by Megan Walker
I really need to talk to Anna-Marie.
I keep walking, passing a stage on my right that looks like it’s part of a pirate ship and is currently featuring a loud comedy act—the Bawdy Buccaneers, a group of female pirates. To my left, a crowd has gathered around a performer with a big purple dragon puppet that’s nearly twice his size.
I thread my way through the crowd and finally see the Prancing Pig Pub, right near the entrance of the Tournament Arena, which is currently empty. A list of jousting tournament times is posted on a sign nearby. The big joust performances are on the weekends, but there’s a few smaller demonstrations daily—sadly, none of which are during my breaks.
Oh, well. I suppose there’s a decent chance I’ll get to see a jouster up close and personal when they get dragged into my infirmary with a shard of lance in their face.
The pub is nicely done to look like an old-style tavern, with long wooden tables and benches, and it’s busy now for lunchtime, both with faire patrons and, I think, performers. It’s hard to tell the patrons and performers apart sometimes, if the patrons are dressed the part, but one of the tables looks like it’s full of the knights taking a break from their tournaments. Sir Stick-Up-His-Ass is there, grinning at something another knight guy says.
Delia’s right, they do look like the high school football team of the medieval world.
Speaking of which, I see Delia going from table to table with a tray full of tankards. She waves at me, and I wave back and get into line. Apparently, the Beer Wenches refill drinks, but food needs to be ordered at the counter.
When I’ve got my beef skewer and Coke, I see Anna-Marie already sitting at one of the tables, eating some soup out of a bread bowl.
I slide into the seat across from her.
“Hey!” she says, beaming. “Oh my god, Gabby, you look amazing! I love that corset!”
“Thanks,” I say. I look down at my boob shelf. “I suppose it’ll be helpful for catching any food I drop.”
“What is that you’re eating, exactly?”
I hold up my skewer. “Steak on a Stake.”
She grins. “This is incredible. I can’t believe Josh and I haven’t been to this faire yet. I need to come back with him, and we need to dress up.” She looks around. “Man, I would love to work here for a day. I always wanted to work a Ren faire, but they weren’t exactly easy to come by in the ass end of Nowhere, Wyoming.”
“Well, you are a professional actress. With a top-notch agent husband,” I point out. “Maybe he can get you a role for a day.”
Her blue eyes widen. “That may be worth a try. I don’t think that’s how it works at these things, but Josh is pretty top notch. Speaking of which . . .” she trails off with a waggle of her eyebrows, and I think I may be about to hear an example of how to spice up my sex life before I’ve even asked for one. “You’ll never believe who he started repping. Never.”
“Posh Spice? Sporty Spice? Any of the Spice Girls?” Anna-Marie always does this “you’ll never guess” thing, and I’ve taken to throwing out the most ridiculous options I can think of.
She gives me the usual amused/long-suffering look and then leans forward. “Kim Watterson.”
Now my eyes are the ones widening. Kim’s definitely on the A-list. The A-plus-list, if there is such a thing. “Really? Are you serious?”
She nods. “She and Blake have had the same agent for a really long time, and she stayed with her even after the divorce. But I guess it just got too weird or something, so she contacted Josh.”
“She contacted him?” I hope a little belatedly that Anna-Marie isn’t offended on Josh’s behalf by my surprise, but while Josh is repping some big actors, he hasn’t broken into the highest echelons yet. Until now, I guess.
Anna-Marie doesn’t look offended, just pleased. And proud. “She did. She said she’d been hearing great things about him for a while now.”
“That’s awesome,” I say. And it is. The kind of commissions Josh will make on Kim Watterson projects will keep Anna-Marie in designer shoes pretty much forever.
What I’m really impressed with is how unthreatened Anna-Marie is by the whole thing, given how afraid she’s always been of guys cheating on her—it was a huge reason why she wouldn’t even think about committing to a relationship before Josh. I mean, by now she’s used to Josh repping lots of gorgeous actresses—he was doing that before he met her—but Kim Watterson is one of the most beautiful women ever, and single now.
