Chapter 13
There was grim silence in the auditorium as Oliver stepped off the stage.
He was normally a solid speaker, who would get respectful sustained applause – though never standing ovations – but today, the mostly male audience was too stunned to respond.
Even the master of ceremonies looked nervous to approach the podium.
Some men grabbed their phones and fled the room.
Others had tears in their eyes.
Eventually, the master of ceremonies took the microphone.
“Well, thank you for – that,” he said awkwardly. “For those of you with any remaining optimism, there is an open panel on surviving the family court system at 1pm, right here. If you still have the stomach for it, a lunch buffet – seed oil free, no soy of course – is available across the hall…”
Oliver stood by the stage, his hands clasped behind his back.
A heavily bearded man came up to him. “Dude, are we really that screwed?”
“I’m just giving the facts,” replied Oliver. “We always knew this was coming…”
The man nodded energetically. “Yeah, but – man, right now?”
Oliver nodded slowly. “It’s kind of like dying. We always know it’s going to happen; I guess it always comes as a surprise though… For some…”
Rachel pushed her way forward through the crowd. She was so used to male deference that the hard-to-pass bodies and annoyed glances surprised her.
“Oliver!” she cried.
“Rochelle?” His voice was neutral.
She was pleased that he did not need to glance at her name tag.
Rachel leaned forward, smiling “I think I’d better buy you a coffee. You totally killed the vibe.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you,” she said, in what she hoped was a disarming manner.
He cocked his head to one side. “No, thank you.”
Rachel blinked in confusion. “For what?”
“For – why you are here.” Oliver’s eyes sharpened. “I will be more explicit, if you want.”
“I actually came to apologize. Wait your turn!” she said, to a man on her right who started to speak.
“You’re cutting off this man – at a men’s rights conference.” Oliver turned to the young man. He had a pale face that seemed to be trembling. “What’s up?”
“That was – that was, I don’t know, something else… I just wanted to – thank you for all the work that you’ve been doing, it really has meant the world to me. You’re not old enough to be my dad, but it does – feel that way… I’m the single son of a single mom, you know how it is…”
The young man seemed on the verge of tears. Oliver stepped forward and embraced him warmly.
Rachel leaned in to hear him murmur:
“Thank you for coming, thank you for your words.”
Oliver stepped back. “How did you find my work in the first place?”
“Well, I had a pretty – a monk phase in my mid-teens… You know, burrowing out from the bottomless feminine to some stereotype of masculinity. And I had a real sense I was going in a very bad direction, but I didn’t know how to stop… So I tried going the pickup artist route, but that never felt – right. But then one of your videos was linked under the one I was watching, from Monsieur Manley, and I liked the way you looked – no homo – so I watched it, and everything just – clicked, I don’t know… It was like when I got my first pair of glasses – snap, everything is in focus…”
“It’s close to criminal how little society talks about the problems of single motherhood.”
The young man laughed nervously. “Yeah well, gotta keep harvesting those leftist votes!”
Oliver nodded. “I think you’re right, but there’s also a darker aspect, the weaponization of immature sexuality…”
“That’s it, that’s exactly right! My mother had all this…” The young man paused, glancing nervously at Rachel.
“Forget about her,” said Oliver, waving his hand. “Talk to me.”
The young man’s face trembled slightly, and he leaned closer to Oliver. “My mother had all these – boyfriends. None of them were ever – totally mean to me, but they all seemed – dangerous, in a way… They were only there for her, and I was just – in the way. When you talked about how the male lions kill the offspring of other lions before mating with a single mother – that hit me in the gut like a hammer. I hated that feeling of being – extraneous? Superfluous?”
Oliver laughed. “I’m glad you took my advice about reading a thesaurus!”
“Complex thoughts require complex language,” quoted the young man.
“Well, listen – I really appreciate you coming by, and I hope you will take my speech to heart.”
The pale man nodded rapidly. “I wouldn’t want to be the next speaker…” He paused. “I can’t believe you just – threw away your whole speech, the prepared one. When did you decide that?”
“On the plane, coming back from Vietnam.”
“How come?”
“Vietnam was always my port of last resort. If they can’t provide it, it’s not to be had – and they were running out of everything…”
“What are you going to do?”
“Listen, I appreciate the concern – but you need to figure out your own strategy… I don’t want to talk about my plans in public – no offense brother!”
“No, of course not!”
They shook hands. The young man turned to go.
Rachel touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. My apologies.”
The young man smiled and ducked his head.
Other men clearly wanted to talk to Oliver, but stood behind Rachel.
She turned to Oliver.
“I am sorry for the other week.” She leaned closer. “It’s all so ridiculously – new… But I did – talk to my father, about what you said…”
Oliver just gazed at her.
“It was crazy – he broke down, I’ve never seen that before, he’s – much older, it’s not his way at all… And my mom kept running interference, like I was going to set off some kind of bomb just by – thanking my father. And they totally love each other, I don’t know what was going on…”
Oliver smiled faintly. “And – Arlo? How did he handle it?”
