Bad Will Hunting

by Heather Wardell

  Now, of course, they also represent the grim dullness of growing up with Grandmother and the unfairness of parents who can’t be bothered with their daughter. But though I never wear heels because they’re ridiculous I still crave a pair of silver ones. I’ll never buy them, but I also can’t stop the craving. They’re a symbol of everything I’ll never have and never be.

  “Ooh!” Shannon nudges me, cutting off my unproductive thoughts, and I recognize the scene on TV as she says, “You gonna come over tomorrow and watch that with me? BFB here and I have watched the other episodes so far on our own but it’d be fun getting the inside scoop from you.”

  Becky mumbles something non-specific, possibly about the ‘big fat Becks’ abbreviation Shannon used, and I shake my head and say, “Can’t, I’m working late.”

  I’m not, but I can’t watch the ‘visit of the loved ones’ episode with these two either, because Becky will be sad she didn’t get to go and Shannon will be her usual inconsiderate self and rub it in. I don’t want to be there for either part.

  “I’ll record it,” Shannon says, “and we’ll watch it another night. Wednesday, maybe?”

  I’m hoping I’ll get to see Will on Wednesday, and anyhow I don’t want to watch the episode at all never mind with Shannon, so I say, “No. Seriously, just watch it yourself. I lived it, I’m not interested in seeing it again.”

  Shannon hits pause and the show freezes on a shot of MC in Aaron’s arms looking past him at something we can’t see. I know what it is, though: she’s watching Kent and his brother Ron convincing the show’s host to let Kent give MC part of our time with the loved ones. If Brett had been there for me instead of Shannon I’d have torn Kent into pieces for doing that, especially since he did it on his own without even checking if the rest of us minded losing part of our contest reward, but since I knew it was Shannon I was only aggravated at the unfairness of how Kent kept bending over backwards for MC even though they hadn’t spoken since they broke up. He didn’t seem to care much about the rest of us, except of course for Summer.

  “Give me a clue, at least. What’s MC staring at? I keep seeing this preview and I’m dying to know.”

  With all the warnings we’ve been given against revealing anything, even something we thought was a tiny harmless detail, about the show, I won’t take the risk of letting the producers screw me over again. “Polar bear,” I say, picking up another slice of pizza. “Big hairy one. With a flamingo riding on its back.”

  “Bite me.” Shannon presses play.

  After she fast-forwards a commercial for some show called “Stalk This Way” about finding people with whom you’ve lost touch, we get back to our show and our bitching about people whose lives are better than ours in every possible way. Once that’s done, Shannon gets up to pop in the DVD of “The Devil Wears Prada” for probably our tenth watching, but the sound of clomping feet coming down the basement stairs makes her freeze and mutter, “Shit.”

  “What did you call me?” Shannon’s brother Randy, wearing a too-tight t-shirt that shows off his squishy stomach to unpleasant advantage, stops on the bottom step and glares at her, then leers at Becky and me. “Hello, ladies,” he says in a voice that drips sleaze.

  We don’t answer. We never speak to him, and it seems to aggravate him so Shannon’s asked us to keep it up.

  He sniffs, making my stomach lurch at the revolting sound. “Time for hockey,” he says, moving forward and trying to bump Shannon out of the way. “You’ve had your TV time.”

  She rolls her eyes and stands her ground. “We’re still having it. You can record hockey and watch it later. Waste of time anyhow.”

  He laughs. “The chick who’s watching the same movie for like the millionth time is saying I’m wasting my time. Nice. No, I have to watch now. Or I’ll find out the score and stuff on Twitter and that would suck.”

  “Like I care.”

  “Whatever. I do.” As he approaches the couch, Becky jumps up and heads for the basement bathroom and I move quickly out of the way since Randy’s been known to drop his bulk down onto anyone who doesn’t give him space.

  He takes the newly vacated spot and says, “See? Your friends know how to treat me.”

  “With disgust and avoidance,” Shannon agrees.

