Find Me I'm Yours (9 page)

Maybe now
I
fckedup.com, and it was time for an apology of my own.

DAY 2—NIGHT

Midnight smelled of jasmine and carnitas. (Sounds like a law firm I could never be a receptionist at if I had to answer, “Jasmine and Carnitas, may I help you?”) The fragrant air is one of the pluses of riding a scooter, especially late at night. That and the balmy, almost tropical L.A. breeze seductively massaging my face into a happy ending. Drawbacks of riding a scooter, especially during the day? People don't really need to be subjected to my ass-spread.

Like it had an internal homing device, I found Lola taking me somewhere quite familiar. Jason's apartment in Echo Park. I was finally ready to forgive him, and that couldn't be done in a text. Besides, makeup sex after one month, one week, five days was bound to be stellar.

I knocked on his door. It didn't occur to me that he might not be home. If that were the case, I'd sit on his stoop (why do they even call them “porches” in L.A.?!) till he came back. I knocked once more, and the door finally creaked open.

“Mags? What are you doing here?”

Wrapped around Jason's waist was the quilt I made for him in a bad attempt to be crafty. (It was at that time I clearly experienced the difference between art and craft and realized talent in one does not necessarily equate skillz in the other!) Seeing him in it made me melt even more.

“I'm here to accept your apology. HELL YEAH!” I quoted from his site. “And give you one of my own. I'm so sorry I've been so harsh, and I'm so sorry you kept asking for my forgiveness, and I just kept pushing you away. I'm ready to try again to make it work.”

I leaned in and kissed him, giving him everything that I hadn't been able to in weeks.

He pulled away. “Seriously? After what you said last night? I mean, you left me there…”

“I know, I felt I had to protect myself. But I realized I don't need to do that with you anymore.”

“Wow.”

I
think
Jason was happy. Actually, he seemed more dumbfounded. In fact, a little freaked out. And then it hit me. A feeling of heat rising. Like I ordered a burrito with mild salsa, and they stuffed it with one hundred of the hottest jalapeños in all of Mexico.

Jason wasn't alone.

“Wait, really?! Are you kidding me?!?!” I pushed past him. He grabbed my arm and tried to stop me, which gave me extra Wonder Woman brute strength. Nothing could hold me back as I headed to what was once our bedroom. Was he at it with my neighbor again? Or some new, random girl who was taller, thinner, and prettier than me? Or worse, what if she was artier or quirkier??

I threw open the bedroom door. OH. MY. GOD. The breath was sucker punched out of me.

In OUR bed, on MY side… spilling out of MY tiny-cupped bra…

S.H.A.R.I.

DAY 3—MORNING

My phone rang at 7:00 a.m., shocking me out of a dream where I was some young actress who acted all crazy in public, and my breakdown was caught on tape by TMZ. It didn't feel so far off, except maybe the actress, the public, and the TMZ part.

It was Jason's number. When I didn't answer, he texted.

The phone rang again. As I went to turn it off, I saw it wasn't Jason this time. It was my mom calling. I could really use my mom. Or at least the
idea
of what a mom should be. “Mommy?” I started crying as I answered. Sometimes just saying “Mommy” makes you feel five again.

“Hi, sweetie. You're not going to believe what happened.”

Then in true Narcie fashion, she proceeded to launch into a tirade, going so fast and high-pitched, it sounded like she was sucking on a helium balloon. I managed to make out the important points:

• “Your brother Cooper was arrested.”
  
• “For selling pot.”
  
• “I have no money to post bail.”
  
• “He'll have to spend the night in juvy.”
  
• “Teach him a lesson.”
  
• “He's ruining my life.”
  

WHAT?! Cooper selling pot? Fuck. If I had found a way to get him that $500.00 for whatever he needed it for, this wouldn't have happened. It was all my fault. I should find a way to go back to NY—even if I was totally broke. Even if I risked being fired. Even if it meant not finishing the hunt and potentially finding my future husband and breaking the Newman Curse.

But I suddenly felt like the Half-Ton Teen on the Discovery Channel. So overwhelmingly heavy that I couldn't lift one limb.

“Why would he do this to me?” my mother asked.

Like this was about her? Oh, Narcie, really?!?!

“I know I shouldn't dump this in your lap.”

Uh… you mean like you have with everything else since I was seven?

“…I just don't know what to do…”

“How about calling Aunt Pam?”
Since she lives only a block away from you, OH, and she's AN ADULT WITH MONEY.

“Good idea.”

“Let me know when Cooper's back home so I can talk to him.”

“Will do.” And she hung up.

Fuck. I know my brother's a pothead. In fact, he wanted to move to California with me because medical marijuana is legal—but I assured him they wouldn't consider an old broken ankle injury from when he was nine and collided his skateboard into a hot dog cart as a valid medical excuse. But
selling
pot? What could he possibly need the money for?

I felt so lost and laden, I didn't know what to do except call my NY bestie (and ex), Liza. She always has something positive to say, some way of looking at the world that always makes me feel better. Her phone rang and rang, no answer. So I texted.

After I pressed SEND, I realized I was being selfish. So I texted again.

