Hope Idiotic | Part 22
Hope Idiotic is a serialized novel. Catch each new part every week on Monday and Thursday.
MICHELLE OFTEN SANG IN THE SHOWER and loved bouncing along to the radio while getting ready for a weekend night out. This night, she was singing even louder and bouncing even higher because she was excited about eating at Ginger & Homestead.
“I’m so impressed that you booked this reservation all on your own,” she told Lou who was having trouble getting his tie just right.
“Well, I know how to use a phone.”
“I know. It’s just nice to have you do this. I like being taken care of.” She bounced over to him and kissed him on the cheek, then helped straighten his tie while singing along to Kelly Clarkson’s “My Life Would Suck Without You.”
Lou matched her excitement with nervousness. This dinner was the dinner Michelle had been waiting more than two years to have. This was the dinner that they fought about. This was the dinner that I warned Lou not to plan. This was the dinner that already cost him more than eight grand before they had even checked in with the hostess. This was the dinner that had to be the most perfect dinner anywhere… ever. And it would be. Everything was in order.
Lou had the ring Michelle wanted. He was taking her to the restaurant she’d been salivating over for months. He stopped by the place a few weeks before to let the manager know that he would be proposing to his girlfriend. He orchestrated a bottle of Michelle’s favorite champagne, Veuve Clicquot, to be delivered when she said “yes.” He even worked it out that the restaurant’s owner—now considered a celebrity chef—would personally deliver the bottle to their table and be the first to congratulate Michelle, as well as be the first to coo over her ring. Was it possible to dim the lights throughout the restaurant except over their table when he got on one knee? The manager said that it was, so Lou arranged it that they would be seated in exactly the right spot. He would give her the spotlight she so craved. Yes, it would be perfect.
“Are you okay? You’re fidgety,” Michelle observed.
“I am? Sorry, I’m fine. Just taking it all in. Some restaurant, huh?”
The last dish of their main course had just been cleared. The time was nigh. But before he could start his proposal, he had to give the signal to their waitress, and she hadn’t been to the table since checking on them earlier in the meal.
“Something on your mind?” Michelle said.
To avoid any more obvious awkwardness, Lou lied. “Just thinking about writing a scene for the show with Mark. You know, this place is packed and it’s not cheap, but we’re in a recession, so who are all of these people and why are they hoarding all the jobs and money? I don’t know. Something like that.”
“Ugh. Your play. It’s not even a real play yet.”
“Huh?”
“All you do is talk about your play. It’s just kind of annoying, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry? It’s just a big part of what I’m doing right now.”
“I wish you’d talk more about finding work.”
“Me, too. Unfortunately, there’s not as much daily news on that front.”
“Are you sure you’re not wasting your time with this comedy stuff? Maybe you could be spending that time meeting clients.”
“I think I’ve got a good balance. I can’t network and email and job hunt and market myself 24 hours a day.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s impossible. One, I’d get burned out. Two, I only write with Mark after hours when potential clients aren’t working anyhow, and three, if I did that, I’d have no time to spend with you.” He was trying to bring the conversation back to romance.
“You don’t spend time with me anyway. You’re always out doing stand-up until like one in the morning.”
“A couple nights a week... so what?”
“So what? So what I think it’s doing is distracting you from what’s important.”
“The writing and stand-up are important.”
“They’re important as hobbies, Lou. As hobbies. A hobby isn’t a job. These hobbies aren’t what’s going to get you to a place where we can start a life together.”
The perfect night was slipping away. Panic was sliding in.
The waitress approached with a big grin. She looked directly at Lou. “Are the two of you ready to take a look at our dessert menu?”
The perfect night was slipping away. Panic was sliding in.
