This is the fifth installment of the series, “The 12 Days of the Tilley-Blandin Coronavirus Christmas.” More stories about the Tilley-Blandin family universe can be found here.
The following text exchanges were captured from the mobile devices of Huey Newton Wallace (HNW) in Washington DC; Huey’s ex-girlfriend Olympia Tilley-Blandin (OT-B) in the Poconos; Ingrid Brzezinski (IB) in Woodside CA; Ingrid’s ex-husband Hopper Tilley-Blandin (HT-B) in Washington DC; and the actress Charlize Theron (CT) in New York City.
Huey (HNW): Sup?
Olympia (OT-B): Hi.
HNW: U see that Victoria Jackson is trending?
OT-B: I don’t know who that is.
HNW: Old SNL actress? Crazy white lady?
OT-B: OK, boomer, is this a booty call?
Because, you know, it doesn’t work
that way anymore.
HNW: SMH. U don’t know about anything
b/f U were born? NVM.
OT-B: Sigh. Did you hear about the
Coronavirus Extortion Wedding?
HNW: ROTFL. Where UR so-called homies
threatened U if U didn’t go?
OT-B: It was indoor in Delaware with no masks!
HNW: OMFG yaaaasss, that one. 125 white people
OT-B: Yeah, you would have been the diversity guest
HNW: Too bad we broke up
OT-B: I just heard Brian tested positive.
HNW: Fu-u-u-ck… Becca?
OT-B: No news about Becca. Both her grandparents
ended up in the ICU. I don’t know about anyone else
because Becca’s parents refuse to notify anyone.
I am NEVER going to Delaware EVER AGAIN!!!!
HNW: Don’t take UR frustration out on them. U could
have said no. U gave up UR power. That’s why UR mad
OT-B: DO NOT RAIN ON MY PITY PARTY!!!
OT-B: You still healthy?
HNW: Yeah, I’m good. FWIW I give Brian & Becca 3 yrs
OT-B: Are you starting a betting pool on their marriage?
HNW: Not until U just mentioned it.
BTW keep it on the DL. FWIW U in 4 $10?
OT-B: Wait. All these acronyms are giving me a headache.
Are you a teenager all of a sudden?
HNW: Sorry, Olympia, that I could not be your poet.
I will try to rise to your standards
OT-B: Huey. Just. Don’t. Go. There.
HNW: OK. It’s just weird being chatty and catty
with my racist ex-girlfriend
OT-B: I deserved that. I am sorry.
HNW: Just be better than Brian and Becca
OT-B: Deal. Yeah, those two are selfish. Put me down for 45 months.
HNW: OK. Stay safe
OL-B: Stop saying that. It’s morose. How’s Hopper?
HNW: He’s OK but he’s a mess. Ingrid. Charlize.
What’s a guy to do? How are your parents?
OT-B: Currently not talking after dad made a pass at Ingrid.
I’m not talking to him, either.
OT-B: Hey, that’s my dad! Only I’m allowed
to call him a bastard. Bastard.
HNW: I hope Ingrid and her kids are OK
OT-B: Ingrid is unsinkable.
HNW: Like you
OT-B: Stop flirting.
HNW: OK. I hope you have a Merry Christmas
OT-B: There is no such thing as Christmas anymore.
Trump destroyed Christmas.
Hopper (Ht-B): Hi.
Ingrid (IB): Hi.
HT-B: I heard that you tried to feed our sons capers.
IB: How did you find out? Goddammit!
Has that blog started up again?
HT-B: You guessed it. I could have told you the
capers would not work. They like black olives, though.
IB: Thanks. I will keep that in mind next time.
HT-B: Look, I’m sorry about that thing with my dad.
IB: Not your fault. Honestly, I was not entirely surprised
by him propositioning me. He has that reputation.
I was surprised at the timing. The sofa was still
warm from before you left.
HT-B: He is who is he. I’m sure he will have forgotten
about it by the end of the week.
IB: Good for him, then. Bastard.
IB: I believe that I made myself clear about my feelings.
HT-B: You’re a terrific, lovely woman. I don’t
want you to believe for a second that I think badly of you.
IB: Wait a minute…are you masturbating?
