Me vs. Me Page 8

  My brain hurts.

  “I’ve never denied that I support the removal of criminal penalties for the use of marijuana—responsible use by adults that is,” says Mayor-Elect Tom Fields on-screen.

  It’s Wednesday and I’m in the control room in New York manning my show. I switch the screen back to Ron.

  “But you did mislead your town, didn’t you?” Ron asks, reading from my script. “You campaigned on a premise of promising to reduce the smell and noise from cow herds. Without mentioning your ulterior motive.”

  Tom, the four-hundred-pound, gray-bearded, soon-to-be mayor of Renkin, Colorado, shrugs. “I would have mentioned it if anyone asked. I don’t see what the big fuss is about. Government shouldn’t limit individuals’ rights. It’s our body. Our right.”

  “For comment, let’s go to Michael Simpson, the chairman of the National Anti-Marijuana League in Colorado.”

  I patch him in.

  “Hi, Ron. Hello, Tom,” Michael, a fortysomething tiny man says.

  “What do you think about all this?” Ron asks.

  “I think Tom is living in a dreamworld. We don’t have the right to do anything we want with our body. You can’t walk around naked, can you? If you’re strolling around downtown in your birthday suit, you’re going to get arrested.”

  I type furiously into the script. “But you can walk around naked in your own home. Tom, aren’t you advocating marijuana for private use only?”

  “But you can walk around naked in your own home. Tom, aren’t you advocating marijuana for private use only?” Ron asks.

  By the time the show finishes, I’m left on a high. A natural one, of course.

  When I show up at the Pilates studio after work, I find that it disturbingly reminds me of an S and M shop. Not that I’ve ever been to one, but I have a pretty active imagination. The studio is filled with wooden machines you lie on and strap your legs into. It’s practically medieval.

  “The accent has to be on your spine,” my instructor tells me while I am in a rather compromising position. “Everything must come from your core.” I have no idea what she’s talking about. I’m too busy wondering if it’s pointless to work out in one dimension when it won’t pay off in the other. It’s like giving one sick identical twin a placebo and the other a miracle drug. The further weird thing about working out while existing in two dimensions is that you don’t feel the pain for two days. Talk about a delayed reaction.

  On Wednesday, I wake up in Arizona muscle-ache-free. Although not headache-free, since I still have to phone my dad and beg him for money.

  I call him from the living room while Cam watches Law and Order from bed.

  Static and then, “Hello?”

  “Dad!”

  “Gabs!” My dad is always cheerful. Always. This is partly because he’s a happy guy, and partly because he smokes a lot of pot. Maybe he should move to Renkin. I didn’t know about the pot when I was a kid, of course. I found out when my mom made an offhand comment about the fact that he used to grow marijuana in our backyard in Malibu. She believes that maybe he could be the next Steven Spielberg if he stopped the puffing. I don’t disagree.

  “Dad, I have some news!” I try to make myself comfy on Cam’s black leather couch. I hate this couch. It’s so stiff. I feel like I’m in the waiting room of a doctor’s office.

  “You’re coming to visit?” he booms.

  “Actually, I’m engaged.”

  “Hey! Congratulations! Way to go, you two! Where’s Cam? Put my man on the phone.” My dad is a typical Hollywood guy. Best friends with the world. Tells everyone how fantastic they are. Always has a huge project on the go.

  You know the expression believe half of what you hear? It was made for my father.

  “Cam, pick up the extension!” I holler.

  I hear a low grumble and then Cam’s voice. “Hi, David.”

  “Cam, my man!” My dad always calls Cam my man. I can hear Cam smiling through the phone. He thinks it’s hysterical. “That’s some news you two have!” my dad says.

  “Thanks. We’re pretty excited about it.”

  “You’re going to treat my favorite kid like a princess, you hear?”

  “I wouldn’t dream of treating her any other way.”

  Now I’m smiling.

  “When’s the big day going to be?” my dad asks. “Not too soon, right? I’m not back till March.”

  “We’re planning it for May, Dad. That good for you?”

  “Yup. Phenomenal. You two should honeymoon out here. It’s amazing. The most incredible place I’ve ever been.”

  “Movie’s going well?” Cam asks.