I know how incredibly much Josh adores Anna-Marie, and how good a guy he is, and how he goes out of his way to prove to her that he would never do something like that. So I’m not worried. But it definitely shows how far Anna-Marie’s come on the whole trust thing—and how good Josh is for her—that she isn’t, either.
“I see your hair’s red again,” I say, gesturing to her with my skewer. “Back to Southern Heat?”
She’s been on a bit of a hiatus from playing her character, Maeve, on the popular soap opera lately, due to this big role she’s had in an indie movie—”with Joseph-freaking-Gordon Leavitt!” I’ve heard about a hundred times in the last several months—that just wrapped.
“As of yesterday,” she says. “I had a couple scenes then and a few more this morning. It’s mostly just lying around in a hospital bed while people talk about me, so it’s kind of boring. Being in a coma is the worst.”
“I don’t know, the ones down at the hospital aren’t complaining.”
Anna-Marie laughs. “At least I’m waking up tomorrow. I enjoy having, you know, dialogue.”
“I was your roommate, remember? I know you like to talk. Especially during movies you find to have ‘criminally underused amounts of Tom Hiddleston.’”
“True.” She scoops another spoonful of soup. “But you said you had something you wanted to talk about.”
Ugh. I did. Which requires me to have to think about my problems—or possible problems, that may not even be problems . . .
I wrinkle my nose at my Steak on a Stake, no longer as hungry.
“I think I might need some advice on spicing up my sex life,” I say.
Anna-Marie looks interested, and I’m grateful not to get any sense of judgment from her. “Oooh. Are there some things you want to try out?”
“Not me so much,” I say, twisting my lips. “but I think Will might not be as . . . satisfied with things lately.”
Now I’m getting the judgment. Or, at least, Will is. “He said that?”
“No,” I say quickly. “He didn’t. And I don’t even know for sure he feels that way. I just . . .” I trail off, and then, with a sigh, I explain it to her like I did with Felix—the seeming lack of interest, the lessening in frequency, how I miss all those little ways he used to have of touching me throughout the day or just wanting to cuddle close.
Anna-Marie looks less ready to shiv Will with my Steak Stake by the end of this. She takes a sip from her tankard and then frowns. “Has he been stressed out about other stuff? How are things with his book?”
I fiddle with the skewer. “I mean, not great. It’s been all over New York, and no one has made an offer. And, you know, finances . . .”
I don’t bother elaborating. She knows our financial situation isn’t fantastic. I’m working an extra job at a Ren faire, for crying out loud—which may have been her dream once upon a time, but definitely has never been mine.
“Right,” Anna-Marie says. “Honestly, Gabs, it’s probably not even about your sex life. Probably he’s stressed about writing and money problems and all that. That can be really hard on everyone, but especially guys, I think it’s that provider instinct or whatever.” She shrugs.
I find myself staring down at the wood grain of the table, my stomach knotting tighter and tighter. I’m not sure why her assessment is making me feel worse, but it is.
“I mean, I’m not saying that adding some f
un new stuff in the bedroom could ever be a bad thing,” she goes on, “but Will doesn’t seem like the type who needs that, you know? So I’m sure it’s something else.”
I feel myself flushing, and then I get it—it’s back to the reason I didn’t want Felix to be right about talking to Will.
I don’t want it to be something else, because these other things mean there might be a bigger problem, a harder-to-fix issue with our relationship, or—despite what Anna-Marie thinks—with me.
“Maybe,” I say, and take a sip of my Coke.
Anna-Marie frowns and opens her mouth to say something, but then Delia sweeps by our table.
“Hey!” Delia says. “I see our faire nurse has come out of isolation for a drink. Need me to get you something stronger?”
I smile, grateful for the distraction, but shake my head. “I shouldn’t. Since, you know, I’m working.”
Delia snorts. “Doesn’t stop anyone else around here.” She jerks her head back towards the table of knights.
