Caught on the Jumbotron
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Galatea
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12
Trouble
Some women get mad. Some get even. She got a rockstar
ELLIE
Official statement from Eleanor Brighton, wife of CEO Derek Brighton:
It has come to my attention—and the attention of the entire internet—that my husband, Derek Brighton, made his affair public at the Goldray concert. On the jumbotron. Let me be perfectly clear. I don’t cry for clowns. I will not be forgiving him. I will not offer grace. I will, however, rebuild. Do not pity me, pity him. While he is spiraling, I’m ascending.
I’m taking what is mine. Just wait until you see me rise.
48-hours-earlier…
Where the hell is Derek? He promised me we’d have lunch together today. To be honest, lunch isn’t the correct term.
Ever since Derek started NFNLYF, his AI company designed to extend human life, he only drinks pureed vegetables and calls it “second meal.”
I walk down the marble hallway, peeking into conference rooms with sleek floor-to-ceiling windows. The Silicon Valley NFNLYF office is too austere for my taste, but Derek doesn’t care for my opinion.
Across the hall, I spot Derek’s assistant, Jenny. She’s young, smart, and eager to please. I smile as I approach.
“Hey, Jenny! Have you seen Derek?”
Jenny’s eyebrows shoot toward her hairline. “Eleanor! Um, hello. Is Derek expecting you?”
My stomach sinks. “He should be. We’re on for lunch?”
Jenny holds up a long, slender finger with a perfectly manicured nail. “One moment. Let me check his schedule.”
With the amount of professional success Derek has already achieved, I hoped he’d stop working such long hours and start spending more time with me. We’re young empty nesters.
I set aside my own career aspirations to raise our kids while Derek went after his dreams. Now his startup is worth billions.
We’re supposed to reconnect, to have date nights, and travel abroad and share adventures. Or at the very least, have lunch together.
We’re only forty-five—we’re not dead.
But that’s part of the problem. Derek wants to avoid death by “bio-hacking” his body, which means no more booze, pizza, television, or sex.
Twenty years ago, we had a great sex life. But somewhere between the supplements and the “dopamine fasting,” I lost the man I loved.
“He’s in his cryotherapy session,” Jenny responds. “If you’d like to wait, he’ll just be a few more—”
I ignore her and begin descending the marble staircase to the dark room that houses the cryotherapy chamber Derek had installed.
I’m tired of waiting for him. I’m his wife. He can talk to me now.
The machine is whirring like a jet engine as I approach. Taking a deep breath, I open the door to the chamber, then scream as a blast of liquid nitrogen hits me.
“Fuck, that’s cold!”
Derek is standing there, naked, his skin glowing. It’s unnaturally smooth, like a piece of shiny rubber. He glares at me.
“Damn it, Ellie! I’ll never beat Bryan Johnson in the Rejuvenation Olympics if you disrupt my algorithm like this!”
I refrain from rolling my eyes. “Can you come out, please? It’s freezing!”
“No. You’ve interrupted vasoconstriction. I’ll have to start over again.”
My shoulders slump. I’ve begun daydreaming again. Not about other men, but about Derek, the way he used to be, before he cared about any of this crap.
The irony is that he looks good—chiseled as hell—but he won’t let me touch him. I’d take a dad-bod over this clinically detached version of my husband any day.
“Are we still on for lunch? I mean…um…second meal?”
I’m shivering now, even though I’m fully dressed. Arctic air is blasting me in the face, liquid nitrogen pooling in a cloud at my feet.
“Sorry,” Derek says casually. “Jenny must’ve double-booked me. I have a meeting with my head of HR, Candi.”
Derek always puts work first. Candi started less than a year ago. She’s my age, but has Botoxed her face and Juvedermed her lips into a state of dewy plumpness.
I guess toxins don’t matter when they’re turning back the clock.
“You can’t reschedule it?”
“I’m afraid not.”
I sigh. “Okay. How about dinner together then? We can order takeout and watch Succession.”
Derek steps out of the cryotherapy machine, toweling himself off.
“I will not give myself ‘digital dementia’ and I certainly won’t be eating anything with polyunsaturated fats. But no, I can’t. I’m taking the team to see Goldray tonight, at the SAP Center.”
I feel a pang of jealousy. “Goldray? Can I come?”
I lied when I said I don’t daydream about other men. There’s only one man I do daydream about—Leo Voss—the lead singer of Goldray.
Something about his British accent coupled with his tattooed, rugged good looks makes him irresistible. And anyway, celebrity crushes don’t count.
“No,” Derek says firmly, throwing down his towel. “NFNLYF team members only.”
He stands there, fully nude, glaring at me.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll order takeout for myself.”
“Hydrogenated oils will kill you!” Derek calls after me as I turn and walk away.
Outside the building, I’m about to get into my car when Jenny runs through the double doors, her key card swinging from her neck.
“Eleanor! Wait!”
For a minute, I panic, wondering if she’s going to lecture me about the dangers of blue light and “digital dementia” on Derek’s behalf.
I pause, car keys in hand. “Is everything okay?”