Rachel frowned. “I don’t want to talk about him, I just want to – thank you – really, totally, from the bottom of my heart… I guess I was doing a kind of A/B testing – your worldview is crazy to me, so I think I kind of did it as a joke, just… I never really expected the response I got, but my dad and I have never been closer. We are actually exchanging letters – real ones, on paper. He’s got this whole life going on, in his head, in his heart, in his history – and the doors are just – open now, and you were totally right. And if you are right about that, with my dad, I guess I have to consider that you are – you could be – right about other things, I don’t know…”
A bald-headed middle-aged man behind her said: “Hey, you even listen to his speech? This isn’t Doctor Phil, lady.”
“Yeah, go pick up some freeze-dried food, to hell with your feelings!”
Oliver held up a hand. He leaned over Rachel. “I’m glad – for his sake. Good for you, that showed some real guts.”
Her brown eyes were wide and vulnerable. “Thank you.”
He leaned closer. “But here’s the thing, Rochelle… You are at the start of a journey that takes years at best. You don’t have years. You might only have weeks. You can’t afford to lose your – family, not right now. Go home, Rochelle. Promote Arlo to a boyfriend. Get married if you can. Right away. There’s no point starting anything new…”
“I didn’t tell you the truth,” murmured Rachel.
Oliver blinked. “You don’t owe me the truth. We’ve only met once.”
“Why – why did you tell me to go to church?”
“Because – whatever you call your community - it’s going to disintegrate very soon. ‘Friends’ will scatter. You are going to need spiritual brothers and sisters. There’s still time, but not much…”
“Where do you – go to church?” Rachel’s hand was clutching his elbow.
“You’re panicking,” said Oliver gently. “I’m sorry you were lied to – but it wasn’t me.”
Rachel took a deep breath, summoned all her courage, and opened her mouth to speak the first deep truth in her young-ish life.
“Rachel?” asked a voice.
She turned in a daze. “Ian?”
Her brother-in-law’s utterly baffled face loomed close. “What on earth..?”
Oliver laughed suddenly. “Rachel? That’s your name?”
She whirled back to him. “They must’ve – got it wrong…”
“Rachel, come with me,” said Ian urgently.
Oliver snapped his fingers. “Oh my gosh – she’s the reporter!” he cried. He straightened up and raised his voice. “Reporter here, everyone step BACK!”
“I’m not here – in that way!” exclaimed Rachel, holding her hands up.
“You’re here under false pretenses,” growled Oliver, then raised his voice again. “Security!”
Two burly men walked up from the entrance to the hall.
Oliver caught their eyes, and gestured at Rachel. “This young lady is a reporter, who lied her way into the conference. Probably paid in crypto.” He turned back to her. “Please – you’re not welcome here. You will get a full refund.”
“REPORT-ER! REPORT-ER!” The chant went up among the men – and scattered women – in the auditorium.
“Come on, lady,” said the taller security guard. He kept his hands up, at his shoulders, where everyone could see them.
“Please – don’t film!” cried Rachel weakly, surrounded by the inevitable electric eyes.
Ian said, “I’ll take her – there’s no need for this.”
He put his hand gently on her elbow, and started guiding her towards the exit.
“REPORT-ER! REPORT-ER!”
In a daze, Rachel let Ian lead her out of the hotel. The late afternoon light faded through the darkening clouds; the parking lot was grey, gritty, and covered in the first scattering of autumn leaves.
Rachel suddenly wrenched her arm away from Ian’s hand. “For God’s sake, Ian, stop with the drama!”
“What the hell are you doing here?” demanded Ian. She felt once more the sudden and deep immovability of his character – such a new experience!
She put one hand on her hip. “I came to – expose the whole mess!”
Ian paused, struggling to overcome his automatic responses.
Her eyes narrowed. “What sort of cult have you gotten yourself into, Ian? This is what – this is what Cassie is going to stay home for? To rely on? This band of tattooed apes?”
He shook his head slowly, as if dodging tiny arrows. “You – lied your way in!”
“I was undercover, bro! Look into it, it’s standard practice!”
They stared each other, panting slightly. A red leaf blew between them.
“You’re freaking out,” said Ian after a moment. “It happens – well, it happened to me for sure…”
“Don’t give me your pity!”
“Listen – Rachel,” said Ian with sudden urgency. “You really don’t want to get caught in between these two worlds. There is no time left – do you understand?”
“Oh, all these Chicken Little paranoid fantasies,” cried Rachel recklessly. “Does Cassie know that you are all going to squat in the woods and pray for the end of the world? Is Jesus going to jump down from a cloud and scoop you all to salvation?”
Ian’s eyes were unblinking. “I have accepted Jesus in my heart.”
Rachel’s mouth dropped open in shock. “Does – Cassie know?”
