The Unfortunate Importance of Beauty by Amanda Filipacchi Page A

mainly because he has killed before. He killed two men in the shootout with Penelope’s kidnappers, the same shootout that left him limping. In addition, he’s still very strong despite his injuries. He would certainly be capable of slitting a man’s throat if he wanted, probably far more easily than Georgia, Penelope, or Lily, at least on a physical level. On a psychological, emotional, and moral level, that’s another matter. I think back on when he first got his part-time job at the senior center, which he took soon after rescuing Penelope, when he realized he’d never be able to get back on the police force due to his limp.
    After a few weeks of serving meals and asking after grandchildren at the senior center, he was feeling depressed, missing the kind of work he’d done as a police officer. That was when the seniors started getting into frequent fights—a couple of them a week. Jack broke up the fights. He thought it was strange that the fights were so numerous, but the truth was, he didn’t mind. He felt more useful and less depressed this way.
    Jack had broken up six fights in the three weeks since the fights had begun. He decided to ask the director of the senior center what was going on.
    “Thank you for keeping the peace and breaking up the fights,” the director said to him.
    “No problem.”
    “The fact that the fights are fake should not in any way diminish your sense of accomplishment.”
    “The fights are fake?”
    “Yes. The seniors were excited to have a hero such as yourself working here, but they were worried you would not be happy merely serving them lunch if your special skill—of keeping the peace—wasn’t used. That’s why they took it upon themselves to stage fights. It’s very touching.”
    “I’m touched and humiliated at the same time. I don’t think I can continue working here, now that I know this. And I’m not sure why you told me.”
    “I told you because I was afraid you’d figure it out yourself and decide to quit the job before giving me a chance to explain how important it is that you continue.”
    “Continue serving lunch?”
    “And breaking up fights.”
    “Fake fights.”
    “Yes. The seniors have never been happier. You’ve given them a sense of purpose. They think they’ve given you a purpose in life and that without them you’d be falling apart.”
    “It’ll be difficult for me to continue playing along with this.”
    “Yes. And therefore very rewarding. Please continue to give the seniors a sense of purpose by letting them think they’re giving you a sense of purpose. That’s a far greater gift than serving them lunch, which you do wonderfully well too.”
    Jack has been happy enough at that part-time job for the past five years. The seniors love him and the feeling is close to mutual. He has no immediate plans to leave.
    Sure, Jack’s willingness to go along with such an eccentric plan could be considered deviant behavior—but deviant in the most selfless and kind-hearted of ways. It shows such an endearing willingness to swallow his pride that I can’t imagine him murdering a stranger over an offensive comment at a bar—even one directed at Lily. I know I could be wrong, but nevertheless I dismiss Jack as a possible culprit for now and turn my thoughts to Georgia, Penelope, and Lily to try to remember things they’ve said or done that could be indicative of their guilt.
    I don’t come up with any grand revelations.
    THE NEXT DAY, I decide I must get some work done, must buckle down. I can’t let my desire to protect Strad-the-Jerk damage my career. The movie director I’m working with left me a message asking where the hat was that I said I’d send him two days ago and if everything’s okay.
    No, things are not okay, but I must compartmentalize. Just because there’s a problem in one life-box doesn’t mean it has to create a problem in all my other life-boxes.
    I settle down to my work, blank page in front of me, elbows on the table,