The next few weeks pass by without anything notable taking place. I spend most of my nights at home with the genie and Sugar watching TV or discussing the last two centuries’ art, history, wars, and society.
It’s interesting to hear the point of view of an authentic eighteenth-century gentleman. To witness his genuine indignation at the promiscuity, as he calls it, of this era, his passion in discussing his country (he was a bit shocked that the British Empire doesn’t exist anymore), and his wonderment at the works of Monet, Van Gogh, Picasso, and many others. We even went to the Art Institute of Chicago so that he could see some of those paintings in real life.
We go out a lot with my friends, too, and everybody likes him. I have to say I am surprised at how well he gets along with everyone, considering that he is so old and all. I also like having someone by my side, even if it’s only the genie. It feels good to be an even number again. I don’t have to sit at the head of the table being the odd one among pairs anymore. It might seem like a trivial thing, but believe me, it’s not so easy to go out with your friends when they’re all involved in serious relationships and you’re heartbroken.
I hated always being a solo witness to their constant PDAs. At least now when they start I can talk to the genie. I’m not jealous of them in a mean way; it’s just that it’s hard to be around happy people when you’re not. Before the genie came into my life, I was beginning to retire into isolation and saying no more often than yes to their invitations to hang out, like the weekend at the lake. I know I’m still single, and that having the genie doesn’t really change anything, but it makes me feel less alone. I am a bit sad at the thought that I’ll have to say goodbye to him sooner or later.
Anyway, for almost a month I basically go on with my normal life…well, with a bit more free spending and a lot less beauty torment. My recent list of acquisitions includes my apartment, a brand new car, and more clothes and accessories that I could ever wear. I’ve also grown my hair another inch and a half so that it’s well below shoulder-length.
I go in to work regularly, except now I drive there every morning in my white Toyota Prius. Yes, I could have splurged a lot more on the car, but I didn’t want to attract too much attention toward my recently acquired wealth, and I like being “green”.
Unfortunately, sticking to my semi-regular routine means that I have to face the bitch every day. But at least I get the satisfaction of constantly noticing her ring finger remaining inexorably ring free. I’m also keeping up my good work of equally improving Sally’s appearance and damaging Vanessa’s.
In short, my attitude could be referred to as burying my head in the sand, hoping that everything will fall into place naturally. In other words, James dumping Vanessa and marrying me instead. I know it’s stupid, but since the next item on my list is confronting James, I’m scared to death, and going into hiding doesn’t seem such a bad alternative.
What am I scared of? Learning the truth for once. Truth can be harsh, and it crushes hopes. I need hope. You need to move on, says a nasty little voice in my head. Ok, I know she’s right, whatever “moving on” means. I can’t live in a limbo forever, but what if I see him and the love is gone from his eyes? What if he’s completely changed? What if he’s not my James anymore? And what about me? Will I be able to keep my cool, or will I cause the mother of all scenes and have to live in shame for the rest of my days?
The ocean, however, can’t remain calm for long, as the storm winds are always hiding below the horizon, ready to suddenly swell and bring gale. My storm punctually arrives on a Monday morning in the form of a call from Megan.
“Hi, baby,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Hi Ally, um…” She sounds awkward. “I was wondering if you were free for lunch today.”
“Yeah, sure. Is something wrong?” I ask, worried.
“Um, I think we need to talk about it, um…in person.”
“Can you at least give me a heads-up?”
“No, babe, I’m sorry. I have to go. See you at the Protein Bar on Adams Street at noon. Bye.” She hangs up before I can add anything.
I don’t try to call her back as I know it would be pointless. Meg is very stubborn; once she decides how something should be done, there’s no changing her mind. Noon, noon. It’s only nine o’clock now! How can she leave me agonizing for three whole hours?
I spend the morning looking at my computer’s clock every minute, not able to accomplish anything. Of course, when you wish time to speed up it begins to drag lethargically, one minute slowly turning into the next. It’s driving me crazy! My mind is flying in all directions. I analyze all the possibilities and conclude that the big secret has to be about James, and if she wants to tell me in person it can’t be anything good.
