Love Creeps

by Amanda Filipacchi

  “Her,” Alan said.

  “Is it that girl who answered the phone when I called your apartment?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she fat?”

  “No, why would you ask that?”

  “Oh, because she was clearly exercising, you know, aerobics video in the background, panting, so I figured, hey … she must be fat, trying to shed the pounds.”

  “When you called, she was actually on the phone with me—as she told you—and the reason she was panting was that we were having phone sex.”

  Roland and Lynn looked slapped.

  “What does she do for a living? Does she have some kind of sex phone line, or something?” Roland asked.

  “No. She’s a private detective.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. And she owns a gun.”

  Alan could see them absorbing this information.

  “So she’s a professional stalker …” Roland mused. “What a perfect match for you. How did you meet her?”

  Alan hesitated, and finally confessed, “I was coming out of an SA meeting … that stands for Stalkaholics Anonymous … and she was coming out of her meeting in the next room, and we met in the hallway.”

  “What kind of meeting was hers?”

  Alan was reluctant to disclose so much to these problematic people. But finally, he did, because he was not entirely ashamed of the information. “Sex Addicts Anonymous.”

  Roland’s eyes were like Ping-Pong balls released underwater. “She’s a sex addict?”

  “Was.”

  “Aren’t you afraid she’ll cheat on you?”

  “No. She’s doing much better now. Just as I am.”

  “She must be pretty freaked out by your rat.”

  Alan frowned and shook his head. “No, women with guns don’t usually mind rats.”

  “You mean because they can shoot them?”

  “No, it’s just a gutsier category of women.”

  They asked him more questions about his life, and they began sounding to Alan as if they were trying to guess the answer to a riddle. And it was clear to Alan that the riddle was: What, in Alan’s life, still sucks? They were having such a hard time coming up with the answer that Alan decided to give them a hint, in the form of another riddle. He clasped his hands on the table, and said, “What is greater than God, more evil than the Devil, the rich need it, and the poor have it?”

  “I’ve got no clue,” Roland said.

  “That was the clue,” Alan said.

  “What was the clue?”

  “The riddle I just told you.”

  “The clue to what?”

  “To the larger riddle.”

  “What larger riddle?”

  “The one you have both been trying to guess since we sat down.”

  “And what is this larger riddle?”

  “I don’t need to tell you. We all three know what it is,” Alan said.

  “Well what’s the answer to it?” Roland asked.

  “The same as the answer to this smaller riddle. I’ll let you figure it out. Supposedly, third-graders more often guess this little riddle than do graduate students.”

  On the drive back to the country, Roland was in a bad mood trying to guess the riddle. He was repeating it to himself out loud while driving. Lynn was looking out her window quietly, lost in thought. Softly, she finally said, “It’s nothing.”

  “What?” he said, turning toward her angrily. “What are you saying? Speak up!”

  “Nothing.”

  “You said something. Have the courtesy to tell me this thing which you impolitely mumbled, nom de merde!”

  “Nothing, that’s—”

  He raised his hand to hit her. She raised her arm to shield her face. The car swerved. She screamed. Horns honked. He pulled over on the side of the road.

  “Now tell me what the fuck you were saying,” he said in a quiet, chilling voice.

  Eyes wide with fear, she chose her words carefully, making sure not to begin her reply with the word “nothing.”

  “The answer to the riddle,” she said, “is the word ‘nothing.’ That’s what I was trying to tell you.” She waited, still worried he might hit her. But instead, he looked at the steering wheel and made little sounds as he went over the riddle in his head. “Hmph,” he finally said.

  Lynn quietly added, “And what is wrong with Alan’s life? Nothing.”

  “Oh, he thinks he’s so clever, the little prick, with his ri-dull.”

  Lynn stared at Roland.

  He started the car, muttering, “His stupid riddle that’s so dumb only third-graders can guess it. Third-graders and Lynn.”

  Three weeks later, Alan was making love with his girlfriend when the phone rang.

