Gone Bitch: A Parody of Gone Girl

I kept trying Amy’s cellphone, because I figured that every time she didn’t pick up there was an incrementally higher chance of her really being gone for good, and that made me feel better.

Aside from the burnt tea kettle I’d found left on the stove, the one part of the house that seemed amiss was the living room. It screamed signs of a struggle. Furniture knocked over, books strewn across the floor, and the grand piano turned completely upside down.

I heard police sirens, and looked out the window to see a police car pull up and two cops emerge from the car. The cops looked at my house in confusion from the shore, then had an animated conversation, and finally threw up their hands and got back into the car and left. 15 minutes later, the police car returned with a canoe tied to the top. The canoe said “Police” on it — I didn’t know such things existed.

In the meantime, another car had pulled up, an unmarked car with a police light on it. I assumed this was the detectives. The two officers and two detectives all piled in the canoe and rowed out to the house.

When the canoe got close, I could see that the two detectives were a man and a woman. The woman was not good-looking. Too bad.

The detectives stepped out of the canoe. “I’m Boney, and this is Gilpin,” the woman said. “So there’s a problem with your wife?”

“I don’t know if I’d really classify it as a ‘problem,’” I said.

“But she’s missing, right?”

Just hearing someone say it filled me with joy. “Yup!”

“How long has she been missing?” said Gilpin, pulling out his notebook.

“A few hours,” I said.

“Have you phoned any friends or family?” said Gilpin.

“Only the friends who’d appreciate how awesome it is that she’s gone,” I said.

Gilpin gave Boney a look, the first of hundreds of such looks I would see them give each other in my presence.

“You and your wife from around here?” said Boney.

“I am originally, Amy’s from New York. We were living in New York until a couple years ago.”

“Fancy,” said Boney. “What kind of work do you do?”

When people asked me this, I always dropped the W-bomb on them before mentioning the cat cafe. “I was a writer there,” I said.

“Impressive. What’d you write?”

“Greeting cards.”

“Oh like those e-cards with the cute singing flowers?” said Boney. “Cool!”

“No, the paper greeting cards,” I said. “Real greeting cards, with real writing and jokes.”

“I don’t buy those anymore, because they don’t have singing,” said Boney.

“And they’re too expensive,” said Gilpin. “$2.45 when you include the stamp!”

“So what do you do now?” asked Boney.

“I co-own a cat cafe.”

“Doggie McDoggerton’s?” said Gilpin. “I’ve been meaning to stop by there. Except I’m allergic to cats. And to coffee.”

“You should still stop by, because allergic people get 50% off,” I said.

“Mind if we go inside the house?” said Boney.

“Sure,” I said, leading them in.

“Whoa,” Boney said when she saw the mess in the living room.

“I know, pretty cool, right?” I said.

Gilpin approached a photo on the mantle of Amy and me in Cape Cod on her parents’ private beach. “This her?” he said, pointing at Amy in a bikini. I nodded. He gave me a fist bump.

The Cape Cod house was one of several homes Amy’s family owned. I’d discovered a few dates in that Amy was quite wealthy. You might think that’s a good thing, but it’s annoying enough to spend money on a girl as it is, and it’s even more annoying if you know she’s wealthy.

 Gilpin pointed at our wedding photo, which had the date written on it. “Hey, today’s your anniversary.”

“Yep, our fifth,” I said.

“Lemme guess: reservations at Houston’s tonight to celebrate?” said Boney.

“Yep,” I said, even though I hadn’t made a reservation. “We also have reservations at Capital Grille and Benihana.” I know you’re not supposed to lie to the police, but it was so fun. Everything I said, they just nodded and wrote it down as if it were true. “Did I mention I work part-time as a lion tamer?” Wrote it down. “Also I’m one-eighth Vietnamese.” Wrote it down.

Lying to the police was a blast!