Chapter One Sorry to Bother You, dir. by Boots Riley #3
Then there were the guys from Grindr and Scruff.
The men who saw the “trans-guy” Eli put in his profile to try to avoid the exact kind of people he wound up running into.
He’d deleted both profiles after a full two days of “What guy wants to fuck a dude with a vag?” and “Grow a pair before I fuck you.”
Or the ever-delightful users who wanted to “taste Eli’s boy pussy so bad.”
He still hadn’t decided which was worse.
That was all it took. The very same day, Eli swore off men and dating entirely, deleting the apps, the accounts, their conversations.
Just like that, it was over.
He’d had the one true love of his life in Keith, and that had been lost. And even if he didn’t want to, Eli was prepared to
spend the rest of his life alone.
It just wasn’t worth it.
“I’m done dating,” he says, reminding her of the proud proclamation he’d made. “Done. D-O-N-E!”
“But you could meet the one, that guy that’ll totally sweep you off your feet.” Patricia goes all starry-eyed. “And you won’t know unless you try!”
“I’ve tried. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Not worth it.” Eli stabs at his lettuce violently, accidentally spraying
his glasses with dressing.
“Says the guy who sobs over rom-coms any chance he gets.”
“Those are movies.” He cleans his glasses with a spare napkin, leaving them streakier than before. “And they’re not even accurate.”
If they were, he and Keith would’ve had their big reunion: running into each other’s arms, Keith coming to his senses, and
Eli forgiving him in that big third-act climax as the music swells and everything turns out okay. The credits roll, and the
audience gets to imagine what their perfect future looks like, all complete with a montage that shows their life just after the end of the movie.
Eli’s eyes drift across the office to Keith’s office, Patricia’s following him.
“I’d love to squish his stupid little head...” Patricia murmurs, setting her empty Tupperware down.
He wasn’t even doing anything, just typing something on his keyboard.
“I just think we’re different people,” Keith explained when Eli had asked him what went wrong. He hadn’t been brave enough to ask Keith in the moment after the breakup.
He’d only gotten the courage when he’d collected his things from Keith’s apartment.
He’d gone home and cried after that, much like he had in the days that came before. Rose and Patricia had found Eli in the
dark apartment after they turned on the lights, Rose yelping when Eli scared her.
They’d done their best to help cheer him up; alcohol from the liquor store downstairs was purchased at some point, which led
to the two of them opening their individual Notes apps to do dramatic readings of every issue either of them had with Keith.
Selections included:
Never posting a single picture of Eli on Instagram because Instagram is “for networking, not relationships.”
His terrible choice of cologne that made their apartment reek for days.
When he tried to explain a Vietnamese dish to Rose even though she’s literally Vietnamese.
He talks through every single movie and TV show and reads the TV Tropes page for spoilers so he can act like he figured out
every twist before it happens.
That time he liked the wine Patricia bought and when he asked where it came from and Patricia said “I don’t know, it’s just from Target,” he went on a twenty-minute rant about how important it is to “know where your wine comes from.”
Never introducing Eli to his parents or family.
Eli’s ashamed to admit he never even noticed some of these things until it was too late. Of course, the Instagram thing hurt,
but he tried to be understanding when Keith explained himself. And Eli had once thought the smell of Keith’s cologne was nice;
he even sprayed some of it on his clothes while Keith showered just so he could smell him throughout the day.
And his family... Eli told himself that he understood. His own family was a little out there as well, always wanting to
tell the most embarrassing stories from Eli’s childhood, even though he hadn’t been the person they were talking about in
a decade. But it always struck him as odd that Keith’s mother never seemed to know that her son was in a committed relationship.
Eli almost asked him multiple times if Keith was out, if their relationship was a secret. Not that he’d mind—it was Keith’s
business if or when he came out, and who he was out to—but Eli would’ve liked to know, just so he could help, or at least
lend an ear to Keith’s anxieties. They were boyfriends , after all.
And isn’t that what boyfriends are supposed to do?
“Do I have anything in my teeth?” Eli flashes Patricia a forced grimace.
“You’re changing the subject,” she tells him.
“Help me out here.”
“You’re clear,” she relents. “Special occasion?”
“Meeting with Michael when he’s back from lunch.”
“Wait, like meeting with Michael, or meeting with Michael?”
