Wife 22 (14 page)

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Authors: Melanie Gideon

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39

Lucy Pevensie

Studied at
Oxford College
Born on
April 24, 1934
Current Employer
Aslan
Family
Edward, Peter, and Susan
Work
Trying to keep from turning to stone.
About You
Years pass like minutes.

Yes, I’m afraid the rumor is true, Wife 22. Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.

Rumor is true here also, Researcher 101. There
is
another world through the wardrobe. Sightings of fauns and white witches not greatly exaggerated.

Enjoyed reading your profile.

Did not enjoy reading your profile, Researcher 101.
Employer: Netherfield Center.
That’s it? As far as your photo, I despise that little silhouette. You could have at least used some clip art. A yellow raft, perhaps?

We’ll see.

Now that we’re friends, we should probably adjust our privacy settings so people can’t search for us.

Already locked down. New questions coming soon—via email. I refuse to
chat
the questions.

Thanks for coming down the rabbit hole to find me.

That’s my job. Did you think I wouldn’t?

I wasn’t sure. I know Facebook is a stretch. But you may surprise yourself; you may grow to like it. It’s immediate in a way email is not. Soon email may be extinct, gone the way of the letter.

I sincerely hope not. Email seems civilized compared to texts and posts and Twitter. What’s next? Communicating in three words or less?

Great idea. We can call it Twi. Three-word sentences can be very powerful.

No they can’t.

Let’s find out.

Let us not.

You’re not very good at this.

How’s your husband holding up? Anything I can do to help?

Get him his old job back.

Anything else?

Can I ask you something?

Sure.

Are you married?

As a rule, I’m not allowed to divulge personal information.

That explains your profile, or lack thereof.

Yes, I’m sorry. But we’ve learned from experience the less you know about your researcher, the more forthcoming you’ll be.

So I should just treat you like the GPS voice?

That’s been done before.

By whom, Researcher 101?

By other subjects, of course.

Family members?

I can neither confirm nor deny this.

Are you a computer program? Tell me. Am I writing to a computer?

Cannot answer now. Battery is low.

Look at you. You’re Twi-ing. I knew you had it in you.

Should I tell you when I have to go or just type
got to go
? I don’t want to be rude. What’s the protocol?

It’s GTG, not “got to go.” And the good thing about chatting is there’s no need for long, protracted goodbyes.

A pity, as I tend to be a fan of long, protracted goodbyes.

Wife 22?

Wife 22?

Did you go off-line?

I’m protracting our goodbye.

40

Alice Buckle

Studied at
U Mass
Born on
September 4
Current Employer
Kentwood Elementary
Family
William, Peter, Zoe
Work
Trying to keep from turning to stone
About You
Minutes pass like years

Henry Archer
Alice Buckle

Henry Archer
Alice Buckle

Shut up already, cuz—we get that it hasn’t rained in California in months!

4 minutes ago

Nedra Rao
Kate O’Halloran

Nedra Rao
Kate O’Halloran

You have captivated me

13 minutes ago

Julie Staggs

Is it considered child abuse to tie your daughter’s feet and hands to her bedposts with Little Kitty ribbons? Just kidding!!!

23 minutes ago

William Buckle

Free

1 hour ago

Part 2
41

W
illiam has been laid off. Not reprimanded, not warned, not demoted, but laid off. In the middle of a recession. In the middle of our lives.

“What did you do?” I shout.

“What do you mean what did
I
do?”

“To make them lay you off?”

He looks aghast. “Thanks for the sympathy, Alice. I didn’t do anything. It was all about redundancies.”

Yes, the redundancies of you acting out at work. Of you mouthing yourself right out of a job,
I think.

“Call Frank Potter. Tell him you’ll work for less. Tell them you’re willing to do anything.”

“I can’t do that, Alice.”

“Pride is a luxury we can’t afford, William.”

“This isn’t about pride. I don’t belong at KKM. It wasn’t a good fit anymore. Maybe this is for the best. Maybe this is the wake-up call I’ve been needing.”

“Are you kidding me? We can’t afford waking up, either.”