This was Lou’s cue. All he had to say was, ‘We’d love to’ and the waitress would say she’d be right back. She’d tell the owner/celebrity chef to get ready with the champagne. The manager would put his finger on the appropriate light switches. Lou would tell Michelle how much he loved her and how he wanted to start their life together right away. He’d get on his knee. The lights would change. All of the other patrons would become silent the moment they realized what was happening. He’d reach into the side pocket of his blazer and pull out the ring box. Michelle would start crying. He’d open the box and reveal the ring of her dreams to her. She’d gasp and cover her mouth with her hands. He’d say, ‘Michelle Kaminski, love of my life, will you marry me?’ She’d say ‘yes.’ He’d place the ring on her finger and kiss her. The restaurant would erupt in celebration. Michelle would hold out her hand and admire her new jewelry. Then she’d raise the back of her hand up and display it for the whole restaurant to see. The owner/celebrity chef would come out with the Vueve, congratulate them, open the bottle, fill their glasses and ask to see Michelle’s ring. The lights would go back to normal. Lou would go back to his seat. Some patrons would insist on buying the star couple drinks. Strangers would take photos of them with camera phones. Michelle, through tears of excitement and joy, would say that her makeup was probably a mess. She’d be right. But Lou would tell her she looked perfect. Because to him, at that moment, seeing Michelle that happy and knowing that he was the one who made her that happy, she would look perfect.
But Lou didn’t say, ‘We’d love to.’ Instead he smiled and said, “Give us a couple minutes.”
The waitress’ face fell. He watched her walk back to the bar like she’d been defeated, where her manager was waiting. Lou gave a small, awkward smile to them both. Then he turned back to Michelle.
“Don’t call them hobbies,” he told her. “These are things that will help my career. They are my career. This is what I want to do. The copywriting thing is a career, too, of course, and it’s just as important as the script writing and stand-up. Do not reduce my passions and my efforts to actually create a life I can be happy with to something as trivial as stamp collecting. Do not belittle me.”
“I’m not belittling you, Lou. I’m bringing you down to Earth. I’m keeping you realistic. You can’t afford the life we want by telling jokes in the middle of the night at dive bars in Chicago. It’s impossible. Why don’t you understand that?”
“Why don’t you understand that I won’t be in those dive bars in the middle of the night forever? This is how it starts. Bit by bit. Patience and persistence.”
“Persistence? What persistence? You’ve gone from wanting to be a writer to working in sales to wanting to be a teacher to wanting to start your own company back to wanting to be a writer and a stand-up comedian. The only thing that persists is the inconsistency.”
He was speechless, which was a good thing because if he found the words to say, he would have certainly made things far worse than they were. He didn’t know how else to explain the way of things to her. Some days she’d understand it all, and other days it was an alien language. She was right about one thing: inconsistency did persist. But that wasn’t on his hands.
“I’ll get our check,” he said standing.
“What about dessert?”
He started walking to the bar. “You don’t need it,” he said to himself.
“Is everything alright?” the manager asked.
“No. Well, yes. Sort of. Here’s the thing—she’d kill me if I told you this but I don’t know how else to explain. My girlfriend has irritable bowel syndrome. It can strike at any moment and, well, it has struck.” The manager looked repulsed and terrified. “Don’t worry,” Lou said reassuringly. “Nothing has happened. But she’s afraid something might if she doesn’t leave right now. So yeah, I don’t think it’s the best idea for me to propose and go through the whole thing when she’s on the brink of shitting herself. Not the most romantic memory, you know?”
“Was it something she ate?”
“No. It’s just a condition. One of the many things I love about her. I’ll just pay the check here and we’ll get going. Thank you for everything you did for us tonight.”
“I’ll let the owner know. I’m terribly sorry about this. Let us know when you’d like to try again.”
“Great. Will do.”
✶
LOU WAS BALANCING HIS FEELINGS OF ANGER AND ANNOYANCE SILENTLY. Michelle took a cue from him and also kept quiet on the cab ride home. In the apartment, she put on her pajamas, popped a bowl of popcorn and parked herself in front of the TV. Lou fixed himself a drink and sucked it back, looking at the lake from the windows.
“Do you want to watch some TV with me?” Michelle ventured.
Lou kept his gaze on the harbor below. “No thanks. I think I’ll go for a walk.”
“What’s with you tonight?”
“Just a little grumpy is all. No big deal. I’ll be back.”
He felt guilty for being so short with her because she couldn’t possibly have had any idea what should have happened at dinner. It was also clear that she had no idea of the impact the things she said at dinner had on him. She was business as usual when they got home. And that was a big problem for him, too.
Lou walked up the block to Caroline’s, his favorite neighborhood bar. He drank Dewar’s White Label neat until he was drunk enough to forget that he was carrying around an engagement ring valued at his entire life’s savings intended for a person he currently couldn’t stand the sight of.
