Nancy got into the car, leaned over, and kissed me long and passionately. “I’ve been waiting to do that all day.”
She was in a talkative mood. “In exactly sixteen days I should start my period, unless of course there’s some untold stress in my life that delays the onset.” By this time in our relationship, nothing she said surprised me. In an unflattering comparison, she was Jack’s female counterpart, except her IQ was way higher and she was drop-dead gorgeous. She continued, “So, by my calculations, the optimal point of my libidinous desires will be between twenty-three and twenty-six days from yesterday.” She put dramatic stress on the word yesterday.
“While I’m not a traditional girl, I would like to get married on a Saturday. Twenty-eight days from yesterday is a Tuesday, so there’s no way we can get married on that day. Luckily, I called the pastor at the church, and he assured me that he can marry us on the previous Saturday at ten o’clock in the morning. That’s right during the time I’m going to be most hungry for sex.”
I reminded her that the twenty-eight-day mark was not supposed to be the day we got married, but the day I’d decide if we were going to. Maybe six months down the road we’d actually do it.
She brushed my comment aside as though swatting away a fly. “Seriously, Joe, you’re a smart guy. You think I’m going to wait another six months before getting married? I’m not a sex toy you can discard when you’re ready for a new model. So, is that Saturday okay with you?”
“Yes, as long as you behave normally for the next three and a half weeks.” I wasn’t up to arguing with her, and I wasn’t letting her go.
“I’m so happy we can work out these little problems so easily. We are going to have the most wonderful marriage.”
She looked at my grandmother’s ring on her finger for a long moment and asked, “I would really appreciate it if you would take back what you said last night about your grandmother and her ring.”
“Okay, I take it back.”
Nancy offered to cook dinner, which was an empty gesture considering we had nothing in the house to cook. We ordered pizza and then she went for a long swim. I sat by the pool and watched as she swam back and forth, thinking that never had I seen a more beautiful creature in or out of the water … and I was a big fan of both ducks and dolphins.
Nancy climbed out of the pool, grabbed a towel, and walked into the house. I followed closely behind as she left a trail of water from the living room straight into her bathroom. I tapped her on the shoulder just as she was about to close the door and pointed to the water on the floor. She apologized, threw me the towel, and asked if I could clean it up because she had to pee badly.
While in the bathroom, she also decided to take a shower. I sat on the couch, poured two glasses of wine, and watched as she walked into the living room dressed in her pajamas. She lifted her dry feet up for me to see and remarked, once again, about how perfect she was as she took a long drink from her glass. She reached over, kissed me enthusiastically, and said, “Oh, I can’t wait for our honeymoon. We are going to have such a wild time. I promise.” She finished the wine in her glass, walked into the bedroom, and went to sleep. I remained on the couch, thinking about the nothingness of it all.
That Nancy was so obsessively preoccupied with getting married was equally disturbing and flattering. She could have had anyone — movie moguls, famous actors, producers, directors, and heads of the largest companies in the world — but she decided she wanted me. Why? Seriously, why?
It couldn’t be totally about money. Many bank accounts in this town would make me look like a pauper. Looks, no way. I might be described as easy on the eyes but I certainly was no Paul Newman or Robert Redford. Possibly my intellect and knowledge? I’m fairly sure I was the only guy in this town who shared her literary interests, but then she was into mathematics and physics, which I had virtually no interest in. Everything was a calculation, a mathematical certainty; she was a walking algorithm.
My pre-wedding gift to her was the purchase of a patent for a computer network she had designed; she had created the software and then built the system with a trusted team of MIT professors and former classmates. The money she could potentially earn from the patent — millions, if not billions, of dollars — didn’t seem to concern her.
Nancy and I got married in the little church on Coldwater Canyon. Less than a half hour after the ceremony, she was dressed in the red lingerie and bandanna, as promised. We had been celibate for the three weeks prior to the wedding. I didn’t bother with a prenup. In a liberal state like California it was useless; if Nancy ever did go to court to argue the prenup, she’d naturally win, and, instead of getting half my estate, she’d walk away with the entire thing. She was one persuasive little creature. No judge, male or female, would side with me.
She naturally had me sign a contract saying that I would never divorce her, and in turn she would never, ever grant me a divorce. In case of any infidelity on my part, she would not be responsible for her actions, but she promised that “the bitch would regret the day she was born,” and after she was done with me she would never have to worry about me cheating on her again, but she would still never divorce me.
After making love, Nancy curled up next to me. She held me tightly, and it was then that I realized why she loved me. Like my father who protected my beautiful mother at all costs — so much so that he followed her to the grave — Nancy knew that I would protect her from all ghosts, past and present.
Chapter Twenty-Six
At first I was hesitant to tell Maggie about my marriage to Nancy, but then I realized that if I didn’t tell her, the second I got to work she would be hearing it from my bride. I was quite sure that was Nancy’s first official business of the day, telling her rival to back off. The battle was over and she was the uncontested champion.
Maggie took the news almost too wonderfully; my ego was sort of hurt. The male ego could be so fragile when women were involved.