“I don’t agree. We can’t afford not to.”

“Have you been reading Eckhart Tolle?” I cry.

“Of course not,” he says. “We specifically made a pact not to live in the moment.”

“We’ve made lots of pacts. Open the window—it’s boiling in here.”

We’re sitting in the car out in the driveway. It’s the only place we can talk privately. He starts the car and rolls down the windows. My Susan Boyle CD comes streaming out of the speakers at a high volume—
I dreamed a dream in time gone by.

“Jesus!” says William, shutting it off.

“It’s my car. You’re not allowed to censor my music.”

I turn the CD back on.
I dreamed that love would never die.
Jesus! I turn it off.

“You’re killing me with that shit,” groans William.

I want to run to my computer and do more budget projections, projections out to 2040, but I know what they’ll reveal—with all of our expenses, including sending both of our fathers checks every month to supplement their paltry Social Security, we have about six months before we are in trouble.

“You’re forty-seven,” I say.

“You’re forty-four,” he says. “What’s your point?”

“My point? My point is—you’re going to have to dye your hair,” I say, looking at his graying temples.

“Why the hell would I dye my hair?”

“Because it’s going to be incredibly hard to find a job. You’re too old. You cost too much. People aren’t going to want to hire you. They’ll hire a twenty-eight-year-old with no kids and no mortgage for half the salary who knows how to use Facebook and Tumblr and Twitter.”

“I have a Facebook page,” he says. “I just don’t live on it.”

“No, you just announce to the world that you got fired on it.”


Free
can be interpreted in many different ways. Look, Alice, I’m sorry you’re scared. But there are times in life that you have to leap. And when you don’t have the courage to leap, well then, eventually somebody comes along and pushes you the fuck out the window.”

“You
are
reading Eckhart Tolle! What else are you doing behind my back?”

“Nothing,” he says dully.

“So, you’ve been unhappy at work, is that what you’re telling me? What is it that you want to do now? Leave advertising altogether?”

“No. I just need a change.”

“What sort of a change?”

“I want to work on accounts that mean something to me. I want to sell products that I believe in.”

“Well, that sounds lovely. Who wouldn’t want that, but in this economy I’m afraid that’s a pipe dream.”

“It probably is. But who says we shouldn’t go after pipe dreams anymore?”

I begin to cry.

“Please don’t do that. Please don’t cry.”

“Why are you crying?” asks Peter, suddenly appearing at my window.

“Go in the house, Peter. This is a private conversation,” says William.

“Stay,” I say. “He’ll find out soon enough. Your father’s been laid off.”

“Laid off like fired?”

“No, laid off like laid off. There’s a difference,” says William.

“Does that mean you’ll be home more?” asks Peter.

“Yes.”

“Can we tell people?” asks Peter.

“What people?” I say.

“Zoe.”

“Zoe’s not people. She’s family,” I say.

“No, she’s people. We lost her to the people some time ago,” says William. “Look, everything’s going to be okay. I’m going to find another job. Trust me. Get your sister,” he says to Peter. “We’re going out to dinner.”

“We’re celebrating you getting fired?” asks Peter.

“Laid off. And I’d like us to think of this as a beginning, not an end,” says William.

I open my car door. “We’re not going anywhere. The leftovers need to be eaten or they’ll rot.”

That night I can’t sleep. I wake at 3 a.m. and just for kicks decide to weigh myself. Why not? What else do I have to do? 130 pounds—somehow I’ve lost eight pounds! I’m shocked. Women my age don’t just magically lose eight pounds. I haven’t been on a diet, although I am still paying monthly dues for my online Weight Watchers program, which now I really should cancel. And other than my pathetic attempt to run with Caroline, I haven’t done any exercise in weeks. However, other
people in my household are exercising like mad. Between Zoe’s 750-sit-ups-a-day regimen and William’s five-mile runs with Caroline, maybe I’m burning calories by osmosis. Or maybe I have cancer of the stomach. Or maybe it’s guilt. That’s it. I’ve been on the Guilt Diet and I haven’t even known it.

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