Chapter 30
Russ Sutton was always campaigning, even though he wasn’t running for office.
Russ couldn’t just go out to dinner. He had to go somewhere where he had a connection or where he wanted to make a connection.
There was always some business for the mayor’s office, or business for one of the boards Russ was on. Russ knew everyone,
everywhere. And he needed everyone to like him.
Cherry was surprised how little this bothered her.
There was something very sincere about Russ. When they were together, Cherry felt like he really wanted to be with her. And
when he stopped to talk to someone—or to press some agenda—that seemed sincere, too.
Russ took her to a spaghetti dinner in a Catholic rec center across town and introduced her to an entire neighborhood. Cherry
sat across from him at a long cafeteria table eating meatballs and hot-dog-bun garlic bread, and never once felt like he’d
forgotten about her as he worked the room.
Going out with Russ meant meeting dozens of new people and making so much small talk. That was okay. Cherry was good at small talk.
Going out with Russ also meant meeting single women who clearly had their sights set on him—and who were frankly shocked to
see him with someone like Cherry. That was okay, too. Russ was very obviously with her.
He stood with his arm around her. He held her hand. He introduced her as “my friend Cherry,” but he made it clear that she was his date.
It made Cherry feel seen. And . . . prized. Like Russ had chosen her, and then he’d chosen to introduce her to the entire city. And she knew she was getting ahead of
herself, because she still hadn’t met his kid or his ex-wife or his parents or any of his siblings—but still, it felt good.
Only one person at the spaghetti dinner connected Cherry to Thursday. “Cherry . . .” he said. “Are you the Omaha Cherry who’s married to the Thursday artist?”
“Yes,” she said, and then, “I was.”
The guy was embarrassed. “Oh. Sorry. I’m a fan.”
“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m a fan, too.”
That was two lies:
First, Cherry was very legally still married to Tom, and second, Cherry hadn’t intentionally read a Thursday comic in years.
But it was the first time she’d told someone outside her inner circle that she wasn’t with Tom anymore. (Well, technically
the first person she’d told was Russ.) Cherry wondered if this guy was the sort of fan who would tell the internet that she and Tom had broken up. Probably not.
Most of the people on r/tomvalentine were women.
Someone would tell the internet. Eventually.
There was some relief to be had there. Cherry was eager to be yesterday’s news.
After they left, Russ told her that they’d gone to the spaghetti dinner because he was trying to press a city councilman on
a vote. It worked, he said, and Cherry got most of the credit, because the city councilman’s wife had loved her.
“Which one was the city councilman’s wife?”
“The little Polish lady with the jewelry.”
“She had sixty-four charms on three Pandora bracelets,” Cherry said. “She is living.”
“She loved you,” Russ said. “She said you’re much prettier than my old girlfriend and have better energy.”
“Who’s your old girlfriend?”
“A homely girl with bad vibes, apparently.”
Russ was so good at networking and making the most of every interaction that Cherry asked him if he was dating her because
he needed something from Western Alliance. “I’m dating you because you’re sexy,” he said, “but I don’t mind having a friend
at North America’s largest railroad.”
“My old girlfriend,” he’d said. As if Cherry was his new one.
Russ and Cherry were going to see a movie. Which meant they were going to the pretentious nonprofit arthouse theater where
Russ knew the executive director. There was a snooty cafe in the lobby and arty plaques hanging up with the names of wealthy
donors. Cherry teased Russ while they waited in line for tickets. They were holding hands. (Tom had been back in Los Angeles
for two weeks. That errant kiss felt small and far away now.) “When was the last time you went to a real cineplex, Mr. Shop
Local?”
Russ smiled at her. “I’m an everyman, Cherry.”
“Have you seen a single Marvel movie?”
“I have an eight-year-old son.”
Cherry laughed and leaned into him. “You’re so good at this. You haven’t answered a single one of my questions. Mr. President, have you had sexual relations with that woman?”
“The night is young.”
Russ recognized the tattooed lady selling tickets. He introduced her to Cherry, and the woman looked at her funny, but Cherry
ignored it.
The theater had two screening rooms. Cherry and Russ ended up in a tiny room with maybe twenty-five seats. They were seeing
some Finnish movie—“A darkly comic romance.” Russ knew the people sitting behind them and started chatting.
“I’m going to get popcorn,” Cherry said, excusing herself. (Carbs didn’t count at movie theaters.)
“I’ll get it,” he said.