She took off my crucifix, which she’d been wearing for the last month, and handed it to me. I gave her my credit card and told her to take an extended lunch break and buy one for herself. I would then go to church and have a priest bless it for her, like my mother had done for me. She still had a number of commercials to shoot, and each one required her to wear a crucifix.
I told her to be prepared for a call from Nancy, and, just as I opened my office door, the phone rang. And naturally, it was the happy bride.
We had matrimonial bliss for a while. I drove her to and from work, refusing to buy her a car. The roads were dangerous enough without her behind the wheel. I wasn’t ready to become a widower because she couldn’t pull herself away from an engrossing book she was reading while driving. She understood.
We ate at home every night except for the weekends. She offered to cook, but I insisted on takeout. After all, she worked as many hours as I did, and it wasn’t fair for her to come home and have to cook. She understood.
She went for long swims every night after dinner, and I watched. I had to remind her every night after climbing out of the pool to dry the bottom of her feet and put on her slippers before going into the house. I told her I was only reminding her because I didn’t want her to have to clean up the water she left behind on her way to the bathroom. She understood.
She took a shower, put on her pajamas, and curled up next to me on the couch. We drank wine and watched a movie. It was her turn to pick and she chose the films of Marcello Mastroianni. It was the best of all choices and, true to her word, we made love on the couch during the films, and afterward in bed, and in the morning before going to work. The idea that she was thinking about Marcello during our lovemaking didn’t really bother me. I understood.
Once the Marcello marathon ended, Nancy reverted back to normal. The lovemaking was cut back to what one might expect from people married for twenty years, which at first didn’t bother me. She was almost killing me with love, and I needed a rest. Nancy knew how to use her amazing body and good looks t
o her advantage, but sex itself seemed like an inconvenience to her … except when Marcello was onscreen speaking in his native Italian.
We still continued to have dinner at home, but it became all seven days. After dinner she still went for a long swim, and I still reminded her to dry her feet and put on slippers before going into her bathroom. She would then change into her pajamas, sit on the couch with me for a short time, and drink a glass of wine. She would then disappear into her study for extended periods of time and wouldn’t come to bed until I was about halfway through my recurring nightmare, which only made it worse because once I fell back to sleep, the nightmare didn’t pick up from where it left off but started over from the beginning.
As part of Nancy’s wedding gift I had given her the two back bedrooms so she could have some space of her own. One room she turned into her study, and after having them all sanitized by my two diligent housekeepers, her books, papers, and magazines were moved into her study, which I had lined with custom mahogany bookshelves. The ladies did a great job — literally turning dust and dirt into gold. In a matter of a few hours, it was like a tornado had ripped through the study, but Nancy was happy and nothing else mattered.
She turned the other room into her laboratory. That’s where her computers, lab equipment, and blackboards were set up. I wasn’t allowed into the laboratory for fear that I might accidently disturb or compromise the results of an important experiment. I had the same housekeepers cleaning my house once a week for twelve years but now needed them three times a week, and they were not allowed into Nancy’s study or lab. I’m sure they considered that a blessing from God.
Married life continued to be wonderful, with no outrageous outbursts from Nancy. She seemed quite happy and content in her new home. She was the least materialistic woman I had ever met, and that’s including my wonderful mother. She put her stamp on her two rooms and never once raised the subject of remodeling any part of house. She had no interest in jewelry other than her Star of David and my grandmother’s ring. Her ears were pierced, but I never saw her wearing earrings. I guess when you’re that beautiful and have a mind like Einstein, there’s no need for extra adornments.
I sat back on the couch and turned on the news without any sound. The one anchor seemed kind of embarrassed. My first guess was that she had probably mispronounced Reykjavik, which was where Reagan and Gorbachev were having a summit meeting. I kind of felt sorry for her. I figured she hadn’t been hired for her brains and was probably too busy before they went on the air with the makeup people to go over any hard-to-pronounce words.
A picture of a man’s face covered in boils suddenly appeared onscreen and I turned on the sound. The camera then moved to the other anchor, who reported that three famous actors, their identities not yet released, had suddenly been stricken with a deadly virus that attacked their faces and genitals. After being taken to the emergency room at Saint Joseph’s Hospital, where eyewitnesses reported them screaming in horrific pain, they were being kept isolated at the hospital and under close guard.
An unidentified nurse told a reporter that one of the men tried to urinate, but the pain was so excruciating that he passed out on the bathroom floor. Since then, all three men were fitted with catheters and placed under heavy sedation. The numerous boils on their faces and genitals were said to be as big as half-dollars.
The camera switched back to the first anchor, who said that they would keep abreast of this breaking story but for now it was time for sports. “And how did our Dodgers do tonight?” she asked the sports anchor as she regained her composure and flashed a winning smile. After finding out the Yankees’ score, I shut off the TV and went to bed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I dropped Nancy at work and went straight to the office. Maggie was intently reading the newspaper at her desk. I asked what was so interesting and she replied, “Didn’t you hear about the three actors and the mysterious virus? Some tabloids are reporting that now they’re on life support. Boils the size of baseballs on their dicks and faces. It couldn’t have happened to three more despicable lowlifes.”
