Marrying Up (22 page)

“Well, you’re right about one thing for sure.”

“What’s that?”

“You really can girl-talk with the best of ’em. Thanks.”

“Dr. Phil ain’t got nothing on me.”

Over a lunch of cheeseburgers and Caesar salads at our new diner—halfway between Venus Books and the world headquarters of Encyclopedia Gigantica—George fidgets in her seat. She can barely concentrate on my incredibly riveting story about how Kitty fell asleep standing up while making the coffee.

“Something on your mind, George? You seem a little distracted.”

“No…”

“But…”

“No buts. Well, maybe one but.”

“What but?”

She sighs. “Forgive me, but I’m nervous.”

“What now?”

“I have something to tell you.”

The last time George had “something to tell me,” it was pretty big.

“Should I be scared? You’re not dumping Max are you?”

She looks at me like I’ve just suggested she set her own hair on fire.

“
God,
no! Why would I do that, silly?”

“Are you in a family way?”

“Huh?”

“Pregnant. Are you pregnant?”

“What? No! It’s nothing like that. This is a good thing. I think.”

“So shoot.”

“Okay. So, um, Max thinks… I mean, we’ve decided
together,
that we should get our own place. Just me and him…so, I guess we’re, like, moving in together.”

She eyes me suspiciously, waiting for my head to explode. I’ll admit that my heart dropped into my gut for a second, but otherwise, I feel fine. A little numb, maybe…

“Wow, G. That’s—”

“Look, Holly,” she interrupts, presumably to preempt any negative fallout. “I know what you’re thinking…that we’ve only been together for a couple of months and this is a big step and all that. But he needs me, and I need him. I
love
him. I really do. And I want to be with him as much as I can.”

I get up and give her a huge hug. “Don’t worry George. It’s fine! This is great news. It’s incredibly exciting and wonderful and romantic in every possible way. I’m really
really
happy for you.”

She hugs me back as tightly as she can. “Thanks for faking it, Holly. It means a lot to me.”

“I’m not faking it! You know I really like Max…”

“But…”

“No buts.”

“Come on.”

“Okay… The but is just that I love you, too. That’s all. So I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you more. But you don’t have to say it like that. Because this doesn’t mean our adventure’s over.”

“I know, I know. Don’t worry about me, George. I’ve always wanted to live alone. And I’m sure Remy will give me a break on the rent if I agree to help him out upstairs on weekends. He could use the help.”

I pray that he does. Remy could get triple what he was
charging us. It’s easy to see how tempting it would be for him to just kick me out and get it over with. God, what would I do then? Shuffle off to Buffalo? Heaven knows that’s the last thing I want. But that’s how expensive San Francisco is. Unless, of course, I choose to move in with half a dozen roommates in some crappy part of town. After living the good life in Remy’s basement, that would take some serious sacrifice. Maybe I’ll have time to find a better job. I
definitely
can’t ask my dad for any more money.

“So when’s this all going to happen?”

“Fourth of July weekend’s crazy for movers, so we couldn’t get a truck till the 14th.”

“That’s in three weeks!”

She shrugs. “I know it’s kinda last minute, but Max’s friend knows this guy who’s getting rid of this awesome place in the Haight that’s supercheap because it used to be a hostel or something and you have to share a bathroom with your neighbor.”

“That’s really gross.”

“I know,” she giggles. “But Max said we could get a chamber pot and put it behind a screen. Like in the old days.”

“The old days means fifty years ago, George. Not five hundred years ago.”

“Max also said he’ll pee off the balcony when the weather’s nice.”

“I guess the weather won’t be so nice for the people down below….”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing under the balcony but a Dumpster from Ming Palace.”

“Well, that’s a relief! Wow, George—this place just keeps getting better and better! By the way, I’m sure you won’t have
any
bugs…’cause I’ve heard that cockroaches don’t really like Chinese food all that much…”

“Shut up!” she laughs. “You’re making it sound bad!”

“Bad? Not bad. Just in violation of about twenty different health and safety codes. I think private bathrooms are pretty much a guaranteed right, these days, in case you’re interested.”

