The BACHELORETTE Project (The Project: LESLEE Series) (10 page)

“What kind of sign?”

“Maybe I’m supposed to stay in Philadelphia. Maybe New York was just a bad move for me,”
I say.
“And maybe I’m supposed to be surrounded by wonderful friends like you.” I plop back on the couch and put my feet up on the coffee table.
Ahh,
I think to myself.
This is home!
“You know what?”

“What?”

“I’m happy to be staying with you for awhile,” I say. “But, don’t worry. It’ll be like I’m not even here. I’ll clean, I’ll cook, I’l
l do whatever you want me to do,
” I say placing my arms behind my head, relaxing. “Pretend that I’m not even here. I won’t get in your way. I promise.”

“OK, I believe you,” she says as she sits next to me on the couch. “We’re friends, Les. You would do the same for me if I was down and out and dumped with no job and no place to go.”

“Yeah, that’s what friends do!” I say as my smile turns into an obvious pucker face and the tears begin to run down my face. I resort to sobbing into Karen’s arms. “Why does my life have to suck?”

Karen hugs me tight and pats me on the back like a child. “Aww, it’s okay. It could be worse. You could have Lucifer’s children and look like Shrek then your life would
really
suck.”

My butt: completely stuck to the couch watching reruns of
Maury
and
Judge Judy
. My social life: completely nonexistent. I don't want to do anything or go anywhere. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the post breakup phase. These are the things that happen when you come out of a relationship with no closure. These are the things that happen after a breakup, period. You lose sight of yourself. You don't know what to do anymore, and not having a job, well it makes it even worse. My comforting vice right now: cheesy talk shows and Oreos. Things couldn't get any worse.

Looking at the clock on the wall, I see that it's two in the afternoon which means
Golden Girls
are on Lifetime Network.
Awesome!
I can’t wait until the marathon this weekend. Two full days with Betty White! How come I never watched this show before … and when-oh-when did I become this pathetic?

"You plan on peeling yourself off the couch anytime soon?" Karen asks as she walks into the living room. Sh
e's just coming home from her classes
. It's a routine for her to ask me the same question every single day. I've been here for two months and those words are usually the first words out of her mouth.

I look at my 2-liter soda and stack of cookies on the coffee table. "I don't need to get up yet," I answer. "My food stash is still full, but thanks," I say and watch the old women bicker and ban
ter on the television. Do y
ou know what I
really
would like to see
right now
?
The Facts of Life
or
Saved By the Bell
! I used to have a thing for Zach Morris ... I think I still do.

Karen takes the remote from my hand and turns off the television. "What are you doing?" I yell. "I was watching that!" Karen sits on the couch and looks at me. She sighs.

"We need to do something," Karen says.

"Do something about what?" I answer.

"Do something about this," she says motioning to me. "About you."

"There's nothing wrong with me," I reply in complete denial. "I'm fine."

"No, Leslee, you're not," Karen says with a disgusted look on her face.  “And when's the last time you took a shower?" she asks. I sit and think for a second. It's sad because I really don't even remember. "OK, well if you had to think about it, then it's been too long." Karen moves herself to the loveseat.
Do I really smell that bad?
I attempt to sniff myself. "Leslee,” Karen says to me, “you're dirty, you're stinky, you're depressed, and you're my best friend. I can't have you looking and feeling like this. You have to go out and just start your life over again. It's not the end of the world. Besides, you're stinking up my couch and it's getting to be kinda unsanitary."

"Karen, I had a life. My life was in Manhattan in a beautiful apartment with beautiful designer clothes and a gorgeous boyfriend that every woman envied me for, and now ... I don't know what to do with my
self. The only things that make
me happy now are old television shows and carbs."

"I know that life s
ucks, but you can't dwell on it,
" Karen answers. "You got dumped. So what? Do you know how many losers I had to date to finally find a good man? Sometimes you are so caught up in material lifestyle that you never realize that the lifestyle really isn't that great." I give Karen a questioning look.  What is she talking about? When you wear fabulous clothes, you have a fabu
lous lifestyle, right? "For example:
the designer stuff. Who really cares? You know that stupid saying, 'it's only the inside that counts.'"

"Yeah, but only ugly people say that," I respond. It's true for the most part.
“
Just like they say that ugly people have great personalities.”

"Well, I don't see Dolce and Gabbana putting a roof over your head or Versace giving you a job," Karen says. "And I damn for sure know that Marc Jacobs or Dior did not buy you those cookies. It’s one thing to dress nice, but it's a completely different thing when you're living someone else's life. That was Victor's life. Give it up; it's over. Move on."

"How do I move on?" I ask. Something that I was so used to is now gone.  It's hard to transition from all of what's happened in the past month. I had to sell most of my designer clothes and shoes just to have some money in the bank and to pay Karen (which by the way she did not want to take money from me at all, but I made her take it), and I went from riding in fancy town cars with a personal chauffeur to riding public transportation, fuckin'
public transportation
... FUCK!!

"First, we need to work on getting you off this couch and then have you de
velop a normal hygiene regimen
again," Karen says in a professional tone.  "Then, we need to work on your socialization."

"Meaning?"

"Socialize!" she yells excitedly. "Out on the town, dummy. Doing things that involve people that are not on the television screen, meaning no
Maury
, no
Judge Judy
, no soap operas ... and if I catch you watching
Golden Girls
again I will choke you, and that's
not a threat; that's a promise.
" Karen winks at me. "So, get up, go take a bath, wash your hair,
and
pi
ck out something cute to wear
."

"Why? Where are we going?"
I ask and Karen develops a mischievous look on her face.
Oh no!
I think to myself.
What the hell am I getting myself into tonight?

