“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.
“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.”