“No, not very.”
“That’s really insulting of them to accept me!”
“Calm down. You shouldn’t have applied if you thought you might get in.”
“I obviously didn’t think I would get in, Patricia. I’m not short!”
“Yeah, but height is relative. Maybe they’ll make you act on your knees.”
“Well, write back and tell them I’ve already committed to playing Mini-Me in a touring Austin Powers production.”
Early Saturday morning, as they had agreed with Roland, Alan and Lynn were driving Roland’s Jeep to the inn. The leaves were brilliant, red and yellow.
Jessica, in a rented car, followed them. She had brought all her equipment — binoculars, disguises, Kleenexes — as a spurned woman would. Her radio was blasting as she bounced in her seat, and she occasionally grabbed her big binoculars and looked through them at their car to reassure herself that she was normal.
She couldn’t wait to get to the hotel and was tempted to tailgate Alan to make him move faster. He was so unobservant, he’d never notice it was her.
As soon as they arrived, she would waste no time in trying not to get caught by Max. The mere words “get caught” made her let go of the steering wheel and wave her arms in the air to the beat of the disco music.
Max greeted Lynn and Alan warmly when they arrived. Lynn was surprised that Max had gone back to his old self. His codpiece was on as well as his ruffles. His long hair, of course, could not grow back immediately, and he had not resorted to a wig.
Lynn made the introductions.
“Max, this is Alan, the man whose girlfriend I told you about.”
Alan looked at Lynn. “You told him about Jessica? What did you say?”
“That she’s a very pretty private detective,” Lynn said.
Max had been greatly looking forward to Alan’s arrival and the opportunity of doing the opposite of what despicable Roland had ordered him to do. Max had put beautiful satin sheets on Alan’s bed and the most expensive bath products in his bathroom. And the most luscious towels. And flowers and bowls of candy. He did everything possible to put Alan in the most flattering light, figuratively as well as literally. He even had someone come in to give him a massage and a facial. Alan was certainly not averse to the massage. Max explained that it was included in the price of the room. Why Lynn didn’t get all those amenities was a mystery. When asked, Max said the luxuries happened to be included in Alan’s particular room — room 5—not in any other. If you were lucky enough to happen to be the occupant of that room, which was not more expensive than the others, then you got those advantages.
Max had no desire to give Lynn any luxuries, because even though he had not been as offended by her as he had been by Roland, it hadn’t delighted him to hear that she thought Roland shone next to him in contrast.
Alan offered to switch rooms with Lynn so that she could get the luxuries, since she was the one truly in need, the stalkaholic. He felt that sensual pleasures would do Lynn good. They always helped stalkers. Alan thought to himself that he should one day write a self-help book for stalkers. The number one advice he would give them was pamper yourself. Stalkers usually didn’t pamper themselves enough. There were, of course, exceptions — cases of stalkers who pampered themselves too much, which increased the severity of their stalking. One needed a perfect amount of self-pampering in order to lessen stalking. Too much worsened it. Too little worsened it. But too little pampering worsened it more than too much did.
So they switched all their belongings and went out for a walk. By the time they returned, they were astonished to see that the satin sheets, the fancy bath products, and other luxuries, had switched rooms and were in Alan’s new room. There was a note that said, “The management frowns upon guests switching rooms. Switching rooms will do no good. The room will follow him wherever he goes, for the remainder of his days. Unless he is discovered to be a prick.”
Alan stared at the note, shrugged, and said, “Whatever” to himself, intent on not letting the manager’s quirkiness sidetrack him from the purpose of this weekend. Alan had a plan to be unattractive. Bad clothes, bad cologne. He tried once again to make facial expressions that were “too drastic,” as Lynn had put it long ago. He tried to recapture his nervous body language, but he found it just too disturbing, too frightening, like being repossessed by the Devil. He decided his body language was the only thing he would not mess with, for that was too dearly earned. Instead, he focused on speaking well of Roland. “He’s energetic. He has a great metabolism. He’s tan. He’s French. Oh! And he used to beat me at racquetball every single time!”
During lunch, Max sat with Lynn and Alan while they ate the grilled salmon he had prepared for them. Max praised Alan incessantly, pointing things out to Lynn about Alan that he thought were wonderful. Lynn agreed completely.
As for Jessica, she roamed the hotel, spying. She kept trying not to get caught by Max, and he kept not catching her. She tried spying more vigorously, but she still didn’t get caught. So she spied so fervently that she barely hid. And Max finally caught a glimpse of her at 3:00 P.M. in the sitting room, wearing a black miniskirt and two pairs of binoculars dangling around her neck. She fled behind the sitting room’s heavy door.
Max approached her and asked, “Why are you hiding?”
“I’m spying on my boyfriend.”
“Do you want me to help you?”
“No. I just really, really don’t want you to tell him about it. I would do anything so that you not tell him.”
After a few seconds, he said, “Oh.” Not sure what to say, he finally just said, “Anything?”
“Yes. That’s how much I don’t want you to tell him.”
It was only then that Max realized this woman might be Alan’s girlfriend, the terrific sex addict whom Lynn had raved about. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, be Alan’s girlfriend, would you?”
“Yes, I am.”
He frowned. He appreciated the situation she had set up for him.
“I highly disapprove of spying. So the price may be high.”
“I know,” she said, lowering her eyes bashfully and even managing to blush a little.
He was impressed.
“You may not be ready for what I have in mind,” he said.
She kept her eyes lowered.
“It may involve bringing my repulsive person near you.” He took a step forward.
“You are not repulsive,” she said, softly.
“Oh no? Flattery will not lighten your sentence, you know.”
“I know.”
His body was now very close to hers, and he dared to bring his hand under her skirt.
“Where is your underwear?” he asked.
“I lost it.”
“Where?”
“In the garden. It fell off when I was spying. I didn’t have time to retrieve it.”
“How unfortunate for you. That will not help your case.”
He pressed her back against the wall, behind the door, and unhooked his codpiece. He whipped a condom out of his pocket and slipped it on.
He slid his erection under her skirt, between her legs, and pushed himself into her.
She had a startled, helpless expression on her face. Her eyes were open wide; her eyebrows downward slopes of sorrow. Her lovely lips were parted, looking innocently shocked. He moved himself in and out of her. Slowly. Every time he pushed himself in, there was a sharp intake of breath on her part. Dismay. He appreciated her acting.
They could hear people talking in the hallway, right outside the sitting room. He slowed his movements even more, but did not stop them completely. Her legs were barely parted.
“I am far from done with you,” Max whispered in Jessica’s ear, and pulled himself out.
He took her to an empty bedroom and told her to stay there. He said he had some work to do, that he’d be back.