Jessica Harper Uncanceled

The invitation promised it would be “the event of the year”, which was chillingly ambiguous. After all, a lot of horrible news events end up being “the event of the year”.

This epochal event was being held at Eric’s apartment. Well, Eric and his wife Jen but we never saw Jen because she was ill and allegedly staring into the toilet in the bathroom the whole time, perhaps looking for the rest of her name. 

Eric and Jen only had one bathroom so it was going to be super challenging on the old bladder, given how much “up close and personal” time Jen was giving the john.

Her malaise was revealed to us by Eric as soon as we stepped over the threshold of his Savannah apartment.

“Hey Eric, good to see you, man,” said Bran. “How’s tricks?”

“You wouldn’t believe,” said Eric, “This country is down its knees from the shortage of qualified CPAs.”

“CPAs?” said Bran, more in disbelief than that he didn’t know what a CPA was.

“Yeah, you know, certified public accountant. A qualified CPA plays a crucial role in fraud prevention and detection. A shortage of skilled professionals may lead to a higher risk of financial misconduct and fraud going undetected.”

Oh great, this was what we were spending half of our combined salaries on Uber fares to hear. Why were we even here? Oh yeah, Eric was an old school of friend of Bran’s (but not a close one) and they’d run into each other in Savannah recently. Brandon and I had recently agreed we should widen our circle of friends and so here we were.

“Ah, gotcha,” said Brandon, slipping away from us. “Hey Jess, they’ve got Jenga!”

But Eric was not in the business of taking hints. He was in the business of plowing on in a droney voice: “A lack of qualified professionals may result in businesses struggling to navigate complex tax codes, leading to compliance issues and potential legal consequences.”

“That’s awful, Eric,” I said, “Hey, how about some music?” The place was dead. I counted eight other people. That wasn’t a party, that was a bus stop.

“Well, Jen doesn’t really like music,” he said.

“Oh. Not even on new year’s eve?”

“Especially not on new year’s. Considering what happened in 2004.”

“Ooh, what happened in 2004?” I said. In retrospect, “ooh” was the wrong word. It suggested a prurient interest unconnected from Jen’s wellbeing.

“She heard the Scissor Sisters’ first album and didn’t see what the fuss was all about.”

“Ohhhhh,” I said. “Maybe it’s time to bury the past and give all of the music that’s ever been recorded around the world in history a second chance?”

“Nah, I think she’s done with it,” said Eric. “Anyway, she can’t hear it, she’s in the bathroom. Prawn Surprise, Jess?”

I’d never met Jen and I already didn’t like her. She appeared to be controlling the whole “party” from an unseen control center i.e. the bathroom, like a toilet-fixated Bond villain.

“I’m good, thanks,” I said, eyeing the plate of prawns like it was a Claymore.

“Hey, have you played the icebreaker game yet?” Eric asked me. Brandon was pretending to watch the Jenga so that he didn’t have to talk to Eric. Sometimes he really lacked a sense of duty, or a sense of being married. Or useful.

“Erm, no, haven’t played the icebreaking game yet,” I said.

“Then it’s time to break some ice,” he said. Why did I have the feeling this was going to be “breaking the ice” in the same way the Titanic did, i.e. ineffectively and with a huge loss of life?

Eric took me by the arm and began escorting me towards an enforced slice of fun that was occurring in a corner of the room.

A woman was leaving the group of players involved in the game, and she was in tears and I didn’t think it was because of the prawns.

“Eric, It was question three that set Michelle off,” said a man in an ironic Christmas sweater. Hey bud, we’re on to new year’s eve now, get some new jokes.

“Oh darn, question three again,” said Eric. “Keep playing the game, guys, but let’s just skip that question, huh?“

I nodded hello to the icebreaker posse and answered some questions from Ironic Sweater Guy. I assured him I could handle number three but I admit I found it surprising. On the plus side, the game introduced me to the other guests. On the minus side, it introduced me to the other guests, who all lacked a sense of humor and any kind of interest in getting wasted.

“How long until midnight?” I said to Brandon, when I got back to him.

“Four hours, twelve minutes,” he said.

“Seriously? Can’t you do something?”

“I can’t bring midnight any closer, no.”

I made small talk with another CPA on a couch for three hours while Bran played Jenga and drank heavily. The new year did finally come around and I had to fight off Eric and his overly eager slobbery kisses. His advances gave me a legitimate reason to exit. I’d found a use for sexual harassment; I knew the day would come.

“We’re off, Eric,” said Brandon, who looked like he was about to punch him for molesting his wife.

“Oh no, don’t go, guys, we’ve got a really saucy icebreaker to play, if you’re into that kinda thing.”

“The ice was broken hours ago,” I said. “We are now putting the ice back together. We are leaving. Give my regards to your rumored wife.”

“Please stay!” he begged.

“I don’t feel so good, to be honest,” I told him. “I think it might be the prawns. The ones on the radiator.”

“I doubt it’s the prawns,” countered Eric. “They’ve been on that radiator all day and in fact since last night, just warming up slowly. Plus they had a big red label on the packet so I was hoping that meant they were special.”

“Oh they were special all right,” I said, although, as we have noted, I had not actually consumed any. “I need the toilet.”

“Jen’s in there,” he said.

Sure she was. Jen was still in there, being sick and not listening to music.

“Come on, darling, we’d better get you home,” said Bran.

Michelle was outside and she shared a cab with us back to Truvy City. I tried to make smalltalk but she was still crying.

Who knew that prawns would be a girl’s best friend? I’ve still never met Jen. Maybe she doesn’t really exist, or Eric had actually killed her. I mean murdered her with an axe, rather than just slay her with food poisoning.

Oh, by the way, I didn’t think question number three was that bad. I mean, sure it dredged up a few memories I’d long since pushed deep down inside into a pit of denial but hey ho.

In fact, question three didn’t bother me at all until 4am , when I woke up sobbing and couldn’t stop until dawn.

Happy new year.

J x