At eleven-thirty I can’t stand it any longer. I grab my new Balenciaga and head to the elevator. Since the place is only ten minutes away from my office, I try to pace as slowly as I can, but arrive fifteen minutes early anyway. At least I’m not caged inside, and I can distract myself by compulsively walking in circles around the block.
Finally at five to twelve I spot Megan hurrying toward the bar. She has a weird expression on her face. A strong gust of wind prompts me forward and my third eye envisions rising waves looming in the distance.
“Hi, babe,” Meg says. “Sorry for keeping you in the dark all morning but I didn’t want you to break down in front of the bitch.” She’s being very direct. No sugar coating for me today.
We both order a Bar-rito and sit at the farthest table at the back of the bar to try to have some privacy.
“So what is it?” I ask, not sure I want to know.
“Ally, there’s no circling around it,” she replies grimly. “John has received the invitation to James’s wedding.” She fumbles briefly in her purse to retrieve an ivory envelope that she promptly hands to me. “I thought you would’ve wanted to see it,” she adds.
“Sure. Thanks,” I mutter, turning over the thing in my trembling hands.
Inside is my death sentence, written in black and white.
The paper feels soft under my fingertips; it must be expensive. The front of the envelope has two letters in bas-relief, J and V, which intersect nicely in the middle with the lower part of the J over the higher part of the V. James and Vanessa.
I open it.
Mr. and Mrs. Adam Van Horn
Request the honor of your presence at the marriage of their daughter
Vanessa Elaine
to
James Douglass Avery
Saturday, the fifth of September
At half-past three in the afternoon
Van Horn Mansion
R.S.V.P.
Of course she has a mansion.
The fifth of September. What? Is this the shortest engagement in history? What’s the rush?
I imagined they would get married next year, or two years from now, even. Instead, I only have two months to stop this wedding. Even seeing it in writing doesn’t make it seem real.
But it is. The ugly truth is staring back at me, nicely inscribed in fancy golden ink.
“I’m not going,” Megan announces. “John has to since he’s the best man, but I refuse to be there.”
“Is he ok with it?”
“No, he’s mad at me! Whatever…he’ll get over it.”
“Meg, you don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to,” she interrupts me. “But I want to.”
“Thank you, honey,” I murmur.
Her gesture of loyalty is the last straw; two fat tears escape my lids, running down my cheeks. I quickly wipe them away with the back of my hand, but it’s too late. Megan has already seen them.
“Come here, baby.” She comes around the small table and hugs me tightly. “Can I do anything for you?”
“No thanks, I’m ok. It’s just a moment, it will pass,” I reassure her. “Thank you for telling me right away and for not going to the…thing.” I don’t think I can say the w word right now. “How is everything with you and John, besides this?” I say, waving toward the invitation, trying to change the subject.
“Same old, except Amanda called him a few days ago.”
“Amanda, as in his college sweetheart?”
“Yep, the one and only!”
“And what did she want?”
“Honestly, I think she was drunk-calling him.”
“You’re joking. Perfect Amanda, drunk? What did you do?”
“I sure as hell listened to the whole thing. Then I went a bit cuckoo for about twenty minutes raging about it, but he assured me it was a one-off and that he’s neither in touch with her nor interested in being in contact. He said that he took the call only out of politeness. We concluded the argument with extremely passionate make-up sex.”
“Aw, you guys. So you are cool about the whole thing?”
“Hmm, I don’t know. It unsettled me a little bit,” she admits. “I mean, he was with her way longer than he’s been with me, but they broke up for a reason. It was her calling him, not the other way around, so yes, I guess I’m ok. Especially because she lives a thousand miles away.” She winks.
We spend the rest of the lunch bitching about Amanda and spying on her Facebook profile, which keeps me distracted enough from my own problems.
However, once I say goodbye to Megan, the enormity of her revelation hits me full frontal and leaves me drifting back to work like a castaway struggling in the sea of my sorrow.
In the elevator ride up to my office, I decide to maintain a positive attitude. I need to come out from under the comforter and do whatever I can to stop this wedding, fire all my weapons, and if it doesn’t work, at least I’ll have no regrets.
The genie hasn’t said a single word to me all morning, and I am thankful for it. He seems to have good empathy levels. He understands when I need to be left alone.
