Gone Bitch: A Parody of Gone Girl

It was time.

Somehow, through no fault of my own, I had become the prime suspect in my wife’s disappearance. So I needed to get a lawyer. Today. And that lawyer was going to have to be the best of the best, the man I wished I didn’t need but knew I had to have.

Tanner Bolt.

I knew of Tanner Bolt—heck, everybody knew of Tanner Bolt—from his high profile cases on TV. He’d defended some of the most famous celebrities accused of doing some of the most heinous things. And he always came out on top. Which is why last night after the candlelight vigil I’d jumped on a red eye to New York, and I was now sitting in the waiting room of Tanner Bolt’s office on the top floor of a skyscraper on 57th Street.

Tanner was so famous that he wouldn’t even take a meeting until you’d already paid his $100,000 fee and hired him. I’d wired everything in my bank account, which didn’t quite cover it, so Tanner Bolt LLP was now the proud owner of a 50% stake in a cat cafe. But if it kept me out of jail it was worth it.

When I’d first walked into Tanner’s office the pretty black receptionist had given me an odd look. I initially thought she was judging me for killing Amy. But then I noticed a pattern: every new person I saw working at the office was black, and every one of them gave me the same odd look.

I didn’t realize what was going on until I went to the bathroom, which was at the end of a long hall. The walls of the hall were covered with photos of Tanner’s famous cases. As I was walking down the hall looking at the photos one after the other, it finally hit me: all of Tanner’s clients were black. And all of his defenses of his clients were built on the fact that they were black, and were victims of racial discrimination, or institutional prejudice, or whatever.

I was about to ask the receptionist what their refund policy was when a door opened and another attractive black person appeared. “Nick Dunne?” she said.

“Yep, that’s me,” I said.

After the requisite odd look, she led me into Tanner’s office and sat me at a chair across from a desk, where Tanner was reading through some files. “Tanner, Nick Dunne is here.”

Tanner looked up from his files and just froze for a good 15 seconds. Then he smiled and reached out to shake my hand like everything was perfectly normal.

“Tanner Bolt,” he said.

“Nick Dunne, nice to meet you,” I said.

“Nick, look: I win. I win unwinnable cases.”

“Cool,” I said.

“For black people.”

“So…you’re not going to represent me?” I asked.

“And give back $100,000? Fuck no. I’m just warning you, it’s gonna be tough.”

“Right, because of all the circumstantial evidence against me.” I said.

“No, because you’re not black. We don’t have the race card to play here. That’s like playing poker without any aces. Or kings. Or queens or jacks or tens or nines or eights and only like two of the sevens.”

“So what do we do?”

“Well first, you’ve got to be completely open with me, and tell me absolutely everything,” he said. “We need to assume everything will get leaked, and there can’t be any surprises.”

Everything? I thought. I had a vision of people finding out I often masturbated while watching women’s golf.

“Also, we’ve got to keep the support of Amy’s parents,” he said. “How are things between you and them?”

“I haven’t spoken to them since a few days after Amy hopefully was murdered.”

“No, Nick. You need to say Amy wasn’t murdered, especially not hopefully.”

“Not hopefully murdered, gotcha,” I said.

“We also need to start working on your image by getting some positive stuff out there. What nice things have you done for Amy in the last year or so?”

“You know…ate her out, made her come, bought her a load of shit.”

“Nick, romantic things.”

“Fine,” I said. “Ate her out tenderly, bought her a load of expensive shit.”

“Come on, Nick, work with me here. Think. I’m sure you’ve done something nice for her recently.”

“No, I haven’t,” I said. “That’s why she’s still with me. She’s a hot girl, remember?”

“Well make something up then. Ok, next thing: have you ever cheated on Amy?”

“Of course.”

“Well I’ll need every detail. Specifically, details about what the girls’ bodies are like and what sex stuff they like to do. If you have any nude photos that would be a big help, and if you have actual sex tapes of them that could be the thing that wins us the case. By the way, you’re not cheating now, are you? Since she disappeared?”

I put my head down like a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“You are?”

“I couldn’t help it. She’s a college girl, a student in one of my classes.”

“So you actually had sex with her while your wife was missing?”

“Yeah.”

Tanner stared at me for a long beat.

“I like you, Nick Dunne. I like you a lot.”

He stood up and walked over to a mini-fridge. “Clamato?” he asked. I’d never understood Clamato. What is it, exactly? Is it like V8? Do you taste the tomato more, or the clams? Why would anyone think clams taste good with tomato anyway? Is it supposed to be healthy? I kept meaning to look it up on the web every time I saw it, but I always forgot.

“No thanks,” I said.

“Well look Nick, I know this is gonna be tough to hear, but it’s time for some hard reality: you’ve got to cut it off with the college girl.”

“Dude, no way!”

“I know it’s hard giving that up. But if this whole thing goes well you’ll be famous and swimming in pussy. And not just Missouri pussy. We’re talking LA and New York pussy.”

It was strange: once Tanner explained how I’d get even better pussy after this was all over, I immediately accepted cutting things off with Andie without mourning her in the slightest.

Tanner wrapped up our meeting by giving me some talking points to study and saying he’d be flying to Missouri tomorrow to set up shop. He also said it was of the utmost importance that I get some naked pictures of Andie in a cheerleader outfit. I assured him I would and walked out, feeling a thousand times better than when I’d walked in.