Wife 22: A Novel

by Melanie Gideon

  Me: I’m not high. And I would. I would really like to hear a song, Jude.

  Zoe (blushing): It’s called “Even Though.”

  Bobby: Hold on. I have to lie on the carpet for this.

  Me: Me, too.

  Nedra: Move over.

  Me: I feel like I’m in high school.

  Bobby (starting to cry again, softly): There’s something about being stoned and lying on the floor.

  Me (reaching for Bobby’s hand)

  Nedra (reaching for Bobby’s other hand)

  Jude (strumming the guitar, looking at Zoe): I wrote it for Zoe.

  Bobby (moaning): Ohhh!

  Jude: Is he okay? Should I stop?

  Bobby (clutching his heart): Ahhhh!

  Jude: What? What is it?

  Nedra: He means play, darling. He means the world needs more love songs. He means bonne chance and glück und den besten wünschen and buona fortuna. He means “how wonderful it is to be young.”

  Bobby (sobbing): That’s exactly what I mean. How did you know?

  Me: Nedra is fluent in moans.

  98

  From: Helen Davies

  Subject: Re: A voice from the past …

  Date: August 15, 3:01 PM

  To: Alice Buckle

  Alice,

  I knew I was in trouble the day you interviewed for the job at Peavey Patterson. I’m sure you aren’t aware of this, as you practically ran out of William’s office that day, but he watched you go. It was involuntary. He couldn’t help himself. He stood in his doorway and watched you walk down the corridor. Then he watched you stand by the elevators, nervously punching the down button over and over again. And then, even when you were gone, he still stood there in the doorway. You knew each other even before you knew each other. That was the look on his face the day he interviewed you. Recognition. I didn’t stand a chance.

  As far as the position, even though William is certainly qualified, I’m not sure I can help. Give me a few days to think about it. I assume you don’t want to move to Boston. And I assume he doesn’t know that you’ve applied for him and you’d like to keep it that way. He’s always been a proud man.

  Apology accepted.

  HD

  99

  “I took the job,” says William.

  “What job?”

  “The direct mail job, Alice. What other job would I be talking about?”

  It’s been two days since I got the email from Helen, and—nothing.

  “But we didn’t talk about it.”

  “What’s there to talk about? We’re both out of work. We need the income, not to mention the benefits. It’s done. To be honest, I feel relieved.”

  “But I just thought—”

  “No. Don’t say anything else. It’s the right thing to do.” He leans back against the kitchen counter, his hands jammed in his pockets, and nods at me.

  “I know. I know it is. It’s really great, William. Congratulations. So when do you start?”

  William turns around and opens the cupboard. “Monday. So, interesting news. Kelly Cho was let go from KKM.”

  “She was let go? What happened?”

  “I guess they did a major restructuring,” says William, grabbing the flour. “I was only the first round.”

  It’s Friday. Tonight, Nedra is throwing a celebratory dinner (for friends and colleagues that won’t be at the ceremony—she even invited Bunny, Jack, and Caroline), and tomorrow is the wedding.

  “What are you prepping?” I ask.

  “Cheese puffs.”

  “Sorry—I overslept,” says Caroline, walking into the kitchen.

  Bunny follows her in, yawning. “Please tell me there’s coffee.”

  Caroline pours two cups of coffee and sits down at the table with her pad, frowning.

  “We’re never going to get all this done.”

  “Delegate,” says William.

  “I’ll help,” I say.

  “Me, too,” says Bunny.

  Caroline and William glance at each other.

  “How I can put this nicely?” says Caroline.

  “Right,” I say. “Our services are not desired. Bunny, should we retire to the deck?”

  “I’m really very happy to peel something. I’m an expert peeler,” says Bunny.

  “Fine, Mom, I’ll call you when we get to the potatoes,” says Caroline.

  Bunny takes a sip of her coffee and sighs. “I’m going to miss this.”

  “What? My nearly dead lemon tree? Living with the constant threat of earthquakes?”

  “You, Alice. Your family. William. Peter and Zoe. Having coffee with you every morning.”

  “You really have to leave?”

  “Caroline’s found an apartment. She’s got a job. It’s time for us to go home. Promise me we won’t fall out of touch again.”

  “That won’t happen. I’m back in your life for good.”

  “Marvelous. That’s just what I wanted to hear, because I’ll imagine we’ll be going back and forth quite a bit on this.”

  “On what?”

  “I read your pages. There’s some really good stuff in there, Alice, but I’ll be honest. It needs work.”

  I nod. “Let me guess. People don’t talk that way in real life, right?”

  Bunny chuckles. “Did I really say that to you? Oh, goodness, that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?”

  “Is it still true?”

  “No. You have a good ear for dialogue now. Now the challenge will be disclosure. Moving past your vulnerability. Your work is autobiographical, after all.”

  “Some of it.” I make a face.