“Yeah, looks like it. Though I thought I saw Sir Stick-Up-His-Ass smiling earlier, so maybe he’s got a sense of humor, after all?” I look over at the table, and said knight is looking over this way intently. Checking out Anna-Marie, I’m guessing. That look from guys is not an uncommon thing when I’m out with her.
He sees us see him, and quickly looks down into his drink.
“Yeah, well, with those guys, sure,” Delia says. “But he acts too good for us mere wenches.” She shrugs. “Whatever. I’ve got a date tonight with the guy next to him—see the cutie with the blond beard?”
I do. “He’s a little more personable, then?”
“In that he actually talks to people? Yes.” Delia laughs. “Anyway, you ladies let me know if I can bring you any drinks.”
She bustles off, and I turn back to find Anna-Marie eyeing me.
“What?” I ask, taking another drink.
“Are you upset that I don’t think the problem is with your sex life?” she asks, confused. And direct, as always.
“No,” I say, though I feel a stab of guilt for lying. “I just don’t love there being a problem at all.”
“Yeah, that sucks,” Anna-Marie says. “I get that.”
But does she? I can’t help but feel that maybe there wouldn’t be a problem if it was Anna-Marie in this situation. She might have had all the issues in the world with getting into a relationship, but she’s always been better with guys, and she and Josh seem to have it all figured out. And with her perfect actress body and general gorgeousness, I also can’t help thinking that there’s no way any guy would get bored with her.
I don’t like being jealous of my best friend, and I really don’t like how petty it makes me feel. I take another bite of steak.
“So you don’t think I should even try spicing up my sex life?” I ask.
“I definitely didn’t say that. I don’t think you need to, but if you want to, it can be fun to try new stuff. And hey, more sex is always a good thing.” She grins.
I’m feeling more comfortable on this track. Even if it undoubtedly means I’m going to hear way more details about her and Josh’s sex life than I require.
“One time, Josh and I thought it might be fun to—” She stops, pulling out her phone, which apparently buzzed with a text. “Shit,” she says.
“I’m hoping that wasn’t really the end of that sentence. Because I may get my sex advice elsewhere.”
“Ugh, they need me back for a reshoot, and they want it done now. Apparently, they decided to re-write Matt’s scene to add more ‘gravitas.’ Like that’s actually a thing on this show.” Her brow furrows. “But I need to run.”
I try to hide my disappointment. I was really hoping for an actionable idea for tonight. “It’s okay. I need to get back to the infirmary soon, anyway.”
“Do you have any free time on Thursday? Maybe after work?” Anna-Marie asks, gathering up her purse as she stands. “There’s a sex shop not too far from here. I picked up some edible undies there once.”
I wrinkle my nose again. “Did they actually taste good?” I’m imagining licorice up my butt crack, and that can’t be a positive thing. Though Will does like licorice.
Anna-Marie smiles. “I doubt it, but Josh wasn’t complaining.”
“I don’t have a shift at the hospital after work Thursday,” I say, considering.
This is what I want, right? Probably I could find something to get us out of our rut. To get him back to where he can’t keep his hands off me.
“Okay,” I say. “That sounds great.”
Anna-Marie grins. “Awesome. It’s a date.” As she walks off, heads—mostly male—turn to follow her as she goes.
She’s definitely the one to help with this. I try to adjust the corset cutting into my ribcage. If I end up in edible undies, well, it won’t be the most uncomfortable thing I’ve been wearing this week.
Five
Gabby
That night goes about the same as so many nights lately, with me getting home crazy late from my shift at the hospital, and Will already asleep and not seeming inclined to wake up to ravage my body. I thought about Felix’s advice to just talk to Will, but really, between working here at the faire and at the hospital, it’s not like we’ve had all that much time together. And do I really want to spend that limited time having uncomfortable conversations about possibly non-existent problems in our relationship?
I do not.
