Bicoastal Babe (28 page)

“Thursday I went to a wine-and-cheese thing for the Advertiser’s Trade. That was an early night. Friday I went to a kickoff party for the new Calvin Klein fragrance at Tao. Saturday I stayed in and crunched numbers. Sunday… um… oh yeah. They had a cocktail party on a ferryboat for Mariah Carey’s new fine-jewelry line.”

“Was she there?”

“Of course not. But her ‘people’ were. And I got a free bracelet. Then Monday I came out here.”

“Two more,” she tells the bartender. “And then?”

“Um… let’s see. That night Danny was over. Tuesday I went to a couple fashion shows and then to a Betsey Johnson party at Supperclub. Wednesday was the thing at Bardot. Thursday was that AIDS charity thing at the Barker Hangar. Friday I took Danny to dinner at STK; then we went to Guy’s for the Smashbox preholiday bash.”

“What a life.”

“I’m exhausted.”

“Did Danny have fun?”

I bite my lip. “You know, he’s not really the ‘club’ type of guy. I mean, he sucks it up because I have to go, but he’d be a hell of a lot happier at the Dodgers game, that’s for sure.”

“But Victor
is
the club type.”

“Oh yeah. That’s why it’s a little easier in New York. And I have more energy for it while I’m there. When I’m here, I just want to lie around and stare at Danny and eat these little cheese popper things he makes in the toaster oven. It’s fun.”

“Uh-huh. Sounds like a real barrel of monkeys.”

As if on cue, my cell phone starts singing the Britney tune. I look at the screen. “Victor,” I say, and slip the phone into my purse without answering.

“That’s the third time he’s called tonight.”

“I know. I wonder what he wants.”

“He wants to check up on you! And may I add, a lot more than he did when you first started dating him.”

“So what?” I ask defensively. “We know each other better now.”

“Whatever you say, dear.” She smiles knowingly. “Although you should stop to consider that these phone calls got a lot more frequent the moment you became Miss Popularity.”

“What is this, high school?”

“All of life is high school, Lindsey. We’re just able to hide it in a more sophisticated manner as we age.”

“Well… I did kinda sorta drop a hint about Danny. But it was subtle. I don’t know if he took it seriously.”

“There you go!” she says triumphantly, and drains her drink. “That’s exactly what it is. He’s checking up on you!”

“He’s not the type to check up. I’m sure he’s having plenty of his own fun. Trust me.”

“You trust me,” she warns. “Don’t kiss and tell. Keep it simple, stupid.”

•   •   •

Driving down to the Haunted Heaven and Hell party in my Bumble Bee costume is tougher than I imagined. I had to stuff the body with soft Styrofoam to make it bulge out like a pear shape, then attach the netted wings to the back. When all is said and done, I can barely fit through a door, much less into a small, crappy rental car.

When I pull up, I hike up my black tights, attach my antennae, and rub some gold eye shadow onto my eyelids. I’m so cute! This costume will definitely be the “buzz” of the party. Ha, ha!

Walking up to the house, I get the feeling that I’m in for a scary night indeed. Whoever is throwing this bash has left no gravestone unturned. The entire house is swathed in black canvas and glowing purple light bulbs, and spooky music is blasting from hidden speakers all over the yard. Menacing ghosts and ghouls surround the entrance, and I can hear bloodcurdling screams coming from the south side of the house. But it’s not until I stop to really look around that I see the most frightening sight of all.

Every single female at this party is wearing the tightest, skimpiest, sexiest costume imaginable. I watch in horror as a giggling Naughty Nurse hands a Hooters Waitress some lip-gloss from her purse. I gulp with terror as I see a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader hand a plastic beer cup to a French Maid. I cower in fear as two twin Playboy Bunnies exchange smirks with Catwoman before pinching my stuffing and asking, “Where’s your stinger?”

And then I turn with dread to behold myself in a car window – the sprawling reflection of an enormous, ridiculous, black-and-yellow-striped bug that stretches beyond the glass and spills onto the chrome of the fender.

I’m ready to get right back in that car and take my bulging bee ass home, when it occurs to me that I can’t stand Danny up for this, and there aren’t many excuses to be had on Halloween night. Maybe he’s wearing a toga or something that we can easily trade. Or maybe one of these sexpots will drown in the apple-bobbing barrel, and I can steal her costume before the coroner arrives.

When I walk into the house, I’m greeted in the doorway to my right by an angel (the Frederick’s of Hollywood version), and to my left by a handsome devil. Instant déjà vu. Where have I seen them before?