  “Nah, it’s respect. Now why don’t you respect me and get lost?”

  “I have a project for you.”

  “And mine for you is getting lost.”

  Shannon shakes her head, an evil smile spreading across her face. “You’ll like mine. Remember Katie at work?”

  He makes a face like he smells something rotten and gives a disgusting snort deep in his throat. “The stuck-up blonde?”

  “That’s the one,” she says, and quickly outlines my plan. I can’t help but be proud of it. Katie’s been in Shannon’s way for years, and it’s about time one of us got a little revenge.

  When she finishes, Randy throws his arm around my shoulders. As I scramble to get away he says, “I underestimated you, Ashcan. You’re a stone cold bitch. Bi-atch. I approve.”

  “Don’t touch her,” Shannon says. “She’s got a weak stomach, she can’t cope with your awful self. Save your germs for Katie. Now be a good boy for once and go away. I’ll set up the hockey to record and you can come back down in two hours and watch it.”

  He considers. “Only if Ashcan gives me a kiss.”

  Shannon pretends to throw up. “Even if she wants to--”

  “Which I don’t.”

  “--I couldn’t stand to watch. Nope. Go away and think about making Katie sick instead of making us sick by staying here. Scram.”

  He waggles his tongue at me, laughs when I recoil, and stomps back up the stairs.

  “I cannot see how we can be related.” Shannon scoops up the remote and begins setting up the hockey recording. “He’s such a horrible excuse for a human being.”

  He is that. I feel sick at the mere idea of kissing him.

  As she finishes the set up, I say, “Hey, is that cop show there for him too?”

  She nods. “He likes to record it Sunday night and watch it Monday before work. Why?”

  “Can I have the remote a sec?”

  She tips her head to one side but passes it over, then watches as I change the recording to be two minutes short. “There,” I say when I’m done. “Payback for suggesting I’d kiss him.”

  Shannon laughs. “Seems only fair.”

  Becky returns, and we watch our movie in peace, and every time I think of Randy watching his show before work and missing the final wrap-up of whatever stupid case they’re solving a warm glow spreads through me.

  *****

  I get cut off twice as I drive home from Shannon’s, and the second guy gives me the finger after I honk at him. I give it back, of course, then lay on the horn again when some idiot decides it’s not my turn to go at the four-way stop by my building and beeps at me.

  As I park, wishing I lived somewhere that people know how to drive, my phone rings. I almost don’t bother, since it’s probably Dory calling yet again, but I’d rather not have to listen to her message later so I sigh and dig the phone from my purse. When I see the screen, I’m glad I did.

  “Hey,” I say, trying to sound cool and not like I’ve been anxiously awaiting his call.

  “Ashley!” From the noise I can tell Will’s on speakerphone. “Say hi to my friends.”

  A bunch of female voices shout, “Hi, Ashley!” in the background, but I hear several say, “Hi, AA!” and one actually calls me “Angry Ashley”.

  Trying to ignore this, I say a quick hello then add, “Where’ve you been?”

  He makes a sympathetic noise. “I’m sorry. Have you missed me?”

  No, I’ve been furious that you’re ignoring me. But I can’t say that without making the ‘AA’ label seem appropriate, so while I get out of the car I try to channel Angel Dove’s ditzy voice and say, “Of course. I’ve had nobody to say good night to me.”

  He chuckles and th
e girls in the background go, “Aww,” and I roll my eyes at them and myself too as I walk toward my building. I should have just told him the truth, that I’m pissed. Who cares what his friends think?

  “Well, we can fix that tomorrow night,” he says. “My friends just found out I know you and they’re begging you to come watch the next episode of your show with us.”

  Mingled cries of “Please!” almost drowned out his last few words but I know what he said. I also know I don’t want to go.

  Before I can tell him, though, he adds, “They’ve got so many questions about McKent and Summaar and Grily and everyone else, and you can answer ‘em all.”

  I drop onto the bench by my building’s front door, since I don’t always get good reception in the elevator. “Who?”

