A Total Waste of Makeup (35 page)

But I digress.

“Your sister says you’re depressed, and that some guy dumped you. She also told me that you finally quit smoking,” Mom says.

I take another drag from my cigarette. “I’m not depressed.”

“At any point this week, have you eaten whipped cream straight from the can?” Mom asks.

“I won’t dignify that with a response,” I say, although we both know that means yes.

“Are you still smoking?” Mom asks.

“Are
you
still smoking?” I respond belligerently.

“I’m raising you. You’re not raising me,” Mom says. “Speaking of, Grandma and Grandpa are on the noon flight with your Mawv. I need you to come with me to get them.”

My grandparents are good Midwestern folk who never understood why their daughter moved to Sodom and Gomorrah to follow her dream and write sitcoms. My Mawv is my great-grandmother (grandma’s mom), and my favorite person in the world. She’s ninety-five, smokes two packs of cigarettes a day, and drinks really bad whiskey. Her lifelong dream was to smoke two packs of cigarettes a day and drink really bad whiskey. So she respects anyone who follows their dream.

She’s the ginchiest.

Anyway, so I trek off to LAX and meet my mother in baggage claim. (You can’t go up to the gates anymore for security reasons. Which I think is a good thing—think of it as five fewer minutes with your family.)

I spot Mom, pacing, holding a venti Starbucks coffee in each hand, and chewing vast quantities of gum.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Mom says, handing me one of the two large cups. “I don’t think I could have handled my mother on my own.”

“It’s not going to be that bad,” I say, taking a sip of the coffee Mom bought me.

Mom nearly chokes on her cappuccino. “Oh, that’s easy for you to say! She’s not your mother.” Mom pulls out a fresh pack of orange-flavored nicotine gum. Her hands shake as she tries to open the plastic wrapping. “She’s judgmental, she talks too much, she gives a ton of unsolicited advice, and she embarrasses me every chance she gets.”

Well, if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle “Mom.”

My mother starts ripping at the plastic packaging madly. “Goddamn it! What’s wrong with these people making it so fucking hard to open their product, knowing damn well how much you need it.” Mom puts her teeth up to the box and tries to rip it open that way.

“Mom,” I say, then calmly take the package of gum out of her mouth. I open it easily, and hand it back to her. “How much nicotine have you had this morning?”

“I don’t know. A box, two…I can’t keep track. These people just make me a nervous wreck.”

“Ya think?” I say sarcastically.

Mom looks around the airport, her eyes darting around like a hummingbird’s. “Maybe I should take a Valium. I’ll have your father bring some by the hotel later. By the way, I haven’t told your grandparents that your father and I are living together again, so don’t mention it.”

“Okay,” I say. But then I think about it. “And that would bother them because…?”

Mom rolls her eyes and shakes her head, visibly astonished that I could ask such a stupid question. “Because they don’t want me living in sin with a man.”

“You mean the man you’re still married to in the eyes of our Lord?” I say sarcastically. “In the eyes of our Lord” is big with my grandmother.

“Don’t you take that tone with me, young lady,” my mother says, wagging a finger in my face. “You aren’t so old that I can’t still take you over my knee.”

“The only time you ever took me over your knee was to read to me.”

“And do I get any appreciation for that?” Mom asks in a screech, nearly bursting into tears. “No! All the unconditional love and kindness I gave you all through your childhood, and all I ask is that you not tell your grandparents that I’m shacking up with your father! Is that too much to ask, after all I’ve done for you?”

People are starting to turn and stare at the crazy woman.

“Mom?” I say calmly.

“Yes?” Mom sniffles back.

“She’s making you crazy, and you haven’t even seen her yet.”

“I know,” Mom says, inhaling a deep breath and chanting her mantra, “nee-who-mah, nee-who-mah” several times. Her shoulders relax ever so slightly with the final deep breath. “You are so lucky you don’t have parents who make you crazy.”

Before I can ask my mother what deluded universe she lives in, we see my grandparents and Mawv coming down the escalator.

Grandma and Grandpa look like a couple of Protestants on vacation. They’re dressed head-to-toe in L.L. Bean, including the shoes. If they were visiting New York, they’d have been mugged already.

My Mawv, on the other hand, is dressed in a beautiful pink dress that I swear I saw this spring at Bloomingdale’s, and three-inch-high heels.

A ninety-five-year-old woman in three-inch-heels. If that sight doesn’t cover the cost of admission, I don’t know what does.