“Why would you say that?”
“The girls I know at the studio have been complaining about these three pieces of shit for years. Groping, harassing, in a few cases actually raping a few young actresses and crew members. The executives have always turned a blind eye to the accusations and complaints. Your wife must know these guys. I wouldn’t be surprised if she does their makeup.”
“I’ll have to ask her.” I felt my blood pressure rising and my heart racing. I walked into my office and sat down at the desk. I inhaled and exhaled a few times as I looked down at the phone. Nancy was vindictive, but she had morals. Sure, she cut off her father’s dick, but the son of a bitch deserved it. You would have thought cutting off the bastard’s dick was enough, but to let the pervert bleed to death seemed a little much. I had to find out if she was responsible for the boils. Nancy answered when I called. She was so happy to hear from me that I couldn’t get up the nerve to ask her the question.
Maggie walked into my office with a can of Lysol and said, “Either you do something or I’m calling the health department. The smell coming out of Jack’s office is gross, and everyone’s scared that the source of the boil epidemic might be our fearless leader and the company he’s keeping.”
I took the bottle, knocked on Jack’s door, and handed it to him. I looked at his face carefully but didn’t see any boils. “The staff is seriously threatening to call the health department, Jack. I would strongly advise sanitizing this place.” He nodded, closed the door, and I walked back to my office and flopped down on the couch.
The outbreak was all over the news. All programs were being interrupted with updates on the condition of the three actors. The boils were growing. According to unidentified sources, they were now the size of softballs. A tabloid had somehow obtained pictures of the men’s genitals and published an early edition with the caption TAKE COVER. Medical specialists, especially dermatologists, were being interviewed, and they all agreed it was most likely a virus transmitted through intimate contact. Boils were highly contagious, and even a miniature fissure in any of the boils could spread the venom like radiation.
A few specialists even postulated that this might be an offshoot of the HIV/AIDS virus. They showed pictures of men in Kenya with similar boils all over their bodies as proof that this was very likely AIDS-related. The three affected actors were allegedly “closet homosexuals” according to unidentified sources, colleagues, friends, and family.
Prominent religious leaders throughout the country warned that this was God’s retribution against the unholy and immoral ways of Hollywood. “Abstinence is the only defense against this plague.”
Pictures of doctors and scientists in hazmat suits treating the men were appearing everywhere. Politicians wearing surgical masks tried to tell the population to be calm. Reports of more men affected by the virus being taken to hospital were being reported throughout the city. The residents of West Hollywood, the first recognized gay city in the United States, were told not to travel outside the city limits. Police barricades were being set up to ensure that no one could leave.
Psychics and doomsayers predicted that the virus would eventually affect the entire human race and that the cosmic energy would be so great that all the boils would burst simultaneously, drowning all of humanity in a gigantic cesspool of pus.
I called Nancy again and told her that she needed to leave work immediately since her studio was where the first three victims had last been seen before the outbreak. She told me to relax and said that people were overreacting. She was so calm that it only heightened my suspicion that she was somehow implicated in this virus. When I picked her up after work, she greeted me with a big kiss. I couldn’t help noticing that the studio lot looked nearly empty. “So did any of the people you work with evacuate early?”
“Oh, they all did,” she replied nonchalantly.
I didn’t want to admit it, but
I couldn’t help thinking: Was Nancy actually a cold-blooded killer? I just didn’t have any concrete proof. When we entered the house, I steered her into a walk-in closet next to my bathroom and closed the door. I couldn’t wait another second. I had to ask her.
“Nancy, I love you. Now tell me the truth. Are you at all responsible for this virus?”
“Yes,” she said, as coolly as if I had asked if she wanted a glass of wine.
“You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”
“No, Joe. For the thousandth time, I never lie.”
“Couldn’t you lie just once, Nancy? Just once, in the name of love?”
“No!”
“Did you have any accomplices?”
“No.”
“Just tell me, why?”
“Because they’re disgusting pigs. Groping, harassing, even raping a couple of young actresses and threatening them that if they told anyone, they would never work in this town again.”
“Why not file a complaint with Human Resources or with upper management?”
“I did, along with numerous other women, but nothing ever came of it. Don’t be so worried; in about two hours, they’ll start to miraculously recover. Their immune systems will bounce back and the boils will disappear. Except for temporary paralysis to their genitals, they’ll be fine, and for a time the women of the world will be safe.”
“So instead of being charged with three counts of murder in the first degree, you’re only going to be charged with three counts of attempted murder? That definitely makes me feel better.”
“I’m not going to be charged with anything. They’ll never be able to trace it back to me. I’ve covered my trail perfectly.”
“Nancy, you leave a trail walking from the living room to the bedroom. Do you actually believe for one moment that the authorities aren’t already on to you?”
“They think it’s some type of airborne virus or a communal virus like AIDS or syphilis. What I engineered is pure brilliance: my virus blocks the flow of red blood cells to targeted parts of the human anatomy, and then, just as those cells are about to expire, the release of life-saving cells and an ample supply of oxygen keeps those sick perverts alive, but their dicks are temporarily paralyzed.”
Targeted Demographics Page 13