“She was there,” he smiled. “I’m born again.”
Rachel staggered back a step or two. She raised her hands to her temples. “Oh my God I’m going crazy – I’m stuck in some trashy ‘Left Behind’ airport novel!”
Ian’s face was very sad. “What do you live for, Rachel?”
They both took a few steps backward as a grey SUV drove too fast between them, chased by more swirling leaves.
They stayed at a distance.
Her lips white, Rachel gestured at the air. “Well I certainly don’t live for – this!”
“But – for what?”
“Why would you get her pregnant if it’s the end of the world?” demanded Rachel.
Ian fixed his grey eyes on her. “Despair is the greatest sin, sister. I can see it, right now…”
She shuddered. “Oh God!”
“You’re a – daycare kid. Don’t tell me you haven’t read the studies – I know you have…”
Rachel seemed to glitch, like a stuttering online video. “So?”
“You can’t bond,” Ian said simply, sorrowfully. “Like – Ben…”
“I don’t know what – what does that mean?” She raised her hands. “No, forget it, don’t answer that!”
A low police helicopter passed by at great speed, ruffling their hair. Distant sirens echoed through the concrete canyons.
Rachel’s fists were white, clenched. “I’m going to – I’m going to write this article!”
“Are you going to be honest?”
“About what?”
Ian shook his head. “An honest person would never ask that. There wouldn’t be two categories…”
“I’m going to expose all these – apocalyptic ravings. I’m going to write about – how I was thrown out!”
“You weren’t thrown out. You left, with me.”
“Under threat!”
“My – gosh, Rachel!” cried Ian in great frustration. “You can’t be serious – all you ever do is threaten others! You’re threatening me right now!” He gestured at the hotel. “You’re going to take down my – whole community. You’re going to humiliate me – you’re going to set my wife against me! And why? I find meaning here, Rachel – and brotherhood. And it’s good for me – you know that! It’s why we’re having this – conversation.” He took a step towards her. “And Cassie is happier… You’re going to roll a grenade into our whole tent – and why?”
Rachel’s face was pale, taut. “Because it’s all – so crazy!”
His face softened. “Rachel…” he murmured.
She sighed in exasperation and took a few steps towards him.
“Rachel…” he repeated. “I heard what you were saying to – Oliver. Please, I don’t mean this with any disrespect… Maybe you are lying to him as well, but I don’t think so… You wanted to go to church. You want to find meaning. To – recover your soul… To stop – living this way…” His voice lowered, and she leaned in. “And – and – what if we are right?”
“Oh, Pascal’s Wager!” Rachel exclaimed scornfully. “Philosophy 101 – I was waiting for that!”
“No, I don’t mean about – heaven and hell – although that is pretty important… I mean…” He took a deep breath. “Look, I like Arlo a lot – he’s a lot of fun… But – he’s not going to wife you… He’s not gonna make you a mother… He’s a boy, and you’re a toy.”
“How dare you!” cried Rachel, her white teeth bared.
Ian shook his head, his eyes wide. “You’re just – burning bridges in every direction. You threatened Oliver. You threatened me. You’ve never once come by to help out Cassie. When was the last time you – took Ben for a day? You’re not that busy, I have you on web alerts…” Ian’s voice caught in his throat. “It’s tough, two people working… And Ben misses you, but you say you have no time… It’s a fact. You abandoned us, Rachel…”
Rachel shook her head. “No – that’s not what Cassie thinks.”
“You’re like – we can’t be too honest, or you’ll vanish…”
Rachel bit her thumbnail. “Dammit!”
“What – what are you thinking?”
She took a deep breath. “This is my – big thing, Ian.” She raised her eyes to his. “I can’t just – drop it. There’s power in these meetings… I need to make my mark!”
Rachel suddenly imagined that Ian was about to say: the mark of the beast…
Ian took another step forward. “I’ve learned to read – these things, Rachel. You like Oliver, and you feel rejected – so now you want to hurt him. But it will hurt me, and Cassie. And Ben. And the baby to come!”
Rachel shook her head again. “Everything can’t be so – tangled.”
“But it is,” said Ian softly. He reached out and took her cold unwilling hand. “Why don’t you..?”
“What?”
“You could really help to – save people. Not for Jesus, not for church… Just – write about the men’s rights movement being a – response to these growing shortages…” He sighed. “I guess you could – condemn us a bit, but why not – just – help get the word out? There are going to be some very hungry children in two months time… Or less.”
Rachel snatched her hand back and waved him away. “I don’t believe any of that!”
“Don’t you see? That’s your attraction to Oliver!” cried Ian.
“Oh – don’t be ridiculous! Everyone flirts to get what they want!”
“Okay – but listen – really think about it, Rachel! You could write about how we meet to discuss the end of the world – and that’s what drives our ideology – and you don’t have to judge our predictions, or the movement as a whole – but it would totally help get the word out. It’s really important!”
