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Authors: Karen McCullah Lutz

Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women

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BOOK: The Bachelorette Party
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“There’s a very simple solution to that. Sleep with someone you know.”
“I realize I’ve been out of touch, but seriously, you’re blissfully unaware of the lack of men that populate my world.” Aside from Trevor, there wasn’t a single guy she could think of who was even remotely appealing. The maintenance-man fantasy was not a possibility. He and his Latina girlfriend lived in the building and she was not a chick whose man you wanted to steal. Her tires had spikes on them.
“Fine. Don’t have sex. But at least go out on a date. You need to get back in there. Who was your last date with? Before you met Jack?”
Zadie had to think about this one. She vaguely remembered someone named Bill who’d taken her to a Moroccan restaurant where the belly dancer had practically given him head. He’d then proceeded to flirt with the bespangled dancer while Zadie sat in silence and ate from a plate of food that resembled pita bread and mud. “No one I’d go out with now.”
Dorian scrunched up her forehead. “Where’d you meet Jack again?”
“He waited on me. No wonder I liked him. He brought me food. Just think of the pain I could’ve avoided if I didn’t like Chinese.”
“Well, I guess lightning could strike twice. Go out to eat and hit on the waiter.”
“Definitely not. Every guy who’s a waiter is waiting to be something else, and if I’m going to date someone, I’d like him to already be what he’s waiting to be.” Wow, that was profound. She’d never realized what an accurate job title “waiter” was.
“That made absolutely no sense.”
Her profundity was wasted. “I’m tired. I should go.”
“Okay” Dorian turned around and looked back into the house. “Now that the kids are asleep, it’s time for me and Dan to watch porn.”
“Are you serious?” Zadie had a newfound respect for marriage.
Dorian laughed. “No, I’m not serious! It’s time for me to wash the snot out of my shirt and go to bed. Trust me, you’re not missing much.”
Zadie sighed. “Aside from love and companionship.”
“Well, yeah. There’s that.”
Zadie woke up the next morning and realized that it had been at least two months since she’d seen her therapist. Of course, this was because she was actively avoiding her. It was ridiculous that she was paying someone to listen to her problems to begin with. Her friends did it for free. It was especially ludicrous given that Zadie didn’t
want
to talk about her problems. Didn’t that just give them
more
validity? Wouldn’t it be better to just ignore them altogether and hope that someday she’d forget about them?
Obviously, seeing a therapist had not been her idea. Her mother had insisted she go and Mavis Roberts could be a giant pain in the ass when she set her mind to it. She made the case that Zadie didn’t have the luxury of processing the end of her relationship in a normal fashion. It didn’t take the natural route of dating, things souring, and then breaking up. It went from “Here I am, about to walk down the aisle” to complete and utter devastation. She had to instantly start hating Jack right at the moment she was at the peak of her love for him.
In order to shut Mavis up, Zadie went to see Dr. Reed. Seven times. By then she’d had enough of “How did you feel about that?” It wasn’t helping.
But on this particular morning, Zadie felt the need to air her agita with a trained professional. Someone who would notice how
profound she was because they were being paid to do so. More important, someone who would agree that she did not need to go on a date.
She drove over the hill to Sunset and parked in the underground parking garage. Was it possible to build one that wasn’t creepy? The sign stating that the state of California found there to be toxins in the garage that were harmful to unborn fetuses always unnerved her. Where would she park if she ever got pregnant? Every parking structure in the city had that damn sign.
Dr. Reed always had
In Style
magazine in her waiting room, so while you were waiting to purge your soul of the world’s injustices, you could find out what kind of shampoo Debra Messing uses. There were also several framed nature prints on the wall, clearly meant to be soothing. Although Zadie had never once been soothed by the sight of a raindrop clinging to a lily pad.
When the good doctor called her in, Zadie took off her shoes and sat on the couch, tucking her legs up underneath her. She always tried to make it seem like they were just two gals shooting the shit over their morning coffee instead of doctor and tragically fucked-up patient.
“I wasn’t sure you were going to come back.” Dr. Reed gave her a placid smile. She was dressed in her usual perfectly pressed Casual Corner silk separates.
