Box. Part 27

"I'm afraid I've lost my appet.i.te."

She smiles. "Nonsense! You haven't eaten all afternoon, you said so yourself. We're going to have a nice quiet evening and you're going to relax and enjoy your dinner."

"No, I'm sorry. I'm just not in the mood."

She pulls a gun from her purse, points it at me, then c.o.c.ks it.

"I insist," she says.

HAVE YOU EVER tried to eat dinner with a loaded gun pointed at your face? If so, was the person holding the gun chugging a bottle of wine? And if so, did you enjoy your meal? Reason I ask, I'm having trouble concentrating on the food.

"My Daddy gave you that rope burn, didn't he?" she says.

I nod.

"How'd you escape?"

"It's a long story."

"I'd love to hear it."

"Can I tell you later?"

"Sure. Want to tell me about the police station first?"

"Maybe after dinner."

"Okay," she says, cheerfully.

"Would you consider putting the gun down?"

"Not really. Not yet."

"When?"

"Well," she says, "you were quite the eager beaver till the cops barged in. I thought we really had it going, s.e.x-wise. I mean, you yelled a lot, and carried on like it meant something. But now you seem to have lost interest. I'm trying not to take it personally, but I don't deal well with rejection."

"If you're not planning to get to the point, can you just go ahead and shoot me?"

She smiles. "I like you."

"Don't base too much on a first impression," I say.

"You're a saucy one, Dr. Box!"

I shrug.

The room phone rings.

"I should get that," I say.

"I don't think so."

She lets it ring. Then picks up the phone, calls the front desk, tells them not to put any calls through. She hangs up the phone and says, "You know what I think?"

"I have no idea."

She says, "I think I may have given it up too quickly. The s.e.x, I mean."

"Really?" I say. "Because it seems to me you held out nearly two minutes before taking your clothes off."

"I don't remember you complaining about that. And anyway, we had a history on the internet that gave me reason to believe you might be special. I haven't given up that thought, by the way. But I'm afraid you don't respect me like you should."

"Why's that?"

"You think I'm easy. A trampaA s.l.u.taA wh.o.r.eaFeel free to interrupt me at any time."

"You're doing fine."

She shakes her head and curls her lips into a strange smile and looks at me the way a giant snake might look at a wounded mouse. "I like saucy men," she says. "But you know what?"

"What?"

"I can be saucy, too."

"Oh, joy."

"You know what your problem is?" she says.

"You?"

"No. Your problem is we haven't spent any quality time together. As friends."

"Is this how you treat your friends? By holding a gun on them?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you reciprocate?"

"What do you mean?"

"Ever let your friends hold the gun on you?"

She smiles. "I like the way you word things. You've got a fine mind, Gideon. Ever thought about being a kindergarten teacher?"

"Every hour of every day."

She laughs heartily. When it dies down she says, "Here's what we're going to do."

"Tell me."

"When you finish eating, we're going to do what normal couples do."

"What's that?"

She fumbles around in her purse with one hand while holding the gun on me with the other. Eventually, she finds what she's looking for, and places it on the table between us.

A bottle of nail polish.

"I don't understand," I say.

"You're going to paint my toenails," she says.

"You're joking."

"When we do good deeds for others, we feel good about ourselves."

"We do?"

"It builds our self-esteem. And helps us flex our empathy muscles. It's the first step toward being good neighbors. And you know what that helps you become?"

"Crazy?"

"A citizen of the world."

"All this from painting your toenails? Who knew? We should call the United Nations immediately. Can peace be far behind?"

"Go ahead," she says. "Make jokes."

"What's the point? You'll only laugh."

She laughs.

"See?"

She says. "I really do like you, Gideon. I can see why Trudy wants you. But that will never happen."

"Why not?"

"She's too young and pretty for you. And doesn't know how to please a man."

Renee's way off base about Trudy's ability to please a man. I think about the hand job in the car until I see Renee staring at my face.

"Something wrong?" I say.

"Looks like you were daydreaming about something pleasant. I mention Trudy, you get a goofy smile on your face. We're going to have to work on that."

"How?"

"By adjusting your focus. From her to me."

"And you think painting your nails will accomplish that?"

"Yes. Because painting my nails is something you can do for me, to show you value me as a person. And when we show others we value them, we open ourselves up to wonderful possibilities. Like friendship. Is that something you'd be willing to do?"

"I'd be willing to cut off my ears if it would make you stop using that stupid kindergarten voice."

She frowns.

I say, "You seriously believe by forcing me to paint your nails I'll become a better person?"

"Yes. And you'll do other things to show you value me not only as a person, but as a life partner."

My turn to frown. "Life partner?"

"Of course *life' is a relative term. While I can guarantee we'll be partners for life, it's up to you how long our partnership will last."

"Because it ends with my death?"

"Yes, of course."

"What else will you force me to do?"

"To help you value me as a person?"

"Yeah. Whatever."

"After the nail ceremony, I'll allow you to please me orally, like we discussed earlier. I'll give you detailed instructions until you master the perfect combination that causes my bud to bloom. After you satisfy my needs, we'll go in the bathroom, and I'll make a nice doo doo in the potty. Then I'll let you wipe my behind. You're making a strange face. What's on your mind, darling?"

"The many ways I'm going to torture my therapist before killing her."

"You're making a joke."

"You are, if you think I'm going to wipe your a.s.s."

"Wiping my behind seems gross to you?"

"Shockingly, yes."

She smiles. "That's because you don't see it for what it is."