September 18, 2002

Today is the day to do squats.

20

Lillibet was sitting in a hot tub wearing a saggy, natty swimsuit being fed firm round red grapes by Sven the Zen when George called.

"Don't answer the phone, piglet," Sven pleaded.

"I've got to, Sven of Thieves, it could be an emergency." Lillibet could be as cold as the proverbial witch's teat, but she still possessed the female incapability of letting a phone ring. She picked up the cordless.

"Hello?"

"I talked to Geflen."

Lillibet sighed. "This isn't a good time, George."

George heard the bubbling in the background. "What are you, cooking?"

"No, I'm enjoying a soak with Sven."

"That's repulsive on many levels. The bacteria levels alone-"

"Goodbye, George."

"No, wait."

Lillibet sighed again and rolled her eyes at Sven, who was lovingly sucking on Lillibet's pruned big toe.

"All right, George, what did he say?"

"Well, basically he said that he felt inspired to write after I called him that I had writer's block."

"That's it?"

George shuffled some papers. "Well, verbatim, he said 'I don't mean to sound perverse, but for some reason, when you called me a few months ago, the idea just popped into my head…'" and word for word repeated everything that Geflen said while Lillibet attempted to pose each of her extremities in front of one a jacuzzi jet.

"You remembered that all?"

"No, I wrote it down. I figured that if it didn't make sense to me at the time, I could always go back to it later."

"Interesting. Do you feel like you are any closer to figuring this out, getting back to writing and leaving me alone?"

"No, not yet," said George, ignoring her barb. "I mean, I feel like I'm close to getting on to something, but I still don't know what's going on. And I tried writing when I got back from seeing Geflen but it still didn't work out."

"Well, I think obviously the next thing to do is go see one of the other people you thought 'stole' your inspiration. Your sister?"

"I am NOT going to visit my sister," retorted George. "I'd rather live out the rest of my life without writing again. Seeing her at the holidays is bad enough. I don't need her rubbing her success in my face and being around her horrible children."

"You're so supportive of your family, George. What about your brother, then?"

"Domestic beer, monosyllables and heavy metal music."

"Go see your parents, then. Aren't they doing something?"

"I suppose. Not really. Maybe. Something in the paper and in Reader's Digest."

"Well, go talk to them. It can't hurt. They are your parents, after all."

George didn't especially enjoy visiting his parents either. They were pleasant to him but were always annoyingly tentatively suggesting that perhaps George could be a more tolerant person, and kinder to his siblings. He wished that they would just be satisfied with the substantial checks he sent them every month.

"I suppose."

"Atta boy. Good luck."

"Lillibet?"

"Gotta go, George. Call me tomorrow if you must."

Lillibet then put down the phone and Sven drew her close. "I am your stupid lover, you wretched ghoul," he yelled above the roaring tub. She put a finger to his lips, dribbling chlorine down his face.

"Don't talk, Sven. For the love of God, it's so much better when you don't talk."

Unbeknownst to Lillibet, she forgot to turn off the phone when she set it down. George, repulsed by the splashing and screaming that issued from his receiver, suppressed a gag and unplugged his phone for the evening.

He walked to his living room to enjoy his deluxe leather vibrating La-Z-Boy for another evening. On the way, he noticed an envelope had been slipped under his door, plain, white and thing with "GEORGE FOREMAN" typewritten on the front.

George was not a curious person. He received unsolicited mail constantly. He threw it upon the table in the foyer and proceeded as planned to his den.