Mort came out of his house at around noon, and Iris followed him as he drove to New London. He was dressed in a brown V-neck sweater, over a white t-shirt and jeans. His hair, the blonde tips, stuck out from beneath a black beanie, and on his feet were a pair of beaten up boots; scratched and worn. He went to a grocery store first, and came out carrying two brown paper bags back to the car. Then he wandered about the thrift shops; just looking, not buying. He had coffee at a small café, sitting at an outdoor table, eating a pastry with it, and reading the paper.
It was while he was in the video rental shop that he caught sight of Iris. She ducked behind one of the stands, and watched him through gaps between the shelves. He didn't come over to her, didn't even look her again, and she began to wonder if he had actually seen her, or if she had imagined it.
Mort finished browsing, and made his way out of the store. Iris waited a few moments before straightening up and heading for the door. She wondered where he was going next. It was a shame he hadn't rented anything; it would have been interesting to see what movies he was into. Never mind, there was plenty of time to find out all that kind of stuff.
It was as Iris was leaving the store, that she was pulled into an alleyway and pushed against the wall.
"Why are you following," Mort demanded.
"I just want to see where you were going," Iris said.
"Just wanted to see where I was going?" Mort repeated. "Stay the hell away from me!"
He stormed off.
Iris went back to her car, then she drove back to Mort's. She decided to give him some time to cool off, and to speak to him when he got home. He did not come home for another two hours, and went he did, he did not seem any calmer.
Striding up to the car, he pulled open the door, leant inside, and said; "Lady, who are you? Why are you trying so hard to piss me off?"
"I'm not," she said.
"I beg to differ," said Mort.
"I don't get what the problem is," she said. "I did my hair nice, my make-up, my outfit. Don't you find me attractive?"
"What?" Mort said, his face dropping.
"Don't you want me?" She said, reaching out and stroking his cheek. He was silent for a while, staring at her, then his eyes widened, like he was waking from a dream, or a trance.
"Lady, you're fucking crazy; digging up my garden in the middle of the night, following me round town, sitting outside my house. I just want you to leave me alone. I don't know what the hell is going on in your head, but if this is how you try to pick up guys, I think you need a new approach. Normal people go out for drinks."
"Would you like to go for a drink?" Iris said, trying her best to please him.
He let out a wearily sigh, shaking his head he said; "Don't come back here again." He slammed the door shut, then skulked into the house.
Iris went back to the motel.
Over the next few days, she sent Mort letters telling him how much she loved him, how she would wait until he was ready to be in a relationship again. He never sent anything back, but she knew he got them because she hand delivered each one and watched him through the sitting room window as he read them.
She was overwhelmed by the kind of passion she could provoke in him. The kind of heat she caused to serge through his veins, making him explode in such a tremendous way.
One afternoon, having just received another letter, without even opening it, he overturned his coffee table and knocked over a floor lamp. He ripped up the letter, and Iris breath caught in her throat. Then he paced the sitting room, glancing over at the letter from time to time. Finally he picked up the lamp and the table and sat down to reconstruct the letter. Piece by piece he fitted it together and read it.