Drinking and Dating (16 page)

“Did you sleep with her?” I spat the words at him.

“Yes,” he replied, looking directly at me. I felt the tears pooling in my eyes but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Of course he was free to have sex with whomever he wanted, but that didn’t mean I wanted to actually know about it.

Calmly, I asked if he would tell me what happened.

While in Rome the very first night, he thought it would be fun to crash a nearby wedding. (Seriously, though, what grown-ass man crashes a wedding? Life isn’t a fucking Vince Vaughn movie.) He met a thirty-five-year-old brunette woman who had come in from Spain for the nuptials, and they instantly had a connection, he said. Was it necessary to tell me her age? #Asshole. She traveled with
my
Latino for the next nine days up and down the Italian coast.

“Do you have feelings for her?” I asked, numb from this new revelation. I already knew the answer.

“Yes.” He looked down at his hands. I knew he didn’t want to hurt me.

Looking at him in that moment, I realized something: I was in love with him too just a little bit.

In seven short days, he had fallen in love with another woman. He was so exhausted from our epic tug-of-war that he finally had had enough. It was different from what happened with my ex-husband. In the Latino’s eyes, he had opened the door for me to love him back—and I had shut it in his face. He was recovering the only way he knew how—and what we’d been doing for a year and a half. I realized that maybe it was too late for us. I went home and spent that evening crying and pondering love.

I decided to propose to my Latino (kind of).

I drove to his apartment with a huge white orchid in the backseat of my car—it was ridiculous and inconvenient, but all of a sudden the thought of him consumed my every minute. Pulling onto his street, I recognized a strange sensation in my stomach: I had butterflies. But I couldn’t chicken out now; I had an important question to ask him: “Would you please be my ‘in case of emergency’ contact?”

Looking back, I wonder if nowadays I mistake hurt for love. Could it be that the scars of my past have caused me to confuse the two emotions? Why did he deserve my love now after a weeklong fling with someone else? I was torturing myself, but for so long I’ve been hurting for the men I’ve loved.

It begs the question: Do I
really
love this man? I’ll keep you posted.

Mom’s Epilogue

The Real Brandi

S
ince you have just read this book, I am going to assume that you did so because you enjoyed Brandi’s first book so much. Many of you feel you have now “met” Brandi through one media source or another, or perhaps even in person. She is tall, attractive, friendly, mouthy, opinionated, and unfiltered. But you need to know that she is also sensitive, loving, generous to a fault, funny, animated, clever, and bossy. Let me expound even further so you get a better idea of who my daughter is.

Let’s start at the beginning. Brandi was born feet first, with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck three times, and refusing to cry. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were black, and her head was bald. She was walking at nine months of age, potty-trained herself at age one, and rode a two-wheel bicycle (with no training wheels) at age three and a half. She rarely walked across a room, opting to dance, cartwheel, or somersault instead. Her career aspirations as a child included being a model, or maybe a cashier (she loved cash registers, with all those buttons and automatically opening drawers) or a truck driver. Later it was an actress, a photographer, or a makeup artist. Her favorite colors were pink, purple, and red.

Raising three children is challenging, even when they are the three most amazing children in the world. Yeah, I know, spoken like a true
mom
. When it becomes apparent that one of those children (specifically, Brandi) marches to the beat of an entirely different drummer, you
really
have your work cut out for you. Please don’t interpret that as a complaint. I celebrated the fact that Brandi did not always conform to the norms and quite often found myself defending her right to be different.

My children attended parochial school through the eighth grade. Brandi’s teachers told me she was very bright. She did struggle some with spelling, but rather than take that as a criticism, I preferred to call it creative spelling (example: “ten-a-shoes” for “tennis shoes”). I wasn’t worried . . . I knew she would eventually get it.

When Brandi was in about the third grade, during her actress phase, she so desperately wanted to be in the Christmas pageant that she agreed to play the part of Joseph. The little boy originally cast in the part bowed out because it involved holding Mary’s hand, and as we all know, girls have cooties. So Brandi donned a beard and a robe and was father to Baby Jesus. A star was born.

