Regan Wolfrom - Catholic Guilt and the Joy of Hating Men

I took a chance and I told him.

“I’m not like most consultants,” I said. “My job is to help people.”

“You’re right,” he said, “that’s nothing like the consultants I’ve known.”

“I’m serious… some people want to die, and I help them do it. Everybody wins.”

He looked at me intently, obviously searching for the right words. “I’m sure you honestly feel that you’re helping them… and it’s not my place to judge you.” He didn’t seem too impressed, but he hadn’t pulled away.

“I’m actually pretty picky,” I said. “I won’t take just anyone. Younger’s always better, women are more tender… vegans are the best.”

“I don’t follow.”

“My mom and I eat them.”

He laughed. “I guess you need to have a sense of humor in your line of work.”

“I’m not joking.”

His face got really serious right then and I was glad I hadn’t deleted my eHarmony account.

I reached up and kissed him on the lips.

He didn’t kiss me back.

“I’m not a bad person,” I said.

He didn’t answer.

I looked down at the bed, but I could feel him still staring at me. I thought about just grabbing my stuff and leaving, not saying another word to him ever again.

But then I felt his hand brush the hair away from my face. “I want to try some,” he said.

I looked back up to him. “You’re serious?”

He nodded. “I want to know what it’s like.”

“That’s… that’s good,” I said, the aroma of dinner, pineapple and ginger and fresh-cooked meat, still wafting on my breath. “Because you’ve already tried it.”

“I did?”

“Polynesian style.”

He gave me a smile and then he gave me a kiss.

And I started to believe he’d stick around for a while.

I was relieved when Michael said he wanted to come with me on one of my gigs, not just because it meant he supported me, but also because I’d started to worry about falling into another trap set by the four vegans.

After the incident in New Haven, I’d started to get threatening e-mails and phone calls, so many that I had begun to put off checking my messages for as long as I could. They said they would get me, that they’d teach me a lesson… I never would’ve figured on people who love animals being so dead-set on gutting a human being. And I’m not sure how they get enough protein to have the energy.

I took Michael with me to a late-night call in Framingham, to meet a woman in a red Subaru by the Sudbury Dam. When we found the car he waited in the camper and watched while I walked over to meet her.

I came up to the driver’s side door and waved.

She lowered her window, and I could that she was a pretty and well-dressed young woman. I started to wonder if it was a bad idea mixing Michael with cute chicks who have nothing to live for.

“I’m Marie-Claire,” I said.

“Danae,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Something seemed off about her. I glanced around looking for anything suspicious, but the parking lot was pretty empty.

“You’ve got a note ready?”

She held up some sealed envelopes. “One for each of my parents. And a scented one for Dr. Oz.”

“So it’s okay to leave your car here? There’s a place where we’ll go…”

“I don’t need it.”

She opened her car door and stepped out, leaving her keys in the ignition.

We walked back to the bus together. Her gait was steady and she didn’t seem nervous at all.

I introduced her to Michael, who obviously had no idea what to say. They sat together at the kitchenette while I drove towards the Interstate.

“Thank you for helping me,” Danae said. “For some reason I just don’t have the guts to do this by myself.”

“I understand,” I said. “No one wants to be alone when they make such a big decision.”

She didn’t say anything in reply. I glanced back and saw her smiling at Michael. I wouldn’t say I was jealous… it was just that her behavior wasn’t making a lot of sense.

…I wasn’t jealous.

“Can I ask you why you want to end your life?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I just don’t feel like I connect with this world, you know?”

“I know.”

“My boyfriend broke up with me last week… god… it turns out he was dating my roommate at the same time.” She sighed. “But I’d still take him back if he’d have me.”

I could see Michael’s face tense up through my rearview mirror.

“That’s unfortunate,” I said to her. “There’s nothing worse than feeling like you have no one to turn to.”

“Hold on,” Michael said.

“Don’t interrupt,” I told him. I knew I was losing her, that it didn’t feel right… but it wasn’t his place to speak up.

“No, seriously…” he said. “Danae, I don’t know you very well, but I think you’re a good person. I’m sure there are people out there who care for you deeply.”

“I don’t know,” Danae said.

“Shouldn’t you wait until you’re sure? This is a pretty final step.”

“It’s her decision, Michael,” I said. “It’s not up to you.”

“No, he’s right,” Danae said. I could hear her starting to cry. “God… I don’t want to do this. It’s not too late, is it?”

“It isn’t too late,” I said. I knew I’d lost her. I put on the brakes and prepared to turn the camper around. “Hopefully your car is still there.”

I didn’t have anything else I wanted to say, and I did my best to tune out whatever else that ditz was talking to Michael about.

After we dropped Danae off and took enough money from her to pay for our gas, I drove Michael back towards New Haven. He sat up in the front with me, but I didn’t feel like talking.

“You’re staying the night?” he asked as we pulled onto I-84.

“I’m still mad at you,” I said.

“She didn’t really want to die. You know that.” He put his hand on my lap. “It was just like what happened with Eleanor. How many unsatisfied customers do you want?”

I realized right away; we hadn’t talked about that night. He shouldn’t have known her name.

“What did you just say?” I said.

He pulled his hand away. And he hesitated before he spoke. “The girl who ordered the pizza that night in New Haven. The order was for someone named Eleanor.”

I slammed on the brakes. Michael’s head hit the windshield hard enough that I almost thought he’d cracked the pane.

“Get out,” I said.

“I need to tell you something,” he said.

“I don’t want you to tell me anything. Just get out.”

“Please, Marie-Claire… it’s important.”

“Get out!”

So he did, stepping out into the woods of southern Massachusetts. He was staring at me with a plaintive look… I was tempted to run him over.

He’d known about Eleanor, showing up at just the right time with a pizza box and a phony smile. And now he’d done his utmost to talk another one of my clients out of dying. Was he a plant? Some kind of pro-life zealot who didn’t mind eating a little girlsteak on occasion if that’s what it took to earn my trust?

I felt betrayed and heartbroken. I felt like I was losing my mind.

I drove away, leaving Michael standing on the shoulder, looking surprised that I’d carried through with it.

I didn’t know how he was going to get home and I didn’t care.

I turned down the next four good clients, despite some very tasty-looking profile photos; I felt like I was still being hunted, as though Michael or Eleanor and the Dreadlock Girls were watching me, waiting for me to slip up.