Target Underwear and a Vera Wang Gown (18 page)

 

10:02 A.M.
“JULIAN, I WILL BE THERE IN TEN MINUTES!” The electricity must have gone off in my building! My alarm never went off; it’s flashing 12:00. I will be there in ten minutes. WAIT FOR ME! I want to drive over to the network with you!” I hang up with Julian. Oh my God. I still have my towel on my head. I haven’t even dried my hair yet. I’m literally going to have a nervous breakdown in another minute. I must start taking Yoga.

 

10:04 A.M.
“Hi, Julian, it’s me. Yeah ... you know what, you head over there without me and I’ll meet you there.... Yeah ... I don’t want us both to be late.... I have the presentation? Oh, I
do
have the presentation ... yes, I’ll e-mail you a copy.”

 

10:15 A.M.
The pitch meeting will have to do with a ponytail, a T-shirt, and jeans; I don’t have time for this. I can’t handle this anymore. I’m in the middle of a complete nervous breakdown because I don’t have anything to wear to the pitch meeting. Why is my phone ringing? Who is calling me? “Oh, hi Julian.... What am I wearing? What are you wearing? You’re wearing a suit?! I was just going to wear a T-shirt and jeans.... Well, I was thinking about putting on a blazer too.... The faux Chanel one with the fringe. Well, I could put on a nicer pair of pants. I have these paisley pants I’ve never worn ... is paisley out? ... I knew paisley was out. I wasn’t sure; thanks for filling me in on that. You know what, we’re wasting time. I’m just running out the door, I’ll meet you over there.”

 

10:27 A.M.
OK, in exactly three minutes, you are going to be late because you have nothing to wear and you’re standing in front of the closet you’ve already surveyed ten times this morning. You are a failure in life. You are going to get fired because you have nothing to wear. What am I going to tell my parents when I ask them to borrow money? Just pick anything! Anything! I’ll go through this closet one more time, piece by piece.

 

10:34 A.M.
I can’t believe I’m wearing this ugly pink long skirt. Does this even go with this faux Chanel fringe jacket? I am so uncomfortable, where are my car keys? Oh, here they are.

 

10:40 A.M.
Screw it; I’ll just wear the jeans. No one can see my pants under the table anyway, and they’ll be too busy staring at my hair and wondering why it’s still wet.

 

10:43 A.M.
Should I wear the skirt?

 

10:45 A.M.
“Hi, Julian, it’s me.... Oh, you’re sitting in their lobby waiting to go in? Tell them my kid was sick.... JUST TELL THEM THAT MY CHILD WAS SICK.... JUST TELL THEM THAT I HAVE A CHILD! ... I DON’T CARE IF IT’S A BOY OR A GIRL! FINE IT’S A GIRL! ... MORGAN, MADELYN, MONICA, PICK ONE! By the way, I’m wearing jeans and my faux Chanel jacket.

 

10:50 A.M.
“You know what? Don’t tell them I have a kid, then they’ll always ask me about the kid if we get the job and it will go on and on and on and oh God, the consequences. Just tell them my electricity went out.... YES, MY ELECTRICITY DID GO OUT.... NO, I’M NOT LYING! GOOD-BYE.

 

10:51 A.M.
“Hi, it’s me again. Yes, I was lying. I couldn’t find anything to wear. Just tell them my car wouldn’t start. By the way, could we go shopping after this pitch meeting? Great. See you in ten minutes.”

don’t know how I could have gotten through life if Oprah Winfrey didn’t have a television show. I can honestly say that I’ve barely missed a day in all the years she’s been on the air. When I first started taking birth-control pills years ago, the doctor said to make sure I take them at a daily time I’m always aware of. Most people pick the time they wake up or when they go to sleep at night. I picked three in the afternoon, the time of day I’m most aware of. That’s when Oprah comes on in Los Angeles. Did you know, for example, that a new bra should only go on the loosest hook? The other two behind it are for if and when the bra’s elastic stretches. Fascinating, right? Learned it from Oprah. 1 know tons of facts like this. From the fact that cropped pants make you look shorter to the fact that Ralph Lauren makes these really great cashmere cable-knit sweaters, I am constantly bringing up facts or being reminded of tips that I learned from watching Oprah.