  “It’s amazing. Honestly, it’s going to be huge. I’m talking Oscars here.”

  “Sounds terrific,” Cam says wryly. “Great speaking to you, David. I’ll let you guys catch up. Enjoy the koalas.”

  “So, Dad,” I begin, once Cam has clicked off the phone. I realize that my hands are suddenly sweaty. I hate asking for money. I haven’t asked my dad for money since I was eighteen.

  “Yes, hon.”

  “Since I’m getting married, well, I need to make a budget. I’m wondering…” I hate this. What if he says no? Will I really have no choice but to get married on Cam’s pool? Or will we be forced to live in a trailer park?

  “Yes, hon?”

  “I’m wondering if you’ve set aside any money for my wedding. Or if you want to contribute. Anything. Please.”

  He laughs. “Of course! You’re my favorite kid! What do you need?”

  I feel like I’m at a job interview. They want to know what my salary expectations are and I want to be paid as much as possible without pricing myself out of the market. Who knows? Maybe he’ll happen to mention that he has fifty thousand dollars from that movie he did with Johnny Depp, fifty big ones he’s been saving for just such a rainy day. And that he wants to spend it all on one day, all on me. Yeah, right. Johnny Depp. As if.

  I’ve decided not to take my mom’s double-it advice. I’d rather leave the question open-ended and let him come to me with an answer. Pressuring someone for money just makes me squeamish. “I’m trying to get a ballpark of what I have to work with. So if you could tell me what you’re thinking of giving—if anything—I’d really appreciate it.”

  “What’s your mother giving?”

  Sigh. “Thirty thousand.” Okay, my mom has a point. I have to listen to half of what he promises.

  In a way it makes sense, since only half of me is getting married.

  He whistles. “That’s a lot of moola, Gabs. But if that’s what your mother is giving, then that’s what I’ll give, too.”

  I smile. “Really?”

  “Of course. You’re going to have a beautiful wedding, honey.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Then he laughs. “Your mother isn’t planning the wedding, is she?”

  “She’s helping. Cam’s mother loves this kind of stuff, so she’ll probably do most of it.”

  “I figured your mother would want nothing to do with it. She barely had anything to do with our wedding. Her mother planned the whole thing. And didn’t she elope for the other four?”

  “Other two. And she only eloped the last time.”

  “Right.” He laughs again.

  “Anyway, thanks so much. So—” back to the money part “—are you going to send me a check? Is that the easiest way?”

  “Oh, already?”

  “We’ll have to start booking stuff soon, and there will be deposits….” I hate this. I hate having to ask for money. It is so out of my comfort zone.

  “Oh, sure. No problem. But you don’t need the whole thing right away. How about I start you off with five gs? And then you’ll tell me when you need more.”

  Something is better than nothing, I suppose. I sigh. It looks like I won’t be back in my comfort zone any time soon. At least not in Arizona.

  On Thursday, I wake up in New York with a stomachache. It feels like that new flu strain that my BlackBer
ry just buzzed me about.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Heather asks as I gasp my way to the bathroom.

  “Core. Hurts. I hate Pilates.”

  “It’s worth it,” she tells me. “Wanna go for a speed walk in the park?” She’s already dressed to go, in skintight Lycra pants, brand-new Nikes and a fitted parka.

  I clutch my stomach. “I can barely move.”

  “Trust me, it’ll be worth it. You have to take advantage of the weather while it’s still good.”

  Good? It’s forty-eight degrees out there! How bad does it get? “Fine,” I answer. Maybe if I’m too busy thinking about how cold it is, I’ll forget about my stomach. And I wouldn’t mind getting to know Heather better.

  “You should come with me to my parents for dinner tonight,” she says forty-five minutes later, as we swing our arms and legs past the Great Lawn. With every step we make, we hear the crunch of yellowed leaves. It looks as if we’re walking down the yellow brick road. Even though I’ve been to the park on an earlier visit to New York, I still can’t get over the place. The honey-colored autumn trees that look straight out of an Impressionist painting, the skyscrapers perched in the background. Honestly, it’s cooler than the Grand Canyon. Okay, maybe not cooler, but almost.

