Chapter Four When Harry Met Sally . . . , dir. by Rob Reiner #2
“Another breakup?” Michael frowns in such a disingenuous way. “I’m sorry, Eli.”
“No, he’s just some... guy I went on a date with.” Maybe he shouldn’t tell Michael the truth considering how he apparently goes behind Eli’s back, but there’s no use in lying.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, it didn’t go well. He came to apologize. Wanted dating advice.” Eli crosses his arms, stretching out the ache in his
neck.
“Did you give it to him?”
“What?”
“The dating advice?” Michael asks.
“What was I supposed to say to him?” Eli’s asking himself just as much as he’s asking Michael. “Why does everyone think I’m
responsible for teaching twunks basic etiquette?”
“Okay, okay, no need to get all hysterical on me. I was just curious.”
Eli ignores the “hysterical” comment. He hadn’t even raised his voice.
“You know my roommate actually suggested dating rehabilitation,” Eli says, unsure of why he’s sharing this with Michael. The moment just feels open. “She thinks that we need people out there to teach other people
how to date or something.”
“What, were you, like, his first date ever or something?” Michael snorts.
Eli nods. “That’s what he told me.”
Michael lets out a low whistle. “That is S-A-D sad.”
It is sad, but not for the reasons Michael thinks it is. Eli has to figure it’s a feeling familiar to a lot of people. Realizing
at a young age that they’re different, but not having community or support in a rural and incredibly homophobic part of the
country. He thinks back to his formative years, lived in the comfort of knowing that it was always safe for him to come out,
having grown up surrounded by supportive parents in a city that celebrated queerness.
Eli had every resource available to him since before he even realized he was trans. He grew up surrounded by queer elders, queer art, queer music and movies, queer books. And his parents fostered those feelings, never giving Eli the space to doubt who he truly was.
Peter might not have had any of that.
Just like countless other queer people like him from a similar area.
Then, the idea hits him. He could write an article, interview Peter about growing up queer in the South, the difficulties
that queer people face coming of age in an area of the country with few resources, with no real opportunities to find community.
Eli can’t help but smile at the idea. “Actually—”
“One second, I’m not done,” Michael interjects. “For the dating concept... you’d pretend to date him, teach him how to
be a better boyfriend. A ‘Build-a-Boyfriend Project’ of sorts...”
“Yeah...” Eli’s smile dies as quickly as it appeared.
“I like it.”
“What?”
“This idea, you should do it.”
“Michael, what if we wrote about—”
But Michael interrupts Eli again before he can get another word out. “Think about it. A long-form article, or maybe an essay
or something. Or we could do smaller updates, spread them out. You spend a few weeks with him, teach him to be someone that
people would want to date...” Michael puts his hand to his chin. “Yeah, yeah. This could be gold. I like it.”
“No, no, you don’t.” Eli resists the urge to pull at his hair. “I’m not going to pretend to date someone just to teach him
a lesson. We could write something important , how many other people grow up like Peter? Isolated and inexperienced because of where they’re born. We could make an actual
difference to a lot of people, help them see themselves for once.”
Michael seemingly ignores him, though it’s a coin toss on whether it’s purposeful or accidental. “This is what you want to
do, though. Right? You want to be a staff writer.”
Eli can’t deny how scandalous an article like that could be. He’d certainly give it a read if he stumbled upon the headline somewhere online. But doing that to Peter? He couldn’t. Besides, he knows in his gut there’s something more interesting here. “No way, this isn’t journalism, it’s garbage.”
“Exactly!” Michael looks at Eli with a wild glee in his eyes. “This is what I’ve been trying to get you to write about, Eli. This is
the kind of stuff our audience wants . They want messy, they want drama, they want you to spill the tea!” The words form so awkwardly coming from Michael.
“You’re not using that correctly,” Eli tells him.
“You know our connections, Eli. This could be at the top of the trending page like that !”
“No, absolutely not. I’m not putting myself through that.” That’s when Eli decides to leave, to cut the conversation short,
and put an end to this entire discussion. There’s no way he’s suffering through weeks of teaching another guy how to date
when he could be doing something better.
Like writing articles that no one is going to read, that are just going to sit in his Google Drive while he wastes away as
a secretary at a job that he hates. Michael steps out of the way, and while Eli has often wished that his desk isn’t right in front of Michael’s office, he’s never wanted that to be true more than right now. Because Michael just follows him.
