Part 10 (2/2)
”Guess what,” I said, leaning back on the arm of the couch, waggling my feet in the air.
”What?” he asked, totally engrossed in what he was reading.
”Guess what I got.”
He finally peered up from his magazine and looked me up and down. ”I hope it's not new boots. Tell me it's not new boots. I thought we agreed you'd stop wasting your unemployment checks.”
”We did agree. So guess how I bought them,” I said in a singsong voice.
He slowly blinked at me and ran his hands through his hair in one of his getting-stressed-but-trying-not-to-show-it gestures. ”Do I want to know?”
”I used my own money.”
”You don't have any money.”
”Yes, I do! I canceled my COBRA and they refunded my payment. I got the check from them today, I cashed it at the currency exchange, and that's how I bought these! Aren't they divine? Don't you lurve them?” I did a quick Riverdance so he could see the beauty of my boots in motion.
”Whoa, wait a minute. You canceled your insurance?”
”Yes, I don't have to worry about it anymore.”
”I'm suddenly very afraid to ask why.”
”Oh, you're being silly. Didn't you run across the article in your little magazine where they talk about all the progressive employers who insure domestic partners? Well, your company is one of them, and I'm your domestic partner. We've lived together for years. So please remember to sign me up under your plan tomorrow, sweetie.”
”Jen,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief, ”they mean same-s.e.x relations.h.i.+ps.”
”No, they don't. They can't. That would be discrimination.”
”Yes, they do, they can, and it wouldn't.”
”What about if we're the opposite s.e.x? That counts, too, right?”
”Nope, it's just a benefit for gay couples. I know because I asked about this months ago, thinking it would save you a few bucks.”
”So we get nothing for living together, despite the fact that you're currently the breadwinner?”
”I'm afraid not.”
”Even though I do all of the laundry?”
”Ha! Even though you do some of the laundry.”
”But that's not fair. You didn't choose to be straight! It's not your fault you were born that way. I shouldn't be punished for your heteros.e.xuality. Maybe you should get a lawyer.” I began to panic because the COBRA people were clear that once I canceled my coverage, I couldn't reinstate.
He smirked. ”Yep, society's always keeping the straight man down.”
”Don't be a smarty-pants. I'm serious. What if you told them I was a guy? Couldn't you go to the benefits office and, you know, swish around a bit? Tell the HR girl that her shoes are fab-u-licious? I'm sure she'd believe you were gay, especially since I taught you to wax your mon.o.brow. You were very convincing when you lied to get my Claritin.”
”A: HR is in Denver,” he said, closing the magazine. ”And B: it wasn't a lie: I do have allergies and should be taking Claritin.”
”Even better! Seriously, there's no way they'd know I'm not a man. Ooh, you could give them my initials for the members.h.i.+p card, and they'll be none the wiser. J. Lancaster could totally be a dude. Correction, a gay dude.”
”No.”
”They wouldn't be allowed to pry into your private life. They'd never know. I'm telling you, this plan is foolproof.”
”Your plan is anything but foolproof. What happens when they get a bill from your ob-gyn? How would I explain that, even though you're a guy, what with us being gay and all, you needed to see a women's doctor?”
Thinking on my feet,69 I quickly came up with plan B. ”OK, this could still work. You tell them I'm a post-op transs.e.xual. I'll wear that really dark MAC lipstick that makes me look like a drag queen, and they will absolutely believe me.”
”You've got to be kidding.”
With great solemnity, I told him, ”Castration is no joke.”
”The answer is still no.”
”No, you won't pretend to be gay, or no, you won't claim that I'm a tranny?”
”No to all of the above.”
I sensed the need to change tactics if I ever wanted to see a doctor again. ”OK, Mr. I-Don't-Want-to-Help, what about this? What if I had an asthma attack and DIED because I don't have an inhaler? What would you do then, huh?”
He looked thoughtful while he paused to consider the ramifications of a world without the beauty and magic of my life force. Personally, he'd forever bear the deep wounds of tragic remembrance. On a larger scope, darkness would encompa.s.s the earth. Flowers, devastated over the loss of me, their personal sun, would wither on the vine. Trapped in perpetual darkness, owls would shriek all day long and songbirds would cease their singing. Distraught and too racked with grief to carry on, Fletch would lead a shadowy existence, wearing black every day. He'd begin the half-life of a solitary Beat poet, chain smoking in dank and depressing coffee shops on open-mike nights, while he waited for his chance to read maudlin tributes to the eternal suns.h.i.+ne of my soul that- ”I'd bury you with your new boots.”
What? He! Oh! No! Arrgh!
I was clearly tasked to come up with the snappiest of all rejoinders for his not properly paying tribute to the possibility of my heartrending demise. But what to say? How could I express the gravity of my displeasure? How could he take the extinguis.h.i.+ng of the light that is his darling Jennifer and turn it into a joke? I consulted my internal thesaurus and came up with the perfect riposte that would slash him to the bone, leaving his soul in ribbons in order to show him the folly of uttering such casually caustic words.
”a.s.shat!”
Fletch took off his gla.s.ses and rubbed his eyes. ”I'm going to go read in the den now.”
”h.o.m.ophobe!”
”I will talk to you when you decide to act like an adult again.”
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