Conversations with Friends(22)
Melissa’s not that interesting, I said.
When Bobbi went home I looked up the film she was talking about. It had been released six years previously, when I was fifteen. Nick appeared in it as a character with whom the protagonist has a regrettable one-night stand. I found a video link and skipped ahead to the scene where he was getting out of her shower the next morning. He looked younger, and his face was different, although even in this video he was older than me. I watched the scene twice. After he left, the protagonist called her friend and they laughed hysterically about what a jerk Nick’s character was, which was a bonding moment for their friendship.
I sent him an email after I watched it. I wrote:
Sure, if that’s what you want. I hope the filming is going okay.
He replied at about 1 a.m.
i should have told you before, but i’m going to be in the north of france for most of august with melissa and various other people. it’s a huge villa type place in a village called etables. people are always coming and going, so you’re welcome to come and stay for a while if you want, though i can see why that might not appeal.
I was sitting cross-legged in bed trying to work on a spoken word thing when the email notification came through. I replied:
So are we still having an affair or is that over now?
He didn’t reply for a while. I guessed he had gone to bed, but the possibility that he hadn’t yet made me not want to work any more. I made myself a cup of instant coffee and watched some YouTube videos of other spoken word performers.
Eventually a notification came through on instant messenger.
Nick: are you awake
me: yes
Nick: so yeah look
Nick: i don’t know what you want
Nick: obviously we can’t see each other very often Nick: and having an affair is reasonably stressful me: haha
me: are you breaking up with me
Nick: if we never actually see one another Nick: then the affair just consists of like Nick: worrying about the affair
Nick: do you see what i mean
me: I can’t believe you’re breaking up with me over instant messenger me: I thought you were going to leave your wife so we could run away together Nick: you don’t need to be defensive
me: how do you know what I need
me: maybe I’m actually really upset
Nick: are you
Nick: i never have any idea what you feel about anything me: well it doesn’t really matter now, does it
He had to be back on set early that morning so he went to bed. I kept thinking about the time I gave him head and he just lay there quietly letting me do it. I had never done that before, I wanted to explain. You could have told me what was so bad about it instead of just letting me carry on. It wasn’t kind. I felt so foolish. But I knew he had done nothing wrong really. I considered calling Bobbi and telling her everything, in the hope that she would tell Melissa and then Nick’s life would be ruined. But I decided it would be too humiliating a story to relate.
11
I missed work the next day because I slept in. I sent Sunny a grovelling email and she responded: we survived. It was noon by the time I showered. I put on a black T-shirt dress and went out for a walk, though it was too hot to enjoy walking. The air felt helpless and trapped on the streets. Shop windows reflected blinding flares of sunlight and my skin was damp. I sat on the campus cricket pitch on my own and smoked two cigarettes, one after another. I had a headache, I hadn’t eaten. My body felt used up and worthless to me. I didn’t want to put food or medicine into it any more.
That afternoon when I got back, I had a new email from Nick.
so i feel like our conversation last night was kind of awkward. it’s obviously hard for me to tell what you actually want and i don’t really know if you were joking about being hurt. you’re a very stressful person to talk to online. i hope you’re not upset or anything.
I wrote back:
Forget about it. See you in September, I hope the weather is good in France.
He didn’t email me again after that.
Three days later, Melissa invited Bobbi and me to come stay in the villa in étables for a few days in August. Bobbi kept sending me links to the Ryanair website and saying we should go for just a week, or even just five days. I could afford the flights and Sunny didn’t mind me taking time off.
Eventually I said: fine. Let’s go.
*
Bobbi and I had been on several foreign trips together before. We always took the cheapest flights, early in the morning or late at night, and as a consequence we usually spent the first day of the trip feeling irritable and trying to find free WiFi. The only day I had ever spent in Budapest we’d sat in a coffee shop with our luggage while Bobbi drank espressos and engaged in a heated online argument about drone strikes, which she relayed to me aloud. When I told her I wasn’t particularly interested in hearing the discussion, she said: children are dying, Frances. We didn’t speak for several hours after that.
In the days preceding our trip, Bobbi sent me frequent text messages about items I should remember to pack. It was in my nature to remember what I needed, and very much in Bobbi’s nature not to. One evening she called around to the apartment with a list, and when I answered the door she was holding her phone between her shoulder and ear.