The Chaser (Continued)(A
continuation of the short story, The Chaser by ???)
"Thank you again," said Alan. "Good-by."
"Au revoir, " said the old man.
Upon leaving Alan hopped onto the cross town bus back to his own
apartment, smiling and fondling the little bottle the old man had
given him as he went. He turned his key, opened the door, and
collapsed back into his sofa with a sigh. There were so many ways
that he could set about dosing Diana. After pondering each
option, he finally decided to invite her to tea and cake. Well,
maybe tea and sandwiches. No, just tea. He then set about making
arrangements.
In Alan's small, slightly messy apartment, there was very little
in the way of luxury. There were barely even necessities. He had
however, one small, slightly dented aluminum teapot, and one tin
of very expensive, very unopened, tea (a gift from his mother).
Alan filled the teapot, fished about for a tea strainer, turned
on his small electric stove, set the water on it, and finally
phoned Diana.
************************************************************************
At home, Diana was watching her small black and white television
set in lonely boredom. The man she had met in the nightclub,
though he was attentive for their brief courtship, had left in
the morning, leaving nothing behind, save for the cryptic message
he left scrawled on her notebook: "I'll call you." Of
course she had never given him her number, but she hoped maybe he
had copied it from the label on her phone while she was sleeping.
So here she was, another lover on a long list of one night stands
had left her sitting alone on the couch all day with the phone in
her lap, watching reruns. What a pathetic way to spend a Saturday
night. Just as she was about to give up and go drown her sorrows
in a box of ice-cream, the phone rang.
Riii--
"Michael?" She said breathlessly, nearly yanking the
cord out of the phone.
"Um, nooo. Uh, this is Alan. Hello, um Diana?" The
unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line replied. Alan, who
did she know named Alan? Oh, of course Alan, the irritatingly
shy, but harmless young man across the hall. She was so
disappointed that she was on the verge of tears.
"Oh, hello Alan," she responded wearily. "What do
you want this time, an egg? A cup of sugar?" Teaspoon of
cyanide? she thought wickedly.
"Um, hehe, heh, no. Actually this is on a more personal
level," Oh boy, here it comes. "You see, um, my mother
sent me this really nice loose tea, and it's never good to drink
alone, even if it's just tea, and well..."
"Of course, Alan," she broke in, saving him the
trouble. "I would love to have tea with you."
"Wow! Really? Great! Um, if you could, er, bring some sugar
and milk, I would be grateful. Cups would be nice too. I don't
mean to impose. But I seem to be out, and my dishes are all
dirty."
"No problem. Really, I need to get my mind off of a few
things."
"Okay, well, come on over when you can. I've got the kettle
on now, and plenty of water."
"Alright, see you."
"See you"
Click.
Poor Alan, she thought. She had been expecting this for a long
time. Part dread, and part relief she felt at his invitation.
Finally someone she could just sit with and perhaps talk, finally
get her mind off Michael. Not to mention, Peter, Stephen, Andrew,
Lawrence, Thomas and pretty much the entire single male
population of her neighborhood, plus a few tourists.
************************************************************************
Alan's tea kettle let out a sputtering screech, like a wounded
weasel, and he jumped to remove it from the stove. Before he
could do anything with the water he heard knocking at the door.
Setting the kettle down on the counter, he stumbled to the door
and opened it.
There in his very own doorway, stood Diana, with all the beauty
of Venus, and the purity of, well the goddess of her namesake:
Diana. Carrying a tray bearing two dainty teacups, saucers, and
spoons, along with sugar bowl and creamer, filled carefully with
sugar and milk, respectively, she stood there, smiling radiantly.
For an instant, he thought he may not even need the potion,
before realizing she was probably just being polite.
"Well," she said expectantly. "Aren't you going to
invite me in?"
"Oh, of course. I'm sorry. Come in, please." He felt so
ashamed.
"Well, I've never been in here before...now I see
why..." she looked around, apprehensively. "Maybe you
just need a woman's touch. A nice window treatment, a throw rug,
a couch, some basic furniture, a wall hanging, or some nice
prints, other than 'Dogs playing poker,' maybe new paint..."
