rat?” Roland asked.

“Yes.”

“That could be a clue.”

“To what?”

“Her profession. You once said that women who have guns are likely to like rats. So what other types of women are likely to like rats? Perhaps women in gutsy, gritty professions. Maybe she's a cop, like Lynn's mom. Or a garbage collector, like Lynn's dad.”

The Translator turned to Lynn and said, “That's what your parents do? That's so cool.”

At that moment, Alan's girlfriend Ruth arrived.

Everyone at the table, except Alan, was stunned.

Finally, Lynn said softly, “Alan, she's practically a supermodel.”

“I know, she's very pretty.” Alan smiled fondly, stroking Ruth's arm.

They all lowered their eyes, embarrassed.

Ruth kissed him on the lips and said, “Sorry I'm late.”

“Alan, she's not hiding her profession from you,” Roland said, through clenched teeth.

Alan looked at him indignantly. “First of all I told you about that in confidence, and second of all, what the hell are you talking about?”

“She's just not telling. She's not hiding it. She couldn't hide it if she wanted to,” Ray said.

“Alan, literally, she's practically a supermodel. She's a very famous model, practically a supermodel,” Lynn said.

Alan still seemed to take this as some sort of compliment.

Lynn shook her head and vigorously started flipping through an
Elle
magazine she had in her bag.

“Her face is on billboards. I passed one on my way here,” Roland said.

Patricia nodded and said to Ruth, “Sorry we're talking about you as if you're not here.”

“It's okay. I understand,” said Ruth, looking amused and sheepish.

“There!” Lynn exclaimed, and handed Alan the
Elle
magazine opened to a page with a photograph of Ruth modeling a brown pantsuit.

Patricia leaned toward Lynn and whispered to her, “That reminds me, this morning you got rejected by the Ford Modeling Agency.”

“Oh,” said Lynn. “That reminds me, I meant to tell you, I think I'm ready for us to stop sending applications to clubs who'd never have me as a member.”

“Are you sure?” Patricia asked.

“Yes, I'd like to give normal life a try. I can always go back to madness later, if sanity doesn't keep me stable.”

Alan scrutinized the photo a long time. He turned to his girlfriend and softly asked, “Why are you with me?”

“It's no big deal,” she said, taking a seat. “Lots of great people are not observant.”

“That's not what he meant,” said Roland's Translator, who was also capable of translating other people. “What he meant was, since you're a model, why are you with him. You could have any man, et cetera. He doesn't find himself attractive, et cetera.”

“Thanks,” Alan muttered.

“What can I say? You do it for me,” Ruth said. “You're to my taste. And to be honest, I have been drawn to your type in the past. My friends think I have perverse taste in men and furniture. Not that liking you or your chair are acts of perversion. Now I'm sounding insensitive.”

“I think your friends are right,” Alan said. “You are perverse. I'm lucky.”

“And you, my friend, are shallow,” Roland said to Alan. “I never realized you were so superficial, running after models.”

“But I didn't know she was a near supermodel!” Alan exclaimed, indignantly.

“First of all, do I really believe that, and second of all, so what? It still shows that looks are the main thing you value in women.”

Ruth looked a little grim.

Victoria said, “Oh, I completely agree, and that is so wise and good of you, Alan, because until you've been with someone a very long time and given that person a chance to reveal her innermost self, it would be premature and unfair to judge her on anything but her looks.”

“Speaking of looks,” said Jim, pointing to the gallery window, “who are those men giving us weird looks?”

They all turned and stared at the window. Three men were indeed standing outside Lynn's gallery, their foreheads pressed to the glass, looking in.

“Oh, they're just some stalkers I've got,” said Ruth. “Alan, I hope you don't mind that I come with a little bit of baggage. They're creeps, but harmless.”

“Lynn used to have a stalker, too,” Patricia said.

Ruth nodded to Lynn sympathetically.

Roland said to Alan, “You should relish every minute of your relationship, buddy, because I'm sure you're aware that your days as the boyfriend of a near supermodel are numbered.”

“What has gotten into you, Roland?” Lynn said. “Finding your soulmate has made you nastier than ever.”

Ruth was pleasantly surprised that Alan and his friends were taking her stalkers so much in stride.

Victoria said, “You misunderstand him, Lynn. What Roland says is true. Having low expectations is always best. This way, when things turn out great, Alan will be pleasantly surprised.”

“Speaking of low expectations,” Roland said, turning to Lynn's soulmate. “Jim, haven't you ever had any higher ambitions than being a florist?”

“Because if you haven't,” elaborated Victoria, “it's really impressive to be so unmaterialistic and genuine. That's a very rare quality nowadays.”

“I'm afraid I can't claim to be completely unmaterialistic,” Jim said. “I did get an MBA after college, and I did work in business for a couple of years, but I kept thinking I'd be happier living more simply. I love plants and nature, but I love people and the city too much to leave. I know it may not seem exciting to everyone, but I don't need a lot of money, and I'm very happy with the choice I've made. Particularly because it led me to Lynn.” He squeezed her hand.

Roland lost interest and turned back to the easier target. “My poor Alan, I'm worried about you, about your expectations. Ask yourself, why would a near supermodel ever want to be with you, let alone stay with you?”

Alan looked pained. Everyone turned to Victoria, even though they didn't have much hope she'd be able to fix this vicious comment.

After a couple of thoughtful seconds, Victoria said, “Roland is right. Asking yourself why a supermodel would want to be with you is a very therapeutic exercise. You should make a list of all the reasons you come up with—and there will be many, no doubt—such as your kindness, sense of humor, charming innocence, piercing blue eyes, feathery blond hair, and you should study that list religiously. It'll keep your confidence up, your anxiety down, and enable you to enjoy your relationship more fully.”

Ray placed his hand on her arm. “Victoria, I like you, and I don't want to see you get hurt. Every time you utter one of your lovely translations, I tremble for your safety. Roland has a temper. I warn you that one day he may turn around and slug you.”

Roland's face turned red. “I don't like what you're insinuating!” he said, slapping the table and rising slightly out of his seat, threateningly. “Are you implying that her translations are annoying? That they'll get on my nerves? Well you're wrong! For the first time in my life I feel free! I don't have to watch what I say anymore. I don't have to walk on eggshells and be careful not to hurt people's feelings. As long as she's with me, I can just be myself, and she'll fix the damage before it even has time to register!”

“You were walking on eggshells?” Lynn said.

“Yes, for your information. Spare me your amazed air,” Roland said.

Everyone was silent for a few long seconds, mulling over the concept that Roland had been walking on eggshells.

Later during that same meal, they talked of Max's suicide. Roland was not so interested in the topic, since he had murdered Max. Plus, the subject made him uncomfortable. Had it been a suicide, though, he would of course have been very interested, as was the case a moment later, when Alan's model girlfriend generously revealed that one of her old boyfriends who suffered from depression had committed suicide three years ago. Roland was dying to ask her how he had done it, but he restrained himself, fearing it was tactless. No one else asked either.

Alan was perturbed, because he had noticed that while they had been talking about Max's death, Ruth had begun staring at Roland rather insistently. Alan hoped it did not mean she was attracted to him. He told himself he was just being paranoid.

The days and weeks passed, and Alan worried about the looks his soulmate and Roland kept giving each other when they all got together.

Alan thought there was something terribly wrong in his relationship. That any human being could possess such a high degree of perversity as to be a near top model and be attracted to him seemed extraordinarily shady. Who knew what else she was capable of? Infidelity, perhaps. It was all too easy for him to imagine, after having lived it with Jessica.