“I know, but I think it’s okay that they’re shared because technically the place is still considered a hotel or something, even though there’s no front desk or room service or anything like that. It’s mostly long-term boarders. Oh! And there’s this one old lady who’s been living there, like, forever, and Max said his friend told him she used to know Kerouac or one of those guys and once he came over and…”

George drones on and on but I don’t hear a word. I am slightly preoccupied with crunching the numbers, and figuring out how I can ask Remy to reduce my rent by half and still make it sound like I’d be doing him the favor.

My happiness for George and her good news slowly morphs into self-pity over the course of a lonely, boring afternoon spent researching Antarctica. There’s no other way to look at it: While it was all good for my best friend, the whole thing kind of sucked for me. On the bus ride home, I catch myself silently cursing the teenagers making out across the aisle. Was the entire world in love except for me?

When Vale finally calls to say goodnight from Chicago (and tell me all about why he’s having trouble converting a Chapter 11 proceeding for a limited liability company to a Chapter 7), I can barely keep it together.

“So she’s moving in with her boyfriend. What’s the big deal?”

“Everything’s changing.”

“So?”

“So, I don’t know… It’s weird for me. I feel like I’m being left behind. I like Max. I really do. But they’re so…intense. Sometimes I just wish she and Quentin would have stayed together. Don’t you? It would have been so much fun…”

“I guess.”

“Does he miss her?”

“Who?”

“Quentin! Does he miss George?”

Somewhere along the way, I started to feel sorry for the guy. I imagined him pining away for her in his big empty loft, dejected and alone, maybe even turning to alcohol to dull the pain….

“God, I don’t know! Quentin’s a big boy, Holly. And believe me, it’s not like he has any trouble getting laid, so I highly doubt he’s sitting around boo-hooing over your friend.”

Hmmm…was that the stirring of passions I heard?

“Vale, that’s not the point. He really liked her!” I would defend Quentin to the death if it meant provoking an emotional outburst from my boyfriend, just to see if it was even possible.

“Yeah, he liked her. So what? He’ll find someone else. Jeez. Why are you being such a girl about this, anyway?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Screw Quentin—now it’s getting personal!

“It means get over it, already! You seem to care an awful lot about George’s love life. Don’t you just want her to be happy?”

“Of course I do,” I snap. “But I thought the four of us were going to be, I don’t know, together.”

“Who the fuck cares about them? You have me.”

That prospect must have struck a subconscious chord somewhere deep within me because I start bawling uncontrollably.

“Holly! For God’s sake, pull yourself together!”

“No! It’s our anniversary and I can cry if I want to.”

“What?”

“It’s June 25th. We’ve been together for three months.”

While I sob, I pictured him rolling his eyes in his posh suite at The Drake, leaning over for another scoop of caviar and
pouring himself a glass of champagne. Doesn’t he care that I’m upset? Breaking down isn’t something I do all that often, so I when I do, I expect a little more than total indifference from the person who’s supposed to be there for me no matter what. If the tables were turned and he was upset, wouldn’t I do everything I could to help him feel better?

“Are you done?” he asks when I pause to catch my breath.

“No.”

“Aw, quit being a baby. Why don’t you go out and have a few drinks somewhere.”

I sniff. “Because I have no one to go with.”

“So go with your landlord. Whatsisname.”

“He’s probably asleep,” I sniff. “It’s past midnight here. Hey, why are you calling me so late? Did you go out or something?”

“Aha! So
technically
it’s not our anniversary anymore. Which means you should stop crying, then.”

“Don’t lawyer me, Vale. I’m in no mood for it.” I can’t help but notice he didn’t answer my question.

“I’m going to hang up now.”

“No! Please don’t…”

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. And I don’t respond well to manipulation.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean? “I’m not manipulating you. I just don’t want to be alone.”

“Call me in the morning when you’re back to yourself.”

That man is cold as ice, and I can feel the chill from two thousand miles away.

