Saved by the Celebutante (7 page)

“Okay. But we’re leaving from here together. I’m not meeting you there.”

“Sure.” She looks behind me. “Oh, hi Rochelle!”

I feel my face get hot. It’s too late to hide. I press myself against the wall, trying to make myself as inconspicuous as possible.

Rochelle comes over and strokes my cheek. I smile at her nervously.

“How’re you doing, sweetheart?” she asks.

“Fine. Er, sorry about that night at the club.”

“Forget it. Shit happens. Hey, you look great tonight.”

My smile becomes genuine. “Stop it.” I am literally only wearing a pair of old jeans and a black tank top. And then I realize I’m not wearing a bra. Oh God. What if she thinks I did it on purpose?

I try to cover my chest without looking too obvious.

“And I don’t know how you get your hair to always look so amazing. I wish mine was like that. I have to spend hours most days just to get it half decent.” She pats her immaculately styled waves.

“Well, it looks great,” I say automatically. I can’t help it. She’s so beautiful.

I’m saved from any further awkwardness by Anna and Bridget arriving together.

Anna doesn’t notice me because she has her phone’s loudspeaker playing the Jason Derulo song “Wiggle”.

“Oh my God, will you turn that crap off?” Penny groans. “What is it with you and that music?”

“What music?” I ask.

“Anna is obsessed with dirty lyrics.”

“I just find them funny,” Anna says. “Except I’m confused about one line in this song. Do you know what a Justin Bieber wiggle is? Is it like the Harlem Shake?”

Penny looks at her blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s a line here…” She quickly rewinds it for us to listen to. “…and I’m wondering why he’s talking about Justin Bieber.”

We all listen closely for a moment. And then Penny bursts out laughing.

“It doesn’t say Justin Bieber! Anna, you need to ask Google before you say stuff like that.”

She smiles good-naturedly and opens the browser on her phone. After a second, she starts laughing too.

“Oh, right! Cool.” She continues reading the lyrics on her screen. “And what’s this about ham sandwiches?”

“I think you need Urban Dictionary for that one,” Penny says, grinning.

“Actually, I don’t think I want to know.”

Penny makes a sweeping motion with her hands to move us all over to the TV. “Come on,
The Bachelor
is about to start.”

I find myself relaxing after that. I take it easy on the cider and sit on the floor to watch the show with everyone.

It turns out to be a fun evening, and I realize that even though things seem kind of bleak right now, my life isn’t as bad as the ones on this show. Those poor women pour their hearts out, only to then get dumped on national television.

It’s all about perspective.

EIGHT

Penny is sitting on her Ikea bar stool watching me make pancakes. She’s never been very good at cooking, so the kitchen is normally Michelle’s domain. Back when I lived in my own apartment, the kitchen was my domain too. Corey refused to cook for us after doing it all day at his restaurant, but I always felt a bit intimidated making stuff for him. He never said anything, yet I got the feeling I often fell short of his expectations.

As I pour batter into the frying pan, Penny browses a clothing website on her iPad. I’ve been living here for over three weeks now and this seems to be our thing whenever Michelle is out. Me in the kitchen. Penny being lazy.

“You know what you should do?” she says suddenly.

“About what?” I adjust the temperature on the stove.

“Your living situation. While you’re waiting for the apartment to sell, maybe you should ask Corey to get a roommate. That way, someone else can pay your share of the mortgage and you can find a place of your own.”

“Don’t you want me here anymore?”

“Oh, stop it. You know we’re happy for you to stay as long as you like, but I’m not sure
you
want to stay here long term. I’ve seen you looking at Craigslist. It’s okay. I’m not offended. I’d be the same.”

“I just don’t want to wear out my welcome. And it does seem a bit unfair that I’m paying for a place I can’t even live in. Who knows how long it will take to sell? It might be months before we get a buyer.”

“Exactly. It’s half your apartment, so you have rights. I say tell Corey to find someone, and if he hasn’t done it within a month, he has to pay the full mortgage himself.”

“Yeah, I guess. He’s been behaving so weird lately that I just don’t know if I can rely on him anymore.”

“You can’t. Give him the ultimatum and then do whatever you have to do.”

To be honest, I am quite peeved. Corey has been acting really strangely since I moved out and he moved back in. I’ve tried calling him a few times to talk about the apartment sale and his thoughts on divorce, but he ends all our conversations abruptly and won’t commit to anything. It’s so frustrating. It’s like he’s morphed into this completely different person. I know he must be struggling, but he can’t keep avoiding me forever.