“Think about it, come on! The readers would eat it up.”
Eli wakes up his computer. Could he do it, though? Could he teach Peter how to date? No, right? What experience does he have?
Just a seven-year relationship that crumbled right before his eyes. But Eli likes to think he knows how to date, the expectations,
how to connect with someone.
No. Nope. Never , he tells himself.
He can’t do this, because how stupid of an idea is that?
Unless. He could treat this as an entry point, getting his foot in the door.
Maybe he could lie to Michael, pretend to write the dating article.
All the while, he can interview Peter, he can learn about what it was like to grow up so isolated as a queer person.
He can shine a spotlight on those experiences.
And Michael will finally understand, he’ll see that the readers of Vent are so eager for those human stories that they once prided themselves on.
Sure, it’s a long shot to think one article will make a change. But given how high the barrier of entry is into the queer
community when it comes to lack of experience, maybe it’ll open some eyes, start some conversations.
“Imagine the traffic to the site with something like that, and maybe... who knows, you could expand it. Tons of articles
lead to full-blown books, or movies even!”
He could do it. Pretend to write one article, hedge all his bets on another in the hopes that Michael will finally give him a shot.
“But despite all that, bringing you in so much traffic and views, or writing books for the company, I’d still be your secretary?” Eli asks him, prodding further, desperate to see how far he might be able to
take it.
If the way Michael’s face shifts is any indication, he understands exactly where Eli is going with this.
“I could do this,” Eli lays it on him. “I could help this guy become a suitable boyfriend, I could teach him to be someone
that people will want to date, and I could write your article that’ll bring you all the clicks you want.”
Michael lets out a long, low groan, his head hanging over Eli’s desk. “Go ahead and ask.”
“I want a staff writer job.” There’s actual risk here. If this article isn’t up to snuff, if Michael catches on too early,
then Eli can kiss his career goodbye.
Then again, maybe that could be its own reward.
“That’s a tough call, Eli.” Michael’s voice goes quiet, as if he’s afraid that Eli will call him out on his bullshit. There are plenty of empty desks at Vent , and he could help train another secretary to do all the things that he’s used to doing.
“You think this could be big? If it means that much to you, then you’ll give me what I want.” Eli crosses his arms.
Michael sighs. “Then yes. It will be considered.”
Eli raises a brow. “Considered?”
“I will seriously consider you for the staff writing job if you do this. If you do a good job, like I think you will, and if the article meets
my expectations as well as the site’s. I’ll even work with you throughout the entire thing.”
Eli doesn’t like the sound of that, Michael being so involved in the process. But it’s clear that Michael wants this so badly. And Eli’s the only one who can give it to him.
“I’ll have to convince him to be a part of this,” Eli says.
“Avoid telling him about the article—you don’t want him to know. You don’t want the experiment to be compromised. If he knows
it’s a public performance, he might edit his behavior.”
Well, he won’t know about one of the articles , Eli thinks. “I have to catch him.”
“Then go!” Michael exclaims, catching a few eyes from their coworkers, surprised by the sudden outburst.
And Eli does just that.
***
“You want to write about me?” Peter asks from across the table, his hands wrapped around themselves, most of his iced coffee
long gone now that Eli has finished explaining the pitch for the article.
“Well, not exactly about you. I’d take pieces of your story, interview you. But I’d also reach a bit wider. It’s less about
you , and more about the experience. You’re more of like... a framing device.”
“Huh...” Peter looks down at the table, picking at some of the tacky aquamarine paint with his fingernails.
Peter was more than a little confused by Eli’s invitation as he caught Peter at the guest checkout. But they’d come across
the street to a café that Eli and Patricia both frequented when they needed to escape their respective offices.
“I’ve never been interviewed before,” Peter tells him. “Well, besides for my jobs. And my college-entrance stuff. But never
like this.”
“Do you think you could do it?”
“I mean, do you really think this is worth writing about?” Peter asks.
And it’s a fair question.
“Peter, I swear I don’t mean this personally when I say that Friday night was a disaster.”
Peter can’t even lie. “I know.”
“And I think that your experience, or lack thereof, speaks to where you grow up. Thousands of queer people share a story similar
to yours.”