  “Don’t answer,” she mumbled, her mouth full.

  “I have to. It could be my friend Martin, who’s been feeling suicidal lately.”

  Alan answered the phone, and Jessica stopped what she was doing, out of respect for this suicidal Martin, in case it was him.

  But instead, Alan said, “Lynn?” with surprise. He sat up a little.

  Jessica immediately resumed what she was doing. Alan tried to push her away, but he knew it was futile.

  “Yes, it’s me,” Lynn said, “How are you?”

  “Fine, and you?”

  “Um, not so great. That’s why I’m calling. I just wanted to ask a little favor. Um …” and she began to talk to him about Roland, and how she didn’t think he was doing very well.

  Alan felt awkward being on the phone while Jessica was tending to him so devotedly and exquisitely, but he didn’t see how he could interrupt the call with Lynn, who sounded quite upset.

  He found an opening and said, “I’m sorry to hear things aren’t going so well. You said you had a favor to ask?”

  “Yes, you see, um, I was really impressed by how much you’ve changed, how much happier you seem to be. It’s miraculous, the way you’ve turned your life around, except I’m sure it’s the furthest thing from a miracle, considering all the work you’ve probably put into it. And so I thought to myself, if Alan can do it, anyone can do it. No offense, Alan.”

  “None taken,” Alan said. He started playing with Jessica’s gun, which she had discarded with her clothes in a heap on the floor. After taking out the bullets, he twirled the gun around his finger. Jessica was still occupied with him.

  “Anyway,” Lynn said, “I was wondering if you would mind having a meeting with Roland, but this time one-on-one, where you could perhaps advise him, or I don’t know, just do some good.”

  At first Alan wondered if this was a practical joke, but he had become good at recognizing genuine misery.

  “Does Roland know about this?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “And you think he’d be interested?”

  “No. Never. You’d have to trick him into it, make it sound like you’re having some problems and want to confide in him. Make him feel like he’s doing you the favor, not that you are doing me a favor. Then I think he’d go for it.”

  “Hmm. Listen, I’m flattered that you think I’ve changed so much, but you know, I really have a lot of work. I wish I could help, but I just don’t have the time.”

  There was silence on her end. And then, softly, she said, “You were my last hope. I’ll have to end it with him.”

  “Is it really that bad?”

  “It’s worse,” she said, and he could hear her cry. “He’s verbally abusive. Sometimes almost physically, too.”

  “Well you should leave him, then! Get outa there!” Alan said, aiming the gun at the clock on the wall as if it were a head.

  “I can’t … quite. I keep thinking it will get better,” she said. “If only there were some beneficial influence on him.”

  Apparently fed up, Jessica got off him and walked away.

  “Okay. I’ll do it,” Alan said, eager to get off the phone and recapture his girlfriend.

  “Thank you so much,” Lynn said.<
br />
  “Sure. Oh, but what type of problem should I say I’m having?”

  “Anything. Like, that … you’re afraid your girlfriend might be cheating on you, or something.”

  The next day, as Lynn walked into the house carrying bags of groceries, Roland pranced into the kitchen in his boxer shorts and said, “Guess who called?”

  She hadn’t seen him this cheerful in a long time. “Who?”

  “Alan.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup.” Roland plucked a grape from a bag, popped it in his mouth.

  “Why?”

  “It seems that I was right. No one’s life is perfect. His is not, despite that little show he put on for us, and his stupid riddle. He’s having some problems.”

  “What are they?”

  “Wants to meet up with me, man to man, to confide. What a loser.”

  Lynn placed the milk in the fridge sadly.

  Roland went on. “And so I very cleverly thought of something we could get out of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, in exchange for doing him this favor, I asked that he let us see his apartment.”

  “Why?”

  “So that we’ll have something to amuse us afterward. In case his problems aren’t enough.”

  “But if he wants to see you man to man, I can’t go with you.”

