Catch up here – Part one – Introducing The Players
Cruella took my boyfriend out in fine style. I couldn’t complain because I was invited, remember? Lover Boy and I were on the thinnest of thin ice.
“She’s really sorry you don’t want to come, Elsa. She says she’d have been happy to try to get a third ticket. We’re going to be in the second row. Blah, blah, blah. Bunch of VIP’s. Do you know how difficult it is to get a ticket to the blah blah? Any ticket, I mean, never mind the second row. I just can’t turn her down. She just can’t seem to find a date. She hates to go alone and you never know who you might meet at an event like this. It’s an opportunity…”
I barely responded. He knew what I thought and I was tired of fighting about it. I’d have told him to piss off but we were meeting Mary Ann the following night and I just wanted to know some things. I wondered things.
I wondered how Cruella felt about Mary Ann and vice versa. Lover Boy reported everyone was a friend but I figured that meant nothing. Did Cruella know we were socializing with Mary Ann independent from her? Was she in the dark or had she orchestrated the whole thing?
And what’s the deal with Mary Ann’s husband? No one seemed to talk about him much. Would Lover Boy and Mary Ann reveal their secret passion for each other? I was wondering these things, aren’t you?
It’s hard to maintain reality when all around you, it’s denied. Cruella and Lover Boy had a tango but said they didn’t and this kind of thing hurt my head. I knew this was a situation that had to be transcended but I had not come to the point where I could do it. Mary Ann was the reason why. She was the last bit of info I needed and here is what happened on Saturday.
Saturday came. We showed up and I learned nothing.
Really, Elsa? Nothing?
Lover Boy and Mary Ann sat next to each other and talked shop. Work stuff. I could not believe this. No scandal, no jokes, no secret love affair. Are you disappointed? I was. I wanted a refund! What the hell am I doing in this sucky movie, anyway?
They were not even talking about people, they were talking about inventory! They were talking about where invoices were filed. How could this be? What did I get dressed for? For this? I looked around for Alan Funt and his Candid Camera. I pouted.
I glanced at Mary Ann’s husband. We were on each side of the chirping co-workers. He was a big guy, burly and he didn’t want to talk to me. He gave me cues and I respected them. I didn’t especially want to talk to him anyway. Nothing personal. I’d just had it with this whole crew.
I debated making a drama scene. You know. Walking out or something. Making a speech. Someone needed to spice up this script, right?
I even thought about leaving through the restroom window. I wasn’t serious, I was just seriously bored. I was entertaining myself the best I could and I was hoping wandering like this would prevent me from inadvertently rolling my eyes. Because that would be rude and I can’t be rude, I have Libra. ::rolls eyes::
I’m sure I laughed out loud at my own thought. Maybe they thought I was crazy but at this point what possible difference could it make? And I could hear my friend, Ben, talking in my head. He called Lover Boy, “Your Gigolo”. Ben, the gay Scorpio.
“See? What did I tell you?”, said Ben’s voice, remotely. “I told you there was not going to be anything under that rock but did you listen? No, you didn’t. You just had to go see for yourself. Do yourself a favor, Elsa. Next time your friend, Benjamin tells you something, you should pay attention…”
I couldn’t really believe this was this stupid. Or maybe it was just a last ditch effort,but I looked again for a Lover Boy / Mary Ann bond. I looked high and low but I just didn’t see it. I scrutinized and what I saw was an attentive, Lover Boy.
This really was his gig, you know. He existed to serve women. Whatever they wanted he delivered and he delivered in spades. You should have seen him charm the hell out of my mother. And that ain’t easy, you should try it some time. Credit where credit is due.
Mary Ann? Well she was just talking to him. She was talking to a co-worker and having an evening out. She was pretty, she was pleasant, she was non-threatening and Ben was right. She was a bore. He’d bet me you know. And now I owed him a bowl of soup!
“Elsa! They’re boring people, that is all. This is how boring people are. They bore you. I don’t know why you are wasting your time. Haven’t you ever met anyone who was boring before?”
“Well, no I don’t think I have,” I said. “I’ve never been around anyone boring.”
“Well that explains it. Let me save you some time. I’ve met boring people. I’ve met lots of them and this is how they are. They’re all the same. You must really like what your gigolo can do for you and that much I can understand. But you’re wasting your time with the rest of these people. You’re waiting for boring people to do something interesting. It’s never going happen. So now that we have that cleared up, are you coming over today? If you do I promise not to bore you. You’ve had plenty of that. I think you’d do well with a change.”
Eventually the evening ended. The bar closed, that’s why. We had closed the bar and I don’t even drink. Yeah, I was twenty-three, but still. In my entire life, I don’t think I had ever had a more NOTHING evening.
It was one am when we said good night in the parking lot. Lover Boy and I drove home. We went to my apartment, getting in about one thirty. I guess I better end this relationship, huh? Is tomorrow soon enough? I decided it was. I was too wrung out at the moment. I just didn’t have it in me. Boring people are exhausting to be around. Have you ever noticed that?
Lover Boy spent the night. I didn’t care, I was glad. I liked sleeping with him. Don’t ask me why, I just did. I slept easy with him. I slept happy. I slept bliss with him in the bed, it was just one of those things.
Six O’clock, Sunday morning, and the phone rings. Excuse me, but what the fuck?
“Elsa? Elsa? This is Mary Ann. I got your number from Cruella. Is Lover Boy there?
“My husband is dead.”
‘Uh…Mary Ann? Mary Ann? He’s here. Here he is.”
I put the phone in his hand.
Her husband was dead. It was not a joke. She’d just found him in the shed with a bullet in his head.
Skip to Part Six – Hey Hey Bo Diddley – Stop!