Grandma holds Mawv’s hand, treating her like an invalid who could break at any moment. “Are you all right, Mother?!” Grandma screams into Mawv’s left ear.

“Rose,” Mawv responds in her normal voice, “I bought a hearing aid so that people wouldn’t shout at me.”

“Bernice!” Grandpa screams into her right ear, “Your hearing aid isn’t working! You couldn’t hear a word I said on the plane!”

“No, I was ignoring you!” Mawv (aka Bernice) mockingly screams back into Grandpa’s ear. Then she returns to her normal voice. “I bought this damn thing because it said on the box that it filters out unwanted noise. But I can still hear every damn thing you say.” She sees me and her face lights up. “Munchkin!”

“Hi, Mawv,” I say brightly as I pull her into a hug. Then I whisper in her ear, “Was it awful?”

“Dreadful,” she whispers back. “I have got to be the only one I know in my retirement home who hides when family comes to get her.”

“Hi, Mom,” my mother says sheepishly to Grandma, putting her arms out for a hug.

Grandma eyes her up and down. “You’re wearing that?”

Mom throws her outstretched arms in the air in exasperation, then plasters a fake smile onto her face. “Nice to see you, too. You’re looking good.”

“Well, I’ve been doing my power walking four times a week,” Grandma says, walking past Mom to hug me. “I’ve lost five pounds since January. And your father and I don’t eat bacon anymore.”

“
You
don’t,” Grandpa says as he kisses Mom on the cheek. “If the Good Lord didn’t want us to eat bacon, we’d have been born Jewish.” He walks over to me and gives me a kiss on the cheek. Grandpa’s a big “kiss on the cheek” kind of guy. Hugs are just too damn personal. “So, Jacquie, is that worthless son of a bitch ex-husband going to be at the wedding?”

“Yes, Dad,” Mom says, struggling to keep her patience. “He’s giving the bride away.”

“You mean he’s actually in the wedding?” Grandpa asks, pulling out a pack of Marlboros and a book of matches.

“You can’t smoke here, Father,” Grandma admonishes him.

Grandpa looks perplexed. “Ah hell, Mother. I knew when we came to California, we were going to the land of fruits and nuts, but I didn’t think they had outlawed smoking altogether.”

“No, you dipshit,” Mawv says. “You can smoke in the state of California, just not in the airport.”

Grandpa looks so incensed, he can barely speak. “What the hell?” He turns to my mother. “I told you you shouldn’t have bought us plane tickets. This wouldn’t have happened if we’d have driven.”

Mom’s about to respond, but Mawv talks over her. “If we’d have driven, I’d have put a bullet in your ear by Kansas.” She turns to me. “Please tell me you brought your own car.”

“Yes.”

Mawv turns back to the others. “I’m going with Charlie. Can you get my bags and bring them to the hotel? What’s it called again?”

“The Hotel Bel Air,” my mother announces proudly. “It’s gorgeous. You’re going to love it.”

“The Hotel Bel Air?” Grandma nearly screams. “Ah, we don’t need to be anywhere that fancy. Just take us to the local Holiday Inn.”

“No, Mom,” my mother says. “It’s already paid for. Besides, I want you to have a really nice trip, and the Hotel Bel Air is one of the nicest places in the city.”

“How much did you pay?” Grandpa asks, an unlit cigarette now dangling from his mouth.

“Only ninety-nine dollars a night,” Mom lies. The cheapest rooms at the hotel run three hundred a night, and most are much more expensive than that.

“Ninety-nine dollars!” Grandpa nearly spits out in horror. “Jesus, Jacquie. With our AARP discount we could have got it for half that. Sometimes you just don’t think.”

However, Grandma’s face lights up. “Oh, but Dad, it must be really nice for that kind of money. Remember when we got that place at Cedar Point for ninety-nine dollars? It had cable
and
room service.” She turns to my mother. “Do you think the room has cable?”

My mother sighs. “I’m sure it does. But Mom, you’re on vacation. Why would you want to waste it in a hotel room watching TV?”

“Very nice, coming from a TV writer,” Grandpa quips. “Don’t give me that highfalutin city snobbery. You’re not too old for me to still take you over my knee.”

“Dad, I just meant—”

“We read about what you TV types call us in Missouri—the flyovers. Well, let me tell you something, missy—”

“Charlie! Cover your eyes!” Grandma yells, looking over my shoulder.

Naturally, I turn around to see what she’s looking at. “What is it?” I ask.