“Pull out your leopard leotard and your Flashdance leg warmers because we’re going to an eighties party tonight at the XO Lounge,” she says and begins to dance. “We’re getting our ‘Wang Chung Tonight’ on. So, be ready in two hours or I will drag you there by your knees,” she warns and rushes up the stairs.

This can’t be too bad,
I think to myself. A little Culture Club, some George Michaels … an eighties party may be just the thing to get me out of this little breakup funk.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Cranber
ry juice and Grey Goose, please,
” I tell the bartender. I need a drink so badly! Along with being boyfriend-free and job-free, I’ve been alcohol-free … well, except for the occasional glass of wine that I’ve had with Karen, but wine doesn’t count. Wine shouldn’t count. It should just be a freebie.

“I love your outfit!” Karen says to me yelling over the eighties freestyle music. I really didn’t have anything eighties to wear, so I just raided Karen’s attic and found an old, ruffled jean skirt, a fluorescent green tank top, a stonewashed, bejeweled jean jacket, a pair of pink and white striped leg warmers and some fluorescent yellow heels. All in all, I look ridiculous, but not as ridiculous as Karen and her Flashdance getup. I just sigh. This is just sad … so, so sad.

“You see how I put my ponytail to the side?” I say pointing to my hair. “I went straight-up
Teen Witch
on their asses,” I tell her proudly.

“Well, whatever you did with their asses, whoever they are, I’m just glad that you washed
your
ass before coming out tonight,” she responds and I stick out my tongue. “You were scaring my guests away with your stench.”

“Oh, you mean Russ’ friends? The ones that smelled like weed?” I say.

“They may have smelled like weed, but you, my friend, smelled a lot worse,” she says turning up her nose. “I’m just glad your body and soap have finally collided after all these weeks.”

“Ha ha ha,” I say, unamused as Russ walks over in his Run DMC attire. It’s really like being in the eighties again. “So who else is coming to this shindig?” I ask Karen.

“I know that Eric said he was coming,” she replies.

“Oh,
” I say and sip my drink. “A college reunion I see.”

“Yeah, and he said he was bringing his friend, Mike!” Karen yells. “He’s some guy from his work, another teacher.”

“Oh,
I forgot that Eric was teaching,
” I reply.

“Yeah, well no more,” Karen says. “He found some crazy Internet advertising job that he’ll be starting over the summer. He said he should be making six figures by the end of the year.”

“Well, good for him,” I say nodding my head.

“He left you a message on your voicemail!”

“What?!” I yell back. I truly cannot hear anything.

"He left you a message while you were
in New York!" she says loudly.
"He said good luck for your promotion interview! You never called him back!"

"I never got the message!" I respond. I stand there and think. I don't remember receiving any messages from Eric nor do I remember Victor letting me know that anyone had called me. Victor is such an ass on every level possible.

"Either way he'll be here!" Karen says and t
akes a swig of Russ’ beer.
"Jello shots?!" she offers and I nod my head. Jello shots! It takes me back to my college days. It actually feels kinda good to be carefree right now. All the sitting on the couch that I did, I'm sure I missed a lot of good parties. Karen and Russ were going out almost every night. I still don't see how she kept up with completing her dissertation.

Karen passes the shot to me and I inhale it. Ahhh! So good!  I haven't had a Jello shot in years. I'm so used to the fancy martinis and expensive (crappy) wine in New York that I forgot what the good cheap stuff tasted like. I order a Washington Apple and finish it within seconds. I order another one and drink that quickly, too. I'm starting to feel a little lightheaded. God, I'm such a cheap date!

Karen points to the entrance door and laughs. “Oh, look! It’s a Miami Vice clone with Ron Burgundy’s mustache!” I turn around to get a glance at what may be the cheesiest appearance of the night: a white sports coat with matching white linen pants, a black t-shirt, and long behold a familiar face. I smile.

"Eric!" I scream as I run toward him and jump into his arms. I don't know if it's just me or the alcohol, but I'm extra happy to see him.

“Leslee!” he yells in excitement. I guess he’s happy to see me, too. Who wouldn’t be happy to see me?

"What's upppp?" I manage to slur out and he laughs.

"The interview didn't go t
o
o well I'm guessing?" he says and I laugh.

"Fuck it!" I answer him. "Who cares?! I'm happy to be home!" Karen hands me another drink and I take huge gulps of it. My motto of the night: if it's alcohol but it doesn't taste like alcohol, then by all means DRINK YOUR FREAKIN' ASS OFF!

“Ah. Gotcha,” he says then orders a beer. “How much have you had to drink?”

The wheels begin to turn in my head. Can I even recall how much I’ve drank up until this point? “Um, enough?” I answer with a grin. I find myself stumbling, not being able to stand up straight. Karen shakes her head.

“She’s so far gone,
” Karen tells Eric referring to me.

“I can tell,” he says laughing as I stumble into him. “She’ll be crawling on the floor in no time.”

“The good ol’ college days,” Karen says and laughs. “So, um, where’s your friend?”

“Oh, he’s over there running game on the girl with the teased hair and the shoulder pads. I’ll call him over,” Eric replies. “Yo, Mike!” he yells across the bar and a man with the exact same outfit as Eric (mustache and all), turns around. Eric waves him over.

“How cute!” Karen says sarcastically. “A double dose of Don Johnson. Please tell me that your Testarossa is parked outside.”

“Nah, I wish,” Eric says as Mike walks over to us. “Mike, this is Russ, Karen, and Leslee.”

“Hi,” we say in unison. I don’t know if it’s me or not, but it seems that Mike can’t keep his eyes off me. It would almost be OK if he didn’t have the Lee press-on mustache.