by Zack Love
He ran back to the neighboring aisle, spotted his disastrous-looking hair in a store mirror, and hurried to the next aisle to get a brush and some hair gel. In a mad rush, he squeezed out an enormous gob of gel and began padding it down on his tangled and disheveled hair. He frantically brushed his hair in various directions, trying to achieve something interesting, if not respectable. Realizing that he was running out of time, he finally gave up on the hair, thinking, “Maybe she likes the edgy, scruffy look.” But then he realized that his body odor smelled akin to hazardous waste. He threw the brush and gel into his shopping basket and ran to another aisle, looking for deodorant. He grabbed the first deodorant he found and began liberally spraying his entire body, from head to toe, as well as under his shirt and undershirt. He was far too fixated on the mission at hand to notice the disapproving stares his behavior had elicited from nearby shoppers. He dropped the deodorant in his shopping basket and rushed back to the aisle where he had last seen Delilah, only to discover that she was no longer there. In a panic, he ran across the back of the store, looking up the aisles, until he realized that she was probably already at the checkout counter.
From the end of the last aisle, he spotted her at the front of the store, chatting amiably with the young cashier. Evan dashed in their direction, and as he approached them, he could see from the cashier’s delighted expression that the universally beloved movie star had made her night. As he quickly came closer to Delilah, who hadn’t yet looked in his direction, he suddenly panicked, as he realized that he didn’t have a clue what to say to her. But at that point, it was too late, because the cashier and Delilah had already turned their attention to this scruffy, disheveled man with a strange hairdo who had just finished sprinting over to them for some reason. The twenty-nine-year-old man was slightly out of breath, and wore a red plaid felt shirt with olive green sweatpants, brown loafers and white tube socks pulled over the bottoms of his pants, and seemed to carry with him the odd smell of mouthwash, hair gel, garlic, old spice, body odor, and sweaty gym socks. Evan could feel all the pressure of both women waiting for him to explain his presence and bizarre appearance. But all he could think of as an opener was, “Hi.”
“Hi,” they replied, sharing an amused look with each other before looking back at him. Evan noticed that Delilah’s security guard was standing just outside the exit to Duane Reade, looking at him suspiciously.
“I…I…just came here to say…Well, I wanted to thank you for representing Czechoslovakia so well…”
“Thanks, but it’s actually no longer Czechoslovakia. It’s now the Czech Republic.”
“Oh right, of course. I knew that they split from Slovakia in,” Evan was drawing an excruciating blank.
“In 1993.”
“Right, in 1993…I’m sorry, it’s…it’s…I’m a bit tired.”
Evan felt like a complete idiot at that point, but was now compelled to ride the train wreck to its final destination. There was no hopping off gracefully.
“Oh that’s OK. Lots of people still make that mistake,” Delilah said, good-naturedly.
“Well, I wanted to thank you for representing the Czech Republic so well.”
“I’m also American,” she said warmly.
“Well, I…I think you represent America and the Czech Republic really well.” Evan was praying that someone – the cashier or even Delilah’s security guard – would save him from himself. He was sure that if Delilah was nice enough to continue talking to him, the stupidity of his lines would only get worse.
“Thanks,” Delilah said, with a smile. She was about to walk off when Evan suddenly remembered how to say something in Czech.
“I think the Czech language is very beautiful,” he said in Czech.
“I do too,” she replied in Czech, turning gracefully around a little, with a look of pleasant surprise. “Have a nice night.”
The delusional optimist in Evan saw the last part of their conversation as encouraging. He was tempted to follow her and give her his phone number, but she was already too close to her security guard, and there was no way she’d ever call him anyway, he figured. He breathed a heavy sigh of resignation. He couldn’t fathom what he had done to deserve such a lovely coincidence – particularly when he was so ill-prepared for it. Evan also had no idea what Delilah Nakova was doing in his neighborhood Duane Reade that night. “I guess movie stars need supplies too,” he thought, at which point he realized that he was still missing some essentials.
As he went back through the aisles looking for toilet paper, his step felt a little lighter – as if he had just tasted a piece of heaven. He was also delighted at the fact that Delilah apparently didn’t connect him to the man she had met almost a year and a half ago at Float. “Thank God she meets too many people every day to keep track of them all,” he thought. Evan was also grateful for the fact that he looked and smelled so atypically bad during their brief encounter. He reasoned that – if by some miracle – he could ever see Delilah Nakova again, he would seem unrecognizably different on that next, divine occasion of their meeting, such that the follies of their Duane Reade encounter wouldn’t necessarily have to follow him.
For the next seventy-two hours, Evan wrote absolutely nothing. His mind was fixed exclusively on Delilah Nakova. He replayed in his mind, over and over, the first time he met her at Float and then their second encounter at Duane Reade. He daydreamed of countless future coincidences in which they were randomly reunited, all over the city, at sidewalk intersections, on the subway, at VIP parties, in elevators, and at restaurants. He imagined all of the lovely conversations that they would have together, in both Czech and English, each time that serendipity brought them together. “Isn’t it odd – even supernatural – that we keep running into each other like this?” he asked her.
