The Bachelorette Party (2 page)
“Have you talked to Helen, by the way?” He said it casually, but his face got all tense, like he was either constipated or concerned about telling her something.
“Don’t even tell me you two broke up.” Helen was her cousin. When Helen’s sister Denise got married last fall, Zadie had dragged Grey along with her to the happy occasion. It was a mere month after her own nonwedding. Zadie had needed him around to ease the pain. However, the pain was not eased by the fact that Grey ended up sucking face with Helen on the dance floor during the reception. People were not supposed to be getting married when she couldn’t and people were not supposed to be hooking up when she wasn’t. But it wasn’t just a hookup. Grey and Helen had actually started dating. And fallen in love. And taken a trip to Napa. You don’t take a girl to Napa unless you have intentions.
“Although getting dumped at a wine tasting isn’t the worst place I can think of,” Zadie said. “At least you can drown your sorrows in a nice merlot.” She was joking, but then realized this was actually a possibility and felt bad for saying it. Grey was smitten and she wouldn’t wish a broken heart on anyone, despite the fact that Helen wasn’t exactly her favorite relative. There were several reasons for this distinction, the most prominent one being that Helen had never done a single bad thing and she never let anyone forget it.
“We’re engaged.” He said it as he shoved a forkful of melted Swiss into his mouth. As if he were announcing that he just traded in his Saab for a Volvo.
Zadie stared at him. “I’m sorry, it sounded like you just said that you and Helen got engaged. But I know that can’t be true, because you would’ve called me the second it happened, not waited four days to tell me while we’re listening to ‘Hurts So Good’ on the fucking jukebox.”
“I couldn’t call you from Napa, it would’ve been too weird. She would’ve heard, and I can’t talk to you in front of her. She’s always grabbing the phone and looking at me weird whenever she hears me call you ‘Loser.’”
“You’re engaged. You and Helen. Are getting married.”
“Yes.”
There was a buzzing noise in Zadie’s head. It was most likely all the blood in her body rushing to protect her brain from
this news. “And when is this blessed event taking place?”
this news. “And when is this blessed event taking place?”
“Soon. She told me she booked the hotel the day I told her I loved her. She already bought her dress.”
“Helen? I’m sure she bought her dress when she was eighteen. She’s had a wedding scrapbook waiting to be filled since her twelfth birthday.”
Grey frowned. “You sound angry.”
“How could I be angry? My best friend is marrying my cousin and my only semblance of a love life is touching myself while lusting after a teenage boy that I’m supposed to be educating. Why would this upset me?” Zadie rubbed her temples.
Grey refilled her glass. “You’re overreacting. Besides, I want you to meet my friend Mike. I’m going to ask him to be one of my groomsmen. I think you’ll like him.”
Now Zadie was really pissed. “If you mention Mike to me one more time …”
“What? He’s a great guy.”
“So you’ve told me,” she said.
“So why won’t you meet him?”
“Because I don’t want a pity setup. I’m not going to go out with your lame-ass friends just because you don’t think I’ll ever find anyone on my own.”
She motioned to the waitress for another pitcher. The night just went from really long to really short. She might just drink enough to pass out in the booth by ten o’clock. She pictured Grey having to carry her to his car. And then carrying her up the stairs to her apartment in Sherman Oaks. And dropping her because she was too heavy. Then picking her back up and shoving her through the door, placing her face down on her couch with her little wicker trash basket from Bed Bath & Beyond next to her head. You can’t puke in wicker. It leaks. She couldn’t stand the thought of half-digested potato skins leaking onto her floor while Grey and Helen were nuzzling in front of the fire back at his place. Helen was so fucking judgmental. She could just hear it. “Why does Zadie have to be so self-destructive? Jack left her six months ago.
She should be over it. He’s only a soap actor. With a back-burner story line. What’s the big deal?”
She should be over it. He’s only a soap actor. With a back-burner story line. What’s the big deal?”
“I’m not setting you up out of pity. I’m setting you up because I want you to be happy.”
“If you want me to be happy, then spare me the blind dates.”
“Glory Days” came on the jukebox and she started to tear up. She was no longer young. She was no longer a size six. She was no longer a girl who could bear the thought of dating a man she feared would leave her. And she was no longer a girl who had a best friend to take care of her. Now he’d have a wife to keep him occupied. A perfect wife. A twenty-eight-year-old wife whose hair didn’t even need to be highlighted.
“I’m never going to see you again, am I?”
Grey squinted at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’ll be off buying furniture at IKEA and preregistering at nursery schools and ovulating. We’re never gonna come here again, are we? This is my last potato skin. This is my last pitcher. This is my last glory day.”
