Nude Men

I’m so relieved. I scramble all over, looking for the key, and finally find it under the radiator. I unlock the handcuffs and slide the oven door back on its hinges.
     
    I skip work again the next day. I stay home, sit on my couch, and think about what I should do. Eventually I handcuff myself to the refrigerator. After a while, I hatch. Hatching can be repetitive, I’ve discovered.
    At five-fifteen Sara calls and says into my machine: “Why are you late today, Mr. Acidophilus? I know the way your mind works, and I’ll bet you anything that you are handcuffed to the fridge right now. I checked the door of our fridge to see if there’s any way you can escape, and I think your only chance is to unscrew the handle. If you do not succeed, then just wait for your girlfriend to get home and think of a good excuse to give her as to why you’re attached to the fridge. Then erase this message, for the tape will not self-destruct like in Mission: Impossible, and come and aerate my fur. But don’t bother coming if you’re carrying the fridge door. It’s just not worth it.”
    I can’t unscrew the fridge handle because I placed all the screwdrivers and knives out of my reach.
    Charlotte gets home. She comes into the kitchen and looks at me with great surprise, then walks up real close to make sure her eyes aren’t fooling her.
    “What are you doing?” she asks.
    “I’m on a special diet that uses reverse psychology. It says that you’re supposed to handcuff yourself to the refrigerator. It tries to disgust you with allowance and freedom and permission, making the forbidden fruit no longer forbidden. The motto is: ‘You want it, you’ve got it, now get sick of it.’ ”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “No. And it says that it’s not enough to merely yield to the temptation; you must lock yourself to it. With this diet, instead of locking the fridge, you lock yourself to the fridge. Most of this is subconscious, you know.”
    “Yes, I know,” she says. “But it’s weird psychology.”
    I ask her to please unlock me. She gets the key and does. I go to the answering machine and erase Sara’s message. I suddenly realize that I will not visit Sara tonight, because Charlotte’s mere presence is arousing my shame and stirring my conscience be yond my tolerance, not to mention the fact that this same mere but proper presence of hers always has the curious ability to moderate my sensual appetite in a fascinatingly implacable way to put it mercifully.
     
    T he next morning I’m sitting on my couch, knowing that I will want to see Sara again, knowing that I’ll have to handcuff myself to the fridge again, and I decide that I cannot face another day of being chained like a creature with rabies.
    I pick up the phone and dial Henrietta’s number, knowing it’s the only solution and not allowing myself to think about it for one instant.
    Henrietta answers.
    “There’s something I must talk to you about,” I say.
    “Oh, yes?”
    “Yes.”
    “What is it?”
    “Something happened in Disney World.”
    “Really?”
    “Yes.”
    “What?”
    “Something bad that will make you very upset. Something bad happened to Sara.”
    “She seems very happy. What happened?”
    “I did something to her.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What?”
    “I must have been insane at the time. I must have lost my mind. We got along really well. She was very nice to me and very affectionate, and I lost control. We had sex.”
    “I know. Thank you. She wanted to for a long time. She had a crush on you from the first day she met you.”
    I pull the receiver away from my ear, and I stare at it. I put it back to my ear and I say, “What do you mean?”
    “Don’t worry about it, Jeremy. You did nothing wrong.”
    “I had sex with your eleven-year-old daughter at Disney World!”
    “Don’t shout. It doesn’t matter. I’m all for it.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me this right away? You knew I’d be feeling guilty and living through hell, waiting for the police to knock at my door, and then trying, but failing, to resist your daughter’s repeated attempts at seducing me. Why didn’t you tell me right away when I got back?”
    “I didn’t want to invade your privacy or make you uncomfortable if you didn’t want to talk about it. But obviously you do want to talk about it, so we will, but when you’ve calmed down. You can come see me this evening, and I’ll explain things.”
    “I don’t want Sara to be there.”
    “Of