The BACHELORETTE Project (The Project: LESLEE Series) (9 page)

“It’s really none of your business,” I say, “but if you must know, this is a fifteen-thousand dollar bag.”

“Whoa!” he says shockingly. “For that much money, you could not only open your stupid store, but you could also clothe all of North Philly…maybe even South Philly, too...”

“Very, very funny, Russ,
” I say sarcastically. Russ and I have a sibling relationship. Since Karen
is like a sister of mine
, Russ is like a brother; the bratty little brother that snoops in your diary and gets in your personal business enough to make you go insane. Some days, like today, you just want to smack the little brother. He knows nothing about Hermès nor does he have any respect for the fashion world. Russ is just a six-foot-three overgrown child who thinks fashion consists of his ragged khaki shorts, a pair of overworn flip-flops, and an old blue t-shirt that says ‘Dew the Jew’ in a Mountain Dew soda design (FYI: Yes, this is what he’s wearing and yes, it is still February and twenty degrees outside … the whole wearing-shorts-in-the-winter thing that men do remains an enigma to me).

We pack my things in the SUV and all jump in like one big eclectic family and begin the journey to their house. “You don’t even know how happy I am to h
ave you come down here to visit,
” Karen says. “I have so many things to do like shop for a wedding dress, pick wedding colors, find a caterer …” Karen says and I’m exhausted just hearing her talk. Screw a wedding. If I can’t have my wedding, then no one should … marry that is. OK, I’ll admit that I am a little bitter, and maybe by some stroke of luck me and Victor will get back together, but who am I kidding? Any man that throws Burberry out the window doesn’t deserve a wife. They deserve to be castrated Lorena Bobbitt-style.

“How come your future husband can’t help you?” I ask her. “You know, it’s his wedding, too.”

“Because I like things to be
done a certain way, that’s all,
” Karen responds.

“That, and she becomes a complete psycho when it has
anything to do with the wedding,
” Russ chimes in and Karen pouts.

“That’s not true!” she insists.

“It’s true, Leslee,” Russ says. “Don’t let
her trap you into the wedding H
ell that she’s created.”

“It is not a wedding H
ell!” she says.

“Oh, OK, so then why did you put money down on three different places?” Russ asks and Karen rolls her eyes.

“It’s because my mind may change,” she replies gritting her teeth. “When I decide on a place, I want to make sure it’s the best, and furthermore, all those deposits are refundable.”

“OK, fine, Karen. I give up,
” Russ says accepting his defeat, but unfortunately for him, Karen’s not done with this conversation. It seems like they’ve had this “disagreement” before.

“You’re just mad because your
mother
wants us to have
our
wedding at the temple and I’m not doing that. I know you and your family are Jewish, but I don’t need a reminder on our wedding day. I mean, I don’t see you running around wea
ring a damn yamaka on your head,
” Karen says.

“My mother was not trying to remind you that we are Jewish. She just wanted things to be traditional.”

“OK,” Karen smirks. “Let’s be traditional then. How about this? You can do the whole glass breaking traditional thing that Jewish grooms do during the ceremony, but instead of breaking the glass by stepping on it, I’m requesting that I get to take a glass and break it over your mother’s head. How’s that for tradition?”

“You know, I never said anything when
you suggested jumping the broom,
” Russ says and Karen rolls her eyes.

“It’s African tradition, dumbass. Am I not African-American?”

“OK, then I have a solution,” Russ said angrily. “How about I break the glass, we both jump over a broom, and then do the Electric Slide at the end?” Silence erupts and Karen’s face grows hot.

“See, this is exactly what I mean,” she says. “You don’t take o
ur wedding seriously!”

“You just told me that you wanted to hit my mom over the head with a fuckin’ glass!”

“I know what I said,
” Karen says abruptly. “Fine. You don’t have to plan the wedding. Leslee and I will plan the wedding. How long are you staying for, Les?”

After watching them verbally abuse each other, I’m afraid to say anything. Maybe my problems aren’t as big as I think they are. “I, um … I don’t know. It’s a long story actually. You see—”

“Stay as long as you like,” Karen interrupts. “I need someone to help me with the wedding who isn’t getting ridiculous suggestions from their apple-headed mother.” She looks at Russ and he just clutches the wheel tightly.
This is going to be a very LONG “vacation.”

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

After a very tense and quiet car ride to Karen and Russ’ home, we finally arrive at their quaint, brick row home in South Philly. Karen, still sulking from Russ’ comment about the broom, gets out of the SUV without saying a word to Russ. She pulls out one of my bags from the trunk and begins to walk to the front door, stubbornly. I grab the rest of my bags and follow her into the house. Russ, on the other hand, doesn’t carry even one of my bags as if to say to me, “Why didn’t you stick up for me, you bitch?” But he’s probably just a little ticked off that Karen pretty much told him how much she despises his mother. The life of an engaged couple, I guess.

“OK,” Karen says as she throws down one of my bags onto the living room floor. It’s a very modern living room, but a tad bit plain. The walls are beige with very few pictures hanging on them, the couch is a suede maroon with a few chocolate brown throw pillows, and the entertainment center is a cherry wood color just like the coffee table and the end tables, all only a shade darker than the hardwood floors. But the best part is how big their television is and how ridiculously clean the whole room is; not a speck of dust. I remember from our college days that Karen was a bit obsessive with the cleaning, and it looks like the legend still lives on.

“So, this is our living room,” she says.
“The kitchen and dining room are
in the back, the office with the computer and all that other stuff is upstairs, there’s an extra room up there, too, and in the attic so make yourself at home. There’s two bathrooms on the second floor where the bedrooms are, and the basement is off limit
s. Russ calls that ‘the man cave
’ and that’s where he and his little friends play their video games, drink, and get high.” It’s kinda funny how she talks about Russ as if he’s a child. I remember that my grandmother would always tell me that men are just children, only bigger in size. I still think it’s a little weird how grown men still play video games…
ALL THE TIME.