And yet, as I lie there in bed with Will only inches from me but somehow feeling so very far away, I wonder if I really am making a mistake by not at least trying to talk to him about it. Even if I’m afraid of what he might say. I know he’s frustrated with his career, but that’s always been slow going. And I know our financial situation makes him stressed about having to give up on his dream—which is the last thing I want him to do.
But lately, I can’t help but wonder if his dissatisfaction has less to do with our sex life and more to do with our relationship in general. Will was unhappy with Sarah for ages, but he never did anything about it. He just stayed with her anyway.
I’m terrified to hear that now he’s doing the same thing with me. But if he is, don’t I need to know?
I’m still debating this the next day as I sit in my stiflingly hot infirmary. I’ve just bandaged up a guy who cut his thumb on a dagger and not, so he claimed, “feeling up that hot mermaid statue by the kids’ rides.”
I wonder whether this is something I should report to security but decide that as long as he’s just feeling up statues, I’m going to stay out of it.
I check the time on my phone. I’ve still got another hour until my lunch break. I smile as I see my background picture—Will and me in our usual booth at Fong’s, him kissing my cheek as he takes a selfie. My heart flutters, and despite my fear, I feel a sense of resolve.
I need to talk to him. It’s Will. We’ve been together three years and we love each other. I can talk to him about anything and it’ll be okay.
It has to be okay.
I poke my head out the open door and check to make sure Mama Mags isn’t on her way over. She hasn’t said that phones are strictly forbidden, but I don’t imagine she’d be pleased if any patrons found the Healer Wench with an iPhone in hand.
The coast appears to be clear. I call Will.
“Hey,” he says, picking up after two rings.
“Hey,” I say back. “How’re things going?” I make a face I’m glad he can’t see. I’m not the type to just casually call from work for no reason, of which that lame opening is clear evidence.
There’s a pause. “Good.”
“Great.” Shit. What was I thinking? Yeah, it’s Will, but do I really want to just blurt out questions about his satisfaction with our sex life on the phone? While I’m at work?
“Is everything okay?” Will sounds conc
erned. Even though this is what I want to be asking him.
“Yeah, definitely. I’m just . . . bored. And miss you.” These are both true statements, at least.
“Aww. I miss you, too,” he says. “But are you supposed to be using your phone during Ye Olde Medieval age? You could break the timeline, introducing futuristic technology like that. Create some sort of Ye Olde Apocalypse.”
I smile. “Yeah, well, you’re worth it.” My eyes flick to the door again, though. I really might get in trouble if Mama Mags catches me on the phone. But I had decided I was going to talk to him. “Hey, so, I have a question,” I say, trying to sound casual even though nothing is less casual than announcing you are going to ask a question instead of just asking the damn question.
“Okay.”
“Are you . . . happy . . . with life?” I cringe.
I can’t actually see Will’s brow furrowing in confusion, but I can definitely imagine it. “What? Am I happy?”
“Yeah.”
“With life.”
“Yep.” I can feel the sweat pooling under my corset. God, I need a breeze in here.
He pauses. “I mean, I’m not happy with this revision, or that our rent went up. But am I happy to be alive? Is that what you’re asking?”
The cot creaks loudly as I sit on it, pressing my hand to my forehead. This is not going like I’d hoped.
Though I’m not exactly sure what I had hoped. Maybe that I could talk with my long-term boyfriend about important emotional issues and not sound like a total idiot.
“Not exactly,” I admit. “More like, are you happy with our life. You and me.”
I can hear his indrawn breath. “Us? Yeah, of course I’m happy with our life.” He says it with such feeling, and I’m dizzy with relief. But then he sounds concerned again as he asks, “Are you?”
“Yes, definitely,” I say, feeling like I can breathe again. “Things between us are good.”
And they are. I mean, yeah, we aren’t having as much sex as we used to, and I miss feeling like he can’t keep his hands off me, and maybe we need more time together, and probably could use a few more tricks in the bedroom . . .
