Patricia informed Lynn, “The British Transport and General Workers’ Union has rejected your application for membership on the grounds that you are not British and not a transportation or general worker.”
Lynn nodded slowly, a look of concentration on her face.
Patricia admired Lynn’s devotion to her rejection method, her perseverance in applying it despite getting rejected by Alan on a daily basis anyway.
Alan and Roland told Lynn about their idea of redoing the weekend deal. They gave her no choice as to the order — she’d first be going with Roland, then with Alan.
She agreed.
Ray the homeless man still closed his eyes and held his breath when the stalking chain passed. He had long ago stopped his therapeutic comments. These beguiling crazy people.
When Roland and Lynn arrived at the inn, Max exclaimed warmly, “Ah, Roland and his stalker!”
“Not quite,” Lynn said. “Things have changed. Roland is now my stalker, and next week I’ll be coming with the man I’m currently stalking.”
Lynn scrutinized Max. He hadn’t changed at all. He still had his long curly hair, his ruffles, his codpiece. For some reason, Lynn suddenly wondered how Max and the sex addict Jessica would have hit it off if they had met. After all, he was the guy who thought female stalkers were whores and wanted to be fucked. Jessica would probably have no problem with that. If he were to say to her, “Come and sit on my cock,” she’d probably say, “Are you sure you don’t mind?” It could free up Alan.
When Roland was carrying their bags up to their rooms, Lynn said to Max, “The girlfriend of the guy I’m stalking is a very pretty sex addict. And in complete denial of her addiction. I think you guys would really hit it off. If I succeed in winning him over, she’ll be free. She forced her boyfriend to dress up as a big pink rabbit and have sex with her in Central Park.”
“That seems a little tame,” Max said.
Lynn coldly replied, “I think she would like you. That’s not tame. And neither is the fact that she has a gun.”
When Lynn was unpacking, Roland found Max and asked him if he could speak to him privately. They went into Max’s office.
Roland discreetly dropped a button. “I need you to help me win Lynn back.”
“Sure, man. How?”
“Make yourself as unattractive as possible.”
“Why? You don’t need to worry about her being interested in me.”
“I know. What I’m looking for is the contrast.”
“Contrast?”
“Between you and me. We need to increase the contrast. Even more.”
“Why?”
“So I’ll shine by comparison.”
Max produced an amazed chuckle. “You think that would work?”
“Yes. It did the last time.”
“What do you mean? I wasn’t trying to be unattractive the last time.”
“No, but it worked anyway. So it should work even better when you’re actually trying.” Roland realized he was being mildly insulting, and he didn’t know how to get himself out of it. So he tried this tack: “Lynn thinks that you and I are a perfect match, that you are my most sublime enhancer. You know, like a precious stone and its most perfect setting.”
“You mean you shine, next to me, by contrast?”
“Yes,” Roland said, as if this were a good thing.
Max was silent. His mood had undergone a shift. He gazed at Roland fixedly. “Do you really think I can make myself even more unappealing than I already am? I mean, do you think there’s room for me to get worse?”
“I don’t know. I would be at a loss how to do it. You would know.”
“I guess I would. I’m honored that you have confidence in my judgment.”
“Well, it worked the last time, and you weren’t even trying.”
“No, I wasn’t trying to be unappealing. On the contrary, I was trying to be charming and entertaining. So you can just imagine how gross I’ll be when I’m actually trying to be repulsive.”
He waited to see if Roland would say anything, object in any way, but he didn’t. Roland just nodded. And that’s when Max’s heart, which had gradually been sinking, finally hit bottom and broke. But he didn’t let on.
Back in the city, Alan was sitting on his spotted white easy chair, stroking Pancake, who was sprawled on his lap, and dwelling on his abuse. He was relishing it and cursing it in turns, but he didn’t want it to take over his life, so he tried to distract himself by perusing some of his continuing education catalogs, even though it was too late to register for fall classes. In one of the catalogs, he came upon a particular swimming class he had not seen before. The name of it was, Swimming: For Adults Afraid in Water. There was a picture of a woman with a dolphin, and it said, “You can learn how to swim quickly and painlessly — and to love the water and the spectacular creatures in it!”
Spectacular indeed, those creatures! He slammed the catalog shut. He felt mocked. How naïve he was. Or had he, in fact, known, deep down? That was the question that haunted him. Why else would he have attached a fish tail to the vagina he had sculpted in Goddess class, producing a vaginafish?
He opened the catalog again and read the rest of the class description: “A variety of swimming aids are used, from swim noodles to floating devices.”
Again, he felt mocked. Was the catalog implying he was a noodle? In his own swimming classes they hadn’t used noodles. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t made more progress. Maybe the noodles were necessary for noodles like him, dense noodles abused in water.
Alan went to check the stairwell doors in his building. He hadn’t been as good about checking them every day these past few months and had taken that as a sign of his increased mental health. He also knew that neglecting the doors was dangerous.
As he walked down the seventeen flights of stairs, making sure the doors were all closed, he wondered if he would ever actually visit Miss Tuttle. He wondered what he would say to her and how she would react.
The next time Lynn and Roland saw Max was at breakfast the following morning in the dining room. They were stunned. Max was barely recognizable. He was gorgeous. He had cut his hair, gotten rid of his ruffles and codpiece. He was dressed for the twenty-first century.
Roland was confused. He looked at Lynn. She looked dazzled.
Max said to both of them, “I hope my music didn’t keep you up last night. I was listening to Maria Callas sing an aria from Il Trovatore … wonderful. You should get a disc of her arias, if you don’t have one already. Or I’ll make a copy for you.” After a pause, he said, “By the way, I can suggest lovely spots around here if you’d like to picnic. The kitchen can prepare you a basket.”
“When you say ‘the kitchen,’ what do you mean?” Lynn asked, knowing he didn’t have any staff.
“I mean me, of course,” he said, smiling. “I could prepare you a picnic.”
Roland was outraged. It was obvious to him that Lynn was charmed by the transformation. He could kill Max.
After breakfast, Roland sought out Max.
“What have you done! I asked you to make yourself worse!”
“I did. I got rid of my few attributes. I cut off my luscious locks. Do you know how many years it took me to grow that hair? And I put away my wonderful ruffled shirts, and my manly codpiece, and now I’m wearing these wimpy pants.”
“You look marvelous!” Roland said, giving him a fierce push in the chest. “You’ve ruined it. And what the hell did you do to your personality? It’s even more changed than your appearance!”
“I’m glad you noticed. I turned myself into a clean-cut, anal prick, for you! So that you could shine in contrast!”
Roland decided he had to take matters into his own hands. He tried to be charming all day. He even offered to feed the squirrels and raccoons and any other wild animals there might be, like rats and skunks and snakes and bears, anything at all. It was all to no avail. Lynn was cold and uninterested in him. He bad-mouthed Alan. He warned her that they would have ugly children. But nothing seemed to soften her up.