“All right. I’ll text him and give him the option to find someone, and then I’ll start looking around for somewhere myself. I do really appreciate you putting me up, though.”

“I know. You don’t have to justify wanting to get on with your life. Besides, it must be confusing when Rochelle comes over,” she says, winking.

“Leave me alone,” I moan.

“There’s nothing wrong with having a crush on a woman.”

“I don’t have a crush! I just think she’s pretty, and it’s flattering she likes my hair.”

She laughs. “You keep telling yourself that.”

I message Corey and let him know the plan. I then finish making the pancakes, serving up a couple for both Penny and me, and get on my computer to browse for available rooms on Craigslist.

There are a few possibilities, which is encouraging. I figure it can’t hurt to contact some of them and see what it’s like out there. I narrow it down to three.

The first apartment belongs to a girl called Helen who lives a couple of blocks from Penny and Michelle in a converted warehouse. It looks and sounds awesome, but it’s slightly out of my budget. I’ll have to find out if she’s negotiable.

The second place is owned by a woman called Susan. She sounds a lot older on the phone than the age listed in her ad, but I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

And when I call about the third listing, the guy doesn’t answer his phone. His name is Brad and he lives in a three bedroom place with another guy. They might not want a female roommate, but I figure it can’t hurt to ask. I leave a message asking him to contact me if the room is still available.

Helen said I could come over right away, so I quickly go and change. I want to look like I’m not trying too hard, but still show I’m a young and vibrant contributor to society.

I head out the door via Penny and do a little twirl. “What do you think?”

“I’d call that look
hot hipster
. Is that what you’re going for?”

“Maybe the hot part. The hipster bit, not so much.” Nobody wants to be called a hipster. Or do they? For all I know, it’s a desirable thing these days.

“Well, whatever it is, you look great.”

I’ve chosen a pair of denim shorts with a vintage t-shirt, fitted combat jacket and suede fringed ankle boots. I saw a similar look in a magazine recently and it goes really well with aviator glasses and some chunky gold jewelry.

I walk the few blocks to Helen’s building, impressed by my surroundings before I even get inside. Everything is so fancy. Even the trees on the sidewalk are perfect.

I press a button on the intercom.

“Come up,” she calls.

I ride up in the quiet, carpeted elevator and knock on her door. Each floor appears to only have one apartment. Nice.

A tiny girl with a lithe figure greets me. Her dark hair is cropped into a short bob and she’s wearing an expensive-looking yoga outfit.

“Oh, hey, I was just finishing my session. Come in.”

I wonder what kind of session she’s referring to.

She glides into the large cavernous space like a ballerina.

“So it’s very open plan,” she says, indicating the lack of walls. There are a couple of Chinese silk screens dividing up parts of the floor, presumably with bedrooms behind them.

“I’m ideally looking for someone who is very quiet and isn’t really here much. And of course they have to be vegetarian. I can’t handle the smell of flesh cooking in my kitchen.”

“Oh. Your ad didn’t mention that.”

“Didn’t it? Sorry. I thought it did. You’re a carnivore then, I take it?”

“Um, I guess. I don’t eat a lot of red meat, but I do eat chicken and fish.’

“Ugh. No, I
cannot
have you cooking fish in here. The place would stink. I’m afraid that’s a non-negotiable.”

“All right, well can I at least have a look around before I consider changing my diet?” I joke.

She fixes me with a stare before finally shrugging. “Fine. The bathroom is over there.” She points to the only solid internal wall in the apartment. “And there’s the kitchen, dining and living.”

“What’s on the other side of that curtain?”

“My studio. It’s off limits to everyone but me.”

I take a quick peek. “It’s quite a large space.”

“What’s your point?”

“Nothing.” Unless you want me to pay half the rent.

I quietly venture around the different parts of the apartment and decide it actually isn’t too bad. Helen has put some lovely black and white artwork on the walls and appears to own a lot of designer kitchenware. Only I’m not sure I could live with someone so serious.

“Are you negotiable on the rent?”

“No,” she says defensively. “It’s more than fair.”

Which makes me wonder whether she’s trying to get me to pay more than half for less than an equal share of the space.

“How much do you pay each month?” I ask.

A guilty look flashes across her face. I can see her mentally trying to double what she advertised in her listing.

“Forget it,” I say, fed up. “I’m not interested anymore.”

