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“You don’t work for the United States,” I said into my pillow when Vic came to talk to me. It was six in the morning and I hadn’t slept a wink since the debacle in the hallway. Vic hadn’t come back to bed, either. I was left alone with my thoughts, analyzing and reanalyzing everything they had said to one another. I’d come to a couple conclusions, but one stuck out the most: Vic didn’t work for the government—he worked for a private company.
I’d seen House of Cards, I read papers (when people left them behind at coffee shops), so I knew what was what between the government and their marriages to corporations. Sort of. I only know what I know from watching a television show and reading used newspapers. At least I know it isn’t pretty.
It actually made me question Vic and, in turn, myself by association.
“No,” Vic answered after some time. Thirty minutes, to be exact. I stared at the clock, watching the minutes tick by.
So many secrets. There were so many secrets between us. I don’t think we’d uncover them all if we had eternity. Secrets had become our norm.
I sat up, hugging the pillow to my chest. “Who do you work for?”
“A company,” Vic said bluntly.
I scoffed. “How generic.” Once upon a time I remember thinking Vic should work for the Acme Corporation. Huh.
Vic shrugged. “I’ve worked for the good ole U.S. of A. at times.”
I frowned into my pillow. “What does that mean?”
“My company is employed when certain governments need certain things done,” Vic said. He left the ambiguity hanging; I’m sure so he didn’t have to lie anymore. He’d already created enough lies to last the rest of our relationship. Hell, he’d created enough lies for all relationships past and present. I didn’t even want to start thinking of the implications of the full truth. I knew what it meant when corporations and governments got in bed together. I read the news. Nothing good.
I frowned even harder. “Gross.”
Vic shrugged. “Someone has to do it.”
“Are you an
oil company?” I asked stupidly. It was the first thing that came to my mind.
“No,” Vic said, “but I’ve worked for them.”
“Who the hell do you work for?” I said. I lowered the pillow into my lap for comfort, as if it would cushion the blows he landed me.
“You wouldn’t know them, Lenny.”
“Try me,” I said, glaring.
“GEM,” Vic responded.
I looked away, “I don’t know who that is.” It sounded vaguely familiar, the way all corporations sound vaguely familiar when you use acronyms as names. I clutched my pillow tighter.
“So, who really is Alice?”
“She’s my wife. And my handler,” Vic said.
I had to give it to Vic, he was finally telling me the truth. I had to wonder if he knew the truth wouldn’t be any clearer than the lies and that’s why he was so forthcoming. I didn’t know what any of it meant. I don’t know who or what GEM was. Maybe they rig elections, maybe they tear apart companies and sell the bloody pieces, maybe they control Wall Street, or maybe they just sell paper.
Knowing Vic, and knowing what he’s capable of, I’m doubtful GEM is just a paper manufacturing company.
I don’t know what this means for our relationship. I’ve already compromised so much of myself so I can be with Vic. I’m still not over Dean’s death. I feel partly, if not entirely, responsible for it. If I hadn’t run away from Seattle, if I had got him the help he needed, he wouldn’t be dead. He might have regained mental stability and we might even still be together.
But—and this is the big, selfish and slightly sociopathic but—then I would never have met Vic. I couldn’t imagine having never met Vic. The possibility not only makes me sick but angry. You know what else makes me sick? Knowing I would do all of it all over again, every last fucking thing. I would leave Dean to fend for himself, mentally ill and all. I would even let him die.
Just so I could be with Vic.
What kind of person would do that?
A bad person. Me. Who was I to judge Vic? I had thrown all the stones at my own glass house and it had completely shattered. If I moved an inch, I would be cut and bleed to death. I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to acknowledge Vic. I couldn’t disagree with him, but I also couldn’t agree with him.