“Why?” said Rachel, but knew that her query was automatic, empty.
“God wants us all to have free will,” said Ian softly. “That’s why He made us – what He made us for! And the bad forces in the world – could be just evil people, could be the devil – take away people’s – free will – by keeping information from them. Censorship is – demonic. You can’t choose what you don’t know! It would be a personal favour to me… I want to know I did everything I could. If people know, and choose badly, that’s on them – if they don’t even know, but I could have helped, that’s on me! Do you understand?”
Almost against her will, Rachel nodded. She laughed sadly. “I never thought of you as an… As a do-gooder.”
Ian smiled. “It’s – kind of a new phase.”
Rachel exhaled. “If I write something less – less – I don’t know, whatever you’re talking about… If I do that, will he talk to me?”
“I can try,” said Ian encouragingly.
Her eyes narrowed. “It might be a – condition.”
“You have your free will – he has his… But Rachel – what is going on with Arlo?”
“I don’t know…” murmured Rachel, with the kind of emptiness that often precedes great emotion. She suddenly wanted to tell him all about Aunt Crystal, and a lost life, and a pointless project – and the whirlpool of useless family demands. But it felt disloyal…
“What?” asked Ian.
Rachel took a deep breath. “Nothing… Nothing. Arlo is fine, we are fine… I’m just getting – really sucked into this story – which is a good thing I think…”
“Balance in all things…” said Ian.
“Oh for God’s sake Ian, you’re a coder, stop trying to be a fortune cookie!”
Her voice was not malicious, and Ian laughed.
Rachel said, “You should probably get back…”
He shook his head decisively. “No. We’re going to talk.”
Half of her rebelled, and half of her melted.
Chapter 14
The assault began in darkness.
Rachel was ripped from sleep by a demanding electronic summons, burping and whistling and beeping.
It was a two-slam of consciousness – the first, leaving a dream of dangerous dogs – and the second, waking to a wild suspicion of the demons behind the screen…
Arlo groaned even before he awakened, and Rachel wondered for a moment if he experienced significant self-pity and entitlement even in his dreams…
“What the hell…” he murmured.
Rachel rolled over, tangling the wires of the headphones she used for audio as she fell asleep.
She picked up her phone and switched it to ‘vibrate.’
She had received over 100 messages, all in the last few minutes.
Her shaking thumb scrolled through a fiery waterfall of rage and contempt. Her heart pounding, she skimmed up the messages like a lost soul sprinting across thin ice, cracks widening at the heels…
Arlo’s breathing softened. Rachel glanced over, tilting her phone screen so she could see him. His blonde hair poked out above his sleep mask – he needed to wear one, he said, because he was so lean that even his eyelids were too thin to keep out the morning light.
Rachel logged onto her blog. She normally got a few hundred visitors a day - over 50,000 had arrived in the last six hours.
She checked out her various social media accounts, hunting for text responses in between the most vile memes she had ever seen in her life…
More messages came pouring in, jarring her hand – the vitriol was breathtaking.
They were mostly from women…
Rachel realized she had stopped breathing.
What about the patriarchy? she wondered. I wasn’t exactly defending men, just showing the tiniest sliver of sympathy…
Quotes from the article she had published last night were all over the Internet – ripped out of context of course.
“Men are the real victims” according to Rachel Hastings, the latest apologist for rampant misogyny…
Feeling nauseous, she did a search on her blog.
The actual sentence was:
“Within the men’s rights movement, the argument goes, men are the real victims, because they receive little to no sympathy.”
I’m talking about their perspective, not what is true!
Rachel’s hands were shaking. She felt the urge to leap out of bed, find everyone lying about her, and scream the truth into their stupid faces!
“Women are the real oppressors” writes self-described ‘reporter’ Rachel Hastings…
She searched again.
“Men who had been dragged through what they perceive to be a one-sided and unfair family court system make the argument that – in certain areas of law – women have the capacity to be the real oppressors.”
“Women constantly lie about rape!” Rachel Hastings doesn’t even bother using a dog whistle for her latest justification for male hatred.
Rachel shook her head slightly. Her ears were humming.
Latest justification? I’ve never written about this subject before…
The actual sentence:
“Women lying about being raped is under-acknowledged, according to some extremists in the men’s rights movement…”
What the hell?
Rachel almost cried out as her phone shook again in her hand.
A call…
“Rachel!” groaned Arlo.
“Sorry,” she gulped, throwing the covers aside and racing to the living room – returning in a rush to gently close the door. She had a sudden impulse to put a wet towel on the bottom, as if to keep deadly smoke from her slumbering boyfriend.
She put the phone to her ear.
“Rachel?” snapped Aunt Crystal. “Please tell me this is you, it’s no time for voicemail!”
“Yeah – yeah, it’s me.”
“I can’t sleep – I never can – and I have these alerts set up for your name – what the hell?”
