Sociable

by Rebecca Harrington

  “Thanks.”

  “She was a recommendation from Pam Johnson, right? Speaking of which, are you going to her Memorial Day party?”

  “Uh, no?” said J.W.

  “Come with me,” said Sean. “I’d love for you to talk about our branded content gaming strategy with Mike Soloman from the Times. I think he’s going to be there.”

  “Uh, yes, absolutely,” said J.W. He smiled at Sean, but inside he felt a sense of dread. He hadn’t been to a journalism party in four years. In his previous life, he used to be able to say that he was a columnist who wrote “Thoughts and Musings.” It wasn’t Pam Johnson level, but it was something. And now, he was going to have to say that he essentially did nothing. All the feelings of failure he had tried to smother in a haze of gratefulness for a living wage came flooding back.

  “Good!” said Sean. That was J.W.’s cue to leave.

  * * *

  · · ·

  Halfway through her hair appointment at a butter-yellow hair salon that just did blow-dries, Elinor realized she had nothing to wear on TV. While her hair was being pulled taut by a round brush, she texted Sheila about borrowing her black dress. Sheila, who happened to be home, told Elinor to pick the dress up at her apartment. And so, right after the appointment was over, she walked the twenty blocks to Sheila’s.

  Sheila answered the door in their college’s sweatshirt.

  “Hey!” she said. “How was the TV thing?”

  “It hasn’t happened yet,” said Elinor. “That’s why I’m getting the dress from you. Fuck! I’m so nervous.”

  “I’m sure you are going to do a great job,” said Sheila, in an absentminded way. “I have leftover pizza in the oven. Do you want any of it?”

  “Maybe like, one slice? But I don’t know. I have that TV thing, and I don’t want to look fat. Where are your roommates?” All five of them seemed to have vacated the premises. This almost never happened at Sheila’s. The roommates were always around, whispering.

  “Actually all of them are out. Three are at work and we still haven’t filled the room that Ralph was going to be in. We have to start like, putting an ad on Craigslist or something. Do you think we will get someone weird?”

  “What happened with Ralph?” said Elinor. “Are you serious?”

  “Fuck, I mean. He’s a dick. I don’t know. I don’t know why I trusted him to not be a dick.”

  “What happened? Why didn’t you tell me?” said Elinor. “Also, where is the dress?”

  “I put it on the couch.”

  Elinor walked over to the couch and saw the dress lying limply over the back of it. She took the dress in her hands and held it up to her. She had tried it on before. She always thought it looked better on her than it looked on Sheila. She wished Sheila would just give it to her. She would have given it to Sheila if the situation was reversed.

  “Basically he told me he was going to move in here, which I told you like, a while ago?”

  “Yes,” said Elinor. Perhaps she said this in a slightly bitter tone. If so, it wasn’t like she meant to do it. In any case, Sheila gave her a barely perceptible look.

  “And we were talking every single night and it never ever seemed like he was changing his mind or anything. And then like, a week ago, we spent all night hanging out, and we slept in the same bed but we didn’t hook up.”

  “Sheila,” said Elinor. “I don’t even believe that.”

  “We didn’t!” said Sheila. “And then after that, after we had an amazing night together where we just like, talked about our lives. Then the next day he texts me, and he’s like, ‘I’m not going to move in.’ And I’m like, shocked, okay? Because we had been talking and talking and talking about it and then he just basically pulled out when we had almost no time to find anyone else?”

  “Why did he say he was not going to move in with you?”

  “That he thinks it will be too awkward? That like, we have too much ‘weirdness’ between us?”

  “Well,” said Elinor. “Maybe this isn’t the worst thing that could happen.”

  “I mean, I know. You’re right. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea anyway.”

  Elinor was feeling slightly beatific from her brush with fame. She gave Sheila a knowing smile.

  “Yeah, I don’t know,” said Elinor. “I don’t think I would have done it. You know, it’s not very feminist to put yourself in this position.”

