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He jumps. (Is this how he’s going to be from now on? Jumping in terror every time Winnie comes into his office? In terror of what she might find out?)
“That was Jess Fukees. The CEO. He’s just offered me the job as head of their new Internet site. It pays five hundred thousand a year. With stock options.”
James says nothing. He’s shocked.
“Can’t you sound a little more excited? I’m a really big deal now.”
“I am excited,” James says. “Can’t you tell?”
And then Winnie does something she’s never done before. She walks over. Puts her hand on his hair. Ruffles it.
“I’m proud of you, too,” she says. “You’ve been working really hard. I’m sure this piece on monkeys is going to be great. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it could be a book.”
Winnie yawns. “I’m kind of tired. I’m ordering sushi and then I’m going to bed. Should I order you the usual? California roll?”
“Sure,” James says.
PLATINUM
I
MY DIARY
Smile.
You have everything.
Oh God.
No names.
There are spies everywhere.
Hate everyone and everything, including my husband.
Why?
I’m so vicious.
This morning, I totally got even with him for coming in at one-twenty-three A.M. When he PROMISED, PROMISED, PROMISED he’d be home by midnight. At the LATEST. It was a test, and he failed. Again. But instead of screaming at him when he got home, I ignored the whole thing but lay awake all night again, feeling like my head was going to explode, which I’m sure it is, one of these days very soon. But if I tell him that, he’ll just say, Why don’t you take some more pills? Well, why doesn’t he stop being such an asshole, and then I wouldn’t have to take any more pills. As it is, some days I feel like my legs are made of rubber. It’s no wonder I can barely walk across the room to answer the phone.
So this morning, when he got up, I pretended to be asleep. As soon as I heard the water running in the bathroom, I went to my secret stash and snorted a large line of that shitty cocaine that N. got from the bartender at M. Sure enough, in about one minute I felt a huge puke coming on and I ran into the bathroom and vomited several times while he stood there in horror with shaving cream on his face. And when I stood up, I was trembling, and I sort of stumbled back against the wall, wiping my eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I smiled mysteriously and said, “Oh, I’m okay now, I guess. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Maybe you should see a doctor,” he said.
All he wants is for me to be pregnant. That’s what they all want. They think, once I’m pregnant, that all the trouble will end and I’ll settle down.
I’m like Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby.
“I’m so sorry I was asleep when you came home. Did you have fun?” I asked. Then I got back into bed, and he came in before he left for that STUPID office, and sure enough he said, “Do you think you’re pregnant?”
“Oh, probably not.”
“But you’re sick. Do you think you should see Dr. K. again?”