  He laughs. “Haven’t heard those names? MC and Kent are McKent, obviously, and--”

  “Never mind,” I say, disgusted. “I get it.” Summer and Aaron, and Greg and Lily. And Ashley and nobody. Just Angry Ashley. It’s pathetic that people name these supposed couples like this, but I’m still annoyed I don’t and can’t have a nickname like that with someone.

  “Ask her if Phillip was really as big an ass as he seemed.”

  “Oh, and whether that Sam guy’s okay. He was cute.”

  “And how she learned how to braid like that!”

  Yes, no idea but I hope so, and hours of practice. “Will,” I say loudly, to get through to him over the noise of his friends. “Will, I’m not watching it with you.”

  “Hold on a second, guys,” he says, then I hear the background noise cut out as he takes me off speakerphone. “We can’t make it work, Ashley? It’d be fun.”

  For you, maybe, I think, then decide to say it aloud. “I hated every second there, so how would reliving it ever be fun? I won’t even watch it with my friends, so why would I with you and yours?”

  He clears his throat. “You can’t do Monday? Okay, we understand.” Over the sadness in the background, he adds, “Thursday, maybe? It’s another episode and--”

  “No. Not ever. All I want is to meet with you about the lawsuit. When can we do that?”

  He chuckles but doesn’t really sound amused. I don’t care, because I’m not either. He’s been ignoring me and then he calls for this?

  “Good stuff,” he says after a moment. “You drive a hard bargain. I’ll take you out for a nice private dinner Wednesday night and then we can see about watching Thursday’s episode with everyone else. You’re right, we need some alone time.”

  A chorus of “ooh” and giggling bursts from his friends.

  I roll my eyes but say, “Wednesday works.” Thursday doesn’t but I’ll deal with that later.

  We arrange where we’ll meet and he says, “Okay, pretty lady. Have a good night. Consider yourself kissed.”

  He ends the call, cutting off the whoops of his friends.

  I put my phone away and drag myself up the two flights of stairs to my apartment, suddenly so tired and not sure why. It’s just been a long day of defending myself against people, I guess, from Shannon to Randy to Will, and I’ve had enough.

  Will there ever be a time when I don’t have to be constantly on guard to make sure nobody hurts me?

  Chapter Seven

  Thursday night I sit at home watching myself on television and every few minutes reminding myself to release my clenched fists. They keep re-clenching, though, and I only realize it when my arms start to hurt.

  Though I didn’t want to, I did watch a bit of Monday’s episode because I couldn’t resist finding out how the show was portraying me. I shut it off, though, and then threw my remote across the room, when they lingered on the scene of me missing my grab at a flag during an elimination contest. Summer screwed up too because she’s a lousy swimmer, and Kent almost quit to help stupid MC when she fell down during that contest, but of course it’s me they show over and over reaching for and not quite catching the flag as we rowed our raft past it. It wasn’t even my fault either; Faith managed a burst of speed somehow and wrecked my timing.

  I sent Will a text after the episode finished that night, pretending someone else had told me about the show’s focus on my supposed mistake, and told him we should include it in the suit. Defamation of character or something.

  He didn’t respond until Wednesday morning, at which point he texted to say he wouldn’t be able to go to dinner after all because he hadn’t had time to work on my case.

  I was pissed that he canceled but also glad he was actually working on it, so I told him I forgave him though I really didn’t. He told me I was the best and promised to make it up to me later, and I spent Wednesday night at home ignoring Dory’s repeated calls. The woman was infuriating. Why couldn’t she take a hint?

  Tonight I decided to watch the whole episode, to see if there’s anything else I should complain about, but it’s making me so angry I don’t know if I can handle it. Not even getting texted by Shannon to let me know that our plan to get Katie sick worked beautifully and Shannon is now covering her part ‘for the good of the production’ and getting paid more into the bargain makes me feel better. That’s nothing to do with me, so that revenge doesn’t help.