  “How so?” said Sheila, Elinor noticed, with a slightly dangerous uptick to her voice.

  “Well, did you read my article?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “I was kind of talking about this. You can’t just like, let these things happen to you, you know? That’s not feminist. If you had known that he wasn’t treating you right, I think you should have told him like, all of this wasn’t acceptable.”

  “I know,” said Sheila. “I mean, I know I was dumb. That doesn’t help me.”

  “I guess,” said Elinor, “it’s not that you were dumb, it’s more that you weren’t thinking of it at all in context, you know?”

  Sheila glowered at her.

  “All I’m going to say,” said Sheila, “is that you totally would have done it with Mike. Move in with him and stuff. Like, if he called you now? You would totally move in with him.”

  “No. I don’t think I would have at all,” said Elinor. “Mike and I had a very mature breakup. Neither of us were assholes.”

  “You totally wanted to get back with him. You are still going to the fucking party his mother is having!”

  “I am going to the party his mother is having because we are trying to be friends and she has been an amazing professional contact. That’s why I am going.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  “Listen,” said Elinor, in her newfound patient voice. “I know you are hurting about Ralph but don’t take it out on me. Anyway, I have to go on TV in like, two seconds—”

  “I’m not taking it out on you,” said Sheila. “I just hate that you always act like you would never do the things that I would do or something. When you totally would have! You are so condescending sometimes.”

  “Condescending! What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not condescending to you!”

  “Yes you fucking are. You think you are so much better than me. And you’re totally fucking not, is the thing. It’s all fake too. I mean, you wrote that whole post to get Mike back or to get back at him. Either-or. Whatever it was, it was the exact same thing as what I did.”

  “Sheila,” said Elinor. She was, all of a sudden, quite angry. “Are you kidding me? What you don’t understand is that that was feminist! I was being a feminist and you are like, the least feminist person in the world.”

  “See?” said Sheila. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. This is the condescending way that you talk to me, like you are so amazing just because you are a journalist and are going on TV. You talk to me like you are trying to explain feminism to me. It’s really pathetic.”

  “Oh, fuck off, Sheila, seriously. You are just jealous of me. I can’t believe that you are actually jealous that I have a good life now! Which is sick!”

  “I’m not jealous of that,” said Sheila. “I’m not jealous of you. I just hate the way you treat me like I’m stupid or lame. I’m neither. You are the exact same as me. If you think I’m pathetic, then you are pathetic too.”

  “Fuck you! You just always fuck up your life and now you want to blame me,” said Elinor. She grabbed the dress and left to go on TV.

  * * *

  · · ·

  Elinor was still fuming from her fight with Sheila when she changed into her dress in a Starbucks bathroom. However, when she finally arrived at the sliding glass doors of the TV building, her nerves took over. She waited on an oblong leather couch in the lobby for someone to pick her up, which was what she had been instructed to do.

  After ten minutes or so, a publicist came into the lobby. She was carrying a clipboard and a gigantic walkie-talkie. She gave Elinor a ve
ry firm handshake.

  “Sorry we’re late! We’ve been super stressed up there,” she said. “I’m Erin.”

  “Oh, no worries at all! I’m just excited to be going on TV, I actually really am.”

  “Well, that’s great. We’re really happy to have you too.”

  Elinor followed Erin through a very cold, nondescript hall and into a large steel elevator to the tenth floor, where they got out and walked down more hallways that were lined with black-and-white pictures of great events, like Kennedy visiting New York in a gigantic white car. At the end of this hallway, there was a small closet flooded with light. This was the room where Elinor was going to wait. It had a mirror surrounded by circular lightbulbs, like some matinee idol’s bathroom. It also had a bunch of makeup spilling out of a huge black toolbox.

  “So this is the makeup room. Just chill in here in case I call you. Okay?”

  “Okay,” said Elinor. “Can I have a glass of water?”

  “Of course,” said Erin. Elinor sat down on a director’s chair directly facing the mirror. Erin rushed out of the room carrying her clipboard.