Rachel laughed nervously. “I seem to have – hit a nerve, I think…”
“What was the one thing you promised me?”
“I – I don’t remember…”
“First of all, I told you not to write this article – but if you did, I absolutely expected you to run it by me first! I am a goddamn veteran of this industry, Rachel – twenty years – no, more! You don’t just wander into this kind of minefield if you have people screaming from the sidelines for you to just – step away! What the hell were you thinking?”
Something in Rachel snapped. “Oh, and did you just – follow orders and do what was expected, to start your career?”
“This is not then!” snapped Crystal. Her energy suddenly seemed to falter. “This is a new world… People could vaguely handle conflict, when I was your age… Different ideas were – stimulating, we had good humour about it. This is – I don’t know, something else entirely…”
“I expected some controversy, but…”
Crystal’s brittle energy returned with a vengeance. “How the hell am I going to explain you working on my memoirs now?”
“Ex – cuse me?”
“I can’t have your name associated with – my life’s work now! Why don’t you – do you ever think of others before you act? Has Arlo just – turned you into him?”
“What?” Rachel sat heavily on the soft armchair by her work desk. “You like him!”
“I like candy too, doesn’t mean it’s good for me!”
“So – you don’t want me to work on your – boxes?”
“Oh no, get that done… I’ll set up some LLC for you, so that it stays – anonymous.”
“But I’m not getting – paid!”
“Right, right…” murmured Crystal. “But still, just in case…”
Rachel took a deep breath. It seemed impossible, but the messages were coming in faster now. Someone walked down the hallway outside her front door, and she suddenly felt that the Internet was very, very close.
Rachel said: “Okay, my bad, I messed up. Maybe… What do I do?”
There was a pause. Rachel had an insane vision of Crystal enjoying the wait, the younger woman’s agony…
“I don’t know…” Crystal sighed. “You can survive these things, over time, as long as you have at least one group in your corner. I pissed off the military-industrial complex with my reporting on Kuwait – and Syria – but at least I had the antiwar leftists on my side – at least until Trump… Is there any group – outside of these men’s rights nuts – that is sending you any kind of sympathetic messages? Or anything not crazy hostile?”
Rachel put the call on speakerphone, and scrolled through the messages.
“There are a lot of people in the world hungry for the death of strangers…” she murmured.
“What?”
“I’m looking…”
There was a slight pause.
The tinny voice from her phone said: “Well, that’s not good…”
“I know…”
Pause.
“Dear God, nothing?”
“Oh, here’s one! It’s an email – oh, it’s some guy just out of prison for – failing to pay child support – oh, for a kid that isn’t even his…”
Crystal’s voice was sarcastic. “Great, well we have the deadbeat dad demographic locked up!”
“Wait – a woman! Her son was falsely accused of – oh God… Never mind…”
“Are you getting any interview requests?”
“Nothing that I can see – a couple of podcasts I’ve never heard of… Not super keen on the names…”
“Anything from – anyone important, from the actual media?”
“Oh, here’s one – Laura Joseph, you know her?”
Crystal tsked between her front teeth. “Stay clear that one, she’s not gonna do you any favours…”
“But I can – record the interview, publish the whole thing, so they can't slice and dice!”
Crystal laughed harshly. “Oh come on, kiddo! You can’t really think that’s how the game is played… She’s got a half million viewers easy, you maybe get a couple of thousand people at best to listen to your – the actual interview. You know the old saying, a lie travels twice around the world while the truth is still getting its boots on…”
Rachel’s heart was thudding in her chest. “So – what can I do?”
“Now? Lock the barn door after the horse has stampeded over your entire damn future? I don’t know – get married, have some kids, move to a farm, plow your phone into the ground…”
Rachel laughed weakly. “Oh, come on… You’ve read the article. I’m really critical. It’s like – 3% sympathetic.”
“My God, Rachel – please don’t pretend to be this naïve! And don’t talk to me about ‘balance.’ Nazis and angels, that’s all that is left these days. And you don’t give 3% sympathy to Nazis!”
“I can’t – I can’t generate that level of hatred…”
“Well, don’t write any damn thing until you can!”
“That seems – horrible.”
Crystal scoffed so loud the speaker crackled. “You’re like a surgeon fainting at the sight of blood – if you can’t handle it, choose another profession!”
“But – you were – cancelled…”
Crystal’s voice rose. “What the hell? I wasn’t cancelled – except by doctors, who refuse to listen to women! Sickness took me down – not damn stupidity and a total failure to take any advice at all!”
The bedroom door opened, and Arlo shuffled out, naked as always.
“What’s going on?” he mumbled. “Is that Crystal?”
Rachel nodded.
“Crystal? Everything okay? Why are you disturbing my beauty sleep?”
There was a tiny pause.
“You don’t know?”
“Nope,” said Arlo without concern. He lifted his right leg, crossing his ankle over his left knee, and sat into a runner’s stretch.
