Rules of the Game (55 page)

I guess I had connected with Leslie after all—and, as much as I was loath to admit it, with Samantha, as well.

As I flew back to the relative normalcy of home, I opened the envelope. Inside was a torn scrap of paper covered front and back with tiny scrawl:

Please call me next week or e-mail me. You turned me on very much, and I haven't felt what you had me feeling in a long time. It was a relaxing, sexual feeling. A turn-on that I never felt. I would have liked to experience being with you! I think you're a wonderful guy. I want to thank you for making me feel the way you did, and you didn't even know that you did. I sure wanted to suck your dick
.

The next day, I loaded the photos she had taken onto my computer. They were the most compromising images I'd ever been in: I could actually see Leslie's insides for several layers. It would be a disaster if they ever leaked on the Internet.

I opened a secure deletion program to wipe them off my computer forever. And then I sat there, listening to my hard drive grind out 0s and 1s, until the night never existed. They were from another world. And I had fit into that world a little too well.

Dear Stacy
,

You write the best e-mails. They are so thoughtful, warm, and tender. I wonder sometimes what it would be like to kiss you. I imagine that you would fully give yourself with a kiss, that it would be, like your e-mails, thoughtful and tender. I think of the warmth of your mouth, the joy of the first intimate touch, and how at first you might be a little nervous, but as you relax into the feeling, you would get lost in the moment, and our bodies, time, and the rest of the world would just melt away into that one single kiss
.

Good night, Stacy. I hope all is well
.

—Neil

P. S. I was pleased to hear that John and your sister are engaged. Please pass on my congratulations, and my gratitude to them for introducing us
.

Dear Neil
,

Your description of our kiss leaves me rather speechless. I can definitely feel the nervousness at first, but then the love pours in as we embrace. I don't want to sound corny, but that simply is how I envision our kiss: like the sun, love just warms everything about us
.

I should warn you of something, though: I am a novice when it comes to kissing and sexuality in general
.

Here's the short version of the story: for many years, I have battled anorexia nervosa, and because of my low weight over a period of time, my sexual experience remained at zero. Only recently have I begun to branch out and respond to sexual stimuli, which makes me a late bloomer at twenty-eight
.

The next time I see you, I may be a bit heavier than I was in Chicago. I seem to have overcome the disease in the last few months. Well, not completely, but let's just say I've eaten a lot of chocolate chip cookies lately!

So, I do not mean to shock you, but that is my story. I am a very loving person, and I have so much love to give, but my knowledge of love-making is about minus ten. But wouldn't it be fun to learn, and start with the most beautiful kiss of the century?

When can we see each other and fulfill the wish? I can surely swing a visit to L.A., but only if you're willing to have me after all I've divulged in this message
.

Keep enjoying yourself and write back soon
.

Yours,
Stacy

Dear Stacy
,

I'm writing this from Australia. I arrived safely yesterday, and wanted to thank you as soon as possible for sharing your story with me
.

I don't want to make you wait, wondering what I'm thinking. So I will let you know now that I truly appreciate your candor and honesty. I would never think any differently about you as long as you are making progress. So you can put those worries to rest. I promise to be a patient teacher. If you're a really good girl, I'll even buy you some chocolate chip cookies
.

I remain willing and eager to have you visit, and see all the places I've been telling you about. How does February 21 to 24 work for you?

E-mail me your address, and I'll send you a postcard and show you the beach on the Gold Coast where I surfed today. I miss you, too. Funny, huh, considering that we've only spent a total of ninety minutes together?

—Neil

Dear Neil
,

I really have no special reason to write: just wanted to chitter-chat with you since I am so exceptionally fond of you (on some level, let's face it: I love you). Right now I am looking at icicles the size of lances hanging off the eaves of our roof, and I am thinking of you on the Gold Coast surrounded by gold. Gold: the alchemy that we create, you and I, together
.

Send me messages
—
messages full of your joy and love and whatever you have to spare. If you need to vent, put it here. If you need to wax ebullient, put it here. If you need to say a cuss word, put it here. If you need anything, put it here. You are guaranteed a reception and a proper response. Just because I care so deeply for you
.

In the meantime, just know that my crush keeps getting bigger every day. By the time I visit you on the 21st, I'll have pummeled you into the ground with my crushing affection. Hope you don't mind!

Love,
Stacy

Dear Stacy
,

Apologies for the delay. Thank you again for another beautiful e-mail. I look forward to your visit, and want to assure you that I have no expectations of you or for anything to happen, just like I hope that you have no expectations of me. I must admit that I worry about your crush: I hope that I can live up to it. Looking forward to next week. Expect to see me waiting for you at the baggage claim. I'll be the one carrying the tray of chocolate chip cookies
.

—Neil

Dear Neil
,

Thank you for a lovely trip to Los Angeles. I had an unforgettable time exploring the Getty Museum with you, and it was a thrill learning to surf
.

While I am disappointed that things didn't work out for us, I will savor forever the alchemy of our kisses and my first sexual explorations
.

I am of course aware that gradually you distanced yourself from me, and I apologize for my lack of sexual experience and my crushing affection and
everything else that probably scared you away. Because of my condition, I am not as comfortable with myself as I'd like to be
.