“Yes, I think it’s a sign,” she replied. “I wonder what would happen if we actually planned to meet some time,” she said playfully.
“Maybe if you gave me your phone number, we could find out,” Evan replied. “I really do promise to call. Not like I did with that Sayvyer woman. And by the way, that wasn’t my fault. I honestly forgot her phone number. But I’m going to write yours down on paper, and then I’ll tattoo it to both of my arms,” he said. Delilah Nakova laughed lightly and freely, as if the world were just perfect in his presence. And then she wrote out for him her email, her cell phone, and her parent’s home number.
Between two of his daydreams, Evan went out and purchased several Czech language textbooks and tapes and began reviewing Czech grammar, vocabulary, and pronunciation. He read every Delilah Nakova fan website and magazine he could find and even devised an elaborate plan to bump into her accidentally on the Brown College campus. Evan also cleaned himself up and straightened out his place, just in case Delilah happened to walk into his apartment unannounced. He had to be prepared. Operation Repulsive was officially over.
Four days after his Duane Reade encounter with Delilah, which he had recounted to Heeb in painstaking detail at least seven times, Evan began to descend into a mild despondency. The reality was beginning to sink in: there was no way he was ever going to talk to Delilah again except by some elaborate scheme that would seem thoroughly contrived and calculating to her, and this didn’t bode well given her known preference for genuineness.
“Forget about her, Evan,” Heeb advised, when Evan shared his depressing conclusions with Heeb over a pizza dinner. “She has millions of fans around the world who worship her just as much you do. It’s a complete fantasy to think that you could date her.”
“But she spoke to me. She was sincerely nice to me.”
“She’s like that with everyone. That’s her reputation. That’s one of the reasons everyone loves her so much. You’ve gotta get over her, Evan.”
“But I can’t. I’m totally in love with her.”
“You mean you’re totally obsessed with her,” Heeb corrected.
“What’s the difference?”
“The difference is that you
don’t even know this woman, for God’s sake! Like her other obsessive fans, you think you know her from all of the fan material you’ve been devouring, but you don’t actually know her at all. And she knows you even less. The whole thing is completely absurd, Evan.”
“I need a plan, Sammy. A real plan that will reunite me with her again.”
“You need a shrink.”
“I’m serious, Sammy. I need a plan.”
“What ever happened to your novel?”
“I lost my steam, ever since I bumped into Delilah. It just seems so unimportant by comparison…Nothing seems to matter next to seeing Delilah again.”
“You’ve totally flipped out, Evan.”
“But haven’t you ever been in love?”
“I don’t know, but I’ve definitely never obsessed like this about anyone.”
“I need a plan.”
“How about your novel?”
“I just told you.”
“No, I mean, why not use your novel to get to her?”
Evan’s face lit up at the suggestion.
“Sammy Laffowitz, you’re a fucking genius! Of course! If Evan cannot come to the mountain, then he will make the mountain come to him. With the novel. Delilah loves literature. I’ll develop a character in the story that she’ll fall in love with, so that she’ll want to turn it into a film project that she stars in.” And with that, Evan got up, said goodnight to Heeb, and rushed back to his apartment to finish his novel, which he resumed with a newfound urgency.
But during the next two weeks of writing, Evan realized that it was going to be much harder than he had assumed to create and integrate into his novel a compelling character for Delilah to play. He worked diligently and continuously but his progress was hindered by his frequent doubts concerning the exact nature of the Delilah character. These were the most critical details, as they would provide the hook that would help him to ensnare his love. Thus, he found himself consuming every book and film she had ever mentioned as a favorite, and learning everything else he could about her life and her psychology to fashion the perfect Delilah character for his novel.
As Evan struggled with the difficulties of word-wooing Delilah, he also became more realistic about his prospects with her, due to Heeb’s substantial counseling efforts. Heeb even managed to persuade Evan to reverse his decision “to go exclusive” with Delilah Nakova and to start “seeing other people.” By the third week of rewriting his novel for her, Evan acquiesced to the fact that it would take him several more weeks to complete his rewrite and that, in the meantime, he should be open to dating other women.
In early December 2000, when Evan learned that his HIV and hepatitis test results were negative, he felt as if he had been given a miraculous second chance. He resolved never again to “play a contact sport without a helmet,” as he put it. The euphoric relief that Evan felt also translated into an impulse to celebrate and start going out again. He called Heeb’s office to share the happy update and bring him out for an after-work drink at the pool hall they frequented.
During their game of billiards, Evan affirmed that he was, in fact, willing to date other people until his novel was ready for Delilah. Worried about how much Heeb had become a hermit, Evan began making the case for why it was time for them to resume their dating lives. “The longer we wait to jump back into the fray, the more it’ll erode whatever’s left of our confidence on the female front.”
“You seem to have plenty left, since you think you can actually date Delilah Nakova.”
“Everyone’s entitled to some fantasies, Heeb. Besides, it’s motivating me to make my novel better. But there’s no denying that our SQs have suffered serious blows.”
“Mortal blows,” Heeb corrected him.
“Serious, not mortal...But if we stay out of the game for too long, they’ll become mortal. It’s been three months now,” Evan said, sinking another billiard ball. He walked around the table to angle for his next shot. “We’ve gotta get back out there or we’re gonna forget how it’s done.”
