I'm Normally Perfect (re-upload)

Chapter Fifty-Nine

We stayed in the Westin in Atlanta, which was one of the tallest buildings in the city—a glass cylinder of a structure. I did my obligatory signing and was interviewed by the newspaper and we moved on to Miami where it was unseasonably hot and Alex continued to practically ignore me. We talked, just not about anything important. "What do you want for dinner" and "What time do you have to be at the bookshop" are not the deepest of questions. What's more is that I didn't feel it was all right to talk about anything. I felt as if I wasn't allowed to bring up our usual subjects, as if there'd been an injunction issued against speaking about anything that wasn't superfluous.

While we were in Miami Alex rang England to see how Graham was. She hadn't done that once during the tour. They remained on the phone for some time. I decided to go for a walk to give her some privacy, but I was wounded. She couldn't talk to me, but she'd ring nearly 4,000 miles away and chat with someone she only liked. I was supposed to be the special one. I walked on the boardwalk, pouting. I decided to eat garbage—that would show her. She'd be appalled to find I'd had a hot dog and candyfloss.

I arrived back at our hotel room bloated and not entirely happy with my particular choice of way to annoy Alex. She was sitting on the balcony when I shut the door. Without looking in at me she said, 'The sun here is nice. We should take some back with us.'

'Meh.' I lay down on my bed. With Alex not speaking to me I figured snuggles were also out of the question.

She came in and slid the glass door shut, 'What's wrong?'

'Garbage is bad.'

Her brow furrowed, 'Yes it is', in a confused tone.

'I ate a cheeseburger, two corndogs, a toffee apple and a mountain of candyfloss. Then I chased it down with a slushie.'

'What on Earth is a "slushie"?'

'It's ice and flavoured syrup blended to make something the texture of wet snow.'

'Oh.' By the tone in her voice I could tell it wasn't her dream beverage. 'No wonder you have a tummy.'

I put my hand on my distended stomach, 'I haven't eaten rubbish like that since...since I met you, actually.'

She watched me lie there, concern across her forehead, 'Would you like something for indigestion?'

'I'll be fine. How was your chat with Graham?'

'Oh, all right.' She sat on the other bed.

I sighed, sleepy with being full. 'That's good.' I nodded off some time after that. When I awoke I had an atrocious stomach.

After I'd been in the loo for half an hour Alex asked from the other side the door, 'Are you going to be able to make it to your signing?'

'I don't think so. I wish I had our copy of Passing Time in the Loo, though.'

She chuckled, 'Shall I ring the shop and say you won't be able to make it?'

I really hated to do that. I was absolutely sick of signings and readings, but I didn't want to let the publishers down, even if they were jerks. 'I think,' I had another breathtaking pang, '...no.'

'I'll ring round.' A few minutes later I heard, 'Hello, this is Professor Alexandra Pristin, I'm with Catherine Perfect and she's having a bit of a do with her stomach and regrettably will not be capable of making it this evening.'

They weren't happy to hear of it, but wished me better health and said that perhaps I could make it by the next time I was in the country. I only rolled my eyes at that. I really didn't care if I ever returned to the US. It was nice having the convenience of being able to get positively anything at positively any time, but I missed England. So what if everything in the village was closed on Sundays? The enforced injunction to slow down one bloody day of the week was worth it. People in America didn't seem to have any idea that most of the world closed for periods during the day—during the bit when it was dark, for example. They wanted everything to be instant: food, news, gratification. To my mind if one received what one wanted the very moment one wanted it then there was no joy in receiving the thing. The joy was in the desire. Like that Shakespeare quote, "Things won are done." I suppose it was much more efficient to get what one wanted immediately—that way one could move on to the next thing to crave. A person can get so much more coveting in when he or she can do it twenty-four hours a day and doesn't have to worry with bothersome waiting.