An Indecent Proposal

I
considered our anniversary phone call our first fight, though it didn’t seem to phase Vale at all. He told me it was fine and then refused to discuss it further. “Let’s just pretend it never happened,” he said the next day. I got the sense he thought of me as some daffy chick, prone to the pull of the tides or my period or whatever forces of nature happened to be at work that minute. His attitude never came off as nasty or overtly sexist or anything like that, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d already made up his mind about me, or maybe women in general, and decided we were something he would just have to live with.

The night he returns from Chicago, he makes dinner reservations for us at Julius’ Castle, a landmark restaurant perched on Telegraph Hill, directly beneath San Francisco’s largest stone phallus, Coit Tower. The place is known for being extremely romantic, cheesy even, with amazing views
of the ocean, crystal chandeliers and wood-paneled walls, all designed to draw your attention away from the mediocre food. Maybe it’s Vale’s way of apologizing. I’m kind of hoping it will give me a chance to see if our relationship is salvageable. I’ve decided that if there is really nothing going on between us, I will take Remy’s advice and move on. It’s too early in the game for me to resign myself to a life without sparks (or even the faintest wisp of smoke).

So here we sit, Vale and I, for two-and-a-half hours, and eat while the sun sets. I start with the shrimp cocktail and then have the New York strip; Vale orders the
foie gras
and the rack of lamb. True to form, the meat is tough, though not as tough as the conversation that accompanies dessert.

“Vale, can I ask you something?”

“Don’t tell me you want another piece of cheesecake!”

“Very funny,” I say, though I seriously consider the offer.

“I don’t know how you stay so thin, Holly. It’s amazing.”

“Actually, that’s sort of what I wanted to talk to you about tonight….”

“Oh?”

I take a deep breath, attempt a smile and brace myself.

“This is kind of hard, okay, so I’m just gonna say it fast. Vale…are you attracted to me? I mean, do you think I’m sexy? At all? To you, I mean. Am I hot to you? God, that sounded so raunchy…basically, what I want to know is whether or not you find me even remotely attractive.”

Admittedly, it wasn’t quite the smooth phrasing I’d come up with during rehearsals, but the bottle of Bordeaux that made the food go down so much easier must also have dulled my capacity for eloquence.

His brow furrows. “What do you mean? Of
course
you’re hot.” No eye contact, excessive throat clearing and a nervous chuckle.

If there were a Richter scale of enthusiasm for possible
responses to that question, I’d give Vale’s weak rumble a two-point-five.

“So…then why don’t we ever fool around?”

He takes his napkin off his lap and places it on the table. “Actually Holly, there’s something I need to talk to you about, too.”

“Oh?”

Damn it! He’s breaking up with me before I can break up with him!

Is that fair? Can he do that? My utter lack of experience in these things makes it all so confusing. All I know is that I’d prefer to remember this breakup as
my
choice, both for posterity’s sake and to reduce the risk of regret. Did being preemptively dumped change all that?

“Holly, I need you to know that I care about you tremendously. You’re intelligent but you’re also sensitive, which despite what you may think is a quality I admire. It really is. Plus, you’re creative and funny and sharp, not to mention extremely attractive and—”

“Uhh, let’s not go overboard…”

“Please. Let me finish.” He grabs my hand and holds it tightly. “Look. You’ve obviously already tuned in to the fact that something’s going on, and you’re right. I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you….”

“What?” My heart is pounding so loudly I’m afraid I won’t be able to hear what he has to say.

He stares into me with his big brown eyes and begins…

“When my big sister came out to my parents, she was only eighteen years old. My dad disowned her on the spot. My mother sent one of the maids upstairs to pack Courtney’s suitcase and sneak a few hundreds into one of her pockets.

“That was more than twenty years ago. My parents have never looked back, never changed their minds. Not once have they wavered in their dedication to their hatred of her.
They see Courtney’s lifestyle as a choice, as an affront to them, an attack on their values, somehow. I’m the only one in my entire family who still speaks to my sister, despite their initial efforts to make sure that didn’t happen.”

“Well, thank heaven for that, at least.”

