Free Beautiful You by Chuck Palahniuk Page A

run.
    Retrieving his recorder from the bedside table, she rewound the memory. Hitting Play, she heard, “… don’t be a prudish fool.” Penny felt like a hypocrite, but she never wanted anotherhuman being to hear the insane gibberish that had spilled from her mouth. Again, she hit Play. This time she heard a scream.
    With the shower running full-blast, she hoped Maxwell hadn’t heard it in the bathroom.
    Someone was screaming in French. Not that Penny could understand French, but she could guess based on her own experience. It was Alouette under the influence of pink champagne and secret ingredients. She fast-forwarded and hit Play. “Stay with me, Penny,” the recording said.
    Even as she listened, spellbound, the device in her hands issued a shrill ringtone. It wasn’t only a recorder; it was a telephone! Penny was so startled she almost dropped it; instead she tossed the phone back onto the table, where it continued to ring and ring. When she checked the caller ID it said, “Private.”
    Penny leaped from the bed. She knocked at the bathroom door. “Max, it’s your phone!” She tried the knob, but it was locked. She could hear the shower, his voice singing a song she couldn’t identify. After a couple more rings, curiosity got the better of her. She put the phone to her ear and said, “Hello?”
    Silence.
    The bathroom door opened and Maxwell stepped out with a towel wrapped around his waist. Water dripped from his hair. At the sight of her answering his phone, his eyebrows drew together in fury, and he snapped his fingers, gesturing for her to hang up.
    “Hello? Corny?” asked a voice. It was a familiar voice. A woman. “Max,” she said. “This isn’t my fault.” She pleaded, “Please don’t hurt me.”
    Penny handed the phone to Maxwell. She could still hear the voice on the line talking excitedly, loudly. Begging. He put it to his ear and listened. Gradually his eyes wandered to the floor. The longer the caller talked, the more his angry expression changed to one of brooding concern.
    “That shouldn’t be an issue,” he said. “The active ingredients don’t fall within any of the federal schedules for controlled or hazardous substances.” He listened, shaking his head. “Well, then appoint a new chairman to the FDA. Give that job to someone who
will
fast-track the products.”
    The caller was someone Penny had seen on television. It was a voice that brought to mind a sensible, shoulder-length haircut. A blue suit. A pearl necklace. A woman speaking behind a forest of microphones.
    Talking into the phone, but eyeing Penny, Maxwell said, “I’m in the final testing phase right now. We’re timing mass production for a summer rollout. By next month we’ll be in a half million retail outlets.” He turned his back to Penny and stepped through the bathroom door. “You know what’s at stake here. Don’t make me take any actions you’ll regret.” The door shut. Possibly to mask the conversation, the shower came back on at full blast.
    Unless Penny missed her guess, the voice, the woman calling, she was the president of the United States. President Clarissa Hind.
    Penny wondered what brilliant new invention they were almost done testing.
    This constant sexual cavorting, this would be the pattern of their days and nights. Max always had some toy, some potion, some glorious lubricant he wanted to introduce her to.
    He’d drive her to climax until her back ached and her legs wouldn’t work, and he’d gently bully her, saying, “We’re almost done. Just one more adjustment.” Saying, “We’ve got to stay on a schedule here.…”
    He’d probe with one hand buried inside her. “I’m searching for your pudendal plexus. It should be right
here
.”
    On other occasions, totally stymied, he’d use his free hand to shake open a folded anatomical chart, like a road map, on the bed beside her. He was a southpaw and kept those fingers planted in her vagina as if marking his place in a