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”

I let myself out and hope this isn’t indicative of the type of people I’ll be meeting.

As I walk to Susan’s, my phone beeps with a text from Brad.

Come by in half an hour if you want to check out the place.

Great. Might as well get them all out of the way this afternoon.

Susan answers the door to her apartment, and it’s as I suspected. She claimed to be mid-thirties in her ad, but she’s definitely late forties. Either that, or she’s smoked a pack a day since she was twelve. Her skin is almost as bad as Tan Mom’s.

“Hi there,” she says in a voice reminiscent of Mrs. Wolowitz in
The Big Bang Theory
.

“Uh, hi. You’re Susan?”

“Sure am. Come in and check out the place.”

I head into a dingy old two bedroom apartment that smells like cat pee and hasn’t had its furniture updated since the seventies. In fact, I think my grandmother has that exact same coffee table with the yellow tiles on top.

“So have you been advertising for long?” I ask, hesitantly looking around.

“A couple of months,” she admits. “I just haven’t found the right tenant yet.”

I get the impression no one has ventured further than the front door in that time.

“Do you have any questions for me?” I figure I should at least be polite.

She looks surprised. “Uh, I guess. When were you looking to move in?”

“Within the month. But I mean, do you want to know anything about my background? You know employment…or lifestyle?”

“Oh, right. Um…you won’t be bringing men home every night or anything, will you?”

I smile. “No, I’m newly separated. I won’t be bringing men home every night.”

She almost looks disappointed. Then her face lights up. “Hey, do you happen to watch
Cheers
?”

“The TV show about the bar?”

“Yes!”

“It’s okay. I mean it ended over twenty years ago, so I haven’t watched it for a while. They play reruns sometimes though, don’t they?”

“Yes! But I have the entire box set! I’ve watched it seven times and I’m just about to start on the eighth.”

I shudder. “Wow. You must be a big fan, huh?”

“Oh, that Sam Malone is so dishy. Do you know I once saw him in LA?”

“You mean Ted Danson?”

“No, I mean Sam Malone!” She looks at me like I’m crazy. “I called out to him on the street, but I don’t think he heard me. He’d changed his hair color too. Personally, I think he looks better dark.”

“Riiight.” I realize I might not be dealing with a full deck of cards here.

“So do you want to take a look at your room?” she asks eagerly.

“Er, actually, I didn’t know the building was so far away from my office,” I fib. “I’m not sure this is going to work out.”

“Oh, okay.” Her face falls. I feel bad, but there’s no way I’m moving in with someone just because I feel sorry for them.

I shuffle backwards towards the door. “Good luck finding someone.”

She watches me leave, her expression crestfallen.

Back out on the street, I breathe in the fresh air. That poor woman. Thinking Sam Malone is a real person.

I almost cancel the last appointment, but I’m only a couple of blocks away, so I figure I might as well go while I’m here.

The last place turns out to be a house. A rather large one. I have to double check the details on my phone because I can’t believe it’s the address I’m looking for.

I ring the doorbell and wait. Wow. It’s gorgeous. The outside is painted a warm cream with navy trims. It looks to be three stories high if you count the garage at the bottom, and there is a curved bay window on the first floor. It’s like something out of a Lifetime family movie.

The door opens and I laugh in surprise.

Brad was a colleague of mine at Perry Tyler.

He looks confused for a second, clearly wondering why I’m on his doorstep.

“Chrissie?”

I smile nervously. “I didn’t know it was
you
Brad in the ad.”

His face registers what I’m saying, and then he chuckles. “You’re here about the room?”

“I was. But I completely understand if this is too weird for you.”

“No, no. Come in! Hey, aren’t you married?”

“I take it you weren’t there the day I had my little outburst at the office?”

“I was away on vacation in Hawaii. But now that you mention it, I did overhear the tail end of a conversation between two of the admin chicks…something about a video of you at a nightclub?”

I knew it!

“That’s all you heard?”

“I don’t pay attention to office gossip. Most of it’s exaggerated anyway.”

I grimace. “I’m afraid what happened to me doesn’t need to be exaggerated.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.”

“Okay then. Come in and take a look around. Hey, do you want a drink?”

“What have you got?”

“Beer?”

I check my watch. It’s not even twelve. Ah, to hell with it.

“Perfect.”

He heads over to a very sophisticated kitchen and opens the fridge, which is stainless steel and has an ice machine built into the door.

I admire the shiny granite countertop separating us. “Do you own this house?”