The Life and Death of Jesse James

So. The love of Audrey’s life never existed, and the monster that had perpetrated this sick joke was now staying in her house with her.

And Audrey had no idea.

What would you do?

I spent most of Monday night talking with Tania and some of Audrey’s other friends. I suggested a fairly direct plan of action, and people hemmed and hawed and went back and forth. It was drastic, and it was decisive, but there was some notion that Audrey should be allowed to decide what to do, as though she could possibly process the information we had and make a calm, rational decision in the moment. I pointed out that when someone’s being raped — and this was, indeed, emotional rape — you don’t ask them if they’d like you to pull the rapist off. You make that decision for them and face the consequences later.

The strange thing about something like this, about an encounter with a genuine monster, is that our minds tend to default to what’s normal, to what we know. We found ourselves talking about the situation as though Audrey had simply made friends with an eccentric person we didn’t like. Surely, it’s Audrey’s business whether or not she wants to be friends with Janna, isn’t it? Then someone would remember that a potentially dangerous lunatic was in the house with our friend.

I called Harlan. He understands people like no one you’ve ever met. We were at dinner once, and he started chatting with two biker dudes at the table next to us for a couple minutes. He asked one guy, “How long have you played chess?” The guy was stunned. Harlan had deduced from the way the guy carried himself in idle banter that he was a chess player. I’m pretty good at figuring out what makes people tick — you have to be to be a decent writer — but Harlan knows. He thought my plan was pretty solid, but offered one variant on it that was brilliant, and completely out of left field.

Here’s what happened:

Tuesday, late morning, the gang of five met at my place, which is just a couple of miles from Audrey’s. While we were there, Audrey and Janna were enjoying their morning at home, discussing what to do with the day. Sarah, one of Audrey’s oldest friends, was also there; she’d been staying with Audrey since she moved here from New York, and the night before, Sarah and Janna had spent Monday night staying in, watching a DVD of the 2006 movie Notes on a Scandal. (These are ironies you can’t make up.)

Then Audrey gets a phone call, a truly out-of-left-field call.

“Audrey, this is Harlan Ellison. It’s imperative that I talk to you and Tania as soon as possible about Josh. I’m very worried. Tania’s on her way to your house right now, and I’d like the two of you to come here.”

Audrey asks if she can bring her friend Janna, and Harlan says no.

Audrey asks if she can bring her new puppy, and Harlan says no. You don’t argue with Harlan Ellison; she says yes.

Then Harlan calls me and tells me it’s a go. Tania leaves to get Audrey. The rest of us wait a few minutes, then follow.

Audrey and Tania arrive at Harlan’s, and he sits them down in his living room and tells Audrey that he had lied. Josh is fine. Then he lays out the whole messy truth, with all the information Tania and Will have dug up.

Audrey is, of course, devastated. Tania sits there holding her hand as Harlan goes on. Meanwhile, the rest of us go to Audrey’s house. We meet outside, and Sarah lets us in.

And there’s this woman, this Janna, this thing: a morbidly obese woman in her mid-50s, dull-eyed and empty-faced, sitting in our friend’s front yard. We walk in, Audrey’s friend Ianthe videotaping the whole thing in case Janna wants to claim we assaulted her, or something. I walk up to Janna, and I say the following:

“Hello, Janna. I’m Josh. This is Ianthe, Will and Neil. We’re friends of Audrey’s. I’m gonna make this short. We know there is no Jesse, and there never was. It was you. We don’t care why you did it, and we don’t care what’s wrong with you. You’re going to pack your bags right now, we’re going to call you a cab, and you’re going to leave. You’re never going to contact or even think about Audrey again. We’re going to take down the information from your driver’s license, and if you ever try to reach Audrey, there will be consequences.”

She looks at me, blinks. Looks at them, blinks. Looks back at me, and says the following:

“Okay.”

Then she gets up and staggers back into the house. She has a hard time walking because of her size. So much so that in any other circumstance, you’d feel a pang of sympathy. Not here.