I think you are a special person, and I will always have a space in my heart for you. Thank you again for showing me your world
.

I am sad, but I will pray for you
.

Love,
Stacy

Dear Stacy
,

It was great to see you. And I feel the same way. You write the most beautiful e-mails I've ever received, and I will treasure them always
.

I suppose an explanation is in order: I was so excited to see you at the airport, after all our e-mails, each one increasing in intensity. And, I must admit, at some point, I was a little scared, as well. When we went back to my house, I think reality set in. When I discovered that you still had your hymen, I realized you were no ordinary girl and this was no ordinary experience
.

I didn't know if I could live up to your expectations, or ever reciprocate the immense reservoir of feeling you have for me. So I thought it would be better to back off and be friends, and let you have that other experience with the incredible person you're really supposed to be with. I can be a great lover, but I've always been a horrible love. I don't know if it's an emotional failing of mine, or if it's simply that our worlds are so different. You go to church every Sunday; I write books on Marilyn Manson
.

You have so much love in your heart and goodness in your soul, and I'm glad that you were able to share just a little of it with me
.

Are you familiar with Ryokan's poetry? The first part is by Ryokan and the second part is by Teishin. These are what I call good for the night poems
.

Ryokan's letter:

Having met you thus

For the first time in my life
,

I still cannot help

Thinking it but a sweet dream

Lasting yet in my dark heart
.

Teishin's reply:

In the dreamy world
,

Dreaming, we talk about dreams
.

Thus we seldom know

Which is, and is not, dreaming
.

Let us, then, dream as we must
.

Good Night Stacy,
Neil

“I was at a friend of mine's house and this storm came up out of nowhere, man, with big clouds that looked like snakes standing up,” he was saying, his deep voice reverberating off the hotel room walls. “I had one of those little twelve-dollar cameras in the glove compartment of my truck and I just snapped pictures. When I got the photos back, there was an image of God with his beard blowing in the wind, standing up in the storm.”

He was one of the most important musicians of the century. After weeks of work, I had finally persuaded him to sit down for a two-hour interview. And everything was going well—until the last ten minutes. That was when his granddaughter walked in the room. Suddenly, I found myself unable to focus on a word he said.

She had thick black hair, long muscular legs, a high forehead, and tremendous breasts lifted high in her sweater. Her silhouette was the kind people made stencils out of and stuck on the mud flaps of trucks. Judging by her proud posture and haughty air, she seemed well aware of the effect she had on men. But, worst of all, she seemed bored.

She lounged on the bed, picking feathers out of the pillowcase. In her mind, I was just another white guy pumping her grandfather for trivia from fifty years ago.

I had to do something to change that.

“In my belief, there's a supreme being who can show himself whenever he
feels like it. But he comes angry at the way we live and treat one another. He didn't mean for us to fight like cats and dogs. He meant for us to get along and love one another until death takes us away,” he concluded.

“Let me ask you a question, since you understand human nature so well,” I began. I needed to pull his granddaughter into the conversation: “You can help out, too, if you want.”

She glanced up indolently, mildly interested. “You know how they say women are more attracted to power and status than looks?” I continued, beginning an admittedly ridiculous opener I'd been testing lately to start conversations with women. “I was talking to a friend about it the other day and he asked a good question: ‘Then why is it that most women would rather sleep with Tommy Lee than George Bush? Isn't George Bush one of the most powerful men in the world?'”

“Who's Tommy Lee?” he asked.

“He's the heavy metal drummer who did that sex tape with Pamela Anderson,” his granddaughter explained.

“Well, that tells you something right there,” he said. “It's because rock 'n' roll is soulful. You listen to it to get away from all that political bullshit.”

“George Bush is ugly,” the granddaughter opined, too beautiful to bother with the actual point of the question. “That's why no one wants to sleep with him.”

Weak answers to a weak opener, but it had served its purpose: the focus of the conversation had now shifted to her.

“She wants to move here and model,” he explained. “She's not like them toothpick girls. Skin and bones do not excite me. They need young girls with figures like Alicia's.”

He wrestled his pocket for a mint, then shoved it in his mouth. “The burning went to the wrong place,” he coughed.

This seemed to remind her that he was old and that time was short. She massaged his shoulders, waited for him to regain his composure, then made her agenda known: “Don't forget, you promised to take me shopping.”

“This is her first time in New York,” he went on, “but I reckon I'll be sorry I brought her.”

These were all clues: model, shopping, new to city, Grandpa's reluctance to shop. Before I put these clues to use, there was one thing I still needed to know. “You're how old now and you've never been here?”

“Twenty-one,” she replied.

The word granddaughter had worried me.

“She has to go to Century 21,” I said, planting the seed to spend more time with her. “They sell every designer brand you can think of for practically nothing. She'll spend hours there.”

After the interview, he decided to take a nap. I gallantly offered to take Alicia off his hands and escort her to Century 21.

She glided by my side through the streets, speaking rarely, smiling never. This was her first time in New York—dense with noise, drama, dirt, culture, chaos, life—and she was sleepwalking through it all. She seemed to exist in a glass box that separated her from the rest of the world. And I wanted, more than anything, to smash through it.