There was this particular
Oprah Winfrey Show years
ago where Oprah and her guest were talking about what do to when “the guy of your dreams” is in an elevator with you. The guest advised Oprah and the audience to just “say anything,” whatever it is, “Nice weather we’re having,” or “What time is it?” Just say anything to get a conversation rolling, or you’ll always regret it. This was what was going through my head when I got into the elevator at the eighth-floor Promo House offices to get down to the first floor of the building.

He was damn fine, as the twenty-four-year-olds might say (but of course I had to ask them to make sure). Although I’d find out later that he was a staunch Democrat, he wasn’t one in Republican’s clothing, and he wasn’t a taller-than-tall olive-skinned boy in a leather jacket. He was more than that. He had an air about him, that
Je ne sais quoi
that screamed self-assured and entitled to anything he wanted on the basis that he was him. These were my first impressions in the three seconds since I had entered the elevator. He was medium height, in his early forties, with dark brown hair and was dressed down in jeans, a black T-shirt, and black driving shoes. It was lust from that first second the elevator doors opened. As I entered the elevator, I gave him an acknowledging half-smile, turned my back to him, and pressed the Lobby button, which he had already pushed before I got in there. From the time the doors shut and the elevator started going down, Oprah Winfrey was screaming inside my head, “NICE WEATHER WE’RE HAVING! NICE WEATHER WE’RE HAVING!” I watched the floor numbers above the door light up like a countdown, 8, 7, 6, ... and that’s when I decided to make my move. I was just taking a quick deep breath and was preparing the words when he beat me to it.

“Those shoes are kind of high, aren’t they?” he asked. I turned around to find him smiling with this sincere look that might have begged another question.

“I suppose so,” I sort of whispered shyly. “I’m a heel freak,” I explained, continuing to half-smile. I immediately turned my back to him and stared at the numbers above the door, 5, 4, 3 ...

“Nice weather we’re having,” I said turning back again.

“If you like rain,” he said.

“Is it raining?” I full-smiled, getting caught.

He chuckled at this.

We stood for a long second in silence as the doors opened to the lobby.

“Do you work in this building?” he asked me as we walked out of the elevator.

“Eighth Floor, the Promo House,” I think I answered.

“I’m on the tenth floor; I have a company up there,” he said as we continued walking. “I’m Pete Rodgers,” he offered, extending his hand.

I gave him my name and shook his hand, I think.

“You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said with no feeling, just matter-of-fact, like this was his conclusion. He busily walked the other way, off to wherever he had to go, taking a right in the lobby as I took my left. “Drop by and say hi sometime,” he called out with a big smile, but still in that same nothing-to-write-home-about tone.

As I walked through the lobby doors and into the rainy day outside, I looked at my watch, opened my bag, and took that day’s birth control pill. A crush had been formed at exactly three that afternoon.

“Pete Rodgers told you that you were cute?” Jesse shouted as she typed his name into the Internet Movie Database on her computer. “You have SO GOT to go up there and say hello! Do you have any idea who he is? Take a look at his credits!” she said, showing me the screen.

The guy who thought I was the cutest thing he’d ever seen had won an Academy Award, two Golden Globes, four MTV Movie Awards, and a Blockbuster Award.

“Go up there right now,” Kristen said, grabbing my purse and handing it to me. Tell him you’re dropping by like he told you to,” Kristen shouted, jumping up and down.

There was no way on earth I was going to do that. While I wished I was one of those types of women who could do that, I just wasn’t.

“Be assertive,” HeidiAnn said, stomping her feet and pulling jabs at me.

“You people are crazy,” I told them. “What is he, Mae West, I’m gonna ‘come up and see him sometime’?”

They looked at me cockeyed, not getting the reference.

“She was a very talented and popular comic actress from the thirties on through the sixties.”

“That’s all the more reason.” Jesse stomped. “You know all that film stuff!”

Yes, I thought he was hot—I thought he was gorgeous—and yes, the crush deepened a little more with the thought of checking out his Academy Award. Still, I had no guts.

“You’re going to regret it for the rest of your life,” HeidiAnn said as the girls walked out of my office.