No more excuses, I say to myself while sitting at my desk. I need to set up a casual encounter with James. What should I do? I used to know the places he liked, but since I made it my life’s mission to completely avoid setting foot in any of them for the past year I’m not sure if he still goes there or not. The only way to find out is to try them out one after the other until I hit a winner. If this doesn’t work, I’ll regroup and think of something else.
I’m trying with difficulty not to think about the invitation, but its image keeps randomly flashing into my mind. I can’t help myself, so I count the days I have left before the dreadful event. Sixty-one, including today.
Vanessa’s proximity is not helping in keeping my mind off the topic. My awful mood gains her a few more pounds, and as I watch her squirm when my magic hits her, I notice with satisfaction that it’s started to show.
Over the last couple of weeks she has quit wearing uber-tight outfits, leaning more toward loose silky tunics that better complement her new form, so that an unaware eye could not note the difference. Unfortunately for her, I know she has fifteen more pounds to carry around.
Instinctively, I look at the other side of the office to where Sally’s desk is. She, on the contrary, has her clothes hanging loose around her a size too big. I shed her another five.
When both Vanessa and Sally screech in a matter of minutes, the genie raises a suspicious eyebrow at me. I know he disapproves of my methods, but today I am mutinous. I’m a mess. Thinking about her perfect invitation, to her perfect wedding, in her perfect mansion, with my perfect man is giving me hot flashes.
I don’t try to accomplish something workwise. It would be pointless in these conditions. Who cares if they fire me! That way I won’t have to bear the bitch’s presence next to me every day. Instead, I browse the Internet to check if the bars I intend to scout Thursday are still in business, have changed names, or something like that.
I say Thursday because I wouldn’t stand a chance before then; James never goes out earlier in the week. When we were together, Thursdays were his reserved nights to hang out with his buddies. I’m hoping the same rules apply to his new relationship. Seeing him with Vanessa would be a no-no situation for me.
While I’m immersed in these reflections, I spot Vanessa furiously typing on her iPhone. She seems angry, and she keeps shaking her head, annoyed. If only I could snoop what she was texting, and with whom! Wait a second, there could be a way. I frantically grab a notepad from my desk and scribble on it as fast as I can.
I then discreetly attract the genie’s attention, tapping my pencil casually but noisily on the pad for him to read my message. He sees it and obediently moves over to Vanessa’s desk, towering behind her, his neck stretched forward to peek at her bright phone’s screen.
As soon as she stops texting he comes back. I don’t give him the time to reach me, but shoot up from my chair and head for the office restrooms. He follows me, used to the fact that the bathroom is the only safe place where we can talk without people thinking I’m hearing voices in my head.
I do my usual stall check to verify that we’re alone, and then start my interrogation.
“Was it James?”
“Yes.”
“Were they having an argument?”
“Yes.”
“Well, tell me more, don’t just say yes,” I cry out, impatient.
“He was saying he couldn’t accompany her to some sort of event on Thursday because he was going out with his friend Bruce.” The genie launches into his report. “She wrote it was really important for her that he went, he replied that she knew Thursdays were off limits and something else about alone time I don’t remember. Then she asked him if he planned on keeping Thursdays for himself even when they were going to be married and have a family, and he answered he didn’t see anything wrong in having one day of the week for himself. She did not text back.”
“She’s already suffocating him,” I comment, delighted. “I bet he doesn’t like it one bit. Did he say where he’s meeting Bruce?”
“I think a place starting with H, and with a number afterwards.”
“Hub 51?”
“Yes, that could be it.”
“Perfect! Genie, you’re the best,” I exclaim.
This is it. Thursday is my opportunity. James will be out, I know where to find him, and best of all, he’s going to be Vanessa-free.
Now all I have to do is decide what to wear and, most of all, what to say to him. Ah, easier said than done. How will I get him to open up to me? Will I have the guts to ask him all the questions that have been swirling around in my head unspoken for eighteen months and twelve days? Not that I’m counting.
I also need to keep Bruce occupied while I’m talking to James, otherwise he could easily dismiss me with a polite greeting and go back to his friend, but I’m already planning a decoy to make sure it doesn’t happen.
I eye the genie maliciously. I don’t think he’s going to like it.