There comes a point in every mother’s life when you have to have “the talk” with your children. Mine were still quite young when they benefited from my wisdom on the facts of life. As uncomfortable as it was, I answered their questions as honestly as I could. Imagine my relief when Brandi declared that she thought the whole idea of sexual intercourse was gross and she wasn’t ever going to engage in that behavior. Ha! If only!

As I mentioned, Brandi rarely walked anywhere. So the decision was made to enroll her in gymnastics. Brandi’s grandmother, who paid for her first year of gymnastics, thought it would be a good way to channel her desire to perform and keep her out of trouble. Yes, she was a talented gymnast but she also had a talent for mischief. During the seven years she was a member of a gymnastics team, she frequently went head-to-head with her coaches and participated in and often instigated her fair share of shenanigans with her teammates. One example that stands out in my mind involved snipping the “tail” off her coach’s expensive hairstyle on a dare not only from her teammates but from the woman’s husband as well. I offered to reimburse the coach for the price of the do, but she declined. I think she preferred to fume. I never really liked her anyway.

Several of Brandi’s antics led to some heated discussions between us. Often, after a disagreement, individuals remain angry and resentful for a while. Some hold on to a grudge forever. Arguments never impacted Brandi the way they do most people. When it was over, it was over. She didn’t carry around any resentment or let the arguments burden her. I recall one time when I said something to her, still feeling angry or hurt by an argument we had, and she was surprised at my attitude. After all, the disagreement was ancient history, having taken place at least ten minutes ago. She was so over it and I should be too. Time to move on.

We have all heard that laughter is the best medicine. Brandi had an innate talent for making me laugh. Let’s consider for example, the ride to and from her gymnastics training sessions. The drive was at least thirty miles each way and we did that five days a week. Boring! Unless you have a gray curly wig from Halloween, a scarf, and a pair of sunglasses. Then you pretend to be a little old lady hunkered down in the passenger seat of the car, and when someone pulls alongside you, make eye contact, yank off the disguise, and see them react. Hysterical! Then there is the “monkey walk.” I can’t even describe it except to say . . . thirteen years old, all arms and legs, skinny as a rail, walking like a monkey. Every time she did it I laughed so hard I cried.

Not all of Brandi’s career aspirations came to fruition . . . thank goodness. One of her first jobs was as a waitress in the dining room at an assisted-living facility. I think that helped shape her opinion of and respect for the elderly. Although Brandi has affection for and is very protective of the senior citizens in her life, her grandfather (my dad) was her favorite. He had baby fine, soft white hair and a hard-assed attitude. He had retired from the U.S. Army as a master sergeant having served in World War II, the Korean conflict, and the Vietnam War. Many people found him intimidating and/or standoffish. Not Brandi. She saw right through the facade. She instinctively knew that he was a pushover. A little fussing, fawning, and hairstyling and she had him grinning like a Cheshire cat in no time. She spoiled him rotten and he loved it.

Senior citizens aren’t her only weakness. Her love for animals is also undeniable. She always has to have pets. Right now she has two yappy little Chihuahuas she rescued from an animal shelter. They are not even close to being perfectly behaved, but she wouldn’t trade them for the world. Once, when she was at the veterinarian’s office, a young lady, a stranger to Brandi, was crying because she could not afford to have her beloved dog treated, which meant it would likely die. Brandi just whipped out her checkbook and wrote a check. She could not stand the idea of someone losing her pet. She has had many pets, including an orphaned duckling and a praying mantis, and she knows how devastating it is when you lose them. Her Jack Russell terrier was attacked and killed by coyotes, and another dog was lost when a screen was cut during what was thought to be an attempted burglary on her home.

Brandi loves deeply and is generous to a fault. She would give you the shirt off her back if she thought you needed it more than she did (except that she is a skinny bitch and it probably wouldn’t fit you anyway). I have witnessed her love and generosity as well as experienced it firsthand. When her world turned upside down in 2009, I worried . . . because she had given so much of herself to her marriage and I was not sure she could find herself again. The fact that Brandi managed not just to survive but to re-create herself has made me proud and provided me with a great sense of relief. She has overcome obstacles—like no credit history and limited liquid assets, which made leasing a car and renting a house extremely humbling experiences. After those were handled, and the realization set in that money could be in short supply due to circumstances beyond her control, it became obvious that earning her own money had to be the next step. Tabloid magazines and TV shows were interested in her side of “the story” and were willing to pay her for it.