  As sweet (and shocking) as I think Heather’s invite is, I politely decline. I mean, come on, I have to go to Alice’s tomorrow. Two Thanksgiving dinners in a row? I’m no glutton for punishment.

  Crap, I’m going to have to do everything twice. Double the dentist appointments. Double the gyno. Double the bikini wax. Not that I have any reason to get a bikini wax in this reality. So only one bikini wax then.

  I lift my hand to take a bite out of my pinkie nail, when Heather slaps my hand away. “What are you doing? You have nice nails. Don’t ruin them. And anyway, you cannot bite your nails in New York. Absolutely not. This city is way too dirty. Unless you want to pick up hepatitis or that flesh-eating disease.”

  Gross. I drop my hands back down beside me. I don’t want my renewed nail-biting habit from Arizona to spill over here. “Okay, I won’t bite.”

  After lunch, I spend the day shopping online, admiring my not-bitten fingers as they tap on the keyboard. I buy a flat-screen TV for my bedroom. (Which leads me to mention one of the plusses in living a dual reality. Think of all the time saved by not watching so much TV. Once I’ve seen an episode in one reality, why see it in another? I’ve never been one for reruns.) Then I order groceries from this site called FreshDirect. How crazy is that? Heather claims you can get everything delivered right to your apartment. Groceries. Pot (not from the same place, of course). The wash. Heather sends all hers out. Since there’s no washer and drier in our apartment, we’d otherwise have to do the wash on the fifth floor (at two dollars a load!), but Heather says it’s practically cheaper to pay someone else to do it at seventy-five cents a pound. I don’t know about cheaper, since I have never weighed my loads, but it sounds far easier. Not sure how she affords it as an FIT student, but it’s not my issue.

  I add orange juice to my online FreshDirect shopping cart. Then I click on cereal bars. I can eat those on my way to work. So far I’ve put eighty dollars of food in my basket. It’s so easy. Avocados! Bananas! Carrots! Chicken breasts! Shrimp!

  “I’m off to Long Island,” Heather says, popping her head into my room. “Last chance to come along. My mom’s a great cook. You won’t regret it. You’ll get to be grilled by my entire family about why you’re still single.” She reconsiders. “Can I stay home with you?”

  “You’re welcome to. I’m planning a wild night of Chinese takeout. I wish I had known about this FreshDirect thing before. I could have cooked us a real dinner.”

  “You cook?”

  “Not really. But I’m planning on learning.”

  She shifts her overnight bag to her other hip. “Sure you don’t want to come?”

  “Honestly, I’m fine. But thanks.”

  “Suit yourself. I won’t see you in the morning, since I’ll probably take a midday train. What are you up to tomorrow night? Will you come with me to a party? Jeff—that’s Mindy’s husband—is having birthday drinks uptown. Are you working tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. And I don’t know what time I’m going to get out. I was looking forward to just coming home and crashing.”

  “Please? There might be some eligible guys there. You never know.”

  Am I eligible? “I’m not sure I’m ready to date yet.”

  “It’s time for you to meet some new people.”

  “I’m meeting new people every day. At work.”

  “Come on. I really don’t want to go alone.” Her eyes look big and needy. “It will probably be all boring married people.”

  “Sounds tantalizing. Where do I sign up?”

  “Pretty please?”

  I want to say no, but she looks so desperate. I hope I don’t regret this tomorrow. “All right.”

  “Thank you! You’re the best. It’s at the bar in the Bolton Hotel uptown. Meet me there at eight,” she says and then closes the door before I can change my mind.

  Sigh. I guess it’s a good thing to explore the non-work side of the city. That was my plan. To go out and have fun. To laugh and flirt. To drink Cosmos and eat pâté.

  I wonder if I can order pâté online.

  What is pâté, anyway?

  I find it and add it to my basket. Because I can.

  Happy Thanksgiving (again) to me! Happy Thanksgiving (again) to me! Happy Thanksgiving (again) to—

  “Surprising, really. Since Gabrielle is so quiet.”

  Since Alice is obviously talking about me to Blair, I pause outside the kitchen before bringing in the salad plates.

  “Did she bring you anything?” Blair asks.

  I heave a sigh of relief. Even though Cam said it wasn’t necessary, I brought flowers.