“I’d rather stay home and watch the Discovery Channel…I just don’t feel up to it yet. Besides, on my last checkup, Doctor Clayton recommended that I let things heal for a few more weeks.”
“I think I’m going to give it a few more weeks as well. Just to be safe. But that won’t be a problem.”
“Why not?”
“Because the strategy will be to flirt without any intention of scoring.”
“Huh?”
“I mean it. Psychologically it’s a very empowering approach.”
Evan sent a yellow three ball spinning across the pool table and into a corner hole.
“Empowering?” Heeb asked skeptically. “Because there’s no pressure to score or because we know that we won’t have to reveal our scars?”
“Both,” Evan said, positioning himself to sink the eight ball. “But there’s an even bigger benefit.”
“What’s that?”
Evan was bent over the pool table at just the right angle to sink the eight ball and win, but he suddenly forgot about the game and began delivering an inspiring call to arms: “If you have no intention of scoring, then rejecting becomes much easier. And the power to reject will make you a man of self-esteem, high standards, and untouchable confidence,” he said, gradually standing back up. “Because when you exercise the power to reject, you dictate the terms of your destiny!” Now upright with his chest high, Evan held his pool stick as if it were a scepter and he were Pericles addressing ten thousand Athenians preparing for battle with Sparta. “The power to reject shifts the burden of proof from the pursuer to the pursued. Women you once thought were out of your league become women you reject. And you become that elusive, unattainable man every woman wants because no woman can have him!”
Heeb was suddenly and hopefully intrigued by the idea. The power to reject could bring back his Kojak, he thought. In a big way.
“It’s true,” Heeb said, looking upward as if to marvel at the epiphany at hand. “Women have only as much power as you give them. If you go in with every intention of ultimately rejecting them, then you take away all of their power.” Heeb looked into Evan’s eyes and beamed.
“Let the fellowship of the schlong begin!” Heeb announced, clasping Evan’s hand.
“Yes. Let it begin!” Evan declared triumphantly, raising their bonded hands.
Chapter 25
The Posse Forms
The official recruiting process for their posse began. Because Carlos, Narc, and Trevor each had high SQs, Heeb and Evan reasoned that adding the three to their group would raise the average SQ of each group member (much the way that colleges recruit individuals with higher test scores to increase the average test scores of their matriculated students). Heeb would have to persuade Carlos to join the group of single men even though he was happily married to his dream woman. Evan would have to make amends with Narc and then the two of them would have to bring Trevor back from his ashram.
Given the tall task at hand, Evan and Heeb agreed that they would divulge their injuries to underscore their real need for a supportive male group, even though Narc and Carlos would have no equally embarrassing stories with which to reciprocate (unlike Trevor). Evan and Heeb also figured that, in a tight-knit group, some reference to their injuries might eventually slip out anyway.
Heeb visited Carlos in his Fifth Avenue penthouse. It was Saturday afternoon and Carolina had just left for her gym workout, which gave the two friends a good ninety minutes to speak privately. The former college roommates had spoken a few dozen times since Heeb’s arrival in New York City, but it had been five months since their last in-person visit.
Heeb discovered that even the idyllic marriage between Lucky Chucky and perfect Carolina had its share of problems. Carlos hadn’t mentioned their marital issues before because they had never seemed significant enough. But now that he and Carolina were having their first dangerously important disagreement (whether to have children, and when), all of their minor dif
ferences seemed magnified. Carlos believed that people have children for purely selfish reasons (namely, to see variations of themselves continue) and that the morally right thing to do, given the planet’s overpopulation and its many parentless children, is to adopt a child rather than create a new one. He was also ambivalent about irreversibly adding so much more stress and responsibility to his life at the age of twenty-seven.
Carolina, on the other hand, had always taken it for granted that she would have children, and – at age thirty – she worried about how many fertile eggs she had left. As far as Carolina was concerned, she wasn’t fully a woman until she gave birth. For her, creating life was an essential part of a fully and richly lived existence as a woman. She had traveled the world, completed her PhD, and proven herself a phenomenal business success. She had already made far more money than she would ever need to retire comfortably, at the time of her choosing. And while she shared Carlos’s concerns about overpopulation, she was convinced that their baby would inherit such phenomenal genes that its unique talents would represent a net gain for the world.
Carolina and Carlos still loved each other and the magnetic attraction that they had felt upon their initial meeting in Carolina’s office was still present to an unusual extent, relative to other five-year couples. But such a fundamental issue – on which there was no obvious compromise – loomed large over their shared life. This unresolved difference created an uncertainty in their relationship that had never existed before Carolina’s thirtieth birthday sent her into a mommy-panic. The problem amplified the intensity and significance of their lesser quarrels, whether they concerned spending decisions (Carlos, who never forgot his humble immigrant beginnings, preferred frugality), charitable giving (Carolina favored helping children’s organizations, while Carlos thought environmental charities were far more neglected) or neatness (Carlos was obsessed with tidy organization, while Carolina preferred a “more relaxed” approach, as she called it).