Find Me I'm Yours (3 page)

Coco's the one who got me my job at
Bridalville
where we, along with Jeff, Maya, and Frannie, are the Art Department, and somehow because of that title, I've managed to convince myself that I'm actually making art. And that the job will somehow help my career. Right, like my first gallery show will feature graphics mocking overused wedding trends like mason jars.

One of the reasons I took the job (aside from the fact that it was the only one I could get) is that the peeps who work in the Art Dept. get to go on location to take pics and gather arty scraps for our “Waaay Off the Beaten Path” section that features crazy, alternative wedding and honeymoon locales. Since I've worked here, the others have been sent to Jackson Hole, Maui, Napa, and Vermont. Me? South Pasadena. Yeah. To cover a wedding where the couple said their I Dos at a tiny church—on the ninth hole of a miniature golf course. I've asked, suggested, prodded, comically begged, and pleaded with my boss, Malcolm, but have I ever been sent to any far-off location? No. Nein. Nyet. And, I guess, why would I? I've never been lucky at anything—the only thing I've ever won in my life was a salami from Canter's Deli. (I got the receipt with the red star.)

So back to how it all went down. Two days ago, Coco and I were doing some layouts for the
Bridalville
web series #whitepeopleweddings when Jason texted me.

Ever since we broke up, whenever I get a text from Jason, I get a wave of nausea that's a combo platter of dread and excitement. Fuck, I missed him. It never mattered that we were so different. He's got a geek boy video game programmer's mind, not an artist's soul; he's reserved and holds his emotions in while I'm wide-open raw. He doesn't have much of a sense of humor, yet laughs at all of my jokes. But I always knew he loved me and would do anything for me, as I would for him. Oh… except stay faithful. Him, not me.

I wanted to see him so damn badly. To fall into his arms and his bed. But every time I considered it, I'd picture him all up in my neighbor Amanda's bizness, and I just couldn't do it.

“Who's that?” Coco asked. Nothing is ever private as she practically sits in my lap in the tiny cubicle we share.

I didn't answer, which said it all.

“What did he say this time?”

“Nothing. He just really wants to see me.”

“Don't even….”

“What if you and Blake split up? Are you saying you wouldn't even talk to him?”

“That's different. We're married.”

“Well, it felt like Jason and I were married. A year and a half is a long time when you're my age. That's like more than 1/24th of my life!”

“
Your age?
Like I'm all Granny since I'm four years older than you?” Coco took a chopstick out of her upswept 'do and threw it at me.

“OW!” I yelled, though it barely grazed my arm.

Then a wave of compassion seemed to come over her. “I know it's hard, Mags, but you just have to stay strong.”

I shrugged, “I seem to be better. I'm only crying every OTHER day. But you know how on
CSI: Wherever
, there's a totally clean-looking room until they spray a chemical, and suddenly everything glows all over, showing the walls are completely covered in blood? That's me. My heart is still bludgeoned.”

“Charming comparison. So I'll take it even further—Jason assaulted your trust. He murdered your confidence.”

She was right. But it didn't make it any easier.

“And I'll kill you if you ever go out with him. And I'll never speak to you again… well, because you'll be dead.”

“All right, OK, I won't see him,” I said, to get her off my back. “I wouldn't want you to be stuck in some women's prison with Crazy Eyes and Taystee because of me.”

“Where the only sex I'd get is with an inmate or a screwdriver.”

Coco and I binge watched the first two seasons of
Orange Is the New Black
together, each in one weekend.

“Obvs by just looking at your sheroes I can tell that staying strong is on your mind, too,” she continued, pointing to my nails, which seem to be the only place I make art lately, if you can even call it that.

“Exactly.”

“Would you just freakin' break down and try the dating site I've been on your case about? It's different than all those cheesydates.com sites. It's for creatives. That is if you really consider yourself one.”

“Ouch. ISH. Lame strategy.” I took a breath. “Maybe I'm just not ready to move on yet.” I shifted the focus onto Coco. “So what are you doing tonight?”

“Helping my friend Mark with his art opening next week.”

“Is he the one who recently broke up with his girlfriend?”

“Yeah, that's him.” Coco pulled out a cinnamon toothpick and started sucking on it, a habit she started almost a year ago after she quit smoking. At first she was all into e-cigs (of course smoking them in an Audrey Hepburn
Breakfast at Tiffany's
long cigarette holder!), but decided she had to give that up once vaping became so trendy. I can only imagine what she'll come up with next if cinnamon toothpicks become all that.

“I'm surprised you're not pushing Mark on me.”

“I would, but it's too soon. He's still fucked up over his ex.”

“Hello?! EXACTLY my point! Why can't you see that about me?”

“The difference is Mark doesn't WANT to settle down, and that's pretty much all you think about.”

“How could I not when I'm surrounded by weddings and honeymoons all frickin' day long?” I squirmed, uncomfortable with how desperate it was all sounding. “It's not like I need a man to validate my existence or anything. And it's not even like I have to get married per se. It's just that I'm a typical Libra. We're all about partners.”

“So then why are you even questioning me? Try the damn creative dating site!”

“All right. Fine. Let's do it. Where do I start?”

“Well, it's your lucky day,” Coco said excitedly. “I already saved some videos of a few of my top choices.” She pulled up the website in one click.

