Out of the blue I got a text from Lillian, the former Cool, Man! Writers Assistant and King of the Jungle Staff Writer; the woman upon whom Tom and I had privately bestowed the unwieldy (but flattering) nickname, "The Future Mrs. Rubicon or Gilmore Depending On Which One Of Us Gets Divorced First."
Gilmore, of course, was the one of us who got divorced first, but alas, had taken himself out of the running by becoming a herself. C'est la guerre. I wasn't divorced, but given how things were going in my marriage at the time, well... I didn't consider it likely, but it was no longer out of the question, either. After almost twenty years of absolute, unshakable certainty — Nobody gets out of this marriage alive! was our motto — it was a startling thing to find myself thinking that this might not last after all.
Therapy, it seemed, was only making things worse. Dr. Stephanie did her best to be a neutral arbiter, but there was definitely a sense of asymmetry. The reason, I think, was that while Samantha had become increasingly annoyed with me, I still thought she was pretty terrific. Which meant that, for God knows how long, I had been walking around blissfully — this big, dumb, clueless idiot — while Samantha was stockpiling ammunition.
Aaron is so negative!
Yeah, well, Samantha is a terrific listener!
Aaron never fixes anything!
Samantha does the lion's share of the housework!
Aaron always needs to be right!
Samantha makes a killer lasagna!
I'm sure that's not how it went down, but that's how it felt. Samantha had an inexhaustible reserve of complaints about me, but I had no counter-complaints and nothing to say in my defense except my ignorance.
I didn't know.
I didn't realize.
I didn't understand.
Dr. Stephanie assured me that this was all very positive. She had some analogy about turning on a light in a dark room. At first the light seems blinding, but then your eyes adjust. To which I said, "But what if when your eyes adjust, you look around and say, Man, this room is a shit hole?"
"See?" Samantha said to our therapist. "This is the negativity I'm talking about."
So, yeah, it was a very pleasant surprise to see The Future Mrs. Rubicon's name show up on my phone. It had been a long time since I'd heard from her. After the King Of The Jungle clusterfuck Tom and I would run into Lillian sometimes on studio lots or send her congratulatory messages on Facebook as she practically pole vaulted to the top of the sitcom ladder. Initially, she had asked us to send email recommendations to show runners on her behalf when she was trying to get a staff job, which we enthusiastically did, but it wasn't long before she didn't need our help anymore. By now, her credits and reputation were substantially better than ours. But despite outpacing us — she was still burning up the primetime world while we were languishing in cartoon tomfoolery — I was genuinely happy for her. It was always gratifying when you believed in someone's talent and they proved you right.
Been thinking about you, Aaron!
What a coincidence! I've been thinking about me, too!
Wanna get some lunch and catch up?
Well, lunch *is* one of my top three favorite meals.
I'll buy! :)
OK, Lillian, but don't expect me to put out.
LOL
YOU ARE READING
Pronoun Problems: A Novel About Friendship, Transgender and (eventually) Ninjas
General FictionTom and I were childhood best friends. And were convinced that we were funny. So convinced that, when we grew up, we drove across the country to make our mark writing comedy in Los Angeles. And against all odds, we did. Until one day, Tom told me so...