“Two men—holding hands!” Grandma says. “Honestly, people said if we came to Los Angeles, we’d see the gays, but I didn’t think we’d see them so soon.”

“Imagine,” Mawv quips, “gay men taking a plane. Just like normal folk. What are the odds?”

I look over at the “offending” couple. “Grandma, those aren’t two men.”

Grandma pops her head over my shoulder to get a better look. “They’re not?”

“No. Actually, they’re two women.”

Grandma nearly faints, while Grandpa sucks his unlit cigarette and says, “Eh, the lesbians never bothered me so much.”

Midwesterners can be just as snobby as Hollywood people or New Yorkers. It’s just a different kind of snobbery.

An hour later, we all made it to the valet of the Hotel Bel Air, where the lecture on good Midwestern values continued.

First, Mom and her parents argued over whether or not to pull up to the valet (“never give a stranger access to your trunk”). Then Grandpa tried to carry in his own bags (“if you carry them in yourself, you save a dollar a bag”).

Next came check-in.

As we cross over the stone bridge and into the gardens, I am immediately at peace with the world.

The hotel does that for me. I look around at the red tile roofs and the soft pink walls, and all is tranquil in my world. The hotel is done in the architectural style of the old California missions. Unlike other nice hotels in the area, none of the buildings are higher than a few floors up. And the landscaping is designed to resemble Hawaii, with colorful flowers everywhere, and wonderful, soothing scents. I am happy. I close my eyes, breathe in the smell of flowers, and smile. Ah, and there’s the small lake, off to the side, next to the gazebo where Andy and Hunter will be married tomorrow.

If you ever (God forbid) need to check into a detox center, skip Betty Ford. Spend the same amount of money and check into a fabulous hotel, spend your days at the pool, and order lots of room service. You’ll feel so refreshed and spoiled, you won’t need drugs or booze.

Mmm, this place is so gorgeous, so peaceful, so romantic—and I’m stuck here with my mother and bickering grandparents.

“Edwards. Checking in, please,” my mother says to the front desk clerk, Mike, as my grandfather looks around the lobby suspiciously.

Mike smiles warmly. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Edwards. Three rooms. Yours, one for Mr. and Mrs. Wharton, and one for Mrs. Geoghen. Correct?”

“Yes. Mine, my parents’, and my grandmother’s,” Mom says.

“Can we get mine as far apart from the others as possible?” Mawv asks as I help her to a green velvet sofa.

Grandma looks out the window, then runs to Grandpa, hits him on the arm, and whispers. “Oh my God! That’s Arte Johnson! You know, from
Laugh In
?”

“No!” Grandpa says as he runs up to the window and stares at a man walking past, toward the dining room.

They both run out of the lobby to get a better look, then come back self-satisfied. “Well, I’ll be damned!” Grandpa says cheerfully. “Making his way to the dining room just like any normal joe.”

“Wait until I get home and tell Marcia we saw a real-live celebrity,” Grandma beams.

Mom signs some forms as Mike cheerfully asks, “Would you like smoking or non-smoking rooms?”

“Smoking,” all four demand in unison.

Mike is a little thrown by the chorus, but continues to smile. “Smoking it is.”

Grandma turns to me accusingly. “You’re not still smoking, are you?”

Before I can respond, Mom pipes in proudly, “No, Mother. She quit on her thirtieth birthday.”

Rats. The truth is, I took the habit back up Sunday night. Yes, it’s a disgusting habit, blah, blah, blah, and yes, I did tell myself that I was going to quit on my thirtieth birthday. But my main impetus to quit smoking was to kiss Jordan without tasting like an ashtray. Now that he’s gone, I need the cigarettes even more than I did before. I mean, come on, aging, single maid of honor? How am I going to get through this weekend without smoking?

Grandma looks at me suspiciously. “Is your mother telling the truth?” she asks accusingly.

“Of course she is!” I respond back self-righteously. I can’t help myself. Her tone is pissing me off.

Grandma sniffs, and that sniff is just like her tone of voice. “Well, I hope you’re not like your mother about it. She’s never done anything she ever set her mind to. Must have quit smoking a hundred times.” Before I can respond, Grandma turns to Mike. “Do you have a Jacuzzi here?”

“No, I’m afraid we don’t. But we do have a very nice pool.”

“We’re paying ninety-nine dollars a night for this place, and there’s no Jacuzzi?” Grandpa says, sounding appalled at the lack of hotel services.

At first Mike looks confused, but when my mother bulges out her eyes and shakes her head at him ever so slightly, he seems to get the message.