Chapter 7: Venus And Mars And A Sky Full Of Stars


The shocking behind-the-scenes look at Diet Club that Gene saw in that midtown factory yesterday made it impossible for him to fall asleep that night. He lied awake all night, dreading the fact his body was being dissolved from the inside, creating the illusion of health and fitness. Everybody he was close to noticed his weight loss... the Geldfarbs, his old friends from school, and even Lyn, that fakey-friendly fiend in nurse's clothing.

Everybody, that is, except for his parents. Amazingly enough, they never physically saw him since he passed out in the bathroom that Monday. They were always away for one reason or another, whether it was work or a work-related function. And whenever they were home, he was always in the bathroom.

Gene also became paranoid, and endlessly worried about the possibility of someone seeing him raid the factory and steal a bottle of poison. He tried his absolute best to avoid being seen by any guards and laborers, but he lied in his bed and what-iffed about hidden cameras.

Eventually, the sun came up and the alarm clock radio automatically turned on. The DJ put on one of the innumerable songs with "I Love You," "Yeah," "Whoa," and "Baby" in the title, but Gene couldn't tell which one it was. They all sounded the same to him... Perhaps it was "Whoa, Baby, Baby, I Love You," or "Love You Baby, Yeah, Whoa," or another possible combination of those words.

Gene was about to go downstairs to fix himself a breakfast salad, but the second he stepped out of his bedroom sanctuary, he felt an urgent need to use the bathroom. This could not go on for much longer.

It felt good for Gene to flush the poison out of his system. His stomach was making weird noises lately, like a black cauldron full of boiling oil. He read the main section of today's Manhasset Times newspaper, which Desmond must have left behind when he took his morning shower. Desmond often absentmindedly left things in the bathroom, such as his glasses, his coffee, and the morning news. It was up to Gene to return those things to where they belong, although his father never thanked him for it. The elder Rothman just thought that they returned to their places on their own free will, or something.

Feeling particularly depressed and morbid this particular Wednesday morning, Gene turned to the obituaries page, wondering if anyone he knew was there. Not only did he find a familiar name, but he found three. A 19-year-old named Rachel, a 13-year-old named Amy, and a 16-year-old named Maya. They all died Tuesday night of unknown causes, within hours of each other. Unless it was a bizarre coincidence, those were the same three girls Gene met yesterday in the Diet Club waiting room. Although he wasn't emotionally attached to any of them, he was more suspicious than ever.

Then he remembered the words of these three departed young ladies. Their whole lives were ahead of them, and they all had optimistic views of how things would turn out for them. But in a flash, their futures were destroyed. Rachel never got to drive the new car that was promised to her. Amy never lived to see herself be interviewed for jobs and colleges. Maya died alone, without ever experiencing even the beginnings of a relationship with a boy.

Three lives were mercilessly taken, and Gene believed that Diet Club was the cause of this trauma.

By the time he finished his business, his parents had already left. He went downstairs to the kitchen, without noticing the headline "Inventory Theft Suspect Remains Unidentified, Police Say" on the page opposite the obituaries.





Before she left for work, Molly left Gene a note on the kitchen table. It read, "There's a letter from Diet Club addressed to you. If I were you, I'd read it. It's on the coffee table. Mom"

Gene ran to the coffee table and opened the letter from the Diet Club. It was a handwritten letter from Lyn. Before reading it, Gene took some time to make some observations about her handwriting. The letters were beautifully formed in a distinctly feminine cursive script, completely unlike like the indecipherable scribblings of the stereotypical doctor. Of course, all of the I's were dotted with little hearts. It read,

"Mr. Gene Rothman, I realize I may have given you the wrong impression of myself and my business, and I apologize for my previous behavior towards you. If you can still forgive me, I'd like to make amends by inviting you to a candlelit dinner tonight at 7 PM, on the roof of the Diet Club offices, where we'll watch the sun set together. We'll have salad there, of course, and it'll be the best salad you ever tasted! Love, Dr. Lynelle Flansberg."

That was the first time Gene saw Lyn use her full name.





It was 6:45, and Gene's parents were still away. He put on the same oversized sport coat and silk pants he wore to the United World Summit in Sydenham Palace the previous year, except they were way too loose on him. He tightened his belt almost the entire way through, and looked in his bathroom mirror. Two days of eating only salads has caused his outward appearance to turn 180 degrees. He looked like Colin might look... if Colin was wearing a spiky orange wig, that is.

Gene wondered what Lyn would wear to this occasion. Probably her nurse's uniform again, he chuckled to himself.

As he stepped out the door, he had a feeling he was forgetting something. He remembered the last thing she said to him. He went back inside, took his shirt off, grabbed his father's deodorant stick out of the bathroom medicine cabinet, and applied a liberal amount to each armpit. He could feel them begin to sting and itch, but he didn't care at all. He was a new man.

Gene walked outside, looked down at his belly, and found he was actually able to see his shoes. It also dawned on him that he had forgot to put his shirt back on, so he ran back inside.





