The Bachelorette Party (5 page)
Zadie’s Monday started out decently, then quickly deteriorated. Nicole, the daughter of a boozy actress who’d been the second lead on an Aaron Spelling show in the eighties, showed up to class in an outfit that could only have been purchased at the Whore Store. Since it was hard enough to teach Chekhov without the added distraction of Nicole’s tits disrupting her class, Zadie gave up halfway through and had them write an essay on dualism.
When she got home, she found that not only had she left her balcony door open, but that the neighbor’s cat had leaped across the divide, dug up her cactus pots, then wiped his muddy paws on her couch—giving shabby chic an entirely new meaning. And she was pretty sure the dead sparrow on her coffee table wasn’t something she’d picked up at Pier One. Too annoyed to clean it up, she sat down on the ottoman and opened her mail. And now the day was complete. The invitation had arrived. Light blue type on white linen with a lemon-yellow gingham border:
HELEN’S BACHELORETTE PARTY AND BRIDAL SHOWER
An All-Day Fun-Filled Event!!!
9:00 A.M. Breakfast at Barney Greengrass (Yum!!!)
11:00 A.M. Kundalini yoga at Golden Bridge (1 swear it will change your life!!!)
1:00 P.M. Tonics at Elixir (Mind-blowing!!!)
2:00 P.M. Shopping at Fred Segal (Everyone’s favorite sport!!!)
4:00 P.M. Tea at the Peninsula (Elegant!!!)
6:30 P.M. Dinner at the Ivy (Grilled vegie salad!!)
Zadie read it with a sinking sense of dread. The kind of dread one gets when faced with attending an event where the most commonly used phrases will be “Cute!”, “You’ll never believe what Courtney/Zachary did this morning!”, and “There’re no carbs in that, right?”
The women who would be attending this shindig were generally the types of women that Zadie avoided. Dull women. Women who will have a two-hour conversation about the contents of their children’s diapers. Women who only wear designer labels. Women who hire interior decorators. How could you let someone else decorate your house? You should be able to point to things and say, “I got that in a tiny shop in Tuscany,” or “some hippie store in Santa Fe,” or “at a flea market in Mexico.” Not, “Oh, you like it? Thanks. I didn’t pick it out and it means nothing to me.” Women without souls.
Maybe she was overreacting. Denise would be there. She liked Denise. When they were in tenth grade, they went to see
About Last Night
together for seven weekends in a row, because they were both enamored of Rob Lowe’s naked butt. When they were twenty-five, Denise won paragliding lessons from a radio station and took Zadie with her. After a day of instruction, they were both jumping off the side of a cliff with parachutes on their
backs. They felt like badass superheros for months afterward. And when Zadie and Jack were still together, they’d gone camping with Denise and Jeff a couple of times and Denise could always be counted on to stay up drinking with Zadie until she passed out, which was the only way Zadie could fall asleep in the woods. Camping was Jack’s idea of fun, not hers. Zadie usually lay there staring at the roof of the tent, praying for daylight.
About Last Night
together for seven weekends in a row, because they were both enamored of Rob Lowe’s naked butt. When they were twenty-five, Denise won paragliding lessons from a radio station and took Zadie with her. After a day of instruction, they were both jumping off the side of a cliff with parachutes on their
backs. They felt like badass superheros for months afterward. And when Zadie and Jack were still together, they’d gone camping with Denise and Jeff a couple of times and Denise could always be counted on to stay up drinking with Zadie until she passed out, which was the only way Zadie could fall asleep in the woods. Camping was Jack’s idea of fun, not hers. Zadie usually lay there staring at the roof of the tent, praying for daylight.
But now Denise was very pregnant and, as Zadie had witnessed at the engagement party, that didn’t spell
f-u-n
. Pregnant women tended to talk about things like prenatal vitamins and the size of their nipples.
f-u-n
. Pregnant women tended to talk about things like prenatal vitamins and the size of their nipples.
And Grey’s sister, Eloise, would surely be there, which was yet another reason not to attend. Eloise was of the opinion that if Zadie and Grey were best friends, then that automatically meant that Zadie and Eloise were friends. She did not take into account that she was a deeply annoying person. Eloise was a one-upper. If you had a good time, she had a better time. If you had a terrible time, she had a worse time. Her favorite expression was “I can top that.” Someone really needed to tell Eloise that she was repellent.
