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Voicemail. Of course.
“Hi, David!” chirped Vic through a forced grin. “It’s Vic! I was just thinking about all that tax fraud you committed when you were starting up your business! And then I was thinking about how it’s so funny that I have all the receipts and could very easily air them to millions of viewers on my show! Wouldn’t have any more customers after that, would you? Wouldn’t that be funny?” Their face dropped back into a thin line. “Call me back.”
The phone rang barely five minutes later. The implication that he could’ve been on the ball this whole time itched at Vic in a way they couldn’t really describe, but that stalled them as they went to pick up. Slowly, they withdrew their hand and watched unfeelingly as it rung out.
He didn’t leave a voicemail. Vic half-suspected he didn’t even know how, which was funny considering how easy it was. He’d clearly never been good at following simple instructions: marriage vows, for instance. But he did call again, practically immediately, and Vic let it ring almost to the end of its cycle before picking up.
“Good evening,” they said into the phone with gritted teeth that they didn’t have entire control over. “I’m Vic Michaelis.”
The line was crackly. “Vic?” came David’s voice for the first time in months. The sound of it made them grip the phone even harder. “What’s gotten into you?”
Vic held the phone in place with their shoulder and slid their feet into the pair of beige pumps that were always waiting by the door. “Please, introduce yourself.”
“Vic, it’s me?” His confusion was audible. “David?”
The blazer was hanging up next to one of Bianca’s coats. They pulled it off the wall. “Full name, please.”
He made an impatient sort of noise that instantly caused Vic’s hands to ball into fists. “What the hell are you on about, Vic, it’s just me–”
One arm in. “We all have a story to tell,” Vic singsonged. “And sometimes, those stories have to be shared with the world.” Other arm in. They tugged at each sleeve in turn and fiddled with the brooch until it felt like the right position: perfectly, precisely upright.
A pause. Then, warily: “Are you... recording?”
The smile dropped. “No, I’m not recording. But I could be.” One foot after the other, heel-to-toe, they stalked down the hallway. “I could be recording something with those tax returns you’ve got filed away in the cabinet in our bedroom, but I can’t do that while I’m on the phone with you, so I think it’s in your best interests not to hang up.” They reached the mirror and met their own eyes. “We all have a story to tell,” they repeated. “Now. Please, introduce yourself.”
The phone was silent.
Vic gave the mirror a winning smile. “Sooner rather than later, honey.”
The sound of a cough through the phone. “My name’s David Michaelis,” he muttered.
“Oh! Lovely!” cried Vic, throwing up their free arm as they turned away from the mirror. “There we are – David Michaelis. David, David, David...”
“That’s right,” he agreed, tone low and suspicious.
“That’s so funny,” Vic beamed. “My surname’s Michaelis as well! We could almost be married!”
“We are married, Vic.”
Vic’s jaw set for a moment before they loosened it again. Be sensible, Vic. “Oh, so we are. Silly me.” They started walking again: nowhere in particular, just to keep moving. There was a restless sort of energy that wouldn’t leave them, that hadn’t left them for days. It was a strange feeling that reminded them of being a kid, back when sleep was a technically skippable ‘necessity’ rather than something to waste time with. “Now, David, can I ask – when you married me, which we both agree did definitely happen, was there any particular reason why you took my last name?”
“Um.” He didn’t sound any less confused. “Because I wanted to feel closer to you? And you wanted to keep your brand identity, you said, so it made se–”
Vic performed a dramatic sigh to cut him off before he ruined the narrative. “A symbol of closeness! And that’s so sweet, isn’t it? But, David, just a quick question before we move on... if you wanted to feel closer to me, then why, two years into our marriage, are you in New York?”
“What? Vic, I told you, I–”
“Because – and forgive me, maybe you’re the geography expert here–” they sailed on without waiting for any input from him – “New York is on the opposite side of the country to Los Angeles, correct? And I have the travel times pulled up here, actually, let me just see.” A lie, of course. They didn’t have the travel times pulled up. They didn’t need to look at a card for this one. “That’s a five-to-six-hour flight, David! Or, alternatively, forty-one hours of road trip – of course, that assumes you have somebody to swap seats with every so often or you’d get so tired you’d crash the car and never get to New York at all. Maybe you’d rather the athletic route, even? Forty-two days of walking, or eleven days of cycling. Does that sound close to you, David?”