  “We can still meet him at his place, then you can go off and do something else while I have lunch with him.”

  “I don’t feel like going into the city.”

  “You’re such a drag. I want you to come. I did this for you.”

  “Did what for me?”

  “Got him to agree to let us see his apartment! I did it for the sake of our relationship, so that you and I could hopefully have a little rapprochement, through laughter. If you don’t come with me, I’ll take it as a sign that you have no interest in our relationship.”

  Lynn sighed. “Okay, I’ll go.”

  He leaned his body against hers, pressing her against the fridge, and lifted her skirt. The magnets squeaked, digging into her back. She tried to resist him, slightly. He persevered. There was really only one type of occasion left in their daily lives when she didn’t find him repulsive, and that was when he pretended to force himself on her. But the appeal of even that was fading.

  “Not a bad little place you’ve got here,” Roland said, standing in Alan’s living room, as Lynn looked on. “This white chair seems out of place here, though. It’s dirty.”

  “I know,” Alan said. “It’s my white elephant. I keep meaning to get rid of it, but I can’t stand the thought of just throwing it away. Do you know anyone who might want it?”

  “Lord, no. Just dump it. And that rat, too, in my opinion. Okay, shall we go to lunch?”

  “Yes,” Alan said. “Lynn, will you be all right on your own? Feel free to stay here while we’re out, if you want to rest. There’s plenty of food in the fridge.”

  Lynn started objecting, but Roland cut her off. “That’s so nice of you. I’m sure she’d like to rest a little before walking the streets.”

  Lynn rolled her eyes at Roland’s fondness for incorporating lame insulting double meanings in his comments about her.

  “Okay then. Let me just go to the bathroom, and we can go.” Alan left the living room.

  Roland whispered to Lynn, “When we’re gone, rummage around a little. Try to find stuff we can laugh about later. Believe me, we need it.”

  The two men left Lynn alone in the apartment. Roland dropped a button on his way out.

  Ray the homeless man had been surprised to see Lynn and Roland entering Alan’s apartment building and was even more stunned to see Alan and Roland leaving together with Lynn still inside. He wondered what it all meant, but he suppressed his curiosity, telling himself that whatever the explanation, it was bound to contain a core of triviality. Strange people were just trying to tantalize him, and he was determined to resist.

  “So, what’s your problem, little buddy?” Roland asked, biting into a cheeseburger.

  That French accent didn’t mix well with his Americanisms.

  “I’m afraid my girlfriend might be cheating on me,” Alan said, not having had the time to come up with a better pretext for the meeting.

  “Hmm. I’m sorry to hear it. But before we get into that, I’ve always wondered, why is being a sex addict a problem?”

  “It gets in the way of work and relationships.”

  “How did it get in the way of her work as a private detective?” Roland snickered. He was capable of snickering in a normal fashion.

  “For example, she was hired to follow a man to find out if he was having an affair. And even though he was not, he ended up having one with her.”

  “Oh, I see. And you said you met her when she was in a Sex Addicts meeting next to your Stalkaholics meeting? How did you start dating?”

  “The two meetings let out at the same time, and you can often see the stalkers and the sex addicts eyeing each other. It’s not uncommon for members of one group to start dating members of the other.”

  “Please go on.”

  “There’s a lot of tension when the stalkers and sex addicts mingle in the hallway. Many of them scurry away like criminals, trying to resist their temptations. She, being a professional stalker, liked the fact that I didn’t seem ashamed of my addiction. That was important to her, since my addiction is her profession, and she didn’t want to be with someone who was ashamed of what she did for a living. It’s kind of ironic since she’s ashamed of her addiction.”

  “She’s ashamed of being a sex addict?”

  “Oh, horribly. In fact, she’s in complete denial of it. Not at first, she wasn’t. Later, when she started getting her addiction under control, she no longer wanted to think of herself as a sex addict and became convinced she no longer was. I had to constantly remind her of the twelve-step belief that an addict is always an addict.”

