Beautiful You by Chuck Palahniuk Page A

world’s most enticing sex symbol. In another minute Maxwell was back and standing beside her. As usual, he was scrawling notes in his little book. He could be such a space cadet.
    When Penny didn’t speak, he asked her, “Are you okay?”
    She described the scene he’d missed. How Alouette had approached her. How the actress had threatened her.
    A strange look crossed Maxwell’s bland face. It was somethingPenny had never seen, anger mixed with another emotion. Possibly love. The warm wind tousled his blond hair.
    Whatever it was, she couldn’t resist. Whether it was physical attraction or the prospect of enraging Alouette, Penny couldn’t resist the idea of sleeping with Max. She took his hand in hers. “Let’s not fly back tonight.” She brought the cold hand to her lips and kissed it, adding, “Let’s stay over and go back to New York in the morning.”
    In bed, Maxwell’s touch was so exact it was almost clinical. The way he used his fingers, they were almost calipers, there only to measure her. Like a doctor or a scientist, his fingertips gripped her as if he was testing her blood pressure. Often he’d pause midcaress, lean over to reach the bedside table, and scribble a note in his mysterious, spidery shorthand.
    That first night in Paris, Penny found herself slightly drunk, naked in his bed while he knelt between her spread legs.
    The bedside table held a strange combination of objects. There were faceted crystal bottles, like perfume bottles, each holding a different vivid color of liquid. They looked like massive rubies, topaz, and emeralds. They reminded Penny of the huge sapphire she’d seen on the neck of Alouette D’Ambrosia. Among these colorful bottles were plain glass beakers and test tubes of the same sort Penny had always associated with high school chemistry classes. There was a small cardboard box, like for facial tissues, but it appeared to be full of latex gloves, and one sprouted from the top, ready for the plucking. One flask held an assortment of wrapped condoms. Maxwell’s notebook was tucked among these items. Of course it was. That notebook was almost an appendage. The final object Penny could identifywas a small digital recording device, something a busy executive might dictate his thoughts into. The nearest item was a bottle of champagne.
    Maxwell was already erect, but he hardly seemed aware of his aroused state. Only inches away from Penny’s nakedness, he was leaning half off the bed. First he uncorked the bottle of champagne and poured some into a beaker. It fizzed pink. Pink champagne. He handed the beaker to Penny. Lifting the bottle, he made a toast: “To innovation and progress.” They each drank from their respective bubbly.
    “Don’t guzzle all of it, my dear.” Maxwell snapped his fingers to indicate he wanted the beaker back. He poured in a smidgen more champagne and set the bottle aside. With great deliberation, he picked among the crystal flasks. From some he poured dribs and drabs of richly colored syrup into the beaker of pink wine. He paged forward and back in his notebook as if consulting a coded recipe.
    As he worked intently, Maxwell mused, “People are so misguided. They will devote themselves to the study of everything except what is of most importance.” His lips curled into a wry grin. “I have studied the infinitely finer points of the sensual realm. I’ve learned from physicians and anatomists. I’ve dissected many cadavers, both male and female, to understand the mechanics of pleasure.”
    Sloshing the beaker to thoroughly mix its contents, Maxwell gave Penny a frowning look and asked, “Have you ever enjoyed an orgasm?”
    “Of course,” Penny answered quickly. Too quickly. It was a lie, and it sounded like a lie.
    Maxwell smirked. He continued, “I’ve apprenticed myself to the world’s most accomplished sex experts.” There was no boasting in his words, just a determined resoluteness. “I’ve studied with tantric shamans in