But Cherry was already up. “You stay and talk. I’m gonna use the bathroom, too.”
She went to the bathroom, then stood in line for popcorn. It took a while. The same woman who was selling tickets was also
handling concessions, and she was moving at a very nonprofit pace.
When Cherry walked back into the theater, the trailers had started.
Jesse Plemons was onscreen, wearing a dark blue hoodie and looking anxious. He was facing a British actress in tight black
jeans and a black V-neck—who was almost definitely wearing a fat suit.
Cherry had never reversed course so quickly in her life. She practically flew back to the lobby, like a cartoon character
leaving a trail of popcorn hanging in the air behind her. Yoink.
Her heart was thundering in her chest. The woman at the concessions stand was watching her. Cherry walked back into the bathroom
(even though she was holding popcorn and that was gross).
She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror . . .
Cherry was wearing a very cute red plaid shirtwaist dress with a flared skirt, and a tulip-yellow cardigan. (Russ had really
brought back her cardigan habit.) She had on dark green tights and black Mary Poppins boots. Her mulberry lipstick was perfect.
Her emerald-green eyeliner was perfect. Her hair was cut to frame her round face. Her cheeks were flushed red. Her hands were
trembling. She wanted to run away. She thought about calling an Uber, but she’d left her phone in her handbag on her seat.
If she went back to the theater now, Baby would be there with her. Baby was there! With Russ, crashing Cherry’s date. Crashing Cherry’s whole life, at every turn. There was nowhere to hide from her.
Cherry was breathing heavy. Maybe she was hyperventilating. She thought about splashing her face with water, like on TV, but she didn’t want to ruin her makeup. Instead she ate some popcorn. She watched herself eat popcorn. She drank some Diet Coke.
She had to go back.
There was no real escape from all this. Cherry just had to keep moving through it.
She walked back to the theater, still breathing too hard. The Finnish movie had started. (It was black-and-white; that was
a real choice in 2024.) Cherry sat down next to Russ without looking at him.
He immediately put his arm around her. He squeezed her shoulders. She glanced over at him, a stiff smile pasted on her face.
Russ smiled for real. Was he trying to make a point? Look at me smiling at you in this extremely weird situation. Yes, probably.
“Can I have some popcorn?” he asked.
Cherry held the bag out to him. He took some. He smiled at her again. He squeezed her shoulders a little harder.
Cherry turned to the screen and concentrated on acting normal. She couldn’t concentrate on anything else—certainly not subtitles.
She had no idea what this movie was about. There was a lot of drinking. No one looked happy.
Russ shifted after a while and moved his arm away from her, but he settled with his hand on Cherry’s leg. He rubbed her thigh
idly, tugging her skirt up so he could stroke her knee.
When she finally looked over at him again, he smiled back at her. Just for a second. He seemed invested in the movie.
Maybe everything was going to be okay.
When the lights came up, Cherry didn’t want to make eye contact with anyone else in the theater. What if they recognized her?
Cherry had avoided wearing black for a decade—she’d destroyed that black sweater—but sometimes people did recognize her, out of the blue. Tom was a master of caricature.
She and Russ had planned to have dinner in the little cafe in the lobby. It had a bakery that made fresh bread and pastries every morning. Russ had been talking it up.
But when they got to the hostess stand, he said, “Why don’t we go somewhere else?”
“I thought you liked this place.”
He shrugged. “I don’t feel like waiting.”
They were second in line. “It’ll take us just as long to drive somewhere.”
Russ wasn’t looking at Cherry. He hadn’t looked at her for a few minutes. He was squinting out toward the windows.
“What’s wrong?” Cherry asked, sotto voce. “Is there someone here?” She looked around, not sure who or what she was looking
for.
She saw the poster.
There were Coming Attractions posters all along this wall, and Cherry was standing right in front of a Thursday poster. It was Jesse Plemons again, in the sweatshirt, but the world around him was sketched. He wasn’t facing the British
actress. He was facing Baby. The cartoon.
Cherry felt sliced across the middle. Like, in a movie, where a character gets hit with a sword, and they smile at the camera
before the top half of their body falls off.
“I guess I didn’t realize . . .” Russ said.
She looked back at him. He was staring at the poster. He looked fucking dismayed.
If Baby were a real person, and Cherry were a person with a gun, Cherry would have murdered her right here. In cold blood.
Right between the eyes.
If Tom were here, too, Cherry might shoot him next.