“Why? Do I seem cured?”
“Interesting choice of words.”
“Here we go—”Zadie rolled her eyes.
“Cure implies an illness.”
“No, I don’t think I have an illness.” Zadie grabbed a piece of butterscotch from the dish on the coffee table.
“Well, that’s good. How
would
you describe what you’re feeling?”
“Annoyed.” She popped the candy in her mouth.
“Why do you think you feel that way?” Oh, Lord. An exploration of her feelings. The very thing she hated. Why the hell had she come here?
“Because everyone I know wants me to go out on a date. As
if that’s going to solve something.” Between Grey, Nancy, and Dorian, it was like an irritating song she couldn’t turn off. Her friends had all turned into Kylie Minogue.
“And you don’t agree?” Dr. Reed asked.
“No, I don’t agree. I think it will only make me more annoyed. I won’t have a good time, and I’ll end up wishing I was at home reading a book.”
“So, you’ve already sabotaged any date you’ll go on by making up your mind that it will be bad?” Ooh, that was judgmental. Dr. Reed must be feeling feisty this morning. Do therapists argue with their husbands?
“It will be bad. There’s no question in my mind. Either he won’t like me, which will be depressing, or I won’t like him and it’ll be painful to sit through dinner.”
“What if you both like each other and have a delightful time?” And what if Jack happened to lie down behind her car so she could run him over? Good things like that just don’t happen.
Dr. Reed leaned toward her. “Your self-esteem is in a low place right now. Understandably so. And as painful as it may sound, going on a date could help to raise it back up.” What?! She was on their side?
“Or—going on a date could further lower my self-esteem to a new level of hell.”
“There are no guarantees, but there are things you could do to stack the odds in your favor.” Dr. Reed crossed her legs and leaned back.
“As in?”
“Pick someone you feel comfortable with. Someone you’re not intimidated by.”
“You’re telling me to go out with an ugly guy?” Zadie asked. She was
paying
for this?
“I didn’t say that, but if you’re intimidated by good-looking men, then a less attractive date might be a good idea.”
“I’m not intimidated by good-looking men. I’m just a little annoyed with their complete lack of humanity,” Zadie said, reaching for another butterscotch.
“I think you’re projecting your anger at Jack onto other men. Just because one good-looking man turned out to be a poor choice doesn’t mean they all will.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa—‘a poor choice’? That implies that I did something wrong just by going out with him.” Zadie put the butterscotch down, too pissed now to eat it.
“Zadie, you didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes we choose people who aren’t right for us. Sometimes we choose people who are.”
“Uh-uh. You’re still putting the blame on me with that scenario. The fact is—I
chose
a perfectly decent guy who turned into a total shit.” Jack
had
been a good guy. Otherwise she wouldn’t have fallen so in love with him. That’s what upset her the most—the fact that
that
version of Jack no longer existed. She missed him.
Dr. Reed nodded. “People can change. That’s true.”
“So it’s not my fault,” Zadie said. Damn right it wasn’t.
“That he changed? Of course it’s not your fault.”
“Because you made it sound like I was supposed to take responsibility for it or something.”
Dr. Reed took a sip of her tea. “Do you want to take responsibility for it?”
“No.” Why would she?
“Sometimes people take responsibility for the actions of others so they can feel like they have some control in the situation. A child of divorce for instance. ‘Daddy left because I was bad.’ That way, they don’t feel as helpless. It was their doing. But what starts out as a feeling of control turns into self-imposed guilt for something that was never their fault to begin with.”
“And you think I’m doing that?” Zadie asked.
“Are you?”
Was she? She’d always denied that Jack’s transformation into the devil was her fault, but did she really believe that? Was it just her way of drowning out the voices in her head that said it
was
her fault?
Had
she driven him away? Or had she just convinced herself that she’d driven him away in order to feel like a participant in the whole meltdown instead of a victim?
Zadie sighed. “I don’t know.”
“Now we’re on to something.” Dr. Reed smiled, making a note on her clipboard.
Zadie’s head was starting to hurt. And her coffee was cold. Whatever they were on to was not something she cared to address at the moment.
