The Fictional Man (22 page)

Niles didn’t move. Ralph watched him for a few minutes, watching him take great, ragged breaths, his whole body shaking.

Eventually, he regained some of his composure. “I... I should go.”

Ralph looked at the clock and nodded. “Well, your hour’s up. Same again next week?”

Niles shook his head, getting to his feet. “No. I... I think I need a therapist.” He swallowed. “I think there’s quite a lot wrong with me.”

“Not a ‘
real
therapist’?” Ralph raised an eyebrow.

“Well. Not a life coach.”

Ralph nodded, watching Niles stumble towards the door. “I think that’s for the best. Good luck. Settle up with my receptionist on the way out.” He scratched the back of his head, as if considering whether to add something. “Oh – and Niles?”

Niles turned. “What?”

“Thanks a lot for today. It was great.” Ralph grinned. “It really felt like real life again.”

Despite himself, Niles smiled tightly. Then he walked away.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“W
HO IS IT
?”

The voice was wary, hostile. Niles stared at the hissing black box, the buzzer for the apartment building, unsure of what to do next.

The easiest thing to do at this point would be to chicken out, to say nothing and walk away. But then, this was a moment he’d been putting off in one way or another since he’d left Cutner’s office the previous day – first telling himself he was better off leaving well alone, then pretending that it was too late for him to make the drive – and anyway, the Taurus sounded like it might not even make it, that rattle was getting worse and worse – and then another round of ‘leave it alone’ as he tried to work up the nerve to get out of the car.

Already he’d sidled up to the box twice, holding out his finger to push the button for her apartment, then put his hand back into his pocket and walked away. The first time, he’d walked up the street, back towards his car – he’d actually unlocked it before he’d decided he was being a coward. The second time he’d gone to get lunch at a burger place, telling himself he’d make his ‘final decision’ there. Instead, he’d sat in a corner booth, listlessly chewing a pink slime patty that refused to sit easily in his gut.

He owed Liz an apology. Whoever she turned out to be, whatever her real name was, he’d behaved abominably towards her. He’d slept with her and then treated her like a piece of trash he could just toss away – he’d
assaulted
her, for God’s sake. He could tell himself it had been an accident, that he hadn’t meant to shove her like that, but he knew what Cutner would say – that there were no accidents. And why? Because of a paranoid fantasy? Because years ago a woman had hurt him, so now he was wandering the bars of LA looking for women just like her he could hurt back? Was
that
who he was?

No, it wasn’t. He owed her an apology and he owed her some kind of restitution. That was all there was to it. If he walked away now, that made him nothing but a worm.

Filled with new resolve, he stood, tossed the remains of his burger into the receptacle and walked sternly back to the Taurus, so he could drive home immediately and never think about it again.

At the last moment, something occurred to him. What if she was thinking of telling the police about it? What if she was on the phone to them even now, telling them he’d attacked her in a fit of psychotic rage? It wasn’t that far from the truth – he was sure she could make them believe it. He’d left DNA evidence in her toilet.

Worse, what if she was telling the internet? A tweet or tumblr post that got a lot of attention could get very nasty for him. What if she’d already put something up?

He had to know.

So he’d steeled himself, taken a deep breath, walked up to that damned buzzer and pushed the button before he could stop himself, hoping she wasn’t home, hoping he had an excuse to run away. And here he was, still trying to find the excuse.

He’d felt more ashamed of himself than this, he was certain. He just couldn’t remember when.

“Who is this? Who’s there?”

Niles sighed and leaned closer to the microphone grille. “It’s, um.” He could feel his face burning. “It’s Niles. Niles Golan.”

For a long moment there was nothing but the endless crackle of the speaker. He wondered if he’d heard her properly.

“Niles
Golan.
We, um... a couple of nights ago, we...” he started, but then Liz’s voice burst through the fizzing speaker again, angry and sullen.

“I’m not letting you in.”
This time, he noted, there was no fake accent running over the top of her voice – just a native Californian twang.