That Friday afternoon, I was bored out of my mind trying to come up with titles for a new dating show when it occurred to me: Why
shouldn’t
I go up and say hello? What was the big deal? Like the sister I was, I was gonna “do it for myself.” The twenty-four-year-olds needed to see how it was done with strength, honor, and respect. Luckily I was wearing my favorite black three-quarter-length black jersey shirt from Banana Republic and Theory capri khakis instead of my usual hot yellow terry cloth knockoff Juicy sweats I’d worn three times that week.

“Where are you going?” Jesse asked as I passed her reception desk.

“Nowhere, I just need some air.”

“Some tenth-floor air?” She grinned.

“Well, yes, I thought the altitude would do me some good. You know, clear my head I’ve got some writer’s block right now.”

“Some Academy Award-winning writer’s block?” She grinned again as she winked.

“Oh, shut up already,” I told her as I pressed the Up elevator button.

What happened next, I’ll even admit in my own romantically desperate quasi-religious pursuit of signs, was a meant-to-be happenstance that Jesse would tell over and over and over to anyone in the office who would listen And far be it from me, I was not going to stop her.

“Hi!” he said as the elevator doors opened and we locked eyes.

“Oh, hi!” I answered back, obviously surprised.

He got off of the elevator and onto my floor.

“Were you going somewhere?”

“I was going to get some air.”

“I was just coming down to say hello to you. Would it be all right if I got some air with you?”

“I’m sure there’s enough to go around,” I said with a smile.

“Great,” Pete said, catching the elevator door as it was about to close again.

I looked over at Jesse as I turned to walk in. She was mouthing the words
“Oh my God,”
as she gave me a thumbs-up sign.

“I just don’t see how you can walk in those,” he managed to say at the exact moment I lightly tripped over a doormat in the lobby.

“I don’t know how to walk otherwise,” I joked. “Take off my shoes, and my feet are permanently locked at a ninety-degree angle.”

“Do you hate your height?” he asked as we took a seat at the coffee place next to the building.

“Yes,” I admitted, “I hate my height.”

“How tall are you? Five three?”

“Yeah, about that.” I wished.

“I don’t understand why women want to be taller. I love petite women. I love how they’re just so dainty and fragile-looking.” He took a look under the table again. “I mean, you could kill someone with those heels.”

“Who says I haven’t?” I said flirtatiously.

“Who did you kill?” he asked seriously, as if I’d gotten out of jail and the probation board got me a job at the Promo House.

“The last guy who harped on my shoes.”

“Enough said,” he concluded as he walked up to order our coffees. “She’ll have a mocha latte,” he ordered without asking me, “grande, like her heels.”

That made me laugh.

We left our office building together an hour later and spent the entire weekend at his beach house in Malibu. The only clothing we ever wore was our underwear, me in Target underwear, him in saggy tighty whities. A match made in 100% cotton heaven.

As the elevator reached the eighth floor that Monday morning, the same high heels, khaki pants, and three-quarter-length black jersey shirt from Banana Republic stepped out to face another workweek. The blond-haired girl kissed her new Blockbuster Award-winning boyfriend and sent him on up to his tenth-floor space. As she walked into the reception area, greeting her dear receptionist friend Jesse with a warm hug, she went back to her office, ignoring Jesse’s cries for information, shut the door, and sighed happily at her computer. The cursor was still blinking at the same spot she’d left it at on Friday. She stared at the cursor for the rest of the morning with a deep, dreamy gaze until a messenger entered her office with a package at one that afternoon. It was a pair of pink ballet flats. The card was signed
“So it will be that much more difficult for you to get rid of me, with love,
P.”

ave you thought about what you’re going to wear to my premiere?” Pete asked one morning, six months into our relationship. I was standing in my closet, searching for a suitable outfit for the Promo House’s weekly Tuesday-morning office meeting.

“Serena and I are going to start the search on Friday,” I brushed off as I contemplated my red corduroy pants from Aber crombie & Fitch versus a BCBG flouncey beige skirt.

“How would you like to have a stylist pick something out for you?”

The question stopped me in my decision-making process. It wasn’t like I hadn’t spent silent hours deep in the middle of the night while Pete was sleeping with thoughts about exactly what I wanted to wear for his movie premiere. Serena and I had already had preliminary discussions over it. Previous movie premiere segments from
Access Hollywood and Entertainment Tonight
had been TiVoed for research. To pay someone else to go through that pain and torture for me could only feel like shopping’s morphine drip. Yes, I could get addicted to something like that.