“Okay, you’re drunk. Which is normally not a bad thing, but considering the mood you’re in, I have to question if it’s the best choice.”
“Fuck you, Grey. I am not drunk.” With that, Zadie got up, grabbed her purse, and headed toward the door. Not that she wasn’t drunk, she just didn’t want to be told she was. At least, not by her best friend who had just betrayed her by getting engaged when she wasn’t. She walked past the bikers. “Happy? I’m leaving.” They gave her a blank look as she slammed her beer glass down on the bar.
Once she was outside, the valet called her a cab. She’d phone Triple A in the morning, claim gasket problems, and get them to tow it back to Sherman Oaks. Maybe it was a blessing that Jack had been on TV in the Jiffy Lube waiting room, forcing her to flee. And maybe it was a blessing that she was still single. And maybe the girl who’d licked Vince Vaughn’s testicles was still in town so she’d have someone to hang out with while everyone else she fucking knew got married.
When Zadie woke up, she popped two Excedrin, made arrangements to have her car picked up, and started a pot of coffee. The fact that school started so ridiculously early was something she cursed every time she was hungover. Her students weren’t exactly bright-eyed at 8 A.M. either. What would be so wrong about having school start at noon?
Her apartment was already hot from the sun streaming in through her sliding glass door. She opened it to let whatever breeze there might be blow in across the seven potted cacti she kept on her balcony next to a faded canvas beach chair and a rusted hibachi that she’d never used. Her mother had insisted that she’d want to grill something someday, but that day had yet to come. Zadie mostly ordered take-out Thai food or bought prepared salads from the grocery store. Why cook when there are trained professionals who have already done it for you?
The neighbor’s mange-ridden cat jumped onto her beach chair from the top of the wall that divided their balconies. He then proceeded to run inside her apartment and take a quick tour. Zadie flicked a dish towel at him.
“Shoo. Get out. There’s nothing here for you.”
Once the cat was satisfied that he’d seen all six hundred square feet, he went back out onto the balcony and climbed back over the
wall. Zadie shut the door behind him. It wasn’t that she disliked cats, but this particular cat had shat on her beach chair at least twice and she wasn’t eager for him to decorate her off-white couch in the same way. She’d bought it with the money she got from pawning her engagement ring. Which meant that every time she sat down on it, she got pissed off all over again. But at least her anger was empowering. Not that it actually empowered her to do anything, but it was more energizing than despair.
wall. Zadie shut the door behind him. It wasn’t that she disliked cats, but this particular cat had shat on her beach chair at least twice and she wasn’t eager for him to decorate her off-white couch in the same way. She’d bought it with the money she got from pawning her engagement ring. Which meant that every time she sat down on it, she got pissed off all over again. But at least her anger was empowering. Not that it actually empowered her to do anything, but it was more energizing than despair.
The fact that her emotional range of late consisted of fury, depression, or numbness was something she wanted to rectify, but she wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. People told her it would take time. The
How to Survive a Breakup
book her mother gave her told her to keep a journal and express her feelings on paper. Why the fuck she would want to document what she was currently feeling was beyond her. She wished there was a way to take one of those Native American smudge sticks that her hippie roommate at UCLA used to get rid of negative energy and wave it around inside her head until all her feelings were gone. She didn’t want to “work through it” or “let time heal it.” She wanted to hit delete.
How to Survive a Breakup
book her mother gave her told her to keep a journal and express her feelings on paper. Why the fuck she would want to document what she was currently feeling was beyond her. She wished there was a way to take one of those Native American smudge sticks that her hippie roommate at UCLA used to get rid of negative energy and wave it around inside her head until all her feelings were gone. She didn’t want to “work through it” or “let time heal it.” She wanted to hit delete.
Before Jack, she’d been optimistic about romance. No matter how many badass poon hounds or neurotic momma’s boys she’d dated. She’d always been sure her one big love was out there. Until she found him and he turned into a giant wad of ass. Now the idea of trying to find another big love held little appeal. What would she do with two couches?
Luckily, Jack had never moved in. Her place didn’t allow dogs and he had a yellow lab he’d rescued from the pound that he loved more than his mother. And clearly Zadie, in hindsight. Zadie had never moved into his place because it was a shithole. They’d planned on finding an apartment together, but a month after they’d got engaged, Jack got the role on Days and bought a condo. Zadie was going to move in after the honeymoon. Good thing she’d kept her lease.