“When Jack didn’t show up at the wedding, you must’ve felt like you had no control over the situation.”
“I didn’t.”
“And that feeling, that lack of control, was mixed in with your grief and your anger and every other negative feeling you were experiencing at the time.”
“I guess.” There were homicidal tendencies in the mix, but it was probably best not to bring that up now.
“So it would only be natural to try to take that bad feeling—lack of control—and subjugate it by assigning yourself blame, which in essence, is your perception of control. You convince yourself that Jack’s rejection was your fault and now you’re back in control—
you
caused it.
You’re
the one who made it happen.”
Zadie leaned her head back against the wall. “This is really depressing. You’re telling me that somehow I’ve blamed myself in order to make myself feel better?”
Dr. Reed leaned forward. “But you don’t feel better. You feel worse.”
“Agreed.” She felt like crap. Pretty much all the time.
“That’s why you need to let it go.”
“Let what go?” Zadie asked, looking back at the doctor.
“Your false sense of control.”
“Okay …”
“Stop blaming yourself for what Jack did. You can take control of your life in other ways. More constructive ways.”
“Any suggestions?” Zadie asked.
“Go on a date.”
And it was back to that.
When Zadie got to school, she stopped in the teachers’ lounge to stash her lunch in the fridge. She set it in the only space left, next to a Tupperware container full of ramen noodles that had been there as long as she’d been teaching. There was probably a colony of sea monkeys living in it by now, or some revolutionary cancercuring mold, but no one was brave enough to open it.
As she made a cup of green tea, Nancy walked in, completely aglow. Coral lipstick on her big fake lips. “You will never believe the date I had last night.”
“Let me guess. He took his penis out in the restaurant?”
Nancy rolled her eyes at Zadie, indicating that she was clearly far too wise to date anyone of such ilk. “No … he was a perfect gentleman. It was the best second date I’ve ever had.”
“Second date? Congratulations. What’s his name?” Zadie was neither impressed nor interested, but Nancy didn’t pick up on it.
“Darryl.”
Zadie bit her tongue. Did Nancy not realize that in the vast and far-reaching history of the world, there has never been a cool guy named Darryl?
“And he has a brother named Doug who’s single, if you’re interested.”
There were few things that Zadie was less interested in than Doug. The particulars of gum surgery, perhaps. How many miles to the gallon her car got. J.Lo’s love life.
Nancy put her lunch in the fridge and shut it with a jaunty swish of her hip. Clearly in high spirits. “He’s thirty-five and he’s a software engineer.”
Just as Zadie was about to decline, she had a thought. Doug was a harmless-sounding man whom she could possibly bring herself to have a meal with and, in the process, get Grey, Dorian, and Dr. Reed to shut up about the “you need to go on a date” thing.
“Any visible defects?”
“I haven’t seen him, but if he looks anything like Darryl, you’re a lucky girl.”
Dolores got up from the table where she’d been downing a bowl of Lucky Charms. “Are you really considering this?” She didn’t say it in a judgmental way, she merely echoed Zadie’s own thoughts. Was she?
“I think I am. Maybe it’s time.” Fuck, no, it wasn’t time, but she could go through the motions and pretend it was time in order to prove it wasn’t to those who insisted it was.
Nancy clapped her hands with glee. “This is going to be so much fun! We’ll all four go to dinner!”
Zadie thought about objecting, but then realized this could actually be beneficial. As painful as it would be to watch Nancy on a date, at least she wouldn’t have to carry the conversation herself. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Are you free on Saturday?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Dolores shook her head in wonder. “I was starting to think this day would never come.”
Zadie had been sure this day would never come. Now that it had, the universe seemed somewhat askew.
“I’ll call Darryl at lunch and we’ll work out all the details.” Nancy gave Zadie a squeeze, pleased as punch to be a participant in what was clearly, in her mind, a foregone love match.
Zadie entered her classroom with a belly full of dread. She knew nothing about Doug. He could be heinous. He could be gorgeous. He could hate her on sight. She could cringe at the sound of his voice. All this effort just to get her friends to shut up? She was far too giving a person.