  “Well, maybe she isn’t one, any longer,” Roland said.

  Alan gave him an exasperated look. “One of our ongoing battles is she wants me to dress up as a pink rabbit and go to Central Park and have sex with her in public.”

  “Is she nuts?”

  “No. She’s a sex addict.”

  “For everyone to see? In the middle of the crowds?”

  “Yes, but hidden by the costume I’d be wearing, so it wouldn’t be obvious what we were doing.”

  “Do you guys have sex a lot?”

  “A fair amount. She’s like a very lovely patient who needs to be administered to. The Sex Addicts Anonymous meetings have helped her a lot, though. She’s doing so much better. She’s had relapses in the past, but not since I’ve met her, and I don’t think there’s much chance of one happening at this point. I really trust her.” Alan caught himself just in time. “Except, of course, that I don’t.”

  Roland nodded. “So what makes you think she’s cheating on you?”

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just my paranoia.”

  “You brought me all the way over here for your paranoia? No, man, tell me the truth.”

  “It’s just a feeling I have. But I’m probably wrong.”

  “Give me some facts.”

  Not having expected Roland to be so pushy, Alan had not prepared any facts. So he had to improvise. “Oh, there’s that chair. My white chair. It has some spots on it.”

  “Damn you, I can’t believe you dragged me to the city for this.”

  “Well, how do you explain the spots?” Alan stabbed at his spinach salad. “They look as though they’ve been washed.”

  “So? Do people only scrub off sex spots, not food spots? What makes you think they’re sex spots and not food spots?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling I have. I told you it was my paranoia.”

  “What else?”

  “Hmm. The fact that sometimes when I call her, she’s out of breath and when I ask her why, she says she’s exercising, and only then does the aerobics tape
start playing in the background.”

  “Maybe she turned off the volume to answer the phone, then turned it back on when she heard it was you. What else have you got?”

  “Actually, once when she said she was exercising, I told her to undress so we could have phone sex, and she said something like, ‘Hang on, my underwear is caught on my heel.’ Her heel? She was wearing heels while exercising?”

  “Maybe she meant the heel of her sneaker or the heel of her foot.”

  “Right. Or maybe she meant the heel of her red pumps, which she only wears while having sex. Or maybe she lied and was already naked, already having sex, with someone else, on my spotted white easy chair.”

  “Too bad you can’t ask the rat. He probably saw it all.”

  Alan didn’t answer. He was looking down at his food, playing with his spinach salad.

  Roland said, “Jeez, man, I’m sorry. It sounds like she probably is cheating on you.”

  “No, I’m sure she’s not. It’s all in my head.” Abruptly, Alan raised his hand, flagged down the waitress, and ordered a beer, hoping to get carded, but he wasn’t.

  Finally, he said to Roland, “So anyway, how are things with you and Lynn?”

  “Hmm. Not so well. My problem with Lynn is that I can’t get over the fact that she used to stalk me. It’s hard for me to respect her. Scratch that. It’s impossible for me to respect her.”

  “That’s a shame. You may lose her.”

  “Pff! Where do you get off?”

  “I don’t mean to sound presumptuous, but isn’t it the same story with lots of folks? If only you hadn’t succeeded in winning her over so thoroughly, you’d probably still be crazy about her?”

  “It’s not just that. It’s also what I said. I don’t have a problem with people, like your girlfriend,. who stalk for a living, who stalk for profit. But when people stalk for pleasure, that bugs me. It’s the same as with hunting. Hunting for pleasure is sick. Hunting for food is fine. And it’s the opposite of sex. Sex for pleasure is fine. Sex for profit is wrong.”

  “But she was only fake-stalking you. She was forcing herself.”

  “I don’t buy it anymore. I think that was her ploy to get me.”

  “That was her ploy to want you. Not to get you.”

  “I said I don’t buy it anymore! Also, this will probably sound sick to you, but the fact that you wanted her …”