Attach ments(35)

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Musicians.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Don’t most of them have day jobs?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Their day jobs are night jobs. (Sometimes late-afternoon jobs.) Only the girlfriends have to get up in the morning, and mentioning that you have to get up—that you really shouldn’t be partying on a school night, so to speak—is band-girlfriend blasphemy.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> What happens to blasphemers?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> As soon as you leave, dragging your man with you or not, every other lord reaches for his lady and thanks her for not being such a killjoy. She, in turn, feels special and loved and goes to work the next morning haggard, headachy, and wearing a guitar pick around her neck like an albatross.

<<Jennifer to Beth>> Are you a killjoy?

<<Beth to Jennifer>> Oh, the worst. A killjoy of mythic proportions. For starters, I won’t let them party at my apartment. And I leave all their parties early, by midnight. I’ve stopped pretending that staying up all night, smoking, and drinking have no effect on my body.

It wouldn’t be any better if I stayed. You’re not allowed to politely not partake in their debauchery.

That’s as good as passing judgment.

Last night was especially bad. Stef got all up in my face. He was high, and I think he was trying to impress some girl he picked up at a show.

“Beth … ,” he said, “why don’t you have fun anymore?”

I ignored him, which he couldn’t let stand. “I’m serious, Beth, you’ve changed. You used to be cool.”

“I haven’t changed. I was never cool.”

“You were. When Chris started bringing you around, the rest of us were jealous. You had that hair down to your waist and your tight Hüsker Dü T-shirts, and you’d get wasted and stay up all night rewriting our choruses.”

He’s vile in so many ways: 1. Implying that he ever liked me.

2. Reminding me how he used to stare at my breasts.

3. Making me scramble to insult him in a way that won’t insult Chris. I mean, I can’t say, “I’m an adult now” or, “There’s nothing to rewrite, you’ve been playing the same songs for six years …”

So I said, “Give it a rest, Stef, I’m tired.”

Then he got all fake-sympathetic and suggested that I go home so I would be all rested up for work in the morning. I told him that movie reviewers never go to work before noon. union   rules.

“I think that’s what changed you, Beth. Your job. The film critic. Critics are parasites. They live off other people’s creativity. They bring nothing into this world. They’re like barren women who steal other people’s babies in grocery store parking lots. Those who can’t do, teach, and those who can’t teach, criticize.”

Just when he’d settled into a fine rant, one of the other guys decided to cut him off—“Hey, Chris, aren’t you going to defend your girlfriend?”

And Chris said, “Beth doesn’t need my help defending herself. Trust me. She’s a Valkyrie.”

Which sort of made me feel good. That he loves me strong and independent. But also, I would like some defending. And also, don’t Valkyries steal the souls of fallen warriors? Or maybe just escort them to heaven or Valhalla or wherever? Either way, it doesn’t make me a warrior. Maybe a Valkyrie is just another parasite, reflecting the glory of the souls she claims. I don’t know, it’s not what I wanted him to say.

I wanted him to say …“Fuck off, Stef.”

Or, “Beth is not a barnacle on my boat. She’s the wind beneath my wings. And, without her, films like Armageddon and I Still Know What You Did Last Summer would claim scores of innocent victims, our friends and neighbors. Hers is important work, creative work.”

Or, “That’s it, I quit this stupid band. I’m going back to school. I’ve always wanted to be a dentist.”

<<Jennifer to Beth>> A dentist? Really, a dentist?

If Chris went back to school to become a dentist, I think you would dump him.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> I would not!

<<Jennifer to Beth>> I just can’t picture you married to a dentist, somebody who wears sensible shoes and always smells like fluoride treatment.

<<Beth to Jennifer>> I can …He’d have a comfy little neighborhood dental practice with back issues of Guitar World in the waiting room. I would stop in to see him some afternoons, and he’d pull down his white mask to kiss me hello. The kids would fight over a set of giant teeth, and his nice, grandmotherly dental assistant would give them each a sugar-free lollipop …