  “Nada, can you imagine? I put out a whole spread for that woman, and she brought nothing. It’s not every day you meet your future in-laws for the first time. It wouldn’t have killed her to pick up a little something.”

  My relief, obviously, is short-lived. They’re talking about my mother. We might not be all that close, but no one, absolutely no one, gets to knock her except me. Hell, I don’t even let my father bad-mouth her.

  “How rude,” Blair says.

  I back away from the kitchen, feeling as if I’ve been slapped. And they call my mother rude. I eat here once a week! Isn’t that enough? My mom has to pay her dues, too? Anyway, I told my mom not to bring anything.

  “What’s wrong?” Cam asks, coming up behind me and nuzzling his chin into my neck.

  “Nothing,” I say, embarrassed. I pull away and pass him the plates. “Here, take these in for me.”

  “Everyone ready for turkey?” Alice hollers from the kitchen. “It’s coming out of the oven.”

  I’d like to put her in the oven. Isn’t that what Gretel does to the wicked witch?

  “Hey, Cam, have you guys seen the new complex out in north Scottsdale?” Rick asks us from across the twenty-person table. “Each home has a two-acre lot. And what a view.”

  Anyone under fifty always sits on the left side, the over-fifty crowd on the right. Next to me and Cam we have Rick, his wife Jessica, Jeremy, his wife Leslie, Blair and Matt. Next to Matt is the kids’ table.

  “Are you two looking to buy?” Jessica asks, reaching over for her glass of wine.

  As she sips, I hear an audible sigh from her mother, Tracy, Alice’s sister-in-law, on the other side of the table. Tracy’s daughter-in-law, Leslie, has been married for more than a year now, and Tracy is not happy that the union has not as yet produced an heir. Leslie either doesn’t hear the sound of her mother-in-law’s anguish or has decided to ignore it.

  Oh, God. Am I going to start getting those same sighs as soon as we’re married? Probably. Except with Alice, they’re more likely going to be jabs. I take a big gulp of my wine.

  Cam squeezes my knee under the table. “We just s
tarted looking.”

  We did? When? I know we discussed the house thing briefly, but did I miss something?

  “Would anyone like more stuffing?” Alice asks, circling the table. Then she adds, “Why don’t you look at houses here in Mesa?”

  I almost spit out my wine. Sure. Why don’t we buy the place next door? Wouldn’t that be swell. We can be the Arizona version of Everybody Loves Raymond.

  “We’ll see,” Cam says.

  “As long as you don’t move all the way out to Tucson, I’ll be happy,” Alice says, looking pointedly at her daughter.

  In case Blair missed it, that was a shot.

  Blair rolls her eyes. “Mom, I know, I know, I’ve ruined your life by moving to Tucson.”

  “I didn’t quite say that, dear,” Alice says. “But you can’t deny that it’s not exactly next door.”

  “Which is why we make the drive back to see you once a week.”

  “Once a week is very nice, dear. Tracy, how often does your daughter come and see you? Gabrielle, you didn’t touch the turkey. Take some turkey, please.”

  “I had some. I’m full,” I say. I’m not eating. I’m secretly protesting how she bad-mouthed my mom.

  “I babysit the grandkids twice a week, and then there’s dinner Friday nights, and…I don’t know, about three to four times a week,” Tracy answers.

  That is insane.

  Alice shoots Blair an accusatory look.

  “Mother, I live in Tucson. I can’t come by four times a week. Think of the gas.”

  “Gabrielle,” Alice continues. “You didn’t have any stuffing. You’re insulting me by not eating.”

  The witch is trying to fatten me up.

  “Mom,” Cam says, spooning stuffing onto my plate. “Blair didn’t move to Tucson to spite you. Matt’s practice is there.”

  “And why can’t he be a dentist here? Mesa doesn’t need dentists?”

  As usual, Matt decides just to stay quiet. He and Blair met when she was a senior at the University of Arizona in Tucson. He’s from Tucson and had opened his practice two years earlier. I’m sure he’s thanking his lucky stars that he doesn’t live in the same area code as his crazy mother-in-law. Actually, lucky for Alice. No telling what would happen if he had her in his dental chair, with a lethal weapon in her mouth.