“Yes.”
“What’s his name?”
“I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to divulge that kind of information.”
“Oh. He just looks like someone I know,” she tried. “I wonder if he’s that person.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to divulge his name.”
“Is there anything you are at liberty to divulge?”
“Yes. That if you would like, I could ring up Mr. Dupont and—” He seemed abruptly shaken by his slip.
“And ask him if he’d mind disclosing his first name?” she teased.
“Something like that.” He placed his hand on the house phone, threatening to pick it up.
“No, no. Please don’t bother Mr. Dupont for such a trivial matter.”
Not actually caring about his name, but aware that typical stalkers are at least slightly pushy, she added, “Do you mind if I try to guess his first name?”
“I don’t have time to play guessing games. I’m busy,” the doorman said.
“You are?”
“Yes, I am. I’m working. You are interrupting my work.”
“I’m interrupting your standing there?”
“That’s right. I get paid to stand here and do nothing. You are interrupting what I’m paid to do.”
“Please tell me his name.”
“No. What seems to be the problem?”
She hesitated. “I’ve lost something, and I think he may be able to help me get it back.”
“What have you lost?”
“That’s nosy of you.”
“Just doing my job, miss. What have you lost? Perhaps I can help.”
“I’m sure you can’t.”
“Can’t hurt to try me.”
She finally said, “I lost my desire.”
“I don’t have time for this.”
“I understand. Time is precious, but desire is even more precious.”
“Hardly,” he said. “Desire is a curse. You’re lucky to be free of yours.”
“I am? I guess you’re not free of yours?” Lynn asked.
“No, I’m not. And I would do anything to be. How, may I ask, did you manage to get rid of yours? If you tell me, I’ll tell you Mr. Dupont’s first name.”
“I didn’t get rid of mine, I told you, I lost it. Accidentally. I don’t know how. I’d do anything to get it back. I think he can help me regain it.”
“All the more reason not to help you. You should realize your good fortune, your fortunate loss, but you don’t. And I know why. Your loss is a lie. You claim to have lost desire, and yet you desire to know Mr. Dupont’s first name. Do you not?”
“Actually, no. I’m asking for medicinal purposes.”
“Shall I inform Mr. Dupont of your alarming presence?”
“No, don’t worry, my presence is neither alarming nor worthy of informing him about.”
“Good. Then I really must get back to work, so if you’ll excuse me,” he said, averting his eyes slightly and unfocusing them.
“I understand,” Lynn said. “You’re paid to do a certain amount of nothing every day, and you might get in trouble if your superiors see you haven’t done as much nothing as you were hired to do.”
He remained standing perfectly still. So struck was Lynn by his resemblance to a Duane Hanson sculpture, that she instinctively brought her face closer to his, to marvel at his detailing, at the realistic imperfections of his skin, at the small hairs sticking out of his nostrils. He didn’t flinch under her scrutiny, so absorbed in his work was he.
She walked away.
Stalking Mr. Dupont every day required tremendous willpower for many reasons, not the least of which was that Lynn always wore moderately high heels not made for long walks at a tall man’s pace.
Unfortunately, the more Lynn forced herself to want Mr. Dupont, the less she did.
I need help, she thought. So she ordered her assistant to help her stick to her stalking, to be her coach in this matter, and harass her to follow the man.
It didn’t take Lynn’s stalker, Alan, long to realize that sometimes, while he followed her, Lynn was following another man. Alan hoped it was his imagination, but he soon had to accept that it wasn’t. He was confused. This was not the way this type of thing usually unfolded. Granted, he’d never stalked anyone before, but from what he’d seen in movies and in books, a victim of stalking does not engage in stalking another man while she’s being stalked. Alan told himself not to worry about it too much, that it might pass.
Instead, he turned his attention to finding a way to become part of her life. After a while he came up with this: he could try to sneak it past her, could try to let his love creep slowly into her life.
She was the kind of woman not bothered by a stalker. In fact, she was so absorbed in other things that she might not notice if he entered her life. Before she realized, they’d be friends. One day she might even absentmindedly accept an invitation to dinner. And another time he might manage to have sex with her while she was doing something else. Before she knew it, maybe he’d move in. And one day, if an attractive man said to her, “I’d love to take you out to dinner. Do you have a boyfriend?” she’d think about it for a second and be forced to reply, slightly stunned, “I guess I do,” wondering when, exactly, it had happened.
It was a perfect plan. He would seep into her life.
Alan started sending Lynn gifts. First he sent her cookies, then movie tickets, then a bonsai tree, then pink and yellow lingerie. He also sent her notes. With the cookies was one that said, “I hope you’ll enjoy them. I know you don’t need to watch your waistline.” With the lingerie, the note said, “You are visually sleek. Your colors blend so well with each other. You look airbrushed. These colors should complement you nicely.” The note that came with the bonsai tree said, “Please take care of this small life-form, and know that it not only excretes oxygen, which is good for you; it also excretes my love for you, which is even better.”
Alan could not help noticing that Lynn continued stalking the other man. Alan was extremely perturbed by this. He had never heard of such a thing. Was it just a weird coincidence, that the woman he happened to stalk was a stalker herself? Had she only begun stalking recently? He’d only noticed her doing it for a few days, but maybe she’d been doing it all along. To make matters worse, the man she was stalking was taller than Alan, better-looking than Alan, and had more hair.
It didn’t take long for Alan’s degree of frustration to reach intolerable levels. He decided he had to meet the man Lynn was stalking. He wanted to see him, face-to-face, wanted to know what he was like, hoped to understand what was going on.
Alan joined the gym the man belonged to and immediately found an ideal way to meet him.
In the locker room, he saw the man adding his name and number to the signup sheet for racquetball partners.
Two
One day, Patricia had just left work and was giving a few coins to a red-haired homeless man at the corner. She’d seen him roaming around the neighborhood for two years, and she liked giving him money regularly because he wasn’t pushy or intimidating. Other than to say “Thank you,” he had never spoken to her. Until today.
“Excuse me,” he said, “I know you work with that woman at that fancy gallery at the corner. I was just wondering if you might be able to tell me why she follows a man every day while she herself is followed by another man?”
When Patricia had gotten over her surprise that he had addressed her, she asked, “Is it very noticeable?”
“A bit. To me. Why do they do it?”
“Who knows.”
“You know.”
“Not exactly.”
“But enough. You know enough. I would be truly thrilled to know. I’m a different kind of homeless person.”
“Isn’t that what they all say?” she answered, hoping she didn’t sound mean.