“Vic, I’m out here on business, I don’t understand why you’re asking these questions–”
“I’m a reporter, it’s my job to ask questions. And it’s your job to answer them!” Oh, that had been louder than expected. Vic pasted the smile back on.
“I–”
“Answer. Me.”
His voice erupted out of the speaker, satisfyingly panicked. “No, it doesn’t sound close! But there’s nothing I can do about that, it’s–”
Vic’s smile grew even wider. It was almost painful, actually. “Interesting!” they enunciated clearly, punctuating the word with a tap of their toe against the carpet. “But of course, we can’t only consider distance; that would be entirely unfair and really not very thorough journalism. Space and time are linked, after all, so here’s a question for you: six months. Does that sound close to you, Mr. Michaelis?”
The speaker crackled again. After a short pause, David asked, “What?”
They lost their happy-go-lucky reporter face instantly. “I haven’t seen you in six months.”
“Oh.” David didn’t even have the gall to sound sorry about it.
Before they could think better about it, Vic blurted out, “Would you like to know, maybe, what I did to my last husband?”
“What?” He actually sounded worried now, and Vic immediately lost all semblance of regret. “What are you on about? I thought he died? Tragic accident?”
“Close,” Vic said, beaming at nothing at all. “I froze him in a block of ice and kept him in a storage unit.”
A sound almost like choking. “You’re joking.”
“Ask Bianca if you don’t believe me. And remember – unlike you, I’m very careful to destroy receipts.” Vic took a deep breath. “Let’s move on.” They were in control. They were in control. “Now, this is a segment we like to call Rapid Fire Questions.”
“Huh?”
“Rapid Fire Questions, David. You did watch season one, didn’t you? Of the show that I’ve put so much work into?”
They could just imagine David frown as he said, “I thought you didn’t want to be on the show.”
Vic had an urge to install a dartboard on the kitchen door so they could throw darts at it down the entire length of the hallway. Maybe they could print out photos of people’s faces to pin onto it. Did they even have any photos of people’s faces? They weren’t exactly thinking of employee IDs or guest headshots. Where were their wedding photos? David hadn’t wanted to put them up at home; he’d said he didn’t like his hair or something. Vic turned round and surveyed the hallway. Shoe rack, coat pegs, chest of drawers, mirror... nothing at all to suggest that David lived here.
Another burst of distortion through the phone lines made Vic look down towards the sound. Their hand had fallen to their side. Suddenly sick of the hallway, they pushed open the door to the living room and shut it firmly behind them as they raised the phone to their ear again. “What?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, get to the point, Vic.”
What? What had been the point? What was the point? Of this phone call? Of this house? Of this man whose face Vic hadn’t seen in months?
“Rapid Fire Questions,” they pushed out hoarsely. “And you know what those are. Because you’ve watched season one.”
“Fine. I’ll play along.” David had clearly tuned out. His voice was slow and bored, a few inches away from the receiver. Vic’s hand – the one that wasn’t holding the phone – curled into a fist as he continued, “I, um. Yeah.”
They closed their eyes. “Are you an early or late riser?” Before he could reply, they answered themself: “Oh, I know this one! Early bird, right? You like to see the sunrise, get your day started early. Personally, I can’t make myself get out of bed unless I’ve got work, so you tend to be gone before I wake up. When you’re here at all, that is.” David didn’t seem to have anything to say to that. Maybe he wasn’t even listening anymore. “What’s your favourite food? Oh, wait, I know this one too! Shrimp. Ironic, since I’m allergic, but opposites attract, right?” They forced a laugh. “Right?”
“Vic, you’re just answering your own questions, I have a meeting to go to–”
“No, no, here we are. Here’s one you can answer.” They opened their eyes again and stared directly at the wall, tastefully painted a pale shade of beige. “How do you know Ta'Tania Jackson?”
The pause was so long that Vic actually checked to make sure he hadn’t hung up. Then, slowly: “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure you do,” Vic forced out. “I was filming with her, actually. She was a guest on my show. And believe me, she had a story to tell.”