Eli stares at her for a moment. “I don’t hear the difference.”
She raises her shoulders a bit, leaning in. “Is it what we’ve been discussing for the last three weeks?”
Eli’s nerves seem to jump in an instant as he reaches for the computer mouse that isn’t there. “Yep...”
Patricia’s reaction is immediate. “You’re doing it?”
Eli can’t resist the infectious nature of her smile. “Yeah, I am.”
“Ah!” She squeals, wheeling closer toward Eli to wrap him in an awkward hug. “I’m so proud of you!”
“Relax, relax. He hasn’t even interviewed me yet,” Eli tells her, deciding that he’s done eating too. “And it wouldn’t be
the first time he’s told me we’ll ‘revisit’ my position at the site.”
“Okay, but he promised you last year,” she reminds him. “If a staff job opened up, you’d be the first person interviewed for
it.”
“He promised the year before that too, and the year before that. And the year before that I interviewed for the same job, and was made his secretary instead.”
“Executive assistant,” Patricia corrects him.
“We both know that’s horseshit.”
“Well...” Patricia takes the Tupperware containers and slips them back into her bag, digging around further so she can
give Eli back his mouse. “It’s going to go great. You just have to walk in there believing it. You’ve got the experience,
and without you this entire office falls apart.”
“That’s not true.”
“You’re literally the only one here who knows how to replace the toner in the printer,” she reminds him.
“Which is so essential to the office.”
“And how many times has payroll had to come to you about checks?”
Eli can count seven times in the last month alone.
“Stop doubting yourself. We’re manifesting!”
“I hope so...” Eli takes the mouse and pulls his emails back up.
Five whole years of working at Vent . Of getting coffee for meetings, and finishing Michael’s read-throughs when he found an article “too long.” Half a decade spent sitting in on meetings for Michael when he didn’t want to attend them, calling cars to and from SFO, arranging lunch dates and meetings and flights and conference talks.
Five whole years of Eli writing his own articles, doing his own research, all for his proposals to be turned down with no hope of going the freelance route because Michael thought it would “confuse the brand” or “distract” Eli, and he had made him sign a noncompete when he took the job.
There’d been a time, years ago, when Vent was at the forefront of guerrilla journalism. It wasn’t hard for Eli to remember the scathing articles they wrote: outing
politicians and the arms companies that funded their campaigns, the insider trading that happened in DC, the actors and executives
who abused their power in Hollywood; Vent had put their voice behind every strike and union movement happening all over the world.
And Michael had been right there with them for nearly two decades. He’d been someone to push boundaries, someone Eli used
to look up to.
Now? Now Vent published listicles. Now they were more concerned with which Chipotle order aligned with readers’ zodiac signs, or tweets
that had gotten celebrities canceled. Articles that drive their ad revenue.
There have been many times when Eli’s wondered exactly what he’s doing at Vent , if this is a place that’s even worth his time and energy. But he remembers the old Vent so vividly, their pieces that made a difference, that helped expose corruption and hold people accountable for their actions.
And he knows he can bring that back. He can help to make Vent a reliable source again. For everyone.
“You’re going to kill it, Eli.” Patricia stands and leans over to kiss Eli on the forehead.
“Thanks, Pat.”
“I’ll text Rose—we’ll celebrate tonight, okay?
I’ll make brownies.” Patricia starts to wheel the chair she borrowed back to the desk just as Michael steps out of the elevator, his phone in hand as he types something.
Eli likes to think that after five years of watching Michael every single weekday, he’s learned the minutiae of how Michael acts.
He’s smiling, which is an obvious good sign, there’s a slight pep in his step, and there are no visible stains on his shirt despite eating Italian for lunch, so there’s nothing for him to be frustrated over.
All signals point to a good mood, including the greeting he gives to Eli before he strides into his office.
Eli still waits for his time, watching as the clock ticks toward 2:00 before he grabs his iPad, packed with his digital portfolio
and notes, and tip-toes to Michael’s office door, knocking gently on the glass.
“Michael?” Eli ducks his head in, catching Michael mid–phone call.
“Yeah, no. We can definitely do that,” he says to the other person on the line, which is odd because every call Michael gets
is filtered through Eli.
Well, almost every call.
Michael’s eyes meet Eli’s, and he urges him in to take a seat. “Of course! Of course, yeah. That’ll work out for us. So, I