When Zadie got to school, she parked in the teachers’ lot and walked across the quad, passing the Zen garden with its requisite waterfall. Her classroom was in the I. M. Pei-designed main building that had reportedly been feng-shuied by a French guy with a tiny monkey that sat on his shoulder the entire time. They probably paid him more than Zadie made in five years.
The windows in her classroom looked out onto a hummingbird feeder that was attended by the greediest bastards in the ornithology kingdom. Beyond that was a canyon filled with an assortment of nonindigenous trees and the occasional mansion. She took solace in the fact that if her students were bored by her lecture, they at least had a nice view.
When Trevor arrived for sixth period, Zadie tried especially hard to avert her eyes from him, but he was wearing a skintight T-shirt and one of those cute little bucket hats over his shoulder-length surfer-blond hair. She was in hell. How could life get worse than wanting to fuck an eighteen-year-old? It must be hormonal. She had never been attracted to her students in the past. Was there a pill she could take to make it stop?
“
Grapes of Wrath.
What’d you think?” She looked out among the sea of well-groomed teenage faces.
Grapes of Wrath.
What’d you think?” She looked out among the sea of well-groomed teenage faces.
Danielle raised her hand. “It was a little depressing.” Danielle was the daughter of the man who ran a television network. The thought of a dust bowl was surely beyond her comprehension.
“What about it depressed you?” She liked Danielle and was secretly hoping she wouldn’t say anything that would cause her to repeat it over margaritas with the other teachers.
“They were homeless. They couldn’t find work. They didn’t have any food. What about it wasn’t depressing?”
Thank God she hadn’t said, “They didn’t have Prada luggage.” You never could tell with rich kids. Some of them had parents who made sure they knew how the rest of the world worked, and
some of them had parents who kept them in Malibu until they were sixteen and old enough to drive into the ‘hood on their own.
some of them had parents who kept them in Malibu until they were sixteen and old enough to drive into the ‘hood on their own.
After a discussion of poverty and its effect on the human spirit, Zadie let the class go with instructions to read five more chapters over the weekend so she could quiz them on Monday. Jorge approached her as the bell rang.
“My dad’s premiere is tonight and we’re going skiing in Mammoth all weekend to celebrate. I won’t have time to read.”
Zadie was used to excuses, some creative, some just plain lame, but Jorge’s father was an A-list director who’d left his mother when Jorge was five and moved on to three other wives since. The fact that Jorge was going to the premiere was important. How often does a teenager get to be proud of his parent? And the fact that he was spending a ski weekend with his father was huge. The man was quite frankly a prick who doted on his three younger children with his three younger wives.
“
Grapes of Wrath
can wait,” Zadie said. “Go have fun with your dad.”
Grapes of Wrath
can wait,” Zadie said. “Go have fun with your dad.”
Jorge grinned. “Thanks. I promise I’ll read it on Monday.” He hurried out behind the rest of the class. All except for Trevor.
As he walked up to Zadie’s desk, she ran her hand through her hair, smoothing it down. Teenage boys shouldn’t be allowed to be six feet tall.
“Thanks for making us read this. It made me realize that I pretty much don’t have anything to complain about,” he said.
“Perspective is always helpful,” Zadie answered. Wow. That was deep. She tried desperately to think of something else to say, but he was grinning at her and all thoughts left her.
“Is it okay if I change my term paper topic to Steinbeck instead of Kerouac?”
“Absolutely,” Zadie said.
“Cool. Thanks.” He walked out, allowing Zadie to notice that his T-shirt clung to his lat muscles in a most appealing manner. She forced herself to look away.
After school, Zadie walked to her car and sat inside for ten minutes before she drove away. The thought of masturbating during her drive yesterday shamed her. And the fact that she’d told Grey about it as if it were a prelude to one of their usual nights of fun enraged her. How could he let her go on about her Mrs. Robinson fantasy life when he was holding back the news that he was engaged? Not that she didn’t want him to be happy. Not that she didn’t know he was in love with Helen. Not that she hoped they would break up. She just hadn’t counted on them getting engaged so soon. What did Helen even see in him? He was the worst dancer on the planet. He couldn’t change a tire. He had a bed skirt that matched his comforter. Zadie didn’t even have a bed skirt. Who the fuck had a bed skirt?
When she got back to her apartment, she called Helen. “Hi! Congratulations!”
Helen was equally effusive. “Isn’t it amazing?! He proposed while we were in a hot air balloon, soaring over the vineyards.”
Barf. Did he really? So cliché. Jack had proposed to her while they were sixty-nining. She couldn’t even see his face—obviously. She just took his dick out of her mouth and said, “Yes.” Looking back on it now, it wasn’t quite as romantic as she’d previously thought.