“Let me finish. For years, they threw out the letters she sent to me, the birthday cards, the Christmas presents. One day, a letter got through, I don’t know how, and I realized what they’d been doing. Obviously I didn’t want to cut her out of my life…I still loved her and by then I was old enough to make up my own mind. But I love my parents, too, which is something Courtney still has trouble with. Anyway…eventually we all grew into an understanding—my sister pretends my parents are dead, my parents pretend that she’s dead, and I don’t try to convince any of them otherwise….”

“How awful,” I murmur. “How do you deal with it?”

“I don’t know. I just do. You see, Holly, the thing is…it’s about money. My family’s money. My great-grandfather did very well for himself in various businesses back East, and he invested it wisely, mostly in real estate, and so did my grandfather. So, basically, what I’m trying to say is, they’re wealthy, my parents.
Quite
wealthy, in fact. I am also. And I want things to stay that way.”

“I can understand that. So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is… I’m gay, too.”

He pauses, waiting for me to say something, but I don’t.

“Obviously, I’d be disinherited if they knew. So I tried like crazy to change, pretend it wasn’t true. But it is true and there’s nothing I can do about it. At first I was extremely depressed, suicidal even. After high school, I deferred my college acceptance and went to live with Courtney for a while. I told my parents I was going to Europe and they bought it. Can you believe that? I suppose they never got too involved in the details of my life, as long as I did what they wanted,
you know? Anyway, my sister tried to help me come to terms with my sexuality. Not at all an easy thing to do, by the way. But by the time I finished law school and I’d been on my own for a few years, I realized that I wouldn’t want to change even if I could—I’m happy the way I am, more or less. So I came up with a plan…and I’d like you to be a part of it.”

I stare at him blankly, still unable to speak. All I can think of is Remy’s snarky but vague reference to my boyfriend’s “shortcomings.” Being gay would definitely qualify in that category in this case.

“First of all, I need to apologize for having deceived you these past few months. Oh, and I also want you to know, in case it isn’t obvious, that I never cheated on you. With anyone. I’m not
that
much of an asshole….” He laughs nervously, waiting for me to concur. When I don’t, he simply clears his throat and continues. “Of course, I don’t want you to get the wrong impression from all this and assume I haven’t enjoyed the time we’ve spent together. I think we get along pretty well, don’t you?… No?… Not ready to go there yet? Okay, I can respect that. I’ll just get to the point then…so where was I?”

The fog begins to lift and I realize I’m still holding his hand. I pull it away.

“Wait! Before you say anything, let me lay it all out for you! What I’m proposing is a mutually beneficial arrangement, with just a few strings attached. But they’re good strings—courtship, engagement, marriage and, of course, children. A life together as close friends. You would be free to pursue discreet extramarital relationships, as would I. Eventually, if the arrangement no longer suited us, we could divorce. Everybody will get what they want—my parents can go on thinking I’m the son they want me to be, we’ll be able to give our kids the best of everything and you’ll have the
freedom to do things you never even dreamed of. And if it doesn’t work out in the long run, there would obviously be an ample settlement in it for you in exchange for your discretion and years of…”

“Years of service?” I offer.

“Well, no, that’s not how I would put it.”

“How would you put it, then?”

“Years of marriage…years of love.”

“Love?”

“Come on, Holly…” He reaches for my hand again. “Be my Grace.”

“I don’t want a Will. I want a
real
husband. Come to think of it, these days I don’t know if I even want that.”

“I’ve worked it out for you, Holly. The pros far outweigh the cons. That much I can virtually guarantee.”

The whole thing sounds a little too well rehearsed.

“Am I the first one you’ve…how should I put this…proposed to?”

He exhales deeply. “Holly, I said I was going to be completely honest with you from now on, so the answer is no. You’re not the first. There was one other woman, last year. But it didn’t work out.”

“Well, I’m not surprised, Vale! What you’re suggesting is a bit…a bit…”

“Holly,
please
just think about it. It doesn’t have to be such a big deal! It’s just a different sort of life. Not bad, just different. You could have kids, lovers, fabulous clothes… You could even pick out your own engagement ring! My mother knows Fred Leighton personally.”