“Uh, you seem way into managing my love life. How's yours? Are things OK with Blake?”

“Of course,” Coco answered, a little too quickly.

“All right, what's up? Talk to me.”

“Nothing,” she said, a little too emphatically.

“Did Blake do something?”

“No. Definitely not. That's pretty much the problem. He does nothing anymore.” She pulled a tube of dark red lipstick out of her purse and reapplied it. Coco can be wearing no makeup at all, but she'll always have lipstick on. “He joins bands, then quits or gets fired, and sits on the couch all day and night playing his guitar. How do you become a rock star on the couch? Don't you actually have to get up and rock?”

“That's rough,” I said. “But I know how much you love each other.”

“We'll figure it out. But this is about you right now, not me. Come on, let's look. Wait till you see Theodore Helmsley!”

We went to Coco's choices and watched:

www.CreativeMatchmaking.com/mytoppicks

“OMG, that guy is a riot!” I said, laughing and cringing at the same time. “And the other guy, I just want to kill myself. But I don't get why you picked them. If this is a dating site for creatives, shouldn't their videos be, uh, a little more creative?”

“Exactly.”

“And why the chick?” I asked. “Her video was rad, especially compared to the guys, but you know I'm a bi-nosaur. That was a long time ago.”

“I wanted you to see hers to convince you to do your own video for the site. Treat it like a short film. Do costume changes. Weird locations. Special effects. Then you're not chasing after any of the guys, they'll all be chasing after YOU!”

“Hmm… strategy. I like how you're thinkin'.”

“And even if you don't find Mr. HIM from it, at least you'll be making art. You've mentioned more than once that you've been wanting to expand into film collages, right?”

“Yeah.” I was overcome with sistah love. “I really do appreash you looking out for me. You're right. It's time to take some action.” I got up and hugged Coco, and her toothpick totally poked me in the cheek, which made us both laugh.

And don't ya know the second there's any bright/light levity in the office, the dark cloud that's our boss blows in. Malcolm looks like a white, suburban version of Bruno Mars, only shorter. If that's possible.

“What the hell's so damn funny in here?” Malcolm barked.

“Um… isn't
Bridalville
supposed to be funny?” I asked, trying to sound sincere. It shocks me on a daily basis how someone with absolutely no sense of humor could have been put in charge here. I guess the joke's on us.

“Hey, Boss, have a cupcake.” Coco always knows how to divert Malcolm's attention, and it usually involves gooey baked goods from Auntie Em's Kitchen in Eagle Rock.

Malcolm's attempts to make up for his 5′3″-ness with a lot of bossy bossiness and attitude are always startling and unsettling—especially because when he's not yelling or scolding or dissing, he's telling us dirty jokes that are never ever clever, and could be total grounds for a sexual harassment lawsuit.

But as much as I'd love to skip out on little bigwig and this torturous hades-hole, I need a steady paycheck to have ANY chance of finally moving out of my HOME hades-hole and away from my roommate—Satan in Stilettos, S.H.A.R.I.

I cannot even utter her name (or write it without some sort of punctuation). In the almost two years I've been living in her apartment, here are just a few things S.H.A.R.I. has taken from me:

Just a Few Things S.H.A.R.I. Has Taken from Me

By Mags Marclay

1). My blue halter top with the mermaid stenciled on it. Gone. She “borrows” all my clothes, and if she even bothers to return them, they're always stained and stanky. “I didn't take your skirt,” is such a blatant snow job, when it's mysteriously back in my closet reeking of Christina Aguilera Inspire.

2). My phrases and words—she spews them out like they're her own. Stop the abbrevs,
S.H.A.R.
; they're so not you!

3). I thought this one was the worst (little did I know at the time!). She got the exact same tattoo I have!!!! SWEARS! And it's not just a tattoo parlor top five generic butterfly or tribal band. It's of Lucky the Leprechaun from Lucky Charms cereal! She says hers is totally different since he's holding up a yellow marshmallow star, instead of mine who's got the pink marshmallow heart! And hers is on her ass, instead of on her thigh like mine. Yeah, so totally and completely different. Now the phrase “Magically Delicious” is forever sullied for me, as S.H.A.R.I. is “Maniacally Deceitful.”

4). But the tattoo steal was nothing compared to the night I came home late from work and found my BF Jason, who was waiting for me, unwittingly trapped into a lap dance courtesy of my shameless roomie. I walked in just as he was pushing her off him. (This was before he slept with my neighbor, Amanda. I guess his lap couldn't resist that one.)

So why don't I just move out? Well, every time I've indicated, mentioned, threatened, and declared, it's gone a little something like this:

S.H.A.R.I.: “Go ahead. Oh, but I'm keeping your last month's rent, security deposit, and here's a bill for $1,247.32 to replace the baseboards your dogs have chewed, steam clean the carpet where you spilled red wine, and repaint the walls where you tacked, nailed, and taped your
colleges
….” (Yeah, she says COLLEGES, not COLLAGES!)

Between that, and the fact that I'd have to pay an additional first, last, and security deposit anywhere I would move to, I may be imprisoned in this apartment for eternity, Warden S.H.A.R.I. rattling the keys.

Anyway/anyways/anywho, you'll get an inkling why Coco and I call her the Stacktress. And the Racktress. And of course the Hacktress, by taking a gander at her website.