The other women would likely be Helen’s coworkers, customers, and sorority sisters. Zadie’s head was hurting already.
To head off the tide of cheerful women she was sure to be drowned in, Zadie called Dorian, her best friend from high school and her matron of honor. Well,
proposed
matron of honor. “You will not believe the bachelorette party I have to attend.”
proposed
matron of honor. “You will not believe the bachelorette party I have to attend.”
“Can’t be any worse than yours.”
“That was low.” Low, but accurate. Zadie and her friends had taken over one of the cabanas at Firefly and ordered a staggering amount of cocktails. Unfortunately, the male stripper Dorian had procured bought his lunch from one of the roach wagons at the construction site where he performed his day job. His burrito turned out to be rancid, and when combined with a tequila shot, it spewed out all over the table full of women. “I should have taken it as a sign.”
“Why the hell haven’t you returned my last three phone calls?” Dorian was not one for pleasantries.
“I’ve been busy. It’s the end of the school year.” Jesus, that was a lame excuse. Especially given that it was over a month away.
“Bullshit. You’re avoiding me.”
Dorian was right. Zadie had been avoiding her. And her other bridesmaids as well. At first, the groundswell of righteous indignation had been welcome. There was rampant man-bashing. Talk of castration. But after a month or so, it just got old. The fight had gone out of her. And talking to Dorian and the others only served to remind her of that. Zadie didn’t like to think of herself that way.
“Let’s go to lunch,” Zadie said. “I’ll drive up on Saturday.” There were worse things to do on a Saturday than drive to Santa Barbara and eat a crab cocktail on the pier.
“I can’t. Lissy has a recital.” Dorian gave birth to twins when she was twenty-six. This was perhaps another reason Zadie didn’t hang out with her as often as she should. Small children were so damn needy. “Did you hear that Olivia’s boyfriend turned out to be married?”
“Olivia has a boyfriend?” She really needed to return phone calls more often.
“What are you doing tonight?”
“Nothing.”
“Then get in your car and drive your ass up here for dinner. I can’t talk to you on the phone. You always sound like you’re watching TV on mute or something.”
“I’m not.” Zadie was lying.
Melrose Place
reruns were on E! every single blessed day, how could she not watch?
Melrose Place
reruns were on E! every single blessed day, how could she not watch?
“We’re having lasagna.”
Zadie frowned. “Did you make it, or did Dan?” Dorian was not known for her prowess in the kitchen.
“Zadie?”
“Yeah.”
“Get in your fucking car.”
By the time she got to Santa Barbara, it was getting dark. She drove up the hill and parked in Dorian’s driveway, behind the minivan. She grabbed the bottle of Chianti she bought along the way and was about to knock on the door when she was accosted by two small creatures wearing clown wigs and tiaras. Dorian’s children. They came bolting out of the house and wrapped themselves around Zadie’s shins.
“Josh! Lissy! Let Miss Zadie come in the house.” Dorian slumped against the door frame in her terry-cloth sweatsuit, looking tired and annoyed. She’d looked that way since the day these two endless sources of energy and mayhem had shot out of her. As soon as they disengaged, Zadie stepped around them and headed toward the kitchen.
“They keep getting bigger.”
“Maybe I should stop feeding them.” Dorian picked some Play-Doh out of her hair and opened the wine, pouring them two glasses. Zadie sat down at the kitchen table, pushing aside the crayons and headless Barbies. The kids went careening into the playroom, presumably to change costumes.
“So, did I tell you Grey and Helen are getting married?”
Dorian set down her wineglass in mid-sip. “Uh, no … Are you okay with that?”
“I’m not sure I have a choice.”
“That’s so rude of them.” Dorian was always good at reframing any event to make it seem like a slight. “How are you supposed to hang out with Grey if they’re living in the same house? She’ll always be there.”
“Yeah, that’s occurred to me.”
“No wonder you’re depressed.” Dorian spooned a piece of cork out of her wine and looked at Zadie with concern.
“Am I depressed?” Zadie asked. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“You didn’t return my calls, so you damn well better be depressed.” She got up from the table to pull the lasagna out of the
oven. “Shit. I burned it. We’ll just have to eat around the crusty parts.”
oven. “Shit. I burned it. We’ll just have to eat around the crusty parts.”
Dan walked in, one of the twins attached to his back, the other wrapped around his waist like a belt. “Do I smell dinner?” Dan was one of those guys the word “strapping” was intended to describe. He leaned down to kiss Zadie on the cheek. “How was traffic?”