Once her name and face became familiar thanks to the media, a fan base began to build . . . especially among the community of mothers and women scorned. They applauded when Brandi didn’t just shrivel up and die. I did too! Some critics felt that she should take the Jennifer Aniston (who happens to have plenty of her own $$$$) approach and be quiet. Guess what Brandi would tell them to do? You’ve heard her say it many times on
RHOBH
. As her mom, I initially found it hard to deal with some of the hurtful things people said about her on gossipy blogs and websites. But I have learned to deal with them my own way. I picture them as unemployed losers who sit around in their pajamas, stuffing their faces with unhealthy food, making nasty comments about people they don’t know, and playing computer games all day when they should just focus on getting a life and/or a job. Thinking of her critics in this way is liberating!

I know this must seem a bit sugarcoated, I admit. But trust me, no one is perfect. We have all had our share of moments that we wish we could do over or forget, of which we are not particularly proud. Brandi is a headliner in that category. But you have probably figured that out for yourself, especially if you read her first book.

So, here we are, four and a half years from the time
when her life was turned upside down, her heart ripped out and stomped on, her family destroyed, her address changed, and her finances left in a questionable state, and my girl is doing quite well, thank you very much. Although her career defies definition, she is earning her own way in her own way. I would not have expected any less. She has provided a nice home for herself and her sons (not to mention her annoying dogs). When she needs help, she has a close circle of family and friends she can rely on. She welcomes new challenges. She is opinionated and outspoken. She recently told me that she will never, ever depend on a man for money again. She will live her life without apologies and always facing forward. She hopes to fall madly in love again. She is strong, she is invincible, she is woman (thank you, Helen Reddy), and she is my brown-eyed girl (thank you, Van Morrison). I am proud to be her mother.

Acknowledgments

First and foremost I would like to thank Judy Glanville for being the best mother in the world, and her mother, my Grandma Swinehart, for raising such a spectacular human being. Thank you to my dad for being the best, feistiest dad ever and a wonderful grandpa. Thank you to my big sister, Tricia, and my little brother, Michael, for their amazing ability to hold me up when the chips were down and for encouraging me to write this second book. Thank you to my wonderful agent, Michael Broussard, and my coauthor, Leslie Ann Bruce-Amin—this book wouldn’t have been written or even been possible without the two of you. I now count you both as family. Thanks also to Darin Harvey and my agent, Alec Shankman.

My biggest thanks go to my two roommates, also known as my children, Mason and Jake Cibrian. Thank you, boys, for allowing me to use my
own
computer to write this book even though at times it really bugged you both. A special thank-you to Mason, who suggested the cover of my new book be the color yellow (he is always right), and a sweet thank-you to Jake, who, during times of writer’s block, could always get me to laugh with his “opera singing.” Thank you to all of my amazing friends who have been so supportive and have always jumped to my defense during hard times.

To my editor, Nancy Hancock, who at times could be a very tough cookie but ultimately the hardest working editor I know, thank you for believing in me and riding my ass to get this book finished. Thanks to my publishing team at HarperOne—Suzanne Quist, Janet Evans, Dwight Been, and Suzanne Wickham.

Lastly to my beautiful animals, Sugar, Buddy, and Chica (who is still missing but touches my heart every day), thank you for all the unconditional love.

About the Author

BRANDI GLANVILLE
is the breakout star of the Bravo reality series
The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills
and author of
New York Times
bestselling memoir
Drinking and Tweeting: And Other Brandi Blunders
. The now single mother of two sons has been a pop culture fixture since her very public divorce in 2009; she’s appeared in countless weekly magazines (including
People, In Touch Weekly, Life & Style Weekly,
and
Us Weekly
), on entertainment shows (including on E!,
Inside Edition, The View,
and
The Today Show
), and on radio shows (
The Howard Stern Show, Loveline, Playboy,
and more). Glanville has become one of the most “googled” members of Bravo’s $500 million Housewives franchise and is currently appearing in the show’s fourth season.

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