The Makedown (32 page)
P.S. I’m still a vegetarian and I voted
for a Democrat in the last election.
In mailing Hello Fatty to Milly, I am finally free of the past; everything from Weird Fat Bear to FG to Ben to The Makedown is behind me now. I have my whole life ahead of me, and for once, I’m ready to embrace it. I open a blank page in a journal and address it “Hello Anna.”
Two Years Later . . .
S
eated in a café a couple blocks from Union Square, I sip my latte patiently, occasionally looking at my watch or rubbing my diamond against my sweater. The jeweler mentioned I could damage the rock through improper cleaning, but somehow I doubt that. I pull the seating chart out of my bag and again count how many tables will act as a buffer between Dad and Ming and Mother.
“Anna?” a familiar voice beckons. I slowly raise my eyes, trying to place the voice.
“Ben.”
I am speechless. In two years, I have never run into him or even heard so much as his name mentioned in passing. On the rare occasion when I think of him, he feels distant and fuzzy, as if from a dream.
“You look great,” Ben says kindly.
“Oh, thank you. So do you.” And I mean it. He’s lost the weight, and he looks like the Ben I first knew. But . . . kinder somehow.
We both continue to stare at each other, mirroring each other’s shock. Ben looks down at the seating chart, then up to me.
“Are you getting married?” he asks, devoid of any identifiable emotion. I look at the seating chart, then back to him.
“Oh . . . this is for Barney’s wedding.”
A man comes up behind me and kisses me on the cheek.
“Hi, sorry I’m late,” Anthony says in his friendly way before extending his hand to Ben. “Hi, I’m Anthony, Anna’s fiancé.”
Ben shakes Anthony’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Congratulations to both of you— and to Barney, of course.”
A young blonde girl grabs Ben’s hand, pulling him away with only a quick smile toward Anthony and myself. Clearly, she has no interest in an introduction.
“Thank you,” I say graciously as I try to place the blonde girl’s familiar face.
“See you around, bastard,” Ben says with a wink.
I return the wink as Anthony whispers in my ear, “Did he just call you a bastard?”
“Yeah,” I say, wistful about the past— a time before I eschewed fairy tale ambition for the more practical fairy tale-in-progress.
Then it hits me. Coffee Slut #1!
And to think he denied he was flirting with her!
I was born in Los Angeles to an Iranian father and an American mother. As a child I talked incessantly, feeling the need to comment on everything around me. While at first charmed by my verbose nature, my family soon tired of the constant chatter. This is how I found writing— it was like talking only I didn’t need anyone else to participate.
After graduating from high school, I moved to Paris to study French, but left a year later fearing I was missing out on my
Felicity
era. After returning to the United States and enrolling at UC Davis, I quickly realized that dorm life and frat parties weren’t what the WB (now the CW) cracked them up to be. Depressed by the view of the freeway from my dorm window, I transferred to UC Santa Cruz. It was an odd choice for someone who didn’t smoke pot, loathed incense, and openly shopped at the Gap, but somehow it worked.
Upon graduation in 2000, I moved back to Los Angeles and began working in the film industry. I went from intern to assistant to assistant to assistant to creative executive to director of development before I finally decided to write full time. In addition to
The Makedown,
I have a four-part young adult adventure series,
School of Fear,
debuting from Little, Brown for Young Readers in fall 2009. The film rights to my neuroses-inspired series were optioned by Warner Brothers and GK Films.
I currently live in Los Angeles. And, yes, I still talk too much.
5 Signs That You need an FG Intervention:
1. You still use your SAT score as a conversation piece . . . twenty years after taking it.
2. Brushing your hair is reserved for special occasions.
3. The invitation list for your birthday party doubles as a family tree.
4. You consider watching television and the pursuit of happiness as one and the same.
5. The last time you had a boyfriend “going all the way” meant holding hands.
If you liked
THE MAKEDOWN,
here are 2 more books that will hit the SPOT
Some flings were meant to last. Theirs wasn’t one of them.
“Spirited, irreverent, bilious, and above all funny, Szewczyk’s bitter cocktail provides a much-needed antidote for the chick-lit genre.”
—Adam Langer, author of
The Washington Story
Sometimes the best plan is leaving it all behind.
“Funny, fresh, enchanting, and real, this is one fabulous debut.”
—Lani Diane Rich, award-winning author of
Time Off for Good Behavior