“Fine.” Zadie never understood the male fascination with traffic.
Dorian looked at Dan and motioned with her head toward the kids. “Get them in their seats. The sooner they eat, the sooner we can get them in the bath.”
Now that Zadie looked closer, she could see that Lissy was covered in Magic Marker. And Josh had some foreign substance on his face that she didn’t have the stomach to identify. Dan peeled the children off his body and got them in their seats as Dorian spooned out the charred lasagna. Josh stared at Zadie. Clearly bothered by something. “What’s on your eyes?”
Zadie had no idea. Had a bird shit on her?
Dorian stepped in to explain. “It’s makeup, honey.” She looked at Zadie and shrugged. “He never sees me with it on.” Given the criminal amount of eyeliner Dorian used to wear in high school, Zadie found this amusing.
“So, Zadie. How’re things at school? Any rotten kids this year?” Dan was always so polite. He couldn’t possibly care about her class, but he always asked.
“Can’t say anything too bad about them. They’re all pretty well behaved. And they have really good drugs, so that’s always a plus.” She was kidding, but as soon as it came out of her mouth, she wanted to grab it back.
“Mommy, what’s ‘drugs’?” Lissy asked.
“It’s a grown-up thing, Lissy. Miss Zadie was just making a grown-up joke.” Dorian gave her a look like “Zip it on the grown-up jokes.” “Why don’t you tell Miss Zadie about your dance recital?”
Oh, yes. Please do.
“I’m going to be a ballerina.”
“That’s great, Lissy. What color is your tutu?” How many times in life do you get to ask someone what color their tutu is? She’d best make use of this opportunity
“Pink!”
“Will you show me your dance?”
Lissy got up and twirled, despite the fact that she was holding a forkful of lasagna, which was now all over the kitchen.
Dan bent down to wipe it up. “I got it.” He was a good dad. And a good husband. Dorian lucked out the day she sat next to him in Econ. People who meet their spouses in college should have to pay dues into a fund for the people who don’t.
After dinner, Zadie and Dorian sat in the Adirondack chairs on the back porch, inhaling the night-blooming jasmine and finishing the wine while Dan bathed the kids. Zadie was always amazed that you could actually see the stars up here. At least a few. And the ocean in the distance.
“I think you need to go on a date,” Dorian said.
“And what exactly do you think that will accomplish?”
“It’ll get you out of that fucking apartment, for one.”
“It’s actually a non-fucking apartment at the moment. That’s part of the problem.” Zadie hadn’t been laid in seven months. She had wisely made Jack go without for two weeks before the wedding so that their honeymoon would seem special.
“So fuck someone,” Dorian said.
“I’ll get right on that.”
“You’re a beautiful girl! All you have to do is walk into a bar and say yes.”
“I think you’re overestimating my appeal.”
Dorian refilled their glasses. “Bullshit. I bet half the boys in your class fantasize about you. That’s how Dan lost his virginity, you know. One of his high school teachers gave him detention and then had sex with him in the teachers’ lounge.”
“Don’t tell me things like that.” Trevor, Trevor, Trevor. No. Absolutely not.
“I’m not suggesting it, I’m merely pointing out that you’re still hot and you could get laid if you wanted to. Maybe you don’t really want to.”
Zadie shrugged. “Maybe I don’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
A wet and naked Josh and Lissy came running up to the French doors, smooshing their noses against the glass.
“Hi, Mommy!” They giggled and ran off as Dan chased them with a bath towel.
Zadie lowered her voice. “I can’t talk about my need or lack thereof to fornicate when your kids are running around naked. It’s unseemly.”
Dorian turned to look back into the house. “They can’t hear you.”
“I just don’t know if dysfunctional sex is going to be the cure for my dysfunctional breakup.” Christ, she sounded like her therapist.
“Who says it has to be dysfunctional sex?”
“Well, since I’m not going to have sex with anyone that I’m currently acquainted with, it would have to be a stranger. And if it’s a stranger, I’ll have to go to his place, because I don’t want him at mine. And if I’m at his place, I’m going to be wondering if his sheets are clean, and if he was with someone else the night before, or that afternoon, and eventually, any positive benefits I’ve gotten from the sex will soon be replaced by a shame spiral that will crush me under the weight of knowing that I’ve just screwed someone I don’t even know.”
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