“Thanks, Karen,” I say as I plop onto their comfy couch. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”

“It’s not a problem,
” she says smiling. “You’re my best friend … even though you barely ever visit anymore.”

“I was busy in New York,” I reply. “My job was taking up a lot of my life, I had to spend time with my fiancé—“

“Wait a second,
” Karen says putting her hand up in a halting position. “You’re engaged?”

“I was, but not anymore … at least I don’t think.”

“You said you were living together, but never ever did you say that you were engaged.”

“It was a
very short-lived engagement,
” I say, shrugging my shoulders.

“How come you never told me?”

“I don’t know. It just never came up.”

Karen nods her head. “Oh, I see. You were embarrassed of him, weren’t you?”

“No, I wasn’t embarrassed!”

“Did he have both of his arms, both of his legs?” she asks.

“Yes, all of his body parts were intact.”

“Hmm …” Karen thinks for a second. “He had some fucked up teeth, didn’t he?”

“No, his teeth were perfect, Karen. There was nothing wrong with him.”

“He had a face like Shrek?”

“Um, no,” I say. “He did not look like Shrek, you jackass.”

“Speaking of Shrek and jackasses …” Karen pulls me off the couch and drags me through the kitchen to the backdoor of the house. She opens the door and slowly pokes her head out.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Shh!” she whispers to me. “Be quiet.”

“Why?”

“Because they might hear you.”

“Who might hear me?” I whisper.

“Shrek and her little jackasses,
” she responds.

“What are you even talking about?”

“My nosy next door neighbor. She’s got the body of a beast and the face of an ogre, and her children are the devil. Come and look.”

I begin to slowly poke my head out the door and spot two little children. The little girl is funny looking and pudgy, while the little boy is cute yet lanky in size. They don’t even have coats on and it’s cold as God knows what outside. What is their mother thinking? There’s snow on the ground for crying out loud!

Then, I spot the mother. From her feet to her ankles, she looks normal, but as you work your way up the ladder of her body, it’s quite the sight to see from her oversized, keg belly to her extremely saggy breasts that seem to reach down to her belly button. But, that’s not the worst part. After observing the chunkiness of her neck, you can’t help but to spot the most hideous, disgusting face that you would ever see in your life. A plastic surgeon’s worst nightmare … Shrek indeed. I gasp.

“Oh my God!” I say, catching my breath.

“Oh my God is right,
” Karen says. “Last summer, her children thought it would be a great idea to dig a pool in my yard. I could’ve choked the bastards. So now I have this big brown hole in the back of my beautiful yard all because she can’t control the little fuckers.”

“Did she even apologize for it?”

“No, of course not. We had an argument about it and then she got ‘so scared’ that she called the cops on me. So, since then she’s felt threatened by me, and now she tries to peep in my house from her backyard and she’s always calling the cops on me, saying that the noise level is unacceptable. She’s such a douche.”

“Sou
nds like a neighborhood rivalry,
” I say.

“Yeah, just a little,
” Karen says as a snowball beams her in the cheek. “What the hell?!” she exclaims and walks onto her patio. “Those little fuckers! Shrek, I told you to control your damn kids!” she yells at the mother.

“Stop calling me ‘Shrek!’” the mother yells back, stuttering. “I don’t like that, I don’t like that!”

“Oh, screw you and your horrible ogre ways!” Karen yells back. “The next time your kids throw a snowball at me, I will bury them in the hole that they dug in my back yard last summer!”

“Don’t say that about my kids!”

“Your children are the devil!” Karen shrieks.

“You’re harassing me! I’m calling the cops!”

“Well, go ahead and call them! Tell them I said hi! I’ll have the donuts and coffee waiting for them, SHREK!” Karen yells as she ducks inside the house and slams the door. “Ugh, those kids!” she says wiping the snow off her face and out of her hair. “They’re just ruthless!”

“They’re just being ki
ds, Karen,
” I say, trying to calm her down.

“Bastards,
” she says to herself as she pulls out two wine glasses from the kitchen cabinet. She removes a bottle of Shiraz from her wine rack and holds it up in the air. “Those kids need a good ol’ fashioned booty whip, just like when we were growing up. My mom would tell me, ‘go outside and get a stick,’ and then I knew that my ass was in trouble, but look at me now!” she says pouring wine into the glasses. “I am educated, successful, engaged to a gorgeous, educated man, and I have my own place, a nice car. Those ass spankings helped me in the long run.”

“Yeah, I can see that,
” I say sipping on my wine.
I can’t say that I completely agree with her philosophy knowing that she is a little bit crazy.
“So, are you and Russ going to have kids after you marry?” Karen pauses.

“We haven’t spoken about it so I’m assuming no,” she says as we walk back into the living room. “Those kids next door are the best birth control ever and so is their mother. I couldn’t imagine looking like that after popping out babies.”

“Well, women usually gain a little weight after they have kids,” I tell her.

“Yeah, well I didn’t endure all those summers at fat camp for nothing,” Karen says. “I don’t want to gain weight, nor do I want to have kids.”

“OK,” I answer. “No kids for you then.”

“Let’s not talk about me,
” Karen says. “Let’s talk about you. So you lost your job and your boyfriend all in one day, huh?”

“Yup. Possibly the worst day of my life.”

“Makes sense,” Karen replies. “I’m surprised that you haven’t jumped out of a window just yet.”

“I almost did, but I managed to keep my composure.” I devour the rest of my wine and put my arm around Karen. “But maybe this is a good thing. This could be some sort of a sign.”