Gene arrived at the weight loss center at 6:58. The room which once had a sign on the door reading "DANGER: BROOM CLOSET" was open, revealing a staircase to the roof of the building. As Gene climbed the stairs, he began to hear smooth jazz music wafting from a stereo near the table where he and Lyn would be having their dinner.

Gene looked around the roof, and saw a rather nice panorama of the sun about to set over Beau Folsom Park.

"You like it?" Gene heard Lyn ask from behind him. He turned around to see the nurse at the top of the staircase, facing the setting sun. Contrary to what Gene thought, Lyn wore a shimmering pink silk dress -- the first time he saw her out of her nurse's uniform. "It's Michael Franks' new album, 'The Camera Never Lies'."

"Great choice, Lyn. Perfect music for a romantic dinner."

"So, Gene, shall we get started?"

Lyn pointed to the dinner table, which had two covered silver platters. She took the covers off, revealing two exquisitely crafted green salads smothered in Diet Club dressing. There was also a fancy-looking wine goblet filled with water at each place. Lyn took a small plastic bag out of her skirt pocket, and gave it to Gene. "You'll be needing THIS very soon."

The amorous nurse took a seat. Gene opened the bag, which had three Vitaciser capsules in it. (What did you THINK would be in it, you sicko?) He swallowed the pills with the water, and then took the chair opposite Lyn. To the strains of Michael Franks' "Innuendo," they watched the sun set over the always-verdant park in the center of the city.

"We're not so different, you and I," Lyn said to Gene, who had already begun his salad. "I believe it was Albert Einstein who said that everything is relative."

Gene swallowed. By now, he was halfway used to the acidic taste of the salad dressing. "What do you mean by that, exactly?"

"Are you, perchance, of any relation to a man named Eddie Rothman who graduated from Andrew Aversa High School four years ago?"

"Yeah, he's my older brother, why?"

"We used to date."

The conversation stopped, and the song got to the part about salads and dressing.

Lyn decided to take it upon herself to revive the conversation. "We met each other in 9th grade, and went steady until about the time of graduation. We both felt it was for the best, as our futures were leading us into different places anyway. He wanted to attend the university in Novartis, and I wanted to stay here and go to medical school. My greatest wish was to start my own business in the nutrition field."

"And you got your wish, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I also wish I could attract more customers. They rarely last more than a few days on my program, and most of them quit for one reason or another. You, Gene Rothman... you must hold the record for staying on my diet the longest."

The conversation stopped again, and the song got to the part about poison getting stronger.

Gene had heard enough, and he felt it was necessary to destroy the romantic mood in one fell swoop. "Yes, Lyn, I guess dying WOULD be a valid reason for a person to quit your weight loss program, am I right?"

As Gene said the word "dying," Lyn found that it was an accurate word to describe her feelings for him. "What what what!?"

"I was reading the Manhasset Times earlier today, and guess who I saw in the obituaries! That's right, three of your valued customers. Rachel, age 19. Amy, age 13. And Maya, age 16. They all went to the big salad bowl in the sky, within hours of each other."

Lyn jumped out of her chair, and ran to the stereo to turn off the Michael Franks CD. "Wait, Gene, you don't understand. Manhasset is a really really big city. There's bound to be more than one person named Rachel who happens to be 19."

"But wait! There's more," said Gene in his best impression of a game show host. "I went to the factory where Diet Club salad dressing is made, and I found a lot of cardboard boxes full of bottles marked 'Poison'. And I saw Rachel working there, too. They were probably using her waste to mix with this poison!"

"Oh, Gene, Gene, Gene... The only ingredients of the salad dressing are balsamic vinegar and spices. Let me guess, you went to that factory on 8030 Northeast 46th Street, correct?"

"Yes, why?"

"That's the Greater Manhasset Fake Dog Doo And Vomit Company's factory, you imbecile! And the G.M.F.D.D.A.V.C. has leased part of the building to Alberian Fragrances Incorporated as an inventory storage facility. That 'Poison' you saw is the trademark name of a women's perfume that they manufacture. And they also make men's cologne, under the trademark names 'Warning' and 'Danger'."

"What the!? But the address on the back of the salad dressing bottle CLEARLY said..."

"Our products are made in a laboratory on 8030 SOUTHeast 46th Street! 'Clearly,' you had the wrong address all along!"

"Then how do you explain the almost-simultaneous deaths of the three girls?"

"I saw a report on the news last night, which stated they all died in a car crash. Ever thought about the possibility of a car crash? Well?"

Gene walked down the staircase, once again furious at Lyn for having valid explanations for every side of his story. "Feh! If there's one thing life has taught me, it's to know when I'm beaten. And this, Lynelle Flansberg, is not only 'one of those times,' but it's on the Top 10 list of my worst defeats and humiliations! That being said, I'm going to go home and take a huge-ass dump."

Lyn wrinkled her nose. "Did you really find it necessary to be so graphic?"

Gene had hit rock bottom. Before he left the premises, he ended Lyn's ruined romantic rendezvous by paying homage to the Animaniacs. "Goodbyyyyye, Nurse!"