“Vic,” came the rushed voice through the phone, all that laziness gone, “I can explain.”
“Perfect,” they deadpanned. “Excellent news! Again, thorough journalism is important to me, and so far I’ve only heard one side of it – on air, by the way; we were recording at the time. How’s that for a VIP exclusive, hm?” They laughed again. “Your daughter was watching and didn’t even seem surprised. In fact, Ta’Tania seemed to be closer to her than I am! It was almost as though she was part of this family!” They caught themself before they kept going. “But I’m talking too much. Silly me! This is your story. Maybe, if it’s good enough, it might even make it into the final cut.” And if not – oh, they could ruin him if they wanted to. He knew that. They’d make sure he knew that. “So please, do continue.”
“I... I missed you–”
“So come home,” they said sensibly.
“I couldn’t, my work–”
“So pick up the phone when I call.”
“It’s not that simple, I don’t always have my phone on me–”
“So let me visit you.”
“I don’t have the room–”
“Liar,” Vic spat. “Bianca visited. Bianca visited you, you and Ta'Tania, all the way in New York, completely by herself despite the fact that I’ve practically been begging her to come with me. I wanted to visit you together, don’t you know? I wanted us to have a family holiday. We never do that. You never want to spend time with me. Bianca never wants to spend time with me.”
“Vic, that’s not true–”
“It is true!” they cried. “That’s my job, figuring out the truth, and the truth is that she hates me! You’re not here, you can’t tell, but every time – every time I look at her, it’s like she’s waiting for me to drop down dead, and that’s not going to happen, not ‘till I’m ninety-five apparently, and we live in the same house but I barely see her more than you–”
“I’m not talking about Bianca!” shouted David through the phone, and the shock of hearing him raise his voice made Vic abruptly stop pacing. “I’m talking about me! About us! I do want to spend time with you, Vic.”
The hand that held the phone went limp, and Vic grabbed it with the other, adjusting for the dead weight that refused to let go. Now clutching the phone with all ten fingers, they held the lower end close to their mouth and whispered, “Then why don’t you?”
Silence. Rather than answering, David muttered, “When did you find out?”
Vic sighed and slumped against the wall. “Weeks ago,” they admitted. “I wanted to ask you in person, but you extended your trip, and then you wouldn’t even show up remotely to couples therapy...” David didn’t respond, so they continued. “And I’ve been talking to some people, and I’ve just been thinking...”
“Your therapist?”
“Well, yes, but also some of my guests–”
An incredulous laugh. “Wait, we’re having this conversation because of one of the freaks on your little paywalled talk show?”
They stood up straight so quickly they almost fell over. It was the kind of thing they might’ve said themself, but coming out of anybody else’s mouth... coming out of David’s mouth... “It is not little,” they hissed into the phone. “And they are not freaks.”
“God, Vic, I was just–”
“Last question, Mr. Michaelis.” Vic straightened their collar. “And as you know, this is a question I ask each and every one of my guests.”
“I’m not a guest, Vic!” he snapped.
“Well, you sure don’t seem to live here, so I’m going to continue, if you don’t mind.” They must’ve gone back into the corridor, because they’d ended up in front of the mirror again. Their face was a little wet, their eyes red. They’d been crying at some point, presumably, only they hadn’t noticed. That camera-worthy smile they’d practised so much was still stuck on their face. No cameras, not here. But, for now, someone to perform for. “What,” they asked, “is the meaning of life?”
David took a breath that rattled over the phone lines. “I – well, I – Vic, I think, if I had to say it, the meaning of life is–”
And Vic, for the first time, hung up.
***
They broke the news on set first, blurting it out to Candice almost before they knew it themself. They had to be more firm, more brave. Their authentic self. They had to double down, rule with an iron fist...
I’m filing for divorce, they texted him that evening, still wearing the pumps and the blazer and the sensible smart blouse. And I’m going to start looking for apartments.
Bianca would be pleased about that. She’d enjoy having the place to herself, since she clearly didn’t appreciate Vic’s company. Or maybe David would start coming back for longer periods once Vic was out of the way. Vic told themself they didn’t care.
A little bubble popped up with three dots in it.
Vic blocked him and went to bed.