“Maybe this is a sign you need to change your approach,” Beasley said. “We’ve talked before about how your ‘gift’ reflects your fear of people talking about you behind your back. Maybe you should trust Carol. Tell her the truth.”
“The … truth?” Jack hugged his knees and laughed. “Imagine if she knew she could have me at her beck and call just by saying my name in a way that makes it clear which ‘Jack’ she means. The only good thing about my ‘gift’ is that it makes sure nobody ever thinks it strange when I turn up, no matter how often it happens. Oh no. I’m sticking with Plan A. I sell her a ‘distressed property’ as usual, and move on.”
“Meaning a haunted house. You buy cheap and sell at a huge profit.” Beasley kept his voice neutral, but the left side of his upper lip curled slightly in disapproval.
“Something like that.” Jack smiled for the first time. “I have a germ of an idea how to separate her from her money and from me in one deal.”
Soon after, Jack turned up in Carol’s flat for the first time, after she mentioned his name on the phone. “Oh, hello again. How’d you get in here?” Without awaiting an answer, Carol hung up and gestured around her flat. “You can see it’s too small, can’t you? It speaks for itself as to why I need a bigger place.”
Carol’s flat spoke for itself, but it sounded to Jack like a cry for help. The Lady of Shalott and Babar the Elephant looked down side by side from one wall; ermine drapes clashed with mauve wallpaper; a turquoise chaise longue abutted a burgundy sofa. The air smelled of lavender. Jack stared at a bookshelf containing two score copies of I’m OK, You’re OK. “I give them out,” Carol explained. “I’m a giving person.”
“I can tell. And you decorated this place yourself?”
“That’s right. But the bedroom is the fait accompli.”
The malapropism distracted Jack long enough for Carol to lead him into a tiny room dominated by a four-poster bed and an enormous picture of Leonardo DiCaprio’s face. Even without Jack’s “gift,” Carol displayed a knack for getting him places he hadn’t planned on going. “I should probably leave,” Jack said.
“Not just yet.” Carol patted the bed, and Jack sat and looked at her round earnest face. “Jack, I wasn’t always this outgoing. In fact, I used to be quite shy. I would obsess about people and never speak to them. So if I seem to be overcompensating, I’m sorry. My therapist says I have to work through my obsessional tendencies.”
“I see. To tell the truth, I’m not very good at human relationships myself. I tend to keep to myself when I’m not wanted. People can always find me if they need me.”
“I can see that. And yet you’ve been following me around lately, like a poor lost soul.” Carol leaned into Jack’s space. “Almost as if you sensed a kindred spirit.”
“Well, maybe. The truth is, I do like you, Carol. You’re one of the few genuinely nice people I’ve ever met. That’s why I’ll tell you honestly: you do not want to get mixed up with me, romantically or otherwise. I am very, very bad news.” The more sincerely Jack spoke, the harder he found it to make eye contact with people. As he talked to Carol, his eyes met Leonardo DiCaprio’s.
“But it’s too late. I’m already in my compulsive cycle. If you don’t want me around, I’ll just have to work through it in ways that don’t inconvenience you.”
Jack nodded.
“For example, I can dedicate songs to you on the radio.” Jack had a horrible vision of appearing in Carol’s home as she called in the request, and then in the DJ’s booth as he read it out. “I can make donations to charity in your name. I can read poems about you to all my friends. You’ll never even have to know.”
Jack tightened his grip on the canopy as if it were driftwood in a maelstrom. “Really,” he said, “that sounds like a lot of trouble. I’m telling you, I’m not worth it.”
“It’s better than sitting around obsessing without an outlet,” Carol said, “or worse still, calling you ten times a day. You know, this is really good. I feel as though I’ve made progress, being able to talk about this with you in a rational fashion instead of being eaten up.”
“Yes, I can see how it would be better to be rational.” Jack wished escaping the curse could be as simple as changing his name. “But maybe I can help. If so, I’m at your service. I mean, it doesn’t take most people too long to get sick of me, and then you can move on to—”
Jack never managed to finish saying “collecting Backstreet Boys memorabilia,” because his mouth was suddenly mashed into Carol’s so tightly he tasted her epiglottis. She pulled him backwards, and it only took a moment of enthusiastic groping before he joined in her newfound way of working through her obsession.
Later, Jack sat up with a headache. “Poor Jack,” Carol said from the pillow behind him. “You have low self-esteem, don’t you?”
“That’s true enough.” Jack rubbed his head.
Carol stroked Jack’s spine. “I know all about that. It’s a trap. It puts you at the mercy of what other people think of you, or whether they think of you at all.”
Carol’s comment struck Jack as oddly insightful, but all he said aloud was: “This is one of the weirder post-coital talks I’ve had. I’d expected you to be one of those people who turns all lovey-dovey after sex.” Even as he spoke these words, they suggested a new strategy to Jack: maybe a constant but low level of unpleasantness on his part would turn Carol off.
* * * *
Jack lamented the failure of that strategy a few days later, in his next session with Beasley. “It’s insane. She won’t shut up about me, and despite my worst behavior she thinks I’m the cat’s pajamas and she’s the cat.”
“Acting obnoxious only makes some people fonder. Perhaps she senses you’re threatened by her and pushing her away.” Beasley sucked the cap of his pen.
“I’m at my wits’ end. You’re the one with the bust of R. D. Laing. What should I do?”
“Hard to say. Your modus vivendi depends on being able to control how people talk about you, much like a politician or pop star. Now, for the first time, you’re confronted with someone who can’t be manipulated.”
“An admirable summation.” Jack stared at the carpet. “It looks as though I’m going to have to take drastic measures. You remember I mentioned fleecing and dumping Carol all in one deal? Well, I’ve found the house of Carol’s nightmares. Not just one of those pristine houses that melts into squalor every full moon, but something a bit more special. A Lonely House.”
Beasley’s high brow furrowed and his lips pushed out, the closest he ever came to a scowl. “I’m not sure I like the sound of this. But you’ll have to explain.”
“This attractive Victorian mock Tudor house sits off Cadogan Square in a lovely little mews. Not too far from Carol’s current abode, in fact. A hundred years ago, it belonged to a Hepzibah Manton, whose husband had her declared insane. She retired to bed for two decades, while the husband womanized. Her curse remains on the house, so that anyone who lives there becomes as isolated as she was. I had someone try it out. I paid him to sit there for a couple of hours. He spoke my name, and I stayed right where I was. By the time I let him out, he was quite isolated. It creates some kind of damping field, you see. You can hook up a phone line, but your friends will never call you. You can call your friends, but they won’t be at home. Even when you go out, the effect follows you around after a while.”
“And you don’t feel any qualms at all about exploiting Ms. Vance?”
“I’m not going to exploit her. This house will be a bargain.” Jack showed teeth. “This stopped being business when I couldn’t take a shower without being snatched away.” Jack sipped tea until a thought occurred to him. “Of course, I don’t know how a Lonely House will respond to mod cons like the Internet, answering machines, and faxes. I’m sure it will rise to the challenge somehow.”
The next day, Jack took Carol to see five unsuitable houses before he showed her the large-beamed and turreted Lonely House. “Jack, it’s perfect,” Carol said. Jack kept his tone neutral as he pointed out disadvantages. But, as he’d promised Beasley, the price didn’t include his usual markup on “distressed properties.”
Since the previous owner had killed himself, Carol could move in immediately. Jack promised to take care of all the negotiations with the house’s agent. He marshaled all his finesse to get Carol signed and sealed as quickly as possible. He even called the movers for her, quietly advising them not to use portable phones in the house.