“Well, your lovely lady has written herself into a bit of a pickle.”
Pause.
“Not sure I get it…”
“Well – the article she put out last night…”
Rachel suddenly said: “I’m sorry, I’ll call you back…”
Without waiting, she disconnected.
Arlo brushed his hair back and looked at her quizzically.
She said, “Well, I did – I did end up – publishing the article… On men’s rights…”
He stopped mid-stretch. With almost balletic grace, he untangled his legs and sat on his haunches. Absurdly, Rachel once again envied his ability to sit on his own heels, with his whole feet actually touching the floor.
“Okay…” he murmured cautiously.
“I didn’t – know it would be any kind of big deal…”
“Nope,” he interrupted.
She waited.
Nothing.
“So – it turns out to be quite a – big deal…”
“Which you absolutely expected. And didn’t consult me on.”
Rachel swallowed. “I thought – maybe a medium deal. Enough to get some recognition – some leverage. Some – edge. But it’s like – like this giant machine has caught me, and is slowly pulling me in…”
“And?”
“And…” Rachel’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “I’m really – scared, Arlo…”
Arlo said nothing. He did not move.
“Say something!” she pleaded.
“Such as?”
She raised her hands. “I need a hug!”
Arlo jumped lightly to his feet. “Well, I needed some goddamned communication from you, but I didn’t get that either!”
“Arlo!”
“You researched this without telling me…” He paused, cocking his head. “Where were you last weekend?”
“At a – at a men’s rights conference…”
“So, you lied.”
Rachel nodded miserably.
“And you gathered all this data, and you wrote your article, and you put it up on your blog, and you edited it, and you hit the ‘publish’ button – while hiding and lying and keeping everything from me!”
“I want to make a mark…”
“Well congratulations! You’ve made a mark – an entire freaking crater.” He reached for her. “Give me your phone.”
“Why? You don’t want to read…”
Rachel was genuinely shocked when Arlo’s hand whipped forward and snatched the phone from her grasp.
“Hey!” she cried in outrage.
“You lie to me, forget about having privacy,” he growled, scrolling through her messages. “Ho – ly crap! What the hell did you write? Jesus God above, I’m going to get fired!”
“This is nothing to do with…”
Arlo sighed deeply, and somehow this stopped her words.
Rachel said, “Please, just – read the article!”
He looked up in confusion. “Why?”
“They’re – lying about it!”
“So?”
“Read the article, just – see!”
“Why do you think they’re lying, Rachel?” Arlo’s voice rose. “Because it works! God, you can’t have studied journalism for years – and tried to be a journalist for years – and have absolutely zero idea how the entire machinery works!”
“You play with lemurs for a living!” cried Rachel.
“You live off those lemurs – and me, too!” Arlo raised his hand – and Rachel was suddenly very afraid that he would throw her phone at her, but then he twitched his wrist and tossed it onto her desk. It clattered against her keyboard.
“What are we doing?” asked Rachel emptily.
The question seemed so much bigger than both of them, trapped in this tiny dark room.
“You don’t get to screw up other people’s lives without even asking them first,” said Arlo. He started to walk – hoping to pace perhaps – but the room was too small and tangled. He sat back down on his heels.
“What did – Crystal say?”
“That I’m screwed,” said Rachel, then held up a conciliatory hand. “We’re screwed, I guess…”
Arlo’s voice was soft. “I don’t understand – any of it, at all…”
Rachel raised her eyes to his. “We’re not getting married, are we?”
Arlo’s eyes widened. “What? Is there some kind of – connection?”
Rachel shrugged, sinking back even further into her armchair. “That’s my answer…”
“To what? When the hell did you ever talk about wanting to get married?”
“Do you love me?”
“Don’t ask me when I’m this angry!”
Rachel said nothing.
Arlo sighed deeply, rubbing his face violently. He jumped up again.
“I’m not going to comfort you!” he snapped.
“Did I ask you to?” she cried.
More silence.
Arlo suddenly put his hand to his chest and began breathing slowly, deeply.
His voice became utterly different. “Rach – get me a paper bag, now!”
The urgency in his voice propelled her out of her chair. She half-ran into the kitchen, and started pulling open drawer after drawer.
“Rachel!” croaked Arlo, in agony.
“We don’t have any – paper bags!”
“Get – something!”
She heard a thud from the living room.
She ran back in.
Arlo was lying on his side, his face discoloured.
“What’s happening?”
Arlo closed his eyes and reached for her.
Rachel strode forward, fell to her knees, and cradled her lover’s soft blonde head.
“Pillow…” he gasped.
Twisting around – her back hurt, deep in her spine – Rachel grabbed a pillow and handed it to him.
He crushed it against his face, taking deep shuddering breaths.
Holding and comforting him, Rachel felt with terrible clarity the sensation of cuddling a giant naked muscular baby.