The waiter approaches to ask if we want coffee, but Vale shoos him away.

“You can’t just pretend the last three months didn’t happen! You seduced me under false pretenses….”

“I did not! I…uh…
enjoyed
it.”

“I thought you were going to be honest with me.”

“Okay, okay. Just remember that your motives were far from perfect, too, Holly. But since you laid it on the line when you told me about that Moneyed Mates dating service thing you did, knowing full well that most men would hate you for that, I’ll be equally forthright—”

“Wait a sec…how do you know about that?” I ask. “I never told you about Moneyed Mates!”

“Yes, you did. That night at 808. But I was never quite sure if you remembered telling me. We were sitting at the bar and—”

“808?”

“That aquarium restaurant in SoMa…the night we met. Since you were so drunk you didn’t even remember me when I called to ask you out the next week, now I’m thinking you probably also forgot you’d been a little indiscreet in regards to your gold-digging endeavors.”

Vale knew I was hunting for a guy with money this whole time? Throughout our entire relationship?

“I… I don’t know what to say… I’m so embarrassed.”

As the past three months come into focus, every insecurity I’ve ever had careens through my mind like a runaway train. Vale was the one, not I, who thought he’d struck gold the night I opened my big, fat Manhattan-guzzling mouth. I suddenly see myself through his eyes…superficial to the point of transparence, financially motivated in the extreme, unencumbered by the kind of moral values that would make a better woman slap him and run, and to top it all off, desperately single and ready to put an end to it all with a diabolical plan of my own! Vale must have seen in me a kindred spirit, a female alter ego, a perfect partner in matrimonial perversion. No wonder he called me and courted me so aggressively— I was his
dream
girl. How stunned he must be that I didn’t accept his silver-tongued proposal the instant he uttered it!

“Come on, Holly. Was what I did really so wrong? Is what I want really so bad?”

I shake my head in an attempt to clear it. “Vale, even if you think you’ve found someone who might agree with you, you can’t just go around being the gay Don Juan, proposing marriage to anyone who looks at your Rolex with goo-goo eyes! Some woman’s gonna kill you one day!”

“Is it my fault my family’s proof of the genetic basis of homosexuality?”

“Are you saying there are more of you? One of your parents?”

He snorts and gulps down the rest of his port. “Distinctly unlikely. Must be a recessive gene somewhere.”

“You’re probably right, but remember that you and your sister
were
raised in exactly the same environment by the same people…so maybe it’s partly nurture as well as nature after all.”

“There wasn’t a lot of nurturing going on in my house, Holly. It isn’t exactly a quality I would ascribe to either of my parents. But I do think you and my mother would get along really well, by the way. You should meet her….”

“
Meet her?
I don’t want to meet her! I want to
smack
her…for, like, a
thousand
different reasons! Vale, forget it!”

Crestfallen, he leans back and starts slowly rubbing his temples. “I’m under so much pressure to marry… I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

He’s so sad, so pathetic. My outrage melts into pity, and my pity into empathy. Here is someone who’s even more confused than I am, no matter how together he appears to be.

“God, you really are a mess.”

He nods, unable to look at me.

“While I’m not condoning any of…of
this
…I guess I am the teensiest bit flattered that you consider me suitable heir-producing material. And you’re right about one thing, at least—I
do
think we get along well. You’re a good guy, Vale.
But you seriously need to figure some stuff out if you wanna get happy.”

“Or find the right girl.”

“Uhhh…yeah. Maybe, I guess. But as for me, well, I just don’t think I’m the right girl. I don’t have a strong enough stomach for decades of deception.”

Or do I?

Briefly, ever so briefly, I consider it.

For here I am, poised on the brink of success. This is my chance to put The Plan into motion, my chance to achieve everything I’ve ever dreamed of, just like he said. Or, I could turn around and walk the other way, possibly giving up my one and only kick at the can. But what if it
did
work? Vale’s Plan may not be traditional, but then again, neither was mine. Who’s to say it couldn’t work out?
Maybe I should ask him for some time to think about it….