Niles had half-expected that, but he still found himself faintly relieved. “That’s fine. I just wanted to apologise –”

He could hear her getting angrier. Maybe this had been a mistake after all.
“I should call the cops on you, you son of a bitch – you
hit
me –
”

“I opened a door on you,” he said defensively. “It was an accident.” He blinked, realising fully what she’d said. “Sorry, does that mean you
haven’t
called the police yet? Because –”

“I should,”
she said. The crackling of the speaker box made it sound like he was being remonstrated with by a cloud of furious bees.
“It didn’t feel like an accident, the way you were screaming and yelling at me. I was terrified. I should edit the thing I wrote on my blog about you and put your name in, let everybody know what kind of psycho you really are –
”

“I’m sorry! I’m
so
sorry,” Niles said quickly, “I just...” He tailed off. He was going to have to come out with it and hope she was slightly more understanding than Cutner had been. “The truth is... well, I thought you were a Fictional. It does sound a little silly now, I know, but at the time –”

“Wait.”
There was a pause.
“Say that again?”

It was hard to tell through the electric crackle of the speaker, but she sounded suddenly calmer. The fury was gone, replaced by something Niles couldn’t identify.

“I said I thought you were a Fictional!” he shouted into the grille. “I’m sorry! I don’t know how I got that idea, but –”

A loud, harsh sound came from the box – all the bees roaring at once. Then the door swung open with a soft
click
.

Niles looked at the open door, blinking. He looked back at the box, hoping for some answer, but it was silent. The bees were dead.

After a moment, he walked into the building.

H
ER APARTMENT WAS
up on the fourth floor.

The lift had been broken for some time, and by the time he’d hauled himself up the stairs – breathing heavily on the last few, remembering Bob’s words and imagining the thick curtains of fat sandwiching his organs – the door to Liz’s apartment was open, and she was standing just outside, looking at him reproachfully through one black eye.

His stomach lurched guiltily. He hadn’t realised he’d caught her when he’d swung the door open on her like that, but evidently he had.

She was, he noticed, now dressed in clothes that seemed contemporary – a t-shirt of Francis Cugat’s famous
Great Gatsby
cover, a pair of dark blue jogging bottoms and some Converse trainers. It was also the first time he’d seen her without any make-up, or – he noticed that her hair was a light, ordinary brown – hair dye.

Her eyes, however, were still the same vivid shade of green. Perhaps she wore contact lenses.

“Who are you today?” he heard himself say, then cursed himself for it. He could feel the bitterness in him rise like sap, spill out like pus. The session with Cutner had left all the old hurts feeling fresh and raw.

The girl – not Liz, he reminded himself; someone else – tilted her head and frowned. “We’ll have to see,” she said, eyeing him for a moment before walking into the apartment. “You can come in.”

He shrugged, suddenly feeling very nervous – outside, a siren blared past, and he felt a wave of paranoia sweep over him. What was this about? Why had she invited him up here again?

Still, he’d come this far. He’d make his apology, find out what she wanted to do about it, and go. And that would be that.

She led him to the kitchen, sat down on a tall wooden stool by the ratty countertop, piled high with empty dishes, cigarettes, and more old books, and then watched him expressionlessly as he looked around for somewhere to put himself. He ended up leaning against the opposite wall, waiting for her to say something. She just looked at him, one eye half-lidded, the other swollen and closed. Eventually, he realised he’d have to be the first to speak.

“So,” he said. “Like I said, I came here to apologise for my behaviour.” She looked at him with her black eye, and he flushed awkwardly. It sounded like he was apologising for spilling wine on the carpet. “And to see if there was anything I could do to make it up to you. Anything at all.”

Now he sounded like a letch.

She nodded absently, studying him for a long moment. “Did you
really
think I was a Fictional?”

Niles hesitated, then nodded. “You seemed very... artificial,” he said, trying to put it into words that didn’t sound like insults. “And you look – or you looked – a lot like someone I knew once, someone who turned out not to be a real person. I think I just got it into my head that you were imaginary. Like she was.” He sighed heavily, reaching up and running his fingers through his greying, thinning hair.

