Scot on the Rocks (14 page)

There was no mistaking that voice. Even half-asleep, it still had a whiny “Daddy, will you buy me that?” quality to it. With just a touch of screech. It was a half an octave away from being a pitch that only dogs could hear.

A voice like that could only belong to a woman named Beryl. And I was quite certain that the sound of it was making me even more nauseated than I was before. “Hellooo?” she said, now sounding more awake and more annoyed. I immediately hung up the phone. What on earth was I thinking? How was making a complete fool of myself in the middle of the night taking me any closer to my goal of getting Douglas back?

Anyway, I thought in my drunken stupor, I just had to wait until Douglas cheated on Beryl (which he undoubtedly would) and she would leave him so that I could swoop in and reclaim my man and my apartment. There was one flaw with this plan that I refused to see at the time but now in hindsight is crystal clear: it relied on the irrefutable truth that Douglas was, and always would be, a cheater.

The room still spinning, I decided to shelve all further plans for getting back together with Douglas until I was decidedly more sensible, sound and sober. Now, it was time to go to bed.

But first, I walked across the gorgeous marble-encrusted bathroom and threw up.

I
was dreaming that I was at Trip’s wedding, talking to Trip. As I spoke to him, my teeth began to fall out of my mouth, one by one. I hoped that no one would notice, but the more I spoke, the more my teeth fell out. As I introduced Jack as Douglas to Trip, one of my teeth went flying out of my mouth and hit the floor with a thump. I fell to the ground, trying to pick up that tooth and the rest of my teeth, but the thumping continued. The more I tried to pick up my teeth, the more thumping I seemed to hear. I woke up in a cold sweat.

I sat up in bed, thanking all that was holy that my teeth were still in my mouth, but the thumping continued. Dull and far away. Almost like a knock. I finally realized that there actually
was
knocking on our hotel suite’s door, and jumped out of bed to answer it.

I walked into the suite’s living room, past Jack and Vanessa, both passed out and drooling all over our eighteenth-century inspired throw pillows, to the door.

My eyes still drunk with sleep, I could barely see the man standing at the door, but I was almost positive that he was an airport employee delivering my lost luggage. I thanked him and tipped him and practically danced over to the coffee table to put the suitcase down to open it.

For a minute, I thought that I was still drunk I was so happy, but if I wasn’t already sober, I immediately sobered up. I opened the suitcase and looked at a set of very lovely clothes. Very lovely men’s clothes. Even in my very hungover state, I was pretty sure that they were not mine.

“This is why people hate L.A.,” I said to Vanessa and Jack, who were still fast asleep. “The people are so phony. Here’s living proof right here. They lied about my luggage! That disgruntled airport employee probably knew about my predicament and wanted to torture me because of my fabulous hair and makeup.” Vanessa and Jack were still playing dead.

I jumped on top of Vanessa and woke her up.

“Five more minutes, Mom,” she muttered as I began to shake her by the shoulders.

“Do you remember last night when you said that it would really suck if we had to run around L.A. like complete idiots looking for a new dress and shoes?” I asked her.

“Don’t tell me,” she said.

She was right. I shouldn’t tell her. After all, this weekend is kind of like a minivacation for her, too, so I wouldn’t want to stress her out. So, I didn’t tell her. Instead, I reached over to the suitcase of dashed dreams and lifted a pair of silk boxers out.

“I’m guessing that those are not yours?” she asked.

A half hour later, we were out on the mean streets of L.A., hitting boutique after boutique, finding nothing. From Melrose to Rodeo, we hit every imaginable store in search of a black-tie gown suitable for a glamorous red-carpet wedding. Most of the stores only seemed to stock size-six gowns, so not only was I tired and cranky from all of the searching, I was also feeling a bit insecure and fat.

By my estimation, we’d hit over twenty-five stores, and still could not find a stitch to wear. Things were starting to look hopeless.

Hopeless, that is, until we came to a beacon of light. At first, we thought it was a mirage, we were so tired, but there it was. The unmistakable sign of all that is good and true in a harsh and unforgiving world: Barneys New York! Located conveniently for us right here in L.A.!