The bell rang and her first-period students took their seats. Jessica Martin raised her hand, most likely to show off her manicure. “Okay, I know that William Faulkner is supposed to be a genius and all, but is it just me or are the first three chapters of
As I Lay Dying
completely incoherent? Who are these people? What the hell are they talking about? And why do they keep repeating themselves?”
Zadie had to think carefully about her answer. She completely agreed with Jessica, but saying that would not be politically sound. “Well, you have to remember, it’s a story about people who live in a different time and place.”
“Well, why does Faulkner have to write about those people? They’re annoying.”
“Just think of it as a window into a part of humanity that you would never get to see otherwise,” Zadie answered.
“Okay, but can you maybe pick a book that’s more interesting next time? I don’t care about where these people bury their mother. It’s gross.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Zadie could’ve explained to Jessica that the head of the department was the one who picked the books, but why bother? She’d just spent the morning explaining to Dr. Reed why she didn’t need to go on a date and now she was going on one. People don’t listen. So why bother to talk? They’re just going to hear what they want to hear, or ignore you altogether.
It occurred to her that this was perhaps an unhealthy attitude for a teacher to have.
On Saturday morning, Zadie decided to go to the gym. It had been at least a month and it seemed like a good pre-date thing to
do. At least it would distract her from the fact that she would soon be saying things like, “So, what do you do for fun?”
She threw on a ratty T-shirt and shorts and called Grey to meet her there. Their gym had several million cardio machines, all facing a giant window overlooking Ventura Boulevard, as if the sight of traffic would be inspirational. As they rode on neighboring Lifecycles, Grey looked over at her, offering half a Red Bull.
“I’m proud of you.”
Zadie drained the Red Bull, hoping that whatever “taurine” was would help make exercise less boring. “What’d I do?”
“You’re going out on a date. I think this will be good for you.”
“Yes, I’m sure Doug will be just like a shot of wheat grass juice.” She upped the resistance on the bike. As long as she was here, she wanted to sweat.
“Are you going to have sex with him?” he teased.
“Of course. In the car on the way over, at the restaurant, and probably in the parking lot after dinner. But only if we can do it up against the Dumpster.” She was starting to breathe heavily now. And not from the thought of Doug against a Dumpster.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Grey said, pedaling faster.
“I’d say there’s better odds of you and Helen having sex tonight than me and Doug.”
“I’m not even seeing Helen tonight.”
“Well, there you go.” She lowered the resistance. Her heart was pounding. Enough of this shit. Grey hadn’t even broken a sweat yet. “So, what’s the deal? Is Helen cheating on you already?”
“She’s going over some wedding details with her mom.”
“Did they hire the horse-drawn carriage yet?”
Grey looked worried. “Why, is that what she’s planning?”
Zadie looked over at him and smiled. “I’m kidding. It’s always been her dream to get married on the edge of a lake and arrive in a boat pulled by swans.”
“Funny.”
“You better show up, you know.”
Can you imagine? Helen getting left at the altar? Never in a million years.
“I’m planning on it.” Grey was the one guy in the world Zadie would trust to keep his word. There was something so pure about him. He was just a truly decent guy. No surprises. She used to think that she wanted a man who would constantly surprise her. Then she got one.
Zadie got off the bike, pulling her T-shirt out so it wouldn’t cling to her now sweaty boobs. “Come spot me on the leg press?”
Grey followed her over to the machine and helped her load the weights onto the rack. “How much?”
“Sixty on each side.” Zadie neglected to mention to Grey that if she squeezed her thighs together just right while she did the leg press machine, she would have an orgasm. The more weight, the easier it was. It’s not like she felt the need to hide this fact from him. She just didn’t want him watching her while she had one. They weren’t that close.
“You sure?”
“Pile it on.” Zadie lay down on the machine and started her set. Listening as Grey chatted on, relacing his shoes, no idea that she was pleasuring herself.
“I’m leaving all the wedding details to Helen. Partly because I don’t have time, but mostly because I don’t give a shit. Is that inconsiderate?”
“No. That’s what you’re supposed to do.” She was barely listening, but she knew she had to respond to keep up her cover. She wondered if all women knew about the leg press or if it only worked on her.
“Are you sure?”
