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By Root 1882 0

disturbance, and making his way past more artistic plunder perfectly mounted and framed, Krumholtz thought first of his wife, Cathy, working at her desk at the agency, and then of the remote castle in Beauty and the Beast, not the Disney version (his daughters’ favorite movie, both of them addicted to princess figures), but the Cocteau film with the hallway chandeliers consisting of bare human arms holding candlesticks, and all the other inanimate objects down to the cups and saucers having taken on resentful life as servants, everything under a spell that could be broken only by love, by a kiss. Cathy would be headed home about now, picking up the girls at after-school care, driving them homeward while she tried to quiet them and think of what to serve for dinner, and he wondered if she would have a thought for him out on this assignment, and at that particular moment he turned another corner near an open door and saw a woman, the one who must certainly be the girlfriend, Lorraine, lying back on a fainting couch. She was reading a glossy magazine and glanced up when Krumholtz entered.

“Oh,” she said. “You must be that guy.”

After a moment Krumholtz realized that this woman, this Lorraine, was wearing flowered pajamas. The roses on the pajamas had a slightly sinister efflorescence. “Yes,” he said, “I’m that guy.” He examined her. Unlike the wife, she was not particularly beautiful. On her left cheek was a birthmark in the shape of a candle flame. “I’m the guy you asked about angels. You were at the intercom.”

“The guy from the magazine? You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, I suppose not.” He pointed at her. “You’re wearing pajamas. It’s midafternoon. Been napping?”

“What did you say your name was?”

“Krumholtz. Jerry Krumholtz.”

“Jerry, did you think Jimmy looked okay?” Lorraine asked. “I’m worried about him. He hasn’t been himself lately, and no one knows why.”

“He looked all right. What do you think could be bothering him?” Krumholtz asked, getting out his notebook.

“Me? What do I think? It could be anything. He’s restless. I think he’s run out of worlds to conquer. And that makes him sick.” She tossed the glossy magazine onto the floor. “He’s got everything. What would you do if you had everything?”

What a preposterous question. Krumholtz took out his pen. “Doesn’t Ellie—doesn’t the wife—mind that you’re here?”

“What did you say your name was?” She was unapologetic about her forgetfulness, apparently.

“Jerry Krumholtz.”

“Oh, right. Where did you ever get a name like that?”

A moment passed while he absorbed her question. “My parents gave it to me. I think I was asking about whether the wife minds that you’re here.”

“Here? In this room, or here in the house? No. Oh, you mean my existence, here on earth, taking up the sexual slack? Why should she mind? Maybe you don’t understand about men like Jimmy. He’s just bigger than other men. Everything about him is bigger and stronger than they are. Those herd men. All the little Shmoos. So unimportant. He’s just richer and smarter and more … beautiful than they are. He’s at the top of the pyramid. The rules for the little doofuses don’t apply to him. Do you understand that? If you don’t understand that, Krumholtz, you don’t understand anything.”

“So this is the harem?”

“Because otherwise,” she continued, as if she hadn’t heard him, “there’s no point in your being here. Or doing this story. He loves both Ellie and me. He has more than enough love for both of us, and the children. And the previous wife and the previous children. He flies to see them. He has a private jet. He’s not like ordinary men, is what I’m saying. I satisfy some of his needs, and Ellie satisfies other needs, and that’s how it is, and if it isn’t bourgeois enough for you, that’s too bad.”

“What needs do you satisfy?” Krumholtz asked.

“What sort of question is that? Is this going into the article?”

“It might. We’ll see.”

She stood up and walked over toward him. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Maybe I do. So explain it to me.”

“I don’t have to explain it,” she said. “I can do a demo.” She leaned