Marrying Up

by Jackie Rose

  “And what?”

  “What if it’s because he’s just not attracted to me? That’s sort of what I’ve been thinking… But I’m hoping maybe that’ll come in time, you know?”

  “You’re right. Sparks can be dangerous, anyway. Who needs ’em?”

  Does he really believe that?

  “I suppose…but they also keep you warm at night.”

  “An electric blanket will keep you warm at night, too. And I’m sure you’ll be able to afford a really nice one if you stick it out with your barrister.”

  “Are you trying to make a point?”

  “Just playing devil’s advocate.”

  “I don’t need an advocate. I need somebody who’ll tell it to me like it is. George has been so preoccupied with Max and her job and her boss and her mothers…I don’t know. I just have no idea what to do.”

  “Sorry. I’ll be serious.”

  “If I tell you something, promise you won’t make fun of me?” I ask.

  “Of course.”

  “Well, Vale’s sort of like my first real boyfriend in a long time. So I don’t have a lot of experience. I don’t think I know what a grown-up relationship’s supposed to feel like, so I can’t tell if this is a good one or a bad one.”

  He answers without skipping a beat. “Holly, if you were in a good relationship, you’d know it. But if you’re spending all your time worrying if it’s right instead of knowing it is, then, well, it simply isn’t…and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. I say kick him to the curb, girlfriend.”

  “Well, you’re right about one thing for sure.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You really can girl-talk with the best of ’em. Thanks.”

  “Dr. Phil ain’t got nothing on me.”

  Over a lunch of cheeseburgers and Caesar salads at our new diner—halfway between Venus Books and the world headquarters of Encyclopedia Gigantica—George fidgets in her seat. She can barely concentrate on my incredibly riveting story about how Kitty fell asleep standing up while making the coffee.

  “Something on your mind, George? You seem a little distracted.”

  “No…”

  “But…”

  “No buts. Well, maybe one but.”

  “What but?”

  She sighs. “Forgive me, but I’m nervous.”

  “What now?”

  “I have something to tell you.”

  The last time George had “something to tell me,” it was pretty big.

  “Should I be scared? You’re not dumping Max are you?”

  She looks at me like I’ve just suggested she set her own hair on fire.

  “God, no! Why would I do that, silly?”

  “Are you in a family way?”

  “Huh?”

  “Pregnant. Are you pregnant?”

  “What? No! It’s nothing like that. This is a good thing. I think.”

  “So shoot.”

  “Okay. So, um, Max thinks… I mean, we’ve decided together, that we should get our own place. Just me and him…so, I guess we’re, like, moving in together.”

  She eyes me suspiciously, waiting for my head to explode. I’ll admit that my heart dropped into my gut for a second, but otherwise, I feel fine. A little numb, maybe…

  “Wow, G. That’s—”

  “Look, Holly,” she interrupts, presumably to preempt any negative fallout. “I know what you’re thinking…that we’ve only been together for a couple of months and this is a big step and all that. But he needs me, and I need him. I love him. I really do. And I want to be with him as much as I can.”

  I get up and give her a huge hug. “Don’t worry George. It’s fine! This is great news. It’s incredibly exciting and wonderful and romantic in every possible way. I’m really really happy for you.”

  She hugs me back as tightly as she can. “Thanks for faking it, Holly. It means a lot to me.”

  “I’m not faking it! You know I really like Max…”

  “But…”

  “No buts.”

  “Come on.”

  “Okay… The but is just that I love you, too. That’s all. So I’m going to miss you.”

  “I’m going to miss you more. But you don’t have to say it like that. Because this doesn’t mean our adventure’s over.”

  “I know, I know. Don’t worry about me, George. I’ve always wanted to live alone. And I’m sure Remy will give me a break on the rent if I agree to help him out upstairs on weekends. He could use the help.”

  I pray that he does. Remy could get triple what he was charging us. It’s easy to see how tempting it would be for him to just kick me out and get it over with. God, what would I do then? Shuffle off to Buffalo? Heaven knows that’s the last thing I want. But that’s how expensive San Francisco is. Unless, of course, I choose to move in with half a dozen roommates in some crappy part of town. After living the good life in Remy’s basement, that would take some serious sacrifice. Maybe I’ll have time to find a better job. I definitely can’t ask my dad for any more money.

  “So when’s this all going to happen?”

  “Fourth of July weekend’s crazy for movers, so we couldn’t get a truck till the 14th.”

  “That’s in three weeks!”

  She shrugs. “I know it’s kinda last minute, but Max’s friend knows this guy who’s getting rid of this awesome place in the Haight that’s supercheap because it used to be a hostel or something and you have to share a bathroom with your neighbor.”

  “That’s really gross.”

  “I know,” she giggles. “But Max said we could get a chamber pot and put it behind a screen. Like in the old days.”

  “The old days means fifty years ago, George. Not five hundred years ago.”

  “Max also said he’ll pee off the balcony when the weather’s nice.”

  “I guess the weather won’t be so nice for the people down below….”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing under the balcony but a Dumpster from Ming Palace.”