  “I’m being too nosy? I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, don’t be. I need a kick in the ass.”

  “A kick in the ass is the opposite of what you need. What you need is a cupping of the chin,” says Bunny, turning to me and cupping my chin. “Listen to me. Take yourself seriously. Write your goddamn play already.”

  “You’re not going to believe it!” says William, an hour later.

  I’m in my bedroom closet, attempting to figure out what to wear tonight. I rifle through my clothes. No, no, no. Too fancy, too outdated, too matronly. Maybe I could get away with wearing the Ann Taylor suit.

  “I just got an email from Helen Davies.”

  “Helen Davies?” I try and look surprised. “What does she want?”

  “Do you remember she posted her firm was looking for a VP of Food and Beverage?”

  I shrug.

  “Well, I didn’t pay any attention to the posting because the job was in Boston, but she just wrote to me and asked if I’d be interested. They’ve decided to move the division to the San Francisco office.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously. She thinks I’d be the perfect person to head it up.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Me either.”

  “It’s unbelievable timing.”

  “Eerie, isn’t it? It feels like fate. Like everything that happened twenty years ago is just circling back around. It feels good, Alice. Good!” He twirls me out of the closet and waltzes me around the room.

  “You’re crazy,” I say.

  “I’m lucky,” he says, dipping me.

  “You’re a kook,” I say. He swings me back up and our eyes find each other.

  I bury my face in his shirt, suddenly feeling shy.

  “No, you don’t. You’re not allowed to hide,” he says, pulling me away from him. “Look at me, Alice.”

  He gazes down at me and I think it’s been so long, I think there you are, I think home.

  “We’re going to be okay. I have to admit I was worried. I wasn’t sure,” says William, tucking my hair behind my ears. “But I think we’re going to be okay.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Don’t hope so. Believe it. If there was anytime you needed to believe, it’s now, Alice.”

  He takes my face in his hands an
d tilts it up. His kiss is tender and sweet and doesn’t last a second longer than it should.

  “Whoa. I’m dizzy.” I untangle myself from him and sit down on the bed. “All that twirling.” And kissing. And gazing. And being gazed at. I feel breathless.

  “I’ll need to make a few hires. I was thinking about Kelly Cho.”

  “Kelly? Wow. Well, I guess that would be a really nice gesture.”

  William goes on, musing out loud. I haven’t seen him so animated in months. He does a two-step around the bedroom. He doesn’t notice when I open my laptop.

  From: Alice Buckle

  Subject: VP Food and Beverage: William Buckle

  Date: August 17, 10:10 AM

  To: Helen Davies

  Dear Helen,

  You are one class act.

  Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

  Alice

  100

  John Yossarian

  Adrift on a little yellow raft

  10 minutes ago

  Lucy Pevensie

  Mothballs and fur

  15 minutes ago

  You’re back in the wardrobe?

  I’m afraid so.

  Time passes differently in Narnia then IRL.

  Look at you, using acronyms like IRL.

  You’ll only have been gone for five minutes when you return.

  A lifetime on the Internet.

  Your husband won’t even know that you left.

  That’s the hope, anyway. I’ll miss you, Yossarian.

  What will you miss?

  Your paranoia, your complaining, your salty brand of sanity.

  I’ll miss you, too, Lucy Pevensie.

  What will you miss?

  Your magic cordials, your bravery—your ridiculous blind faith in a talking lion.

  Do you believe in second chances?

  I do.

  I can’t help thinking it was fate that brought us together.

  And fate that kept us apart. Forgive me for complicating things, for falling for you, Wife 22.

  Don’t apologize. You reminded me I was a woman worth falling for.

  GTG. I see land.

  GTG. I see light through the crack of the wardrobe door.

  101

  I’m about to close my Lucy Pevensie account for good, but before I do, I poke around on John Yossarian’s wall one last time. It’s been such an intense couple of months and Researcher 101 has played such a big part in my daily life. Even though I’m ready to say goodbye, and I know it’s the right thing to do, I still feel bereft. It’s a last-day-of-camp feeling. I’m bittersweet, but ready to pack it up and go home.

  On Yossarian’s information page, I see a link to a Picasa album, which contains his profile photos. Suddenly I wonder if he’s disabled his geotag function. I open the album and click on the yeti photo. A map of the United States pops up with a red pushpin stuck smack in the middle of the Bay Area. No, he has not disabled his geotag function. I zoom in on the pushpin. The photo was taken on the Golden Gate Bridge. I exhale with pleasure. This is dangerous. This is titillating. There’s a part of me that’s still curious, that will always be curious. Even though we had a certain kind of intimacy, in truth I know nothing about him. Who is he? How does he spend his days?

  I repeat the same process with the photo of the horse and once again the pushpin is stuck in San Francisco, but the location is Crissy Field. He’s got to be athletic. He probably runs and bikes. Maybe he even does yoga.