This is what I get, instead of…
She cut the thought off, leaned down and kissed Arlo’s head. In the shadowed light from the desk lamp, she saw the deep creases of his ribs as his chest rose and fell convulsively.
The phone buzzed again, drifting towards the edge of the desk.
Arlo screamed, his voice muffled by the dusty throw pillow.
Leaning back, Rachel half-caught the phone as it trembled on the edge.
It was her mother.
Rachel did not answer.
With shaking hands, she silenced her phone and locked it.
The screen winked into darkness, promising to be back…
Returning to her boyfriend, Rachel found him still gulping air, his hands shaking.
“Arlo, do I – call an ambulance?”
He shook his head violently.
“What do I – do?”
“Oh God, nothing!” he cried out. “Just wait and – hold me…”
She stroked his side. His skin was cold; she could feel his bones trembling under his paper skin.
After a while – a long while – Arlo’s breathing began to slow. For a wild moment, Rachel thought he would fall asleep. His eyes had been shut tight for so long that her own face muscles ached in sympathy.
Eventually, Arlo opened his eyes. The distant sunrise lit the grey walls outside the yellow pool of lamp light.
He seemed to be staring into nothing. The sheen of blinding beauty that always eclipsed the dark moon of his hidden soul seemed to fade to nothing in the early light.
No sentences in Rachel’s mind could be assembled into any remotely coherent thought.
Rachel waited, possessed by an inner stillness she had never experienced before.
With a gentle pat on her arm, Arlo disentangled himself and sat heavily against the arm of the couch.
“Can I…?” He cleared his throat. “Can I get a blanket please?”
Silently, Rachel rose, went to the bedroom and returned.
Still shivering, Arlo wrapped the eiderdown around his shoulders – then pulled the top over his head like a woollen hoodie.
“So…” He smiled thinly. “I think I just had a panic attack… I had one, years ago, on my graduation day… After the ceremony… No, two… Also, after that terrifying environmental conference, when I…”
“Jesus..!” Rachel murmured, closing her eyes. “Why?”
“I never knew…”
“And – tonight?”
“This morning…” He took a shuddering breath. “I just saw everything – falling apart…”
“Because of my article?”
He nodded.
“Nothing else?”
He shook his head.
Silence.
Rachel said: “So – all this – freakout because of one article?”
Arlo took a deep breath. “God, Rach – they’ll get me fired! They’ll just – take us – apart! Pretty people doing bad things – it’s what the world gets out of bed for! This is our last day of being – unknown… And good luck getting a job in the future – either of us… The internet is forever…”
Rachel waved her hand. “For God’s sake, calm down babe! Nothing might happen!”
“It’s already happening – look at your phone!”
“Yeah – to me, not to you! And I’m not panicking…”
He laughed harshly. “You’re in shock.”
Rachel shook her head. “We – I can turn this into a positive!”
“Let’s call Crystal back,” said Arlo suddenly. “Where’s your phone?”
Rachel hesitated. “I know what she’ll say…”
“How?”
“She already said it.”
“What?”
“That – we’re – I’m screwed…”
Arlo said slowly: “They never stop with just – one person.”
Rachel took a deep gulping breath. “I’ll – I can just, pull it down, apologize, disavow – appease them. I don’t care…”
Arlo shook his head slowly. “That’s worse than useless – then, what was the point of any of it? You just – poke them, then show weakness? The blood is already in the water, babe…”
Rachel said nothing.
Arlo rubbed his face. “Oh, it doesn’t matter… What’s the point of getting angry? It’s out of our hands now. We’re going down…”
Her eyes were wide. “No…”
There was a long pause.
Arlo said softly: “Why did you really do it, Rach?”
She lowered her head, silent.
Arlo said: “Is there someone else?”
Rachel’s face froze. She said nothing.
“I want to see your phone, Rachel.”
Without hesitation, she reached up to her desk, felt around, and passed it to him.
Arlo gently took her thumb, then pressed it against the screen.
Turning it to him, he scrolled for a few seconds.
“I’m guessing it’s – this dude,” he said, turning the screen towards her.
Rachel looked at a text message from Oliver.
It read:
WELCOME TO THE MIDDLE
“Who is that, Rach?” asked Arlo.
“He so – he’s just this – men’s rights guy…”
“Why is he texting you at this hour?”
“He had no interest in me – in my article.”
Arlo did not seem to notice her slip.
“What does it mean?”
Rachel leaned her head forward, massaging the back of her neck. “I don’t know, probably that – he said that the hour is getting late, and I should choose a side, and there was nothing worse than being stuck in the – middle.”
“Rachel, you’re not making any sense.”
“Sorry, I’m tired… And totally strung out.”
There was a pause.
Rachel saw impulses of movements in Arlo’s muscles, but he remained where he was.
“Are you interested in – him?”
“Oh God, Arlo,” Rachel replied, without energy. “Yeah, I found him interesting. You don’t – well, you know what it’s like, to be chased your whole life. Like dogs after you. Like a piece of meat…”
“And he didn’t – chase you…”
Rachel laughed, despite herself. “He kind of – chased me off. You’ll see, when you read the article… He got me kicked out of the men’s rights conference.”
Arlo’s eyes widened slightly. He pursed his lips, but said nothing for a moment.
“He sounds like a – pretty dominant guy…”
Rachel sneered slightly. “Oh, he’s a total ‘Darcy.’ Smug, immovable – inscrutable. Wasting his life! And not a big fan of the ladies, I can tell you that!” With effort, she controlled her tone. “But he thinks that this…” She gestured. “All this – is going to fall apart. No, not us Arlo, but our – economy. Our way of life. He thinks that women vote for – security over freedom, and don’t really care about debt, because they can always – sleep with men, to get it paid off… But that doesn’t work at the national level, I think. He’s a businessman, something international… I don’t know anything about the supply chain, but apparently it’s this conveyor belt that keeps everything coming into the – cities. People overseas are dumping US treasuries, which drives down the value of our dollar, which means we can’t – buy anything overseas – but most of our manufacturing is overseas, so nothing is coming in. I don’t follow a lot of it…”
“The zoo…” whispered Arlo. “We’re just waiting for – everything.”
For a crazed moment, Rachel imagined that he was going to leap up, throw on some clothes and sprint off to rescue his beloved lemurs from shortages. Wall-to-wall parkour, no doubt…
“You had an affair,” he said simply.
“Arlo, no – what are you talking about?”
“An emotional affair. Maybe physical, but I don’t think so…” He sighed deeply, and took her hand. “Rachel – come on. You’re wrapped up in this guy’s – mindset. Hundred percent. He’s telling you about the end of the world – telling you not to do this article, I assume – and you’re keeping – all this from me… And lying about where you are. And publishing this – mess – without talking to me…” His voice lowered to a whisper. “But – we had fun, didn’t we?”
She yanked her hand back. “Arlo – that’s – insane! You’re talking about breaking up with me over – a text?”
He suddenly leapt up and towered over her. “Have you been pursuing this guy, Rachel?”
“Yes – for my article!”
“Show me his picture.”
“Oh – because of you, you think I’m only into looks?”
He stared down at her. His eyes suddenly widened.
“Do we even have what it takes to go through a – crisis?”
“I don’t know… I have no idea what we’re talking about half the time!”
Arlo gestured at the space between them. “Our life is like – hanging by a thread… You’ve got – more than one foot out the door. Keeping secrets, hiding, making massive decisions… Are we just – roommates who share a bed?”
“No, Arlo – I love you!”
His eyes narrowed. “What do you love?”
“What?”
He gestured at his heart. “What – do you love about me, Rachel?”
“You – your sense of fun, your intelligence… You’re beautiful, inside and out!”
Arlo’s lips curled in disgust. “That’s just – generic. Like a birthday card.” He squatted down, adjusting the eiderdown around his waist. He raised his face to her. “What – in particular?”
“What do you love about me?” she challenged.
“I loved our – life together,” he said simply. Then his voice began to rise. “But then I get dragged out of bed at dawn to a screaming phone, a lying girlfriend, a wrecked life, a damned future – and a whole other world you live in that you’ve hidden from me! Did you think I was going to be too – judgemental? Have I ever done that to you?” Arlo’s voice caught in his throat. “I have only ever been totally and completely supportive of you, Rachel! You don’t think I’ve ever asked myself if your – if this career of yours – is just vanity, a total waste of time? Come on! You’ve been at this for – half a decade. You make – nothing. You publish – almost nothing. How much time do you spend on your ‘craft’ every week? You don’t have a career, you’re not really a writer, you don’t do anything in the community – God forbid you touch charity with a 10-foot pole… What do you do for anyone except yourself? You’re not a wife, not a mother – you’re just – three pounds of makeup, scrolling through her phone and pretending she’s alive!”
Rachel jumped up. “Okay, gloves off, right? What about you, Arlo? You think sit-ups are going to make you immortal? God I wish you would be judgemental once in a while! Then at least you would have some kind of – definition. Some – opinion that I wouldn’t – that I wouldn’t – that I couldn’t totally predict before it came out of your – mouth! You’re – you’re just a fortune cookie with abs! You don’t – play with monkeys, babe! You are a monkey. You live for now, you don’t care about the future – and what the hell have you ever done for society, other than flesh out the useless fantasies of women passing you by? Take away your looks – what are you? Nothing! A boy whose mother was too busy, whose father was too pretty… And my career? I see the bank statements, kiddo! You’re still taking money from mommy! Just like your dad. Two kept boys, vanity pets with golden chokers!”
There was a pounding on the wall, and muffled demands to keep it down!
Arlo and Rachel stood across from each other, muscles tense, panting, feral.
Their eyes had finally adjusted to the growing light.