  “Well, that’s a relief! Wow, George—this place just keeps getting better and better! By the way, I’m sure you won’t have any bugs…’cause I’ve heard that cockroaches don’t really like Chinese food all that much…”

  “Shut up!” she laughs. “You’re making it sound bad!”

  “Bad? Not bad. Just in violation of about twenty different health and safety codes. I think private bathrooms are pretty much a guaranteed right, these days, in case you’re interested.”

  “I know, but I think it’s okay that they’re shared because technically the place is still considered a hotel or something, even though there’s no front desk or room service or anything like that. It’s mostly long-term boarders. Oh! And there’s this one old lady who’s been living there, like, forever, and Max said his friend told him she used to know Kerouac or one of those guys and once he came over and…”

  George drones on and on but I don’t hear a word. I am slightly preoccupied with crunching the numbers, and figuring out how I can ask Remy to reduce my rent by half and still make it sound like I’d be doing him the favor.

  My happiness for George and her good news slowly morphs into self-pity over the course of a lonely, boring afternoon spent researching Antarctica. There’s no other way to look at it: While it was all good for my best friend, the whole thing kind of sucked for me. On the bus ride home, I catch myself silently cursing the teenagers making out across the aisle. Was the entire world in love except for me?

  When Vale finally calls to say goodnight from Chicago (and tell me all about why he’s having trouble converting a Chapter 11 proceeding for a limited liability company to a Chapter 7), I can barely keep it together.

  “So she’s moving in with her boyfriend. What’s the big deal?”

  “Everything’s changing.”

  “So?”

  “So, I don’t know… It’s weird for me. I feel like I’m being left behind. I like Max. I really do. But they’re so…intense. Sometim
es I just wish she and Quentin would have stayed together. Don’t you? It would have been so much fun…”

  “I guess.”

  “Does he miss her?”

  “Who?”

  “Quentin! Does he miss George?”

  Somewhere along the way, I started to feel sorry for the guy. I imagined him pining away for her in his big empty loft, dejected and alone, maybe even turning to alcohol to dull the pain….

  “God, I don’t know! Quentin’s a big boy, Holly. And believe me, it’s not like he has any trouble getting laid, so I highly doubt he’s sitting around boo-hooing over your friend.”

  Hmmm…was that the stirring of passions I heard?

  “Vale, that’s not the point. He really liked her!” I would defend Quentin to the death if it meant provoking an emotional outburst from my boyfriend, just to see if it was even possible.

  “Yeah, he liked her. So what? He’ll find someone else. Jeez. Why are you being such a girl about this, anyway?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Screw Quentin—now it’s getting personal!

  “It means get over it, already! You seem to care an awful lot about George’s love life. Don’t you just want her to be happy?”

  “Of course I do,” I snap. “But I thought the four of us were going to be, I don’t know, together.”

  “Who the fuck cares about them? You have me.”

  That prospect must have struck a subconscious chord somewhere deep within me because I start bawling uncontrollably.

  “Holly! For God’s sake, pull yourself together!”

  “No! It’s our anniversary and I can cry if I want to.”

  “What?”

  “It’s June 25th. We’ve been together for three months.”

  While I sob, I pictured him rolling his eyes in his posh suite at The Drake, leaning over for another scoop of caviar and pouring himself a glass of champagne. Doesn’t he care that I’m upset? Breaking down isn’t something I do all that often, so I when I do, I expect a little more than total indifference from the person who’s supposed to be there for me no matter what. If the tables were turned and he was upset, wouldn’t I do everything I could to help him feel better?

  “Are you done?” he asks when I pause to catch my breath.

  “No.”

  “Aw, quit being a baby. Why don’t you go out and have a few drinks somewhere.”

  I sniff. “Because I have no one to go with.”

  “So go with your landlord. Whatsisname.”

  “He’s probably asleep,” I sniff. “It’s past midnight here. Hey, why are you calling me so late? Did you go out or something?”

  “Aha! So technically it’s not our anniversary anymore. Which means you should stop crying, then.”

  “Don’t lawyer me, Vale. I’m in no mood for it.” I can’t help but notice he didn’t answer my question.

  “I’m going to hang up now.”

  “No! Please don’t…”

  “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. And I don’t respond well to manipulation.”

  What the hell is that supposed to mean? “I’m not manipulating you. I just don’t want to be alone.”

  “Call me in the morning when you’re back to yourself.”

  That man is cold as ice, and I can feel the chill from two thousand miles away.

  chapter 18

  An Indecent Proposal

  I considered our anniversary phone call our first fight, though it didn’t seem to phase Vale at all. He told me it was fine and then refused to discuss it further. “Let’s just pretend it never happened,” he said the next day. I got the sense he thought of me as some daffy chick, prone to the pull of the tides or my period or whatever forces of nature happened to be at work that minute. His attitude never came off as nasty or overtly sexist or anything like that, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d already made up his mind about me, or maybe women in general, and decided we were something he would just have to live with.