Barneys New York — my favorite store of all time. Barneys is to me what Tiffany & Co. was to Holly Golightly. Nothing bad could ever happen to me once I was inside. Except for this one time last year when I walked into the housewares department asking for some help in locating an anniversary gift for my parents. From across the floor (and at Barneys, it is a big floor, I assure you) the salesperson called out, “Are you one of our brides?” It seemed as if the world had stopped and everyone was staring at me, on pins and needles, waiting for my response. It was as if they were all a bunch of spies for my old Jewish grandmother. (“You’re not married
yet?
Can’t you just pick one and marry him?”) I meekly whispered back, “No,” to which the salesperson yelled, “Well, then, I can’t help you.”
What is this?
I thought.
You only help engaged people? Why, this is discrimination of the worst kind! Call the Anti-Defamation League! Call Alan Dershowitz! Call the Supreme Court of the United States of America — this calls for the ordaining of a new protected class under Title VII!
Even if she meant that she only worked the bridal registry and was unable to assist people in other departments, I still thought that I had a case.

But other than that little incident, Barneys is still my favorite store. What can I say? I’m very resilient.

Like two schoolgirls, we were giddy with excitement as we got into the elevator.

“Do you think dresses are on the same floor here as in New York?” Vanessa asked as she looked at the listing of what departments were on what floors.

“More importantly,” I said, “where are the shoes?”

“You always do that,” Vanessa remarked, pushing the button for the second floor.

“Do what?” I asked, checking my reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator.

“Take your eye off of what’s important,” she said as we exited the elevator. “We’re here for a dress. Not shoes. And here you are, still pining over Douglas, a man who treated you horribly, while you ignore Jack, a man who treats you like a princess.”

“Jack doesn’t even like me,” I said as we reached the racks, convincing not even myself. “Remember we tried this once before — South Carolina — and he put the brakes on it?”

“That is not my recollection,” Vanessa said. “Anyway, how many years ago was that?”

“We’re staffed on every case together,” I further reasoned. “Do you want me to get fired or something?”

“And give up the twelve-hour days and constant weekend work?” she countered. “What on earth was I thinking?”

“And even if he did like me, he’s totally on the rebound, anyway,” I said as I began to flip through the dresses. “He just broke off an engagement.”

“Six months ago,” Vanessa said, eyeing the racks.

“He’d never set a date,” I said, fingering a pale yellow cowl-neck column dress.

“Well, look at you,” she said, placing both hands on the rack as she stared at me. “I was just saying to give him a chance. You’ve gone and got yourself engaged to the guy already.”

“Anyway, he’s Jack. Now, be a good friend and look for dresses.”

I held up a beautiful black satin number that I clearly could not afford. Vanessa shook her head
no.

“I would find it sexy, you know,” Vanessa said, holding up a short red dress to her frame. “Man travels three thousand miles to make a fool of himself all for a girl.”

“It really isn’t like that,” I explained, showing Vanessa a black-and-white off-the-shoulder gown. She shook her head
no.

“Then what is it like?” she asked, putting down the red dress she was holding, waiting for an answer.

“Brooke?” a salesperson asked, seemingly on cue. Saved by the bell. Or salesperson, as the case may be. “Is that you? Brooke Miller?” I politely smiled back, even though I had no idea who this woman who knew my name was.

“Brooke, it
is
you! Oh, my God, it is so good to see you!” she cried, throwing her arms around my neck. As she did so, I threw Vanessa a very confused look. “How
are
you?”

“I’m great. Thanks,” I said. “How are
you?
”

“You don’t remember me, do you?” the woman said.

“I remember you,” I protested a little too quickly.

The salesgirl turned to Vanessa. “Well, could you expect the captain of the cheerleading squad, editor of the yearbook, etcetera, etcetera, to remember little old me? Senior year, voted most…”

“Of course!” I interrupted, “South Bay High! Yes!” Anything to make her stop reliving my glory days.

“You were a cheerleader?” Vanessa asked.

“Cocaptain,” I said. “And I only did layout on yearbook.”

“What were the etceteras?” Vanessa asked. She was having fun with this.

“Let’s see,” the salesgirl offered, “there was homecoming queen junior year.”

“And life has been downhill ever since….” I said to no one in particular.

“We were in Spanish class together for all four years of high school,” she explained to Vanessa. “You look exactly the same! You still have the same long hair —”

“Yes, of course! Spanish!” I knew that this was the part where I was supposed to show that I knew who she was, but I still had no clue.

“Nina Mitchell?” she said, making it more of a question than a declaration.

“Yes, of course!” I cried out. “Nina!” I was sure that if I said it emphatically enough she’d believe that I knew who she was, even though I was still piecing it together in my mind.

“And this girl, of course,” she told Vanessa, “dated the hottest guy at school for a million years!”

“Hot stuff! Go Brooke!” Vanessa said.