Jesus, must he go on about this? “Here’s a thought. Ask her. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to tell you if she wants your input.” First Helen fucks up her surfing, now she’s interrupting her orgasm.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter.” Did he have to talk right now? Why was he looking at her? He was supposed to be watching the weights.
“Your face is all red.”
“Probably because I’m repeatedly thrusting a hundred and twenty pounds into the air.” And because she just had an immense wave of bliss wash through her loins.
“Why were your eyes rolling back in your head?”
“They always do that when I lift.”
Grey frowned. “I don’t think you should drink Red Bull before you work out anymore.”
He helped her up after she finished and started loading more weight on the machine for his set. “So, I told my buddy Mike about you.”
Zadie frowned. “What’d you tell him?”
“That you’re a nut job, but that he’d probably want to bang you anyway.” He lay down on the machine and started his set.
“Charming.”
“I’m kidding. I told him—you’re hot—you’re funny”—he was talking in between thrusts—“and you’re a quality babe.” He lowered the weights and stood.
“I love it when you speak in early Keanu.” She pulled the weights off the machine until it was back to her level. “But I’m still not going to let you set me up. My date tonight is all the trauma I can take for now.”
Grey motioned with his head toward the cardio machines. “There’s a guy on the StairMaster checking you out.”
Zadie didn’t even look. Why bother?
“Red shirt, black sweats. Take a look,” Grey said.
Zadie rolled her eyes and turned to appease him. A passably cute guy in a red T-shirt and black sweats was engrossed in a magazine.
“He’s not checking me out.”
“Not
now
, but he was.”
Zadie lay back down on the machine and started lifting again. “Your attempt to build my confidence before my date is transparent, but appreciated.”
“He just looked again.”
“Stop—”
“What? I’m just reporting the facts.”
Zadie closed her eyes. The second leg-press orgasm was never as good. Too fleeting.
“Oh, fuck.” Grey was still looking over at the cardio machines, but now he was frowning.
“What?” Zadie asked.
“The guy on the treadmill. I think it’s Jack.”
Zadie let the weights slam down. “What?!”
The vein on Grey’s temple was throbbing, like he was preparing for battle. “Should we leave or should I kick his ass?”
Zadie started to panic. Why did Jack have to show up here? She looked like crap. Out of all the millions of times she fantasized about running into him and saying something pithy, and haughty, and Bette Davis-like, she never once imagined that she’d be red faced with a sweaty ponytail and wearing a T-shirt she’d had since college.
“Don’t let him see me.” She hid behind Grey, grabbing him like a shield. What the hell would she say if he came over? Hi, remember me? The girl who was supposed to be your wife? Can I have my heart back?
“Make sure it’s really him before I hit him,” Grey said.
“You can’t hit him.” As much as Zadie would like to see Grey smack Jack upside the head with a dumbbell, she didn’t want him to get arrested for assault. Jack made a living with his face. He would surely press charges.
“Here he comes. He’s heading for the ab machine.”
Zadie steeled herself and peeked around Grey’s shoulder. She saw a guy with shaggy black hair and rock-solid delts sit down on the ab crunch machine and bend forward.
It wasn’t Jack.
She let herself breathe again and swatted Grey on the shoulder. “Jesus. Don’t do that to me.”
“It’s not him?”
“No, thank God.” Grey and Jack had only met twice. When Grey was still with his ex, Angela, they’d all gone to dinner at Koi. Jack instantly hated Angela because she said something degrading about actors before they even got their edamame, so he was sullen for the rest of the night. The second time was post-Angela and Grey had met Zadie and Jack at the Cat & Fiddle, where Jack was supposed to set Grey up with one of his costars, but apparently, she’d met George Clooney at a premiere the night before and was still in his bed. Jack had felt bad and tried to get the bartender interested in Grey, but Grey ended up going home with a makeup artist from
Six Feet Under
who made the dead people look pasty. Neither time had Grey been spectacularly impressed with Jack, Zadie found out later, but he also hadn’t foreseen that Jack would pull what he’d pulled. He’d merely thought Jack was a little too concerned with what people thought of him, and a little too handsome for his own good.
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