  The night he returns from Chicago, he makes dinner reservations for us at Julius’ Castle, a landmark restaurant perched on Telegraph Hill, directly beneath San Francisco’s largest stone phallus, Coit Tower. The place is known for being extremely romantic, cheesy even, with amazing views of the ocean, crystal chandeliers and wood-paneled walls, all designed to draw your attention away from the mediocre food. Maybe it’s Vale’s way of apologizing. I’m kind of hoping it will give me a chance to see if our relationship is salvageable. I’ve decided that if there is really nothing going on between us, I will take Remy’s advice and move on. It’s too early in the game for me to resign myself to a life without sparks (or even the faintest wisp of smoke).

  So here we sit, Vale and I, for two-and-a-half hours, and eat while the sun sets. I start with the shrimp cocktail and then have the New York strip; Vale orders the foie gras and the rack of lamb. True to form, the meat is tough, though not as tough as the conversation that accompanies dessert.

  “Vale, can I ask you something?”

  “Don’t tell me you want another piece of cheesecake!”

  “Very funny,” I say, though I seriously consider the offer.

  “I don’t know how you stay so thin, Holly. It’s amazing.”

  “Actually, that’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about tonight….”

  “Oh?”

  I take a deep breath, attempt a smile and brace myself.

  “This is kind of hard, okay, so I’m just gonna say it fast. Vale…are you attracted to me? I mean, do you think I’m sexy? At all? To you, I mean. Am I hot to you? God, that sounded so raunchy…basically, what I want to know is whether or not you find me even remotely attractive.”

  Admittedly, it wasn’t quite the smooth phrasing I’d come up with during rehearsals, but the bottle of Bordeaux that made the food go down so much easier must also have dulled my capacity for eloquence.

  His brow furrows. “What do you mean? Of course you’re hot.” No eye contact, excessive throat clearing and a nervous chuckle.

  If there were a Richter scale of enthusiasm for possible responses to that question, I’d give Vale’s weak rumble a two-point-five.

  “So…then why don’t we ever fool around?”

  He takes his napkin off his lap and places it on the table. “Actually Holly, there’s something I need to talk to you about, too.”

  “Oh?”

  Damn it! He’s breaking up with me before I can break up with him!

  Is that fair? Can he do that? My utter lack of experience in these things makes it all so confusing. All I know is that I’d prefer to remember this breakup as my choice, both for posterity’s sake and to reduce the risk of regret. Did being preemptively dumped change all that?

  “Holly, I need you to know that I care about you tremendously. You’re intelligent but you’re also sensitive, which despite what you may think is a quality I admire. It really is. Plus, you’re creative and funny and sharp, not to mention extremely attractive and—”

  “Uhh, let’s not go overboard…”

  “Please. Let me finish.” He grabs my hand and holds it tightly. “Look. You’ve obviously already tuned in to the fact that something’s going on, and you’re right. I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you….”

  “What?” My heart is pounding so loudly I’m afraid I won’t be able to hear what he has to say.

  He stares into me with his big brown eyes and begins…

  “When my big sister came out to my parents, she was only eighteen years old. My dad disowned her on the spot. My mother sent one of the maids upstairs to pack Courtney’s suitcase and sneak a few hundreds into one of her pockets.

  “That was more than twenty years ago. My parents have never looked back, never changed their minds. Not once have they wavered in their dedication to their hatred of her. They see Courtney’s lifestyle as a choice, as an affront to them, an attack on their values, somehow. I’m the only one in my entire family who still speaks to my sister, desp
ite their initial efforts to make sure that didn’t happen.”

  “Well, thank heaven for that, at least.”

  “Let me finish. For years, they threw out the letters she sent to me, the birthday cards, the Christmas presents. One day, a letter got through, I don’t know how, and I realized what they’d been doing. Obviously I didn’t want to cut her out of my life…I still loved her and by then I was old enough to make up my own mind. But I love my parents, too, which is something Courtney still has trouble with. Anyway…eventually we all grew into an understanding—my sister pretends my parents are dead, my parents pretend that she’s dead, and I don’t try to convince any of them otherwise….”

  “How awful,” I murmur. “How do you deal with it?”

  “I don’t know. I just do. You see, Holly, the thing is…it’s about money. My family’s money. My great-grandfather did very well for himself in various businesses back East, and he invested it wisely, mostly in real estate, and so did my grandfather. So, basically, what I’m trying to say is, they’re wealthy, my parents. Quite wealthy, in fact. I am also. And I want things to stay that way.”

  “I can understand that. So what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is… I’m gay, too.”

  He pauses, waiting for me to say something, but I don’t.

  “Obviously, I’d be disinherited if they knew. So I tried like crazy to change, pretend it wasn’t true. But it is true and there’s nothing I can do about it. At first I was extremely depressed, suicidal even. After high school, I deferred my college acceptance and went to live with Courtney for a while. I told my parents I was going to Europe and they bought it. Can you believe that? I suppose they never got too involved in the details of my life, as long as I did what they wanted, you know? Anyway, my sister tried to help me come to terms with my sexuality. Not at all an easy thing to do, by the way. But by the time I finished law school and I’d been on my own for a few years, I realized that I wouldn’t want to change even if I could—I’m happy the way I am, more or less. So I came up with a plan…and I’d like you to be a part of it.”