I was thinking of the immortal words of Socrates, who said 'I drank
what?'"
- Real Genius
Brooke woke up the next day happy and not even little
hungover.
Celia, on the other hand, had a perfectly
dreadful hangover. She woke up on
the couch, aching, with a small plastic garbage can on the floor by her head
(just in case). She was pretty
sure a small rodent had crawled into her mouth and committed violent suicide,
but she was still hoping she could fall back asleep and didn’t want to risk a
trip to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Brooke wandered into the living room and smiled at Celia
while shaking her head.
Celia figured if she was going to be condescendingly smiled
at, she might as well get up.
“Ugh,” said Celia.
“Shoot me, murder me, knife me in the head. I can’t go to school today.”
“Mmmmhmmmmm,” said Brooke as she wandered aimlessly into the
kitchen, thinking all the while about Teddy. She’d never met anyone so focused, with such oceanic
knowledge and intellectual rigor.
He was the most impressive man she’d ever met. It seemed like he liked her. But how could he help but find her callow? She’d never done anything besides write
silly letters to the editor and browbeat people into signing petitions. And this was a man compiling an
authoritative compendium, a work that was destined to change the world.
Everything she thought she knew was so shallow and petty
next to the things he knew!
If he were to take her under his wing, he could teach
her so many things! She could learn some of the
things he knew (she doubted her capacity for learning was as marvelous as Teddy's and, therefore, figured he would always know things she didn't) and she
could help him change the world.
If she glanced ahead into the nicest future she could imagine, she saw
Teddy testifying before congress, expert witness on new energy policy. She’s sit next to him, handing him the
files he needed, squeezing a hand supportively when some bullshit GOP fuckwit
argued in favor of the status quo.
They’d be a team. They’d
change the world.
But, of course, he probably thought she was ridiculous.
Celia followed Brooke into the kitchen and sat heavily at
the table. “I promise to do the
dishes for a month if you make coffee.”
“Yeah,” said Brooke. “I’ve heard that before. Lucky for you, I want coffee too.”
Celia put her head in her hands and pieced together the
night before. Had Brooke really
liked that old man? That gross old
fart in the dirty shirt that stretched too tight across his belly? That odious creep with the sour
disposition and body odor? Really?
“You know, Brooke,” she said. “It’s not just the
hangover. It’s the memory of that
nasty old guy pontificating at you while he spilled beer down his chin. What was up with that?”
“Celia!” said
Brooke. “He is not nasty, he’s
amazing. I want to help him with
his book. I want to help him with
that so much! Please don’t talk
about him like that.”
“Oh my god, you’re kidding me!” said Celia. “He had pit stains on his shirt and his
teeth were disgusting.”
“Oh, who cares,” said Brooke. “The world is on the brink and you’re obsessing about pit
stains.”
“I’m pretty sure there’s enough time left to slap on a
little deodorant,” said Celia.
There was a weak knock at the door and Brooke yelled, “Come
on in, Gio.”
Celia winced at the noise and then suddenly remembered
walking home with Gio’s arm around her shoulder and the impression that her
feelings for him had shifted into something different.
Confusion, excitement, nervousness,
curiosity, infatuation, headache and nausea all began battling for dominance in
Celia’s poor, booze-soaked brain.
“Is there coffee,” said Gio, limping into the kitchen still
in pajamas. “Please tell me
there’s coffee.”
“Should be ready in a minute,” said Brooke. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s wrong
with you guys. I feel fine.” This was only mostly true. As stated previously, she was
remarkably hangover-free, but was growing more and more certain that she was
beneath Teddy’s attention and this was making her feel kind of sad.
“I hate you,” said Celia. “I hate you and your stupid no-hangover face.” She looked towards Gio for sympathy but
then quickly looked away. And then
she looked again. And then she
just sat up a little straighter and felt awkward.
Gio kept his eyes on Brooke, brain also addled by the booze
and the perplexing, irritating realization that Brooke liked disgusting Teddy
and not him. How was this
possible? Gio could benchpress
over 200 pounds! And Teddy had to be 50!
And he was SUCH an asshole!
The three sat silently at the table, munching on toast,
sipping coffee, alternately thinking and trying not to think of the things on
their minds.
The phone rang and broke the painful silence. Brooke answered it and was thrilled to
find Teddy on the other end. He’d
woken, as usual, filled with confidence and dialed the number Brooke had
written on a guest check at The March.
Perhaps, Teddy suggested, Brooke might stop by and offer up some ideas
on how to better organize his materials.
Brooke accepted joyfully and committed his directions to memory.
When Brooke got off the phone, she was humming in
anticipation. Merrily, she told Gio
and Celia about her plans for the day and then raced down to her room to get
ready. Gio looked at Celia, a
veritable portrait of hurt and confusion and sighed, “the fuck?” And then he left the table to wander
dejectedly back to his own apartment.
