Curtis Sittenfeld - Eligible

“What I need you to do,” Anne was saying, “is talk in complete sentences, which should be no problem since you’re obviously super-smart. But if I say, ‘What’s your favorite color?’ I need you to say, ‘My favorite color is blue,’ as opposed to just ‘Blue.’ Is that cool?”

“You might already know that I’m a journalist,” Liz said. “I’m the writer-at-large for Mascara. So I’m definitely familiar with how interviews work, although I’m accustomed to being on the other side.”

“Fantastic.” Anne beamed. “Now, TV is a different medium, and I won’t be saying ‘uh-huh’ or laughing, even if you say the most hilarious thing ever, because I don’t want to make noise while you’re talking. If you lose your train of thought, no worries. Just pause and start over. And you don’t need to censor yourself — talk how you normally talk, and if you drop an F-bomb, we’ll bleep it out. This isn’t live.”

“Just please don’t Frankenbite me,” Liz said, and Anne looked at her blankly. “Isn’t that what it’s called?” Liz said. “When you take one word I said here and one word there and put them together into a sentence that you use as a voiceover?”

“I’ve never heard that term.” Anne was still smiling. “You’re funny, though. Okay, to get us going, how about if you tell me your name, your relationship to Jane, your age, and where you’re from?”

Bullshit, Liz thought. Bullshit you’ve never heard it. Aloud, she said, “I’m Liz Bennet. I’m Jane’s sister, the sister closest in age to her. I’m thirty-eight years old, and I live in New York.”

The interview lasted for an hour, and Anne was, Liz had to admit, highly competent — she asked all the questions Liz herself would have — and also skilled at disguising her attempts to look for points of tension or vulnerability. The bulk of the questions were about Jane — her “journey” as a single woman, her “love story” with Chip — though Anne also inquired about alliances and discord within the Bennet family and about Liz’s own love life. (On this front, Liz was graciously tight-lipped.) Liz learned with relief that Anne was aware of Ham’s transgender status, and thus it was not up to Liz to divulge or conceal it; but on one topic, Liz was unhappy with her own lack of discretion.

“You know Chip’s sister Caroline, don’t you?” Anne asked near the end of the hour, and Liz said, “Yes, I know Caroline Bingley.”

“What’s your opinion of her?”

Liz was tired, both from traveling — it was midnight Eastern time — and from answering Anne’s questions.

“She’s fine,” Liz said.

“You sound kind of tepid,” Anne said, and, as ever, her tone was friendly. “Are you sure that’s how you feel?”

“Caroline Bingley is charming, ” Liz said in a jokingly posh voice. “She’s delightful. ” Then she looked directly at the camera guy and said, “Don’t use that.”

“Why don’t you want him to use it?” Anne asked. “Are you being sarcastic?”

Simultaneously, Liz felt regret surge through her, and she felt a desire to speak candidly to Anne — to say, I’m exhausted. I need to go back to my room and sleep. I don’t like Caroline Bingley, but surely you can understand how publicly disparaging my sister’s new sister-in-law will only create problems that will long outlast your television special. As one professional woman to another, let’s strike that from the record.

“Did something happen between you and Caroline?” Anne said.

Liz shook her head. “I do like Caroline,” she said. “I’m kidding around.”

“Do you find her bitchy?” Anne asked. “I’ve heard that some people find her bitchy.”

Liz laughed. She couldn’t help it. She said, “Which people?”

“It’s just the word on the street.”

Again, Liz was tempted to acknowledge the preposterousness of the conversation, to say, I understand exactly what you’re trying to do. Instead, firmly, she said, “Well, I’ve always gotten along well with Caroline.”

On returning to her room, Liz looked up Frankenbiting online. There were many search results, they went back as far as 2004, and the term meant exactly what she’d thought it did.

“LIZZY, I DON’T know why you never got married,” Lydia said. “It’s really fun. I make steak for Ham when he’s finished teaching at night and I totally feel like a grown-up.”

Shortly after the Cincinnati contingent’s arrival at the Hermoso Desert Lodge — they were a party of seven, counting not only the Bennets but also Ham and Shane — Lydia and Kitty had come to inspect their sisters’ quarters. On the same hall, Lydia and Ham were sharing a room, as were Kitty and Shane; Mary had been assigned her own room, which made Liz wonder why she herself hadn’t, until she recalled Anne Lee’s remark about the Pelco camera capturing her and Jane’s “fun, casual” conversations. Liz was newly determined to provide no such thing.

Jane was away, but Lydia and Kitty had made themselves at home on her bed, in spite of the fact that Liz was sitting at the desk, laptop open, trying to finish writing the toast she would deliver at the reception.

Without looking up, Liz said, “When I started working full-time and paying my rent is when I felt like a grown-up. And that was, hmm…” She pretended to calculate “Sixteen years ago.”

“Don’t you want someone to come home to at night?” Lydia said. “I’d be so bored living alone.”

“Then I guess it’s a good thing you don’t.”

“If Jane’s baby turns out cute,” Lydia said, “maybe Ham and I will use the same sperm donor she did.”

“Your kids will be doubly related,” Kitty said. “That’s weird.”

“It’s just some dude’s jizz,” Lydia said. “He won’t be part of their lives. Anyway, sometimes two brothers marry two sisters, and their kids are double cousins. Jessica and Rachel Finholt married brothers.”

“I hate Jessica Finholt,” Kitty said. “In kindergarten, she stole my Raggedy Ann out of my cubby.” Kitty was paging through a brochure that had been lying on the nightstand. “Do we have to pay for spa services here?”

Liz glanced over her shoulder. “I’m sure.”

“It’s such a waste that Jane is getting married on Eligible when she doesn’t even watch it,” Lydia said. “Don’t you think Ham and I would make a good reality-TV show?”

She wasn’t wrong, which wasn’t the same as the idea being a wise one. Mildly, so as not to encourage Lydia, Liz said, “I bet living with all those cameras would annoy you guys.” She stood. “Both of you follow me.” She walked into the bathroom, and Lydia and Kitty looked quizzically at each other. Lydia said, “Are you going to teach us how to do monthly self-exams of our boobs?”

“Just come here,” Liz said.

When they’d joined her, she closed the door and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Did you notice that camera hanging in the corner of the room?” she said. “Don’t say anything the whole time you’re here that you don’t want to be on TV. I’m serious.”

“Like what?” Lydia asked.

The lecture was probably, at best, useless; at worst, it could promote the opposite of the behavior Liz hoped to encourage.

“The producers don’t care if we look good or bad,” Liz said. “All they’re trying to do is create TV that people want to watch. Just don’t say anything nasty about anyone else, and don’t pick fights.” It was hard not to think of the intemperate remarks she herself had made the night before about Caroline Bingley. “They’ll be looking for conflict.”