each other, so I’m not in a hurry to introduce them. Annie is mono-focused on career advancement in the name of animal rights, while Artemis is obsessed with her own brand of artifice and sexuality. If they ever met, each would find the other’s interests incomprehensible. And I’m sure they would be vying for status as my best friend, making it impossible for them to spend time together without a landscape of iciness and resentment.
“I don’t need to meet her to know she’s a questionable influence,” Annie said.
To change the subject, I asked Annie for advice on Patrick. She said I should wait for Patrick to call me, or for us to naturally run into each other at work. “He’s a man-child,” she said, “and man-children balk if they feel pursued.”
“I’m not going to pursue him,” I said, though I’d been planning on cruising Beer Alley on my next break. Annie took me to hang out for a bit on the fifth floor. She’s finally asked out one of the IT help desk identical twins. The only problem is she doesn’t know if it was Jeff or Joe. We cruised by the IT desk and she waved breezily at both twins, who are smoking hot individually, but next to each other are smoking hot squared.
Not only is Annie’s love life perking up, she’s already convinced Topher Doyle that Whole Foods should only source lobster from ethical “growers” who require two cubic feet of aquarium tank space per lobster. She’s also made him agree to give 10 percent of local store proceeds one day a month to Austin Pets Alive!, everyone’s favorite no-kill shelter. She’s been at her new job for only six weeks and already she’s making a real difference in the lives of countless animals. (One thing she hasn’t done is rid the store of the moisturizer everybody loves to hate—Duckie & Lambie.) Though I feigned happiness for her, she could of course sense I was moping internally. (I wonder what percentage of female “joy” at the success of our friends is actually false performance, little bouts of emotional labor that barely cover our own feelings of inadequacy and jealousy?)
“What about you? Could you try a little watercolor or something?” Annie asked. “Now that Everett’s out of the house, you’ve got no distractions.”
“Ugh,” I said. “It’s hard to explain how paralyzing it is to have had my art stolen from me and used for a purpose anathema to my beliefs. And to support the ex–love of my life and his new brood!”
Annie looked at me like she wanted to stab me AND Brant Bitterbrush. “How about something nonartistic, then? I’ve read it’s good to do something else creative if you are feeling a little blocked. Cook a colorful stew or whatever.”
“I’m not cooking a fucking stew.”
“But what would you LOVE to do, just for fun, to get you out of this rut?”
There is something I’ve been thinking about ever since I read Dear Sugar’s advice on how to get “unstuck,” but I was reluctant to tell anyone, even Annie, because it sounded so crazy. “I do have this one idea. This one thing I feel passionate about,” I said. “But maybe it’s totally ridiculous.”
“Well, what is it?” Annie demanded.
I took a deep breath, a little worried that if I said it out loud, somehow I would have to follow through on it. And how would that change my life? It’s impossible to say. “I want to tackle the Lululemon at Sixth and Lamar to the motherfucking ground.”
“What does that even mean?” Annie asked.
“It means, I want to force it to close down, to move the fuck out of that location.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Organize a protest. A store boycott. Whatever.”
“YES!” Annie yelped. “And you could make all the signs yourself. So you’re taking social action and making art. Or at least making something.”
I had expected Annie to say the idea was a clear no-go. Her enthusiasm caused me to backpedal. “I wasn’t serious.”
“Maybe you should be.”
“I’ll think about it. But for now I’ve got to get back to the deli.”
Annie walked me to the elevator, and when the doors dinged, she gave me a kiss on the cheek. As I entered and the doors began to close, she yelled, “Don’t pursue the man-child!”
Back in the store I felt a pull to Beer Alley, but instead muttered to myself, “Man-child, man-child,” as I headed back to the deli. I stuffed my donut pillow in my locker and got back to work,