HT-B: Fuck. Yes. What can I say? I’m lonely and horny
and the sex between us was always good.
IB: Hopper, go back to Pornhub. I can’t do this anymore.
HT-B: Do what?
IB: I can’t be your friend or your girlfriend or your wife.
I can’t be anything to you other than your ex-wife
and the mother of your children.
HT-B: What does that even mean?!?!
IB: This: I will respond to your messages and return your calls.
With civility, but not familiarity. There’s too much pain
getting close to you. I know what Charlize Theron sees
in you, but I hope she doesn’t get too close.
IB: You still there?
HT-B: I really blew it with you.
IB: Yes, you did.
HT-B: Please tell the boys that Santa is
bringing them great presents this year.
IB: They stopped believing in Santa last year, remember?
HT-B: Right. So, I have their list and the
presents should arrive at Heidi’s in a week.
IB: Some Christmas, huh? Unlimited Zoom like Thanksgiving.
I think I hate Christmas.
HT-B: I think it will get better. I have to go.
Tell the boys that I love them.
IB: I will. Don’t forget that you are supposed
to call them tomorrow. 7 pm Eastern time.
You still on the East Coast?
HT-B: Yes. Still in DC with Huey. Will do. Stay safe.
IB: Stop saying that. It’s morose.
HT-B: How’s this: Don’t let some #COVIDIOT get you?
IB: Better. Bye.
Charlize (CT): Hey, Hopper!
Hopper (HT-B): Well, hello stranger!
CT: “Queen’s Gambit,” huh?
HT-B: We’re not Zooming anymore?
CT: I feel safter with text right now.
HT-B: I read the blog. I know you are sleeping in
my parents’ apartment. In my old bed.
HT-B: I know you don’t want me to come to New York
and see you right now. That you are ghosting me.
HT-B: I know how much your assistant is going to spend
on Christmas presents for your list of 200 BFFs.
HT-B: I know that you know that I am going to be
on the movie set with you.
CT: You seem to know a lot.
CT: I am not avoiding you.
CT: Maybe I am avoiding you.
CT: Do you think this is easy?
CT: Are you there?
HT-B: I’m still here. I’m thinking.
HT-B: You know, I really do like you.
CT: Are you masturbating?
HT-B: No. I have Pornhub for that.
HT-B: I have my needs.
HT-B: She and I are done.
CT: You still love her?
HT-B: Yes, but Ingrid and I don’t work.
CT: And now you’re lonely?
HT-B: And you’re not?
CT: I don’t want to be your rebound fuck
or your “I’m so lonely this Christmas” fuck buddy.
HT-B: Nor I yours.
CT: You Americans and your Christmas.
I will never understand it.
HT-B: We’re sentimental. And we like spending money.
What’s not to understand?
CT: What I don’t understand is…what do
you want to be viz. me?
HT-B: Now were serious?
CT: Don’t be funny with me.
HT-B: You’re right. Sorry. I don’t want to be
something you can label. You told me that
you don’t want a boyfriend or lover or husband.
CT: If we do this, what can I tell Amanda?
HT-B: You tell your publicist the truth.
She probably knows already. The blog, you know.
You’re tagged in it. Anyway, you pay her
a lot of money to think up the fairy tales
of your public persona.
CT: What about our real-life children?
HT-B: They want us to be happy. They want to see that their
parents can have loving relationships, even if they don’t
fit into society’s notions or structures.
CT: So academic.
HT-B: I am an academic.
CT: What do you want?
HT-B: Ah, the eternal question.
CT: Don’t fuck with me. Stop being so clever.
HT-B: Sorry again. I am an asshole.
I don’t know what I want,
but I would be willing to work with you
on an answer. What do you want?
CT: I’m thinking…
CT: Here: I want a co-conspirator who will fight
by my side against everyone and everything
that wants to prevent my happiness.
HT-B: You think that could be me?
CT: I don’t know you well enough to know.
HT-B: That’s an opening.
HT-B: Are you still there?
CT: I’m thinking.
CT: I think you should call me maybe.
CT: That’s a pun, right?
CT: I hate puns.
HT-B: I hate capers.
HT-B: I will call you tomorrow.
CT: Don’t call me tomorrow. My name is Charlize.