  The bit of the show where MC lost her mind and screamed at her exes about how useless and pathetic and mouthy they were was funny, although she really needs to learn how to express her emotions before they explode out of her, but now we’re on to a stupid reward challenge and I’m watching Summer arm-wrestle Aaron and I know she’s going to lean in and kiss him in a second and win the contest for us. Though the ice cream sandwiches she earned were delicious after our days of deprivation, knowing she only won them because she’s gorgeous and everyone loves her made it hard for me to choke mine down. I’m not some hideous troll, so why doesn’t anyone want me?

  My phone rings, and I roll my eyes and qualify my question to the universe: why doesn’t anyone but Dory want me?

  “I’m not answering,” I say out loud, and Silver hops over and gives my foot a tentative peck.

  I pull it back and say, “You just want to devour me. Like everyone else. Except for you it’s literal.”

  Watching her wander around the carpet enjoying her nightly no-case time calms me for a moment, but then on TV Summer grabs Aaron and slaps her mouth onto his and fury floods me again.

  I get up, since my remote isn’t working any more after bouncing off my living room wall, and snap off the TV, then send Will another text.

  Did you get my last three messages? All stuff for the suit. No more, though. Not watching the rest. Stupid episode.

  While I wait for him to answer, my eyes fall on the book Brett bought me on how to produce and upload videos. “Videos for losers,” he’d said, laughing, when he handed it over. I’d laughed too. I hadn’t felt like a loser then.

  I grab my glass of wine and finish it off to wipe that thought away. I’m not a loser. I’m getting shafted. Totally different.

  My phone buzzes with a text, and I snatch it up and read, “Got them. Sorry, crazy busy on suit. Will call when done. Not today though.”

  Relief floods me that he’s going to make this happen for me. I need it to, so badly. The live reunion show is less than three weeks away, and I need my revenge.

  How else will I ever move on with my life?

  *****

  Two weeks later, I’m desperate enough to do something I never thought I would: pick up the phone to call Dory.

  My life has dropped back into the same rut as before, but worse because of the show. I get teased at work, I’m terrified when I go out that people will recognize me and call me “Angry Ashley”, and I can’t stop thinking of how I’m portrayed in each episode. I don’t want to watch them but I feel compelled to, so twice a week I let what I see fuel my fury at everyone involved. The producers; Dory, whose calls I eventually answered but whose questions I still refuse to answer because they’re useless; MC and Kent for not doing anything about what’s clearly still a connection between them; Greg an
d Lily for doing something about theirs since I can’t have that connection with anyone; myself for breaking my remote while watching the damn show and having to waste money on a new one since I hate spending anything; and of course Will, who isn’t exactly proving to be the world’s most efficient lawyer.

  I finally agreed to watch an episode with him and his friends tonight, at a restaurant where he’d booked a private room for us all, since he promised we’d talk about my case too. We did, when he took me outside for a few minutes at my insistence before the show, and I reluctantly accepted his advice not to actually file a suit before the reunion show on Saturday. “Get in there to see them somehow. Tell them you will sue, if they don’t cooperate, but don’t do it first,” he’d said. “No way to negotiate then. You want them to think you’re reasonable.”

  I thought I was reasonable, since I wasn’t expecting more than the revenge I deserved, but I didn’t get to say so because he’d leaned in and kissed me and then led me back inside to the cheers of his friends who’d been watching us from the window.

  Will had clearly enjoyed being able to show off to his friends that he knew me, and the friends had enjoyed hounding me for scoop I couldn’t provide, but the only thing I’d enjoyed about the night had been the idea I’d gotten on my way home about how to ensure I’d get to talk to the producers.

  The phone rings, and I hear her dopey voice say, “Hello?”

  “Dor-- Ellen? It’s Ashley. How are you?”

  I try to sound shy and a little embarrassed for calling and for almost using the nickname I know she doesn’t like, and she falls for it. “Ashley! I’m surprised to hear from you, but thrilled, of course. Let me just...”