  I click on the photo of the dog, but this time the red pushpin appears on Mountain Road in Oakland. Wait a second. Is it possible he lives in Oakland? I just assumed he lived in San Francisco, based on the Netherfield Center’s proximity to UCSF.

  I click on the photo of the labyrinth and the pushpin again shows his location as Oakland. But this photo was taken minutes from my house. In Manzanita Park.

  I click on the photo of his hand, my heart thudding. Stop this, Alice Buckle, stop it right now. You extracted yourself. You just said goodbye. A map of my neighborhood pops up. I enlarge the map. It zeros in on my street. I drag the icon of the little yellow man onto the pushpin, wanting more detail, and an actual photo of an actual house appears. 529 Irving Drive.

  My house.

  What? The photo was taken from my house? I try and process this information.

  Researcher 101 has been inside my house? He’s been stalking me? He’s a stalker? But this makes no sense. How could he have gotten into my house? Somebody is always home, between school being out and Caroline working only part-time, and Jampo would have barked his head off if somebody broke in, and William never—William … Jesus.

  I zoom in on the photo of the hand. And when the familiar details of that hand come into focus—the big palm, the long, tapered fingers, the little freckle on the top of the pinkie, I feel sick because—it’s William’s hand.

  “Alice, can I borrow some conditioner?” Bunny stands in the doorway wrapped in a towel, clutching her toiletry bag in her hand. Then she looks at my face. “Alice, dear God, what happened?”

  I ignore her and go back to my computer. Think, Alice, think! Did Researcher 101 somehow hack into our family’s photo library? My brain feels folded over, like an omelet. Researcher 101 is a stalker, Researcher 101 has been stalking me, has been stalking William, William stalking, William is a stalker, Researcher 101 is a stalker is William is Researcher 101. Oh, my, God.

  “Alice, you’re mumbling. You’re scaring me. Did somebody get hurt? Did somebody die?” she asks.

  I look up at Bunny. “William is Researcher 101.”

  Bunny’s eyes widen, and then, to my surprise, she throws back her head and laughs.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “Because of course it’s William. Of course! It’s too perfect. It’s—delicious.”

  I shake my head in frustration. “You mean duplicitous.”

  Bunny steps into the room and peers over my shoulder as I frantically scroll back through our emails and chats, seeing them in an entirely different light this time.

  Me: I can have the weather delivered every morning to my phone by weather.com. What could be better?

  101: Getting caught in the rain?

  “I can’t believe it. The nerve of him. The Piña Colada song?” I shriek.

  “My God, that’s clever,” says Bunny. “I guess he was tired of his lady; they’d been together too long.” She winks at me and I scowl back at her.

  Me: You’re very lucky. He sounds like a dream dog.

  101: Oh, he is.

  “Oh, yes, very funny, so funny, so terribly funny, William, ha-ha,” I say.

  “Do you recognize that dog?” asks Bunny.

  I look at the photo more closely. “Goddammit. That’s our neighbor’s dog. Mr. Big.”

  “Your neighbor is Mr. Big?”

  “No, the dog is Mr. Big.”

  “How could you have missed that?” asks Bunny. “It’s almost like he wanted you to know, Alice. Like he was giving you clues.”

  Me: Yes, please change my answer. It’s more truthful. Unlike your profile photo.

  101: I don’t know about that. In my experience, the truth is frequently blurry.

  “That son of a bitch,” I say.

  “Mmm. Sounds like he’s been reading a bit too much Eckhart Tolle,” says Bunny.

  Me: If we had met? If you had showed up that night? What do you think would have happened?

  101: I think you would have been disappointed.

  Me: Why? What are you keeping from me? Do you have scales? Do you weigh 600 pounds? Do you have a comb-over?

  101: Let’s just say I would not be what you had expected.

  I groan. “He was toying with me the entire time!”

  “One person’s toying is another person’s dropping clues and waiting to be discovered. Maybe you were just slow on the uptake, Alice. Besides, I have to tell you that so far, I haven’t read one thing he’s writ
ten that wasn’t true.”

  “What? Everything was a lie. Researcher 101 was a lie. He doesn’t exist!”

  “Oh, but he does exist. William couldn’t have made him up if Researcher 101 wasn’t somehow a part of him. Or a him he wanted to be.”

  “No. He played me. He just told me what I wanted to hear.”

  “I don’t think so,” says Bunny, chuckling.

  “What is wrong with you, Bunny? Why do you seem so delighted about all of this?”

  “Why aren’t you delighted? Don’t you understand, Alice? You can carry on with both Researcher 101 and William. Forever. Because they’re one and the same!”

  “I feel so humiliated!”

  “Again with the humiliation. There’s no reason to feel humiliated.”

  “Of course there is. I said things. Things I never would have. Things he had no right to know. Answers he cheated out of me.”

  “Well, what if he had asked you those things to your face?”

  “William never would have asked me.”

  “Why not?”