“He wasn’t anything special, I assure you,” I said to Vanessa and the moment the words came out of my mouth, I totally regretted them. In an instant, a thousand memories came flooding back to me from the ninth grade. How could I say that about Danny? I was talking to “Nina, Pinta, Santa Maria” — the girl who was totally, madly, deeply in love with him from the time we all met when we were fourteen. Nina, Pinta, Santa Maria: an unfortunate nickname that Danny himself had thought up, seemingly to relate to her large size. (What can I tell you, he wasn’t the brightest boy….) Now that I think of it, she wasn’t even that large back then, she just wasn’t as skinny as the rest of us were.

The braces may have been removed, the hair bleached blond, the waistline shrunk and the skin cleared up, but I knew that she was still Nina, Pinta, Santa Maria inside. I knew it because I’m still the girl I was in high school on the inside, too.

I remembered that I used to feel sorry for her because she always looked so sad. Like a kid with her face pressed against the candy-store window — always on the outside looking in. In the eleventh grade, at the homecoming dance, Danny and I were crowned king and queen. I was having the time of my life and there sat Nina, at a table in the corner, all alone. Looking at her, I thought I knew just what would cheer her up. Entirely against his wishes, I made Danny dance with her. I thought that I was doing a good deed. As he approached her, she looked so happy. Her face lit up like I’d never seen it before as she told Danny yes, furiously shaking her head. They hit the dance floor and all eyes were on them as he held her tight for a slow song. Halfway through “Careless Whisper” he leaned down into her and, while whispering something into her ear to distract her, pulled the back of her skirt up to reveal her enormous pink granny panties and control-top panty hose to the entire eleventh grade. Laughter erupted in the school gym and it took her quite a while to realize what was going on. I had sprinted halfway across the gym by the time she began pulling her skirt back down, arriving just in time for her to tell me, with her eyes fighting back tears, “You have ruined my life.”

Thank God telekinetic powers only exist in novels.

I think.

I remember that after it happened, her mother was so infuriated that she called my mom and I was grounded for a month. Even though I had nothing to do with it. Not really, anyway. My mother said, “Either you did it or you are dumb enough to be hanging around with a boy who would. Either way, you should be ashamed of yourself and either way you’re grounded.” I guess I had great taste in men even back then.

“I was, like, totally in love with Danny for all four years of high school,” she said. The final irony of Danny’s life is that he wrote in his yearbook that his goal was to “leave Long Island or die trying” and he now lives on Long Island with his wife and four kids. And his wife is very, very fat. And Nina is very, very skinny. Should I tell her that?

“I’m sorry,” I quickly said instead. “He…he was kind of special. He was special. He really liked you back then, I remember.”

“Yeah, right, Brooke,” she said, “I wish. I was a train wreck back then. Anyway, it is so good to see you! Speaking of hotties, I heard that you used to date Trip Bennington during law school or something.”

“Actually, I did.”

“Was
he
nothing special?” she asked.

“Well,” I said with a laugh, as I twirled a lock of my hair, “he’s the reason why we’re here for the weekend. We’re here for his wedding.”

“Oh, my God,” she said, as if time had actually stopped. “You are going to
the
wedding? I would kill to go to
the
wedding! It is going to be
the
event of the year.”

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” I said.

“Not a big deal?” she asked Vanessa. “Does this friend of yours think that anything is special? All of Hollywood will be there! A-list only! And Ava is, like, the most beautiful creature on the planet. One time she came in here and I got to dress her. She is, like, the nicest person on earth.”

“So I’ve heard,” I said.

“And she’s royal,” Nina continued. “Do you think
that’s
special?”

“Believe it or not, Nina, we’re here to get a dress for the wedding,” I said.

“But the wedding’s tonight,” Nina told me.

“Don’t get her started,” Vanessa instructed. “We actually had this whole airport-lost-baggage thing, and so…”

“Say no more,” Nina said. “We’ve got a million dresses here.”

“We’ve got about an hour,” Vanessa told her.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, as she rushed off to find me a dress.

“You’ve got a major fan club,” Vanessa said. “Was she like that back then?”

“We called her Nina, Pinta, Santa Maria,” I said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Vanessa asked.

“Because she was as big as three ships,” I explained, looking over my shoulder to make sure she wasn’t coming back.

“Okay,” Vanessa said. “That makes no sense whatsoever.”

“We were fourteen,” I said, as Jack swept in with a tray of coffees.

“I figured that you could use some coffee,” he said. He had been hitting the tourist spots while we were shopping and had a “Star Map” tucked under his left arm.