I had been so caught up in the bullshit of work, the excitement of the hunt, and the drama of Jason, I hadn't even told Liza all that was going on, or heard anything about her life in way too long.

I willed my half-ton limbs to move, put on Toupee and Boo's leashes, and without bothering to change clothes, I hit the streets in just a long T-shirt and flip-flops, accompanied by my dried mascara-streaked face. I didn't care.

S.H.A.R.I.'s door was closed and I didn't know if that meant she had come home yet or not. It was just as well. It was too early for me to go ballistic. I needed at least two cups of coffee for that. I turned onto Sunset.

OH. MY. EFFING. G!!!!! What do I fucking see? LADY MACMETH. MAKING OUT! WITH AN EQUALLY TOOTHLESS DUDE!!!!!! Feeding each other the remains of a sandwich, excavated from the nearby dumpster, no doubt, and laughing and kissing between bites.

Fuck. Even Lady Macmeth has a soul mate.

DAY 3—MORNING

A forty-block walk and three cups of coffee later, I started to get a grip. Well, until I returned home and who was waiting for me?

“Can we talk? Please,” my wretched roommate begged.

I let Toupee and Boo off their leashes and they ran to my room. They wanted no part of it, and I couldn't blame them. “Make it fast,” I said.

“I'm sorry if you were upset, but you and Jason broke up!”

“You could have asked me. How hard would that have been? Just like you could ask me when you steal my clothes and my tattoos. What is your problem?” I was now shouting.

“Uh, hello… he's not
yours
. It's been like months since you guys dated.”

“
Dated?!
We practically lived together! And not
months
—one month, one week, and six days.”

“Still, I don't think you can claim any steak.”

What the fuck does she mean? Stake any claim? I couldn't take any more. I couldn't breathe. It felt like our apartment was placed in one of those AS SEEN ON TV food dehydrators where fruit and meats are dried and then hermetically sealed in plastic bags with all the air sucked out. She was now stealing that, too.

“I have to be somewhere.” I ran to the front door and as I was slamming it I heard, “In your pajamas?” No doubt she'd be featuring that look any day.

Well, it WAS a little challenging riding my scooter in just a long T-shirt (all right, not that it's any of your business but I DID have cute underwear on.) But I didn't even care if I flashed the world.

Coco answered her door with a welcoming, “Come in, you look like hell!” I was so relieved to hear that Blake was at a sound check for a gig he was doing that night. Coco made me Mexican hot chocolate with fresh mint leaves, and served it with warm mini croissants. For as bubble bursting as she is, my L.A. BFF can also be very nurturing. It all made me cry.

“What's up? Tell me everything.”

So I did. ISH. I told Coco about Cooper. I just couldn't bring myself to tell her about Jason.

“Damn, that's rough. Sorry to hear it.” She refilled my hot chocolate like that would help. And in a strange way it did.

“So what about you? Did you watch the tape?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Did you bring it so we could watch together?”

“Nope.”

“I'm so proud of you!” Coco squealed.

She thought I had some kind of willpower. Little did she know that the real reason I didn't watch the tape was that I was totally willpowerless, and got my ass kicked so big and hard for it.

“So tell me more about Mark,” I asked. “Do you think he's ready to date? Do you think he'd like me?”

“Why wouldn't he? You're amazing.”

“Thanks. Does he have any of his work online? I want to see.”

Coco opened her computer and brought up the website for the gallery where Mark's show was opening. “Check out current shows.”

www.MadelynEvansGallery.com

His photographs were phenomenal. Evocative and provocative, full of intricate details and soulful saturated colors. And each one wasn't just a candid moment that happened to be caught. They were all deliberately and elaborately staged and styled with complete unhasty commitment. Like this:

“They're beautiful,” I said, and started to cry. I tried to hold back, but it was no use.

“Are you upset you're not doing your art right now?”

I shook my head yes. Then no. Yes, I am; no, that's not why I'm crying.

“Are you upset about Cooper? Is that why you're crying?”

Same YES-but-NO combo platter NOD, SHAKE.

“Are you upset with me that I keep telling you to forget the hunt?”

Again. Same.

Coco's the kind of person who would continue trying to guess all day long if I didn't stop her. “I'm sorry.” I sobbed even harder now.

“For what?”

“For doing what I did. For not telling you.”

“What the hell's going on, Mags?”

So I told her. Everything that had happened since she and Blake dropped me off what seemed like a lifetime ago.

“That fucking Jason!” she yelled. “Now are you convinced that he's not for you?”

I shook my head, a pathetic yes.

“And honestly,” Coco added, “Mark is just not ready for all you want. I guess there's only one thing we can do today….”

DAY 3—AFTERNOON

Like a one-person SWAT team, Coco went to my apartment, swooped in, and picked up the tape we got at the Villa Seaside Apartments. For once, timing was on our side as the Asstress was in the shower. Well, that was luckier for S.H.A.R.I. than for Coco. The betraying biatch would remain unscathed for at least one more day.

When Coco returned with Toupee and Boo, it made me cry even more. We all bundled up in a fleece blanket on her couch, Coco put the tape in the camera, and we watched.

Click the pic to watch the video: