“Now what?” Phoebe asks.
“Now, we wait.”
“How long does it take?” Phoebe looks at the bag.
“It won’t say on the packaging.”
“So we have no idea how much vitamin A we’re getting.”
Jim bursts out laughing. “You’re funny.”
“Will I get paranoid?” Phoebe asks.
“It sounds like you might already be paranoid.”
“I am, I think, suddenly very paranoid about becoming paranoid.”
“If you get me paranoid about you being paranoid about being paranoid…”
“Shit, it’s happening. I really do feel something.”
“Are you going to narrate the whole thing?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, as long as you do it like a movie.”
“In a world where a woman does drugs after a lifetime of not doing drugs,” Phoebe says. “God, my mouth is dry. Is that normal?”
“Okay, let’s set some ground rules so we can cut the paranoia before it takes over,” Jim says. He looks her in the eyes, holds her hands. “Repeat after me. We’re safe. We’re grown-ass adults. We’re not going anywhere tonight until we write these speeches.”
“We’re safe. We’re grown-ass adults. We’re not going anywhere tonight until we write these speeches.”
“We stay right here in this room.”
“No moving.”
“No vehicles.”
“No swimming.”
“If we get hungry we can order food.”
“There’s nothing to be worried about,” he says. “So take a deep breath. Relax. And let yourself go.”
“Okay,” she says. She sits down on the floor, lays out until she is fully stretched. “I’m gone.”
“You’re gone.”
“Goodbye.”
Saying goodbye makes them laugh.
“This is a weird wedding,” Jim says.
“You already said that.”
“Because it’s that weird,” he says. “Maybe it’s just because it’s the only wedding I’ve been to where I truly don’t know anyone except my dead sister’s family. And I can’t even talk to them about the one thing we have in common because my brother-in-law is getting married to someone who refuses to acknowledge her existence.”
“That does sound weird,” Phoebe says.
“And that’s not even the end of it,” he says. He turns to her. “If I tell you something, will you put it in the vault?”
“What vault?”
“The one they keep at the Swiss fucking banks, the one you need blood samples to access.”
She makes the sound effect of a door opening. “That’s the opening of the Swiss vault.”
“I liked Lila first,” Jim says.
“What do you mean?”
“Before Gary met her, I worked a job on the street outside Lila’s gallery. Kind of a random thing, brought in by the state to consult on the construction of this new sewer drain they were thinking of putting in, which meant I was always standing out there on her street, watching Lila go in and out. Girl took a lot of coffee breaks. Went in and out nearly thirty times a day, never once saying hello to me, but I could tell she was looking at me. I could tell we were locked on to each other and that I should say something. But I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to be one of those guys who hits on women just because they’re walking on the street. And I couldn’t just go in the gallery with my greasy hands and start talking about Monet, either. What the fuck do I know about Monet?”
“He was a French impressionist.”
“Thanks, Professor. Would have been helpful to know then.”