“. . . that you were a character,” Russ finished.
“I’m not a character,” Cherry said. She clenched her teeth. Her chin was up.
Russ looked at her, confused. Like Cherry was denying what was right in front of them.
She wasn’t denying it.
She was decrying it.
She was denouncing the whole endeavor.
“I . . .” Russ said.
“It wasn’t a secret,” Cherry hissed.
“No, I know,” he said. He looked up at the poster again.
Cherry looked at it through his eyes:
If you were dating a fat woman, and it was already difficult for you . . . Like, if you were already struggling a little with
the way it looked to other people, and what it might say about you . . .
Did people think you couldn’t get a hot girl? Did people think you were settling? That you were gay? Did they see you as less
hot now? Less attractive, less virile? Less valuable on the open market?
If you were that guy, who always dated objectively, conventionally attractive women, and now you were dating an objectively
fat woman, and you liked her—you liked talking to her, you liked fucking her—but you still couldn’t quite set aside her weight, or look past it . . .
If it was really important to you to look past it . . .
What would it be like to get confirmation—from Hollywood, no less—that your girl was super fat? That everyone saw her that way? That even a Hollywood-fat actress had to wear a fake butt to portray her? That if you boiled
this girl down to her essential lines, they were all rolls and bulges—and literally everyone could see it?
The headline for this girl, this woman you were with, was that she was fat. And you were never going to trick the world into
seeing her any other way.
“I think you should take me home,” Cherry said.
She started walking toward the door. The tattooed girl at the concessions stand was staring at her again.
“What?” Russ was right behind her. “Cherry, no.”
She kept walking.
He followed her out the door, then grabbed her arm. “Wait.”
Cherry turned to face him. Her mouth was open, and her jaw was cocked to the side, ready to fight.
Russ ran his other hand through his hair. “Give me a second, okay? I’m just surprised.”
“How is any of this a surprise? You knew about the movie!”
“I didn’t know you were in it.”
“I’m not in it!”
“Okay!” He took hold of her other arm, too. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know—I guess I didn’t know what Thursday was about.”
“It’s a global phenomenon,” Cherry said.
“It’s a comic book,” he said. “I don’t read comic books.”
She rolled her eyes painfully. “It’s actually a collection of weekly strips.”
Russ looked overwhelmed. “Okay. I didn’t know that. Did you want me to know that? Did you want me to read it?”
“No!”
“Then what do you want from me, Cherry?”
“I want you to not be freaked out!”
“I’m not freaked out,” he said.
She frowned at him. She’d been frowning at him this whole time.
Russ closed his eyes. “Okay, I’m a little freaked out.” He opened them. “Just give me a second.”
Cherry was breathing at the top of her chest, even though her dress fit fine.
Russ loosened his grip. He rubbed her arms. “Give me a second, okay?”
She looked down.
He brushed his fingers over her bangs. “It’s a global phenomenon, huh?”
Cherry’s anger finally ebbed, and her eyes filled with tears.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Russ said, leaning close to her. “Look at me—I’m not freaked out. I’m just surprised.”
Cherry looked up at him without lifting her head. She was biting her bottom lip.
“I’m just acclimating,” he said. “I feel stupid. Apparently I’m the only person in Omaha who hadn’t seen this trailer. My
mom said something to me about it, and I didn’t get it—I get it now.”
“Your mom’s a Thursday fan?”
“No, she just knows I’m seeing you.”
“She does?”
“Yeah.” Russ smiled a little. He touched her cheek. “Everybody knows.”
Cherry exhaled. She felt herself softening. Tilting her head toward his hand. He stroked her cheek.
“This must really suck for you,” he said. “I hadn’t realized . . .”
Cherry blinked up at him, feeling new tears. “I hate it,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Russ whispered back. “Fuck that guy. Fuck Jesse Plemons.”
Cherry laughed. A few tears fell. “I love Jesse Plemons.”
“He was so good in The Power of the Dog,” Russ said.
“Do you only see black-and-white movies?”
“That was in color.”
“It felt black-and-white.”
Russ kissed her. “Let’s go to my place.”
“What about dinner?”
“I ate all that popcorn.”
“No, I ate all that popcorn,” Cherry said, “and I’m still hungry.”
“Do you want to eat here?”
“In the shadow of my ex? No.”
“I’ll take you anywhere you want,” Russ said.
She made him take her to the Cheesecake Factory. He didn’t know anyone there.