  Elinor looked at herself in the mirror. She had bags under her eyes the shape of wet tea bags. She was extremely thirsty, and yet she also had to pee. But where was the bathroom? Elinor didn’t think it was appropriate for her to start wandering.

  Eventually, Erin came back with the water. Elinor drank it greedily.

  “We’ll call for you in like, five to ten minutes, okay?”

  “Okay,” said Elinor in a thick gulp. “Can you also announce me as Elinor Tomlinson, from the Journalism.ly? It’s how my boss wants you to announce me.”

  “Sure,” said Erin brusquely. She left the room.

  Thirty minutes passed. Elinor looked at her phone. She Instagrammed a picture of the makeup room (she hoped Sheila saw it and felt bad because she was such a huge bitch), she finished her water and had to pee even more than before. She refreshed her makeup with her own makeup, which she had brought in her bag.

  Ten minutes after that, Erin came back. She was a little breathless and still holding a clipboard, but now she had a headset on.

  “Okay, so, unfortunately we’re kind of running behind on time today, can you believe it?”

  “Oh no!” said Elinor.

  “Yes, which is, you know, kind of stressful—so your segment is going to be a bit shorter than we thought it was going to be. Which should be fine for you? We’re going to bring in a sociologist to talk about the Internet and dating more generally before you get on there, and then you will say a little something. Okay?”

  “Um, wait, am I going to be going on at a different time?”

  “I wish I could explain,” said Erin. She was outwardly making some semblance of a sympathetic expression, but Elinor could see she was actually annoyed. “But we really have to go. You might miss your slot or something. Follow me?”

  “Do you know where the bathroom is?”

  “Do you mind waiting until after the segment?” said Erin.

  “No!” said Elinor. “Not at all.”

  They walked out of the makeup room and down another long hall. Elinor passed a bathroom. Then the stage appeared before her. At first, all she could see was a long, dark cavern. Maybe a hundred feet away, she spotted two news anchors who were looking at papers on their desk and not talking to each other. A picture of the New York City skyline was behind them. There was a single cameraman, who was holding a large camera attached to a dolly with a cord.

  “Okay,” said Erin. “We have to whisper in here. They are just about to shoot and like, you can’t really talk. I’ll cue you when you need to take your seat. Okay?”

  “Okay,” said Elinor in a barely audible whisper. She looked around her. Ten feet away was a solitary chair. Erin started to walk toward the cameraman and whisper in his ear, and then Elinor moved to the chair, because she was too nervous to stand.

  “And we’re back. And we’re here to talk about dating and the Internet!” said a news anchor. “There’s Tinder. There’s OkCupid. But is there Yelp for dating? And should there be?”

  The camera paused for a brief second on the news anchor’s face before turning toward another screen, where a montage of images flickered on the screen (the Tinder logo, the OkCupid logo, and then some people walking around New York City). Elinor couldn’t hear what was being said (it was prerecorded and obviously playing off camera). During this entire montage, the newscasters just looked at their papers again. They did not seem to have a particularly cordial relationship offscreen.

  Suddenly Elinor became aware of another shape in the dark next to her, accompanied by Erin. This shape seemed to resemble an older male, who looked a bit scholarly, but in what Elinor thought was a handsome way. He had thick black glasses on. He looked like a Brooklyn dad. The Brooklyn dad waved to Elinor and hissed, “Hi!” Elinor waved back.

  “Okay,” said Erin to the dad, not acknowledging Elinor. “It’s time for you to go on.”

  The dad simply nodded and followed Erin up to the table, where there was now an empty seat waiting for him. When did they set that up? Elinor saw that there was another empty chair up there, for her.

  Erin raced back to Elinor. She was holding a giant Walkman attached to several wires.

  “Here,” she said, shoving it at Elinor. Elinor held the device, not knowing quite what to do with it.

  “Attach the mike part to the top of your dress? I’ll fasten the speaker to your back,” she said.

