Where'd You Go, Bernadette(68)
Suddenly it was 4 PM, and I realized: Elgie wasn’t coming to work at all! Not only that, but tomorrow was the intervention. The following day he’d be off to Antarctica. So I wouldn’t be seeing him for weeks! There was no call, no nothing.
I had been configuring a tablet computer for Elgie to take on his trip. On my way home, I dropped it off at the hotel where his brother was staying, and where I had also booked a room for Elgie for the next two nights.
(TIME-OUT REALITY CHECK: I could have had someone else bring it, but I was desperate to see him.)
I left the package at the front desk when I heard, “Hey, Soo-Lin!”
It was Elgie. Just hearing him speak my name made me swoon and filled me with hope. He and his brother invited me to dine with them. What can I say? At that dinner, everything flipped, in part due to the rounds of tequila that Van kept ordering on the basis of tequila’s “clear buzz.” I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as hard in my life as with the two of them telling stories of their childhood. My eyes would meet Elgie’s and we’d hold our glances for an extra second before looking down. After dinner, we all wandered into the lobby.
A singer named Morrissey was staying at the hotel, and a group of ardent young homosexuals had gathered, hoping for a glimpse. They were carrying Morrissey posters, records, boxes of chocolate. Love was in the air!
Elgie and I took a seat on a bench, but Van went upstairs to sleep. As the elevator doors shut on him, Elgie said, “Van’s not that bad, right?”
“He’s hilarious,” I answered.
“Bernadette thinks he’s a gigantic loser who keeps hitting me up for money.”
“Which is no doubt true,” I said, to which Elgie gave an appreciative laugh. Then I handed Elgie the tablet computer. “I can’t forget to give you this. I had Gio program it so it wouldn’t start until you watched a slideshow.”
The slideshow began. It was pictures I’d collected of Elgie during all his years at Microsoft. Him presenting his work in the theater, candid shots of him with Samantha 1, throwing a football with Matt Hasselbeck at the executive picnic back when it was at Paul Allen’s ranch, receiving his Technical Recognition Award. Also there were photos of three-year-old Bee sitting in his lap. She’d just been released from the hospital, and you could still see the bandage peeking out the top of her dress. There was one of her in day care, in leg braces, because she’d spent so much of her early years lying in bed that her hips hadn’t properly rotated. There was the famous E-Dawg photo, with Elgie in gold chains and a big clock around his neck, making rapper signs.
“It’s important to me that you see that every day,” I said. “To know that you have another family, at Microsoft. I know it isn’t the same. But we love you, too.”
(TIME-OUT REALITY CHECK: I cut Bernadette out of a few of those pictures. I also included one of me at my desk, which I Photoshopped to make it look like my face radiated light.)
“I’m not going to cry,” Elgie said.
“You can,” I said.
“I can, but I won’t.” We just looked at each other, smiling. He gave a laugh. I did, too. The future was glorious, and it was opening itself up to us.
(TIME-OUT REALITY CHECK: Because we were drunk.)
And then it started to snow.
The walls at the Four Seasons are made of thin pieces of slate, stacked like French pastry, and an edge had ripped a hole in Elgie’s parka, releasing feathers, which swirled around us. The Morrissey fans waved their arms around theatrically and started singing one of his songs that went something like “through hail and snow I’d go…” It reminded me of one of my favorite movies, Moulin Rouge!
“Let’s go upstairs.” Elgie took my hand. As soon as the elevator closed, we kissed. We came up for air, and I said, “I was wondering what that would be like.”
Sex was awkward. Elgie obviously wanted to get it over with, and then he fell asleep. The next morning, we hurriedly got dressed, looking at the floor. He’d given Van his car, so I drove him home. That’s when Bernadette walked in on her intervention.
Bernadette is still out of the picture, and I am pregnant. That sorry night in the hotel was the first and last time we ever had sex. Elgie has promised to take care of me and the baby. But he refuses to live with me. Some days I think all I need to do is give him time. He loves presidential biographies? I named my son Lincoln, after a president. He loves Microsoft? I love Microsoft. We’re totally compatible.
(TIME-OUT REALITY CHECK: Elgie will never love me because I fundamentally lack his intelligence and sophistication. He will always love Bee more than our unborn child. He’s trying to buy me off with this new house, and I should damn well take it.)
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 2
Fax from Soo-Lin
Audrey,
I went to VAV to read my WYP and I got TORCHed. Again! Not since Frankenstein has such an angry mob descended on a poor suffering creature.
I thought my WYP was pretty frigging honest. But everyone said it was full of self-pity.
In the course of defending myself, I explained that because I was pregnant I was being revictimized by Elgie. That was a mistake. Because in VAV there’s no such thing as revictimization: if we’re revictimized, it’s because we’re allowing ourselves to be victimized and therefore there’s a new abuser, which is our self, so technically no revictimization has taken place. But I pointed out that my baby was being victimized by Elgie, which would mean a new victim, same perp. They actually said it was me victimizing my baby. I could almost buy that, but then someone pointed out that because the baby was Elgie’s, it was actually me victimizing Elgie.