“That’s so great!” No, it wasn’t. It was repulsive. It was incomprehensible. It was so John Tesh. A hot air balloon?
“Obviously, you’ll be a bridesmaid.” Phew. Zadie was tortured over the thought that she might not get to put on an ugly taffeta dress and stand at the altar next to Helen pretending she was happy. “And don’t worry, I promise the dress won’t have a bow on the butt.” Yeah, right. She wished she had a tape recording of this conversation to play back when she was inevitably standing in a church wearing a lime-green hoop skirt.
“Have you set the date?” Of course she had. She was Helen. Helen had her menstrual cycle charted for the next ten years.
“Memorial Day. It was either that or November twelfth, according to my numerologist, but I have to be tan. Otherwise, how
could I wear white?” So Orange County of her. Not that Zadie had anything against the sun, she just didn’t plan her wardrobe around it. And not that Helen shouldn’t wear white. As far as Zadie knew, Helen had never seen a penis. And she certainly hadn’t sucked one. Helen was a virgin. God knows why, but it was clearly something Helen had strong feelings about. Although holding out may not be such a bad tactic after all. How else would you get a guy to propose to you after five months of dating? Poor Grey was probably dying of sperm congestion.
could I wear white?” So Orange County of her. Not that Zadie had anything against the sun, she just didn’t plan her wardrobe around it. And not that Helen shouldn’t wear white. As far as Zadie knew, Helen had never seen a penis. And she certainly hadn’t sucked one. Helen was a virgin. God knows why, but it was clearly something Helen had strong feelings about. Although holding out may not be such a bad tactic after all. How else would you get a guy to propose to you after five months of dating? Poor Grey was probably dying of sperm congestion.
“Wow. Memorial Day. That’s soon.” In one month, her best friend would be married to her most annoying cousin. What fun! So much to celebrate! “So I guess you’re really sure about this.”
There was a pause on Helen’s end. Then, “Why wouldn’t I be?” Helen said it in that really bitchy tone people use when they want to tell you to fuck off, but are too polite.
“Of course you’re sure. That’s not what I meant at all. It’s all just happened so fast, I can’t believe it’s real. But I do. Believe it’s real.” Zadie was digging herself into a sizable hole and needed to get out. “I think it’s great! I can’t wait till the wedding! Whoops—I have another call. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” The fake call-waiting ploy. So transparent. So immature. Worked every goddamn time.
After Zadie hung up, she went to the fridge. There was half a Wolfgang Puck Chinese Chicken Salad, but it had been in there since last week and all the dressing was gone. They never put enough dressing in that little cup. And cabbage is not something that can be consumed without proper lubricant. Note to Wolfgang.
She drove down to Ralph’s and picked up some supermarket sushi. If she had any money, she’d go get some real sushi. But alas, she had spent her entire last paycheck finishing off her wedding dress payments. Saks doesn’t care if you get left at the altar. Saks wants their money.
When she got home with her plastic carton filled with day-old California rolls, she flipped on the TV to watch
The Bachelor,
viable proof that there were still some women left in the country who were more pathetic than she was. Watching these women tremble as they waited to get a rose from some dimwitted yet smug dork who actually used the word “vino” in a sentence—without ironic intent—was the only thing she could think of that could make her feel superior at the moment.
The Bachelor,
viable proof that there were still some women left in the country who were more pathetic than she was. Watching these women tremble as they waited to get a rose from some dimwitted yet smug dork who actually used the word “vino” in a sentence—without ironic intent—was the only thing she could think of that could make her feel superior at the moment.
During the commercial, Zadie tried to take stock of everything in her life that was going right. Her job. Things were fine there. She liked her students and at least two-thirds of the books she had to teach. Teaching would never make her rich, but that wasn’t something she necessarily aspired to be. Her apartment was clean. There was that. It had taken three months of clutter to finally motivate her to tidy up, and even then it was only because she’d worried that Jack might someday stop by to beg her forgiveness and she didn’t want him to see how she’d let things go in the midst of her grief. Not that he ever actually
would
stop by; it was just distracting to have old magazines and pizza boxes in her fantasy that he might. Her hair. She liked her hair. It was long and dark and shiny on most days. And that was pretty much it. Her job, her temporarily clean apartment, and her hair.
would
stop by; it was just distracting to have old magazines and pizza boxes in her fantasy that he might. Her hair. She liked her hair. It was long and dark and shiny on most days. And that was pretty much it. Her job, her temporarily clean apartment, and her hair.
This was what she had to live for.
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