Oh yeah. In my own torn and conflicted conscience.

“Would you like to go to Heaven?” the angel asks sweetly.

“Or would you like to go to Hell?” the devil says with an evil grin.

Well, let’s see. Where would I be more likely to find Danny?

“Heaven,” I tell them, and the angel steps aside to reveal a long, cool hallway that’s filled with poofy clouds and swirls of white, fluffy smoke. At the end of the hallway I see God, draped in a saintly robe with a long white beard, standing high on a pedestal before me. Behind him I can vaguely make out the rest of “Heaven,” with people milling about in the soft white light.

“And what have you done, my child, to deserve entrance into Heaven?” God demands in a thunderous voice as I approach.

“Uh…” Is he kidding? I can’t come to the party unless I’ve done something good in my life?

“Speak louder! Look into the pious face of God and declare the virtue of your soul!” he booms. “What hast thou done that is righteous?”

“Uh… I’m the only female at this party not dressed like a complete whore?”

God pauses for a moment and I hold my breath. Then he slowly nods and opens his arm for me to pass through. Whew. Barely made that one.

I look around and immediately spot Danny, dressed as a Hammerhead Shark, standing by the beer keg talking to Darth Vader and what appears to be an Herbed Crouton. He is gorgeous. Danny, that is. Not the Herbed Crouton. And any second now, he’s going to turn and behold his dorky, unsexy, bulging excuse for a date trying to squeeze through the door like a hippopotamus draped in bee fur.

I feel my cell phone vibrating in my underwear. There was no pocket in the bee suit, so I had to stick the phone into the side of my panties so it wouldn’t slip down the leg of my tights. I turn toward the wall and discreetly try to reach in and dig it out, but just when I’ve got a grip on it I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Wow.” Danny laughs. “Let me get a look at you.”

“Hold on one sec,” I tell him, and glance at my phone. It’s Victor. Great timing. I go to slip the phone back into my panties, but it’s a bit awkward.

“You want me to hold that for you?” Danny asks.

I nod and hand him the phone.

“Hey, we have the same phone!” He slips it into his pocket. “Now let me see.” He holds out my arms and twirls me around. “You’re adorable,” he says. “My little bumblebee.”

“I look fat.” I pout.

“You look precious.”

“I do not.”

“You do too,” he says, and kisses me on the nose. “And together we’re going to create quite a buzz with our shocking interspecies relationship.”

“If you don’t eat me first.” I laugh.

“I’ll eat you later,” he whispers in my ear. “But that might land you over in Hell.”

I look up at him in surprise and he winks, then leads me toward the keg.

This guy must he blind,
I think as we work our way through the party, talking and joking with his friends. Sexy, gorgeous women are practically crawling out of the woodwork here, and most of them are taking every opportunity to throw themselves at my shark. But Danny seems to only have eyes for me.

In the bathroom, as I struggle to reapply my lipstick while stuffed between Leather Dominatrix and Sexy Sailor Girl, I start to wonder why.

“Why do you like me?” I ask him when we get a moment alone.

“What?” He laughs. “Are you serious?”

“I’m serious. Why do you like me?”

“I guess I’m just a sucker for honey,” he says, and pulls me close. They’re playing a slow, sweet song in Heaven, and his hips are pressed against mine, swaying to the music. I can almost feel the chemistry vibrating between us, but then I realize that it’s not chemistry – it’s Verizon Wireless.

“Shit,” he says, and reaches into his pocket. As he flips open the phone, I suddenly realize that our phones are identical.

“Wait!” I practically shout.

“Hmm. I don’t know a Victor,” he says, and my hand juts out toward the phone, but too late.

“Hello…Who?… Oh, yeah. She’s right here.” Danny hands me the phone with a strange look. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I forgot yours was in there.”

“Hey, babe.” Victor sounds pissed. “Who the fuck was that?”

I hold my hand over the phone and turn to Danny. “I’m sorry. Can I have a minute?” His eyebrows raise with skepticism and he turns away.

I start to walk down the hallway, not looking where I’m going. “Victor,” I hiss into the phone. “Why are you calling now?”

“I’m just calling to wish you a happy Halloween. But I guess I interrupted something.”

My feet suddenly feel very hot and I look up to realize that I’ve wandered into Hell. All around me, red flames and flashes threaten to burn my bee suit, and wicked, cackling music pulses from the walls.

“Wow,” I say, forgetting Victor for a second.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just this party I’m at.”

“So who was the guy?”