She nodded. “But you thought I was a Fictional. You really, honestly thought that I was a fictional character.” There was an urgency in her voice now. Niles didn’t understand why she was pressing the point, but it made him uncomfortable.

Niles held up his hands apologetically. “I jumped to a silly conclusion. I’m sorry –” He suddenly noticed that her face had softened and she’d broken into a wide smile.

“You thought I was imaginary. Oh, God, that’s
great.
” She laughed, her face flushing. She was grinning at him now, looking pleased as punch. Niles found himself once again feeling like he was playing a game that he didn’t understand the rules to – but at the same time, it was better seeing her happy than angry, even if it was somehow more unsettling.

He shifted against the wall, looking out of the kitchen door to the hallway. He knew it was time to leave, while she seemed to have forgiven him. Leave and never see her again.

He didn’t move.

She grinned. “So... you really didn’t know what that was? What we were doing?” She’d relaxed completely, her leg swinging freely on the stool, her good eye fixing him with a confident look that he recognised from the bar. “I mean, I thought I was being way too obvious about it, but...” She laughed again. “You’re not part of the scene?”

“Scene?” He blinked, confused. “Like a play, or –”

“The meta scene.” She said it like he should know – he just stared, and she shook her head, as if she was talking to a child. “You know, the
meta
scene. People who – well, who want to be fictional.”

Niles blinked again. “I’m sorry, what?”

“So you’re a
real
author? That Kurt Power stuff, that’s all real?” She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God... your friend is a real Fictional?” She giggled, her one unbruised eye shining. “You know what I mean. I didn’t recognise him from anything. I kind of thought you were bi.”

“Bi?” Niles felt utterly lost.

“You know. Swinging both ways.”

“I know what it
means,
I just –”

She laughed again, giddy as a lamb. “Your friend looked kind of like a bear, and it looked like you were playing a scene with him, but you kept looking at me, so... Jesus, I can’t believe you’re really an author. I’m going to have to edit that blog post.” He looked stricken. “Oh, God, not putting your name on there, I don’t mean that. Just to explain why you were so terrible in bed.”

Niles winced. After the session with Cutner, he’d felt as if he’d been standing on solid ground, that he actually knew what was going on. Yes, it hadn’t cast him in a flattering light, but at least the situation was something he could grasp, something he understood. Now he felt as if he was standing knee-deep in quicksand again. “So... you thought I was just –” He tried to think what the terminology would be. “Just, um... role-playing?”

She shrugged, grinning, biting her lip. There was something about her obvious excitement, coupled with the black eye he’d given her, that made him feel deeply uncomfortable at the situation. The erection he was starting to get made him feel worse. It was
The Delicious Mr Doll
all over again. “I guess,” she said, “that’s a word for it. Jesus, how do I explain this... there’s two basic roles – creators and created. Authors, screenwriters, producers – and their characters. I thought you were playing a creator.” She tilted her head. “You go to the Victoria a lot?”

He nodded. “Fairly often – just to meet my friend, really. We go to other places too.”

“It’s kind of a meta hangout. The first Thursday of every month is the big meta night for the area – you ever been then?” She smirked. “You’d be a hit.”

Niles frowned. He knew there were private functions in the Victoria, but he’d assumed they were just office parties, or birthdays, or board game nights – something he could understand. The idea of a hidden world operating under the one he knew seemed to him very... well, fictional. Like a bad movie – one of those sub-
Basic Instinct
knock-offs about ordinary people sucked into sleazy masquerade balls reminiscent of old
Electric Blue
videos, designed to titillate the audience while at the same time reassuring them that immorality never paid. “I don’t know anything about that,” he said.

“You should come along,” she said, and winked, or maybe blinked – with the black eye, it was hard to tell. He was getting flashes of the Liz Lavenza he’d met, the strange, flirtatious, confident girl from the bar who he’d been so fascinated by. He shifted again, trying to rearrange the front of his trousers in such a way as to be inconspicuous.

“You say you
want
to be a Fictional?” he asked, genuinely curious. “Why?”