“Yep!” she says, out of breath. Then she blinks rapidly and clears her throat. I’ve never seen her so nervous before.
“You sure?”
“I—um,” Jenny pauses to cough. “I’m coming down with a cold. And I can’t join the team to see Goldray tonight. I was hoping you’d take my ticket.”
“Really?” A smile spreads across my face. “I’m sorry you’re feeling under the weather. Honestly, I’d love to. But Derek said it’s a team-bonding thing. He doesn’t want me to come.”
She laughs, high-pitched and staccato. “No! You should absolutely come. He…changed his mind. Just meet Derek and the team at the SAP Center. I’ll take care of everything else. Have fun.”
Jenny presses a Goldray ticket into my hands, then turns around and gives me a little wave before jogging back toward the building.
Huh. That was weird.
But I don’t have time to overthink things. I haven’t seen Goldray in concert since their last album came out, three years ago.
Rumor is, this one isn’t as good, but who cares?
A shiver of excitement runs through me at the thought of ogling Leo Voss while listening to his gorgeous voice. And maybe, just maybe, Derek will allow himself to be human for the night, and we can sway together under the stadium lights, remembering who we used to be.
***
The stadium is packed, and I double-check the seat number on my ticket. Weirdly, it’s up in the nosebleeds, even though Derek can afford VIP seating for the team.
I’m late, and haunting strains of a familiar melody reach my ears. Cheers rise from the crowd.
Leo Voss is beginning to play one of my favorite songs, Midnight Requiem. I glance at the huge TV screen, smiling as I drink him in—full lips, piercing green eyes, perfectly disheveled hair, tattoo sleeves, and an aura that screams “sex appeal.”
I haven’t had sex in over a year, ever since “semen retention” became an essential part of Derek’s biohacking rituals.
I pass the concession stand, and the popcorn smells like buttery heaven. Derek won’t share it with me, but maybe Candi will?
She may look like a Barbie, but she seems nice. I go ahead and order a large popcorn.
Then, in a moment of rebellion, I order a beer. A cold Corona will taste delicious.
I’m weaving through the crowd, making my way upwards toward plaza seating when Leo Voss begins to speak.
“I know you’re tired of looking at me, so we’re going to put some of you up on the big screen.”
Briefly, I glance up at the jumbotron and see a family waving at the camera.
Leo laughs.
“Oh, precious. Look at this—mum, dad, and a little baby. She’s wearing pink headphones! Is she old enough to be here? Ah, fuck it—start ’em young. Oh, fuck, I shouldn’t be cursing. Moving along.”
Nostalgia tugs at my heartstrings. I remember those busy days, when my kids were little.
Now I’m lucky if they call home once a week.
Focusing on the stairs ahead of me, I make an effort not to spill my beer or my popcorn. Leo continues talking.
“Shout out to the group of young lads over there! Thanks for coming, mates. Oh, okay, they’re…are they twerking now? I’m actually not sure if you lot are at the right concert. Sabrina Carpenter is down the street.”
I’m slightly dizzy as I reach the top of the stadium. Not winded; with a spouse like Derek, I also keep fit, just not in an obsessive way.
I look around for row C, find it, and apologize as I squeeze past concertgoers toward seat two hundred nineteen.
“Alright,” Leo says in his charming accent. “Who else have we got? Ah, nice, this middle-aged couple right here. You, in the shirt with the infinity symbol on it. And you, the blonde with the bracelets.”
The words “infinity symbol” catch my ear. That’s Derek’s company logo.
I look up and my heart plummets as I see Derek on the jumbotron, embracing Candi lovingly from behind. Her hands are on top of his, their fingers intertwined.
Candi gasps, covering her face, and turns her back to the camera.
Derek blinks a few times, as if he can’t believe what’s going on, and then he tries to duck out of view, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Except he’s been caught with his hands groping Candi’s big silicone boobs.
I look from the jumbotron to the horror playing out in front of me. I think I might be sick.
“Oh, do you not want to be on camera?” Leo says. “Either they’re just very shy, or they’re having an affair.”
The sounds of the stadium fade away as I approach the two of them. My husband and his HR director, pretending the whole stadium didn’t just see him wrapped around her like a boa constrictor.
I’m shaking with rage. I’m speechless.
Derek is still crouching on the ground. I look at his flushed cheeks, his sweaty brow, and then at Candi, whose mouth falls open when she sees me.
Derek looks at me like a deer caught in the headlights. He holds up his hands.
“Honey, I can explain.”
“Wait, who’s this?” Leo says. “Brunette wearing leather pants, and a Goldray T-shirt, looking very beautiful I might add. Oh shit. Is she his wife?”
The jumbotron’s still filming us. Across the stadium, I make eye contact with Leo. In this bizarre, awful moment, I feel like he’s here to support me.
Yes, I am his wife, for exactly five more seconds…I want to say. Then I look down at the beer in my hands.
I pull my shoulder back, lifting the plastic cup high above my head. I look directly at Derek.
“You. Asshole.”
And then I hurl the cup forward, sending beer flying at his face.