As she continued to ply her trade of interior decoration, Alan
tuned out and began simply listening to the sweet melody of her
voice.
"...so where is it?" she finished by saying.
"Where's what?"
"Your teapot," she replied, playfully impatient.
"Oh, of course," Alan said as he rushed over and
presented her with the dented aluminum kettle.
"That's a tea kettle, where is the teapot?"
Alan was completely baffled.
"It isn't a teapot?" He had always thought it was a
teapot.
"No, no, no, silly, that's a kettle, you boil the water in
that then you put it into the teapot. I suppose this means I will
have to go get mine...sigh." She set the tray down on his
counter and left out the still open door. Alan quickly crossed to
the tray and emptied the entire contents of the bottle into the
teacup on the left, and threw the bottle away. When Diana
returned he was smiling with the tea already in the strainer. She
told him how to steep the tea, and he followed her directions,
then he poured the tea into his own cup, into which he had
already put milk, and into hers. They sat down on his floor, at
his makeshift coffee table (two cinder blocks, and a piece of
plywood, draped over with a sheet), and began to sip their tea.
************************************************************************
Diana sipped her tea quietly, and the instant she swallowed it,
she felt completely overcome with giddiness. Not a giggly
unpleasant feeling, but a feeling like a young lover about to
kiss her sweetheart. This feeling swelled until she felt almost
about to burst if she didn't release it soon. She exhaled a shaky
breath and looked at Alan. Before her eyes, he seemed to change.
It was as if blinders were being taken from her eyes, or the
distorting filters were being cast away one by one. She began to
see all of Alan's finer qualities, his quietness, his eagerness
to please, his eyes, his kindness, gentleness, and sweetness all
seemed to be clearer, more focused.
Diana began to grin uncontrollably. She found herself staring at
Alan, seeing what she knew then and there to be her ultimate
mate. She could see all of her maternal and domestic instincts
being put to use, her life becoming happier and more fulfilled.
She saw her lonely nights disappearing, and her times with Alan
being the best she could ever want.
Then, Diana saw among these wonderful things, a darker side: if
she could see this wonderful person in front of her, that meant
that others could see him too. Unless she acted upon her feelings
right now, he could be snatched up in no time. She frantically
tried to find the words that expressed how she felt, and at last
she arrived on three short words that she had been afraid to say
for a long time.
"Alan," she said, her voice brimming with emotion, her
eyes brimming with tears.
"Yes, Diana?"
"I--I love you." She said, and began to cry with joy,
release and sadness all at the same time.
************************************************************************
Four months passed, and Alan began to feel the yoke of love
around his neck. That night, he had not expected her to react so
quickly, or so effectively. She said, "I love you,"
then cried for two hours in his arms, from whence they moved to
the bedroom, and consummated their love. She was not nearly as
innocent as he thought she was, but that did not matter to him at
the time. After that evening, she wanted nothing but him, morning
noon, evening, hour after hour after hour. He would sometimes
fall asleep on top of her from sheer exhaustion. But, he thought,
this was a good thing. No woman could become addicted to a man's
body unless she truly loved him. She entirely remodeled his
apartment, bringing in her own furniture, and decorating his
place to be a love nest for two, instead of the pad of a lonely
bachelor.
The following weeks he began to see signs of her going too far.
She started introducing herself as his fiancee, before he had
even proposed. She would cry and yell for hours because he smiled
hello to an old female friend. She started inviting his parents
up from Florida for weekend talks. Once he came home late and she
threatened to kill herself and him if he was having an affair
with his assistant. She read bridal magazines and phoned her
mother to plan the wedding, and he still hadn't proposed to her.
No longer was she the strong, vivacious, energetic girl that he
had fallen in love with, she was a jealous, nymphomaniacal
housewife, that had fallen, artificially in love with him.
Alan was on the cross town bus, and he disembarked a block away
from the house of the old man from whom he had purchased the
philtre. He knocked on the door, and it opened a crack.
"Ah, young man, it is so good to see you back again, what is
it you desire this time?"
Alan replied by holding up a check for five thousand dollars, an
accumulation of two years' savings.
"Come in, my friend."