“Nobody! He’s just a friend who was holding my phone.”

“And answering it.”

“Victor, look. I’m flattered, but you should’ve called earlier. I’m in the middle of a party right now.”

“I can hear that.”

“Why aren’t you at the parade?”

“It’s two in the morning. The parade is over.”

“Okay. Can I call you later? Or tomorrow?”

Pause. “Lindsey. Are you fucking some guy out there?”

“No. I’m not.” This is honest.

“Fine. I’ll talk to you later.”

I hang up, and after a few minutes of wandering lost through the blazes of eternal damnation, I realize that Hell is not easy to get out of. Then I look up and see Danny coming toward me, not quite as happy as he seemed before.

“So.”

“So this is Hell,” I point out.

Danny looks at me with searching eyes. I can tell he wants to ask who was on the phone, but he won’t because he’s not that type of guy. He hands me a red cocktail and we stand in silence for a long moment. Then he sighs.

“Lindsey, look. You spend half of your time away from me, and I make it a point not to pry about what you do in New York. But can you do me a favor?”

I nod.

“Whatever you do in New York, can you not do it while you’re here? Or at least, not when you’re with me?”

I nod again. “I’m sorry, Danny. I really am.” I hand him back my phone. “Here, it won’t ring again.”

He attempts a smile and slides it back into his pocket.

“Come on now.” I pull on his arms. “Let’s get back to Heaven.”

•   •   •

The next morning I notice that the blinking light on my answering machine is going crazy, but I’m avoiding it like the plague. It’s probably Victor – or maybe even Danny. But I’m too tired to talk to either one of them. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Having two guys in two cities can be loads of fun, but it can also be confusing and tricky. Compartmentalizing works only when you’re pulling all the strings – not when the strings call to check up on you when you’re at a party in the other compartment.

I want to escape. To go somewhere away from New York
and
Los Angeles. Somewhere that I can make sense of things, try to figure out how I can make this double-dating thing a little easier to pull off.

I settle in on the couch and try to work on my Internet survey, but the numbers just keep swimming in front of me like blurry little fish. Then I feel a heaviness in my eyes, and I decide to let myself drift off into a much-needed afternoon nap.

Which I’m jolted out of when the phone rings.

“Lindsey! Where are you?” It’s Liz. “I’ve left countless messages and I’m starting to worry about you now.”

Leave me alone, I think.

“I have wonderful, fantastic, fabulous news, my dear. You and Jen have been invited on
DayLine NBC
to talk about
The Pulse
.”

I jump up from the couch.

“They film in Chicago, and they want to shoot the story on Wednesday. So let’s meet here on Tuesday morning to go over the info. I trust you’re getting these messages, so be here on Tuesday. And remember, the camera adds ten pounds.” Pause. “I’m joking! You’ll look marvelous. See you then.”

W
henever I stay over at my parents’ house, I always wait until they’re asleep, then sneak down to the basement where there is a big cardboard box in the storage room labeled,
Lindsey’s Old Stuff.

In the dim light from a bulb hanging in the corner, I open the box slowly, as if it’s filled with hidden treasure that is precious and fragile. I carefully pick each thing out – each picture and drawing, each love letter and birthday card, each class picture and term paper… all concrete little landmarks along life’s journey that are special and meaningful, but only to me. Then I spend hours sorting through them one by one, lingering on the memories they re-create.

It’s funny how one small thing, such as a napkin from Baxter’s Pizza with a grease spot and a phone number scribbled in marinara sauce, can bring back such a powerful, detailed memory of one particular night, so many years ago. Wind and snow howling out the window, Night Ranger’s “Sister Christian” on the jukebox, my new lime-green Benetton sweater dress and jelly bracelets. Friday night at Baxter’s is the place to be, and the garlic bread and two large pizzas on the table (one pepperoni and one just cheese) are a mere distraction from what’s
really
going on, which is a bunch of guys from the high school across town, trying to act like they’re not all that interested in me and my big-haired friends. The phone number was Blake Jersey’s, by the way, but I never did get to call him because the last digit got blurred when Jennie Burns bashed her eye into the hand dryer in the bathroom trying to blow more Aqua Net into her bangs, and when I went to help her, the napkin fell from my hand and some water splashed on it. But I did get to kiss Blake that night, outside in the swirling snow while our respective friends waited in their cars, honking their horns for us to hurry up. The kiss was wonderful and magical. And whenever I find that napkin in the box, I always wonder if it was even more wonderful and magical only because I never did get to call him.