  Elinor mutely attached what looked like a tiny microphone to the top of her collar. Erin went around to her back and got busy clipping the back of the mike to the top of her pocket. The mike was very very cold. Elinor watched the Brooklyn dad’s interview.

  “Good to have you with us, Professor.”

  “It’s good to be here,” said the Brooklyn dad.

  “Do you think the Internet is good for the dating culture?” said the male interviewer.

  “It has changed it,” said the Brooklyn dad. In the light, Elinor noticed that the Brooklyn dad had beautiful gray, curly hair that wasn’t receding at all. “Now everything is available on the Internet all the time.”

  “How so?” said the female newscaster.

  “Millennials can really research their dates in an unprecedented way. They can Google practically everything about their prospective partners. But does that lead to better relationships?”

  “We’ll be right back with more after the break,” said the male newscaster.

  “Okay, you need to go up now,” said Erin. “Go up there.”

  Elinor traversed the very dark stage to the elevated news desk, at which the male newscaster, the female newscaster, and the Brooklyn dad were sitting. She sat down in the empty seat next to the Brooklyn dad. The female newscaster was making small talk with him.

  “So how did you become an expert in modern dating?” said the female newscaster. She was making a lot of eye contact with the Brooklyn dad.

  “Well, I’m a sociologist and my work just naturally led me there.”

  “That’s amazing,” said the female newscaster.

  “We’re back in three, two, one,” said the cameraman.

  “And we’re back,” said the female newscaster, “and we’re here with Kevin Lang, professor of sociology at CUNY Brooklyn, and Elinor Tomlinson, a blogger at the Journalism.ly, which is a news website on the Internet. And we’re talking about dating. Elinor, you recently wrote a blog about how women shouldn’t tell their dating stories? Why was that?”

  “Uh, yes!” said Elinor. “Although it wasn’t really about that. It was more about how you are encouraged to write about all this stuff with your dating life, and you know, maybe things just didn’t work out and you, um, you know, it’s just confusing, and, um, women shouldn’t feel pressure to write about their breakups if they don’t want to.”

  “But what’s great about the Internet is everyone’s unique voice,” said the Brooklyn dad. “I think the idea that you can’t te
ll your story is historically bad for women. You are selling them short.”

  “I wasn’t really trying to sell anyone short really?” said Elinor. Her throat was hot. “That’s not what I was doing. I actually said in the essay that historically women were stopped from telling stories on a structural level.”

  “The Internet is democratic?” said the female newscaster.

  “Exactly!” said the Brooklyn dad. “And women should be able to talk about whatever they want.”

  “Sure, I wasn’t even saying like—” said Elinor.

  “I think it’s fantastic that people are free to choose how to express themselves.”

  “Oh, me too,” said Elinor, worried that a flush was suffusing her entire face. “Like, of course I think that too.”

  During all this, the male newscaster was visibly not paying attention. He must not have been on-screen. Now, however, he sprang back into action.

  “Thank you so much, Kevin and Elinor,” he said. “Next, this panda thinks he’s a dog!”

  A brief but jaunty music played.

  “Well, thanks, guys,” said the female newscaster. “I appreciate you both coming out here.”

  “It was my pleasure,” said the Brooklyn dad. He had a wedding ring on, Elinor realized.

  Erin appeared out of the morass of the darkness.

  “Guys, that was great,” she said. The Brooklyn dad was already getting up. Elinor followed him.

  “When do you think I can tweet the link to my appearance?” said Elinor to Erin.

  “It should be up later on tonight,” said Erin.

  “Thanks,” said Elinor. She had been on TV! She would worry about it later.

  * * *

  · · ·

  Outside the studio Elinor sat on the curb.

  She took her phone out and looked at it. Some texts and tweets had surfaced since she had written the words “Can’t wait to be on TV” but fewer than she would have expected, honestly. And nothing from Sheila, who had completely attacked her for no reason. Bitch.

  It was then she got a text from Will, the crossword puzzle guy. She hadn’t heard from him in weeks.