This One Is Mine: A Novel (12 page)

Teddy hadn’t called for two weeks!
Two weeks tomorrow. Who jerks off to you five minutes after they meet you and asks what your pussy is like and doesn’t call you for two weeks? Violet had called him. Twice. Left messages both times, but nothing. Who winds someone up like that just to go AWOL? Where was he? Did he know how much pain she was in? How she jumped any time she heard her cell phone ring? How his absence made time crawl? Was he dying of hepatitis C somewhere? Had he not broken up with the Kennedy girl after all? Were
they
somewhere fucking, him repeating everything
she
said, him laughing at
her
jokes? Did being in his aura make
her
drunk with submission? He had told Violet she was the most pure thing he had ever experienced. Didn’t that merit a return phone call? She had gotten the mechanic’s bill. Sixteen hundred dollars to fix his shitty car, and no phone call? He was going to write poems for her! He wanted to fuck her in the ass! Call her back! She wanted to twinkle! But ever since the putting green, ever since that thrilling phone call on Benedict Canyon, ever since all she had to do was close her eyes and he was there, she couldn’t twinkle on her own.

David typed into his BlackBerry and flashed Violet a triumphant smile. “Mark Knopfler’s number. I e-mailed it to you. You can call him when we get home. Done and done.”

David had no idea. The last person Violet wanted to talk to was Mark Knopfler.

CHAPTER FIVE

The Ferrari

“T
ODAY WE’RE PROUD TO INTRODUCE OUR NEW COLLEAGUE,
J
EREMY
White.” A hot guy Sally recognized from TV — Jim Something-or-Other — spoke directly into the camera. “Many of you know the name from his ‘Just the Stats’ column, which appears in over a dozen newspapers nationwide. Beginning today, the big man himself will be joining the
Match-Ups
team every Sunday morning. Welcome, Jeremy.”

Jeremy’s face appeared on the dozen monitors throughout the dark soundstage. Sally’s fingers were crossed in her pocket. She closed her eyes: her entire future hinged on the next three minutes.

“Hi, I’m Jeremy White. Let’s take a look at one of sports’ most exciting events, the NCAA Sweet Sixteen. First off, the matchup between heavily favored Georgetown and the little team that could, Canisius College. . . .” The voice filling the air was soothing, almost musical. Sally opened her eyes. Yes, it was Jeremy, aglow on the enormous screen overhead, his face relaxed, his eyes gazing directly and calmly into hers. Finally, he wasn’t wearing those dirty earplugs. His jacket and tie added a sexy look of authority. Sally blinked. It was as if she was beholding the man she
imagined
Jeremy to be when they were apart, only to have her heart sink when she saw how awkward he was in person. She turned around. In the booth, Maryam and the executives muttered excitedly, equally transfixed by this suddenly charismatic apparition.

“And who do you belong to?” Hot, wet breath tickled Sally’s ear. It was Jim, the anchorman who had introduced Jeremy. Without waiting for an answer, he ambled over to the food table.

Sally scurried to keep up. “I’m a friend of Maryam and Jeremy’s.”

“Shush!” said a voice.

“First time on a set?” Jim whispered, shaking sugar to the bottom of five packets.

“No!”

“Shhh!” Maryam stepped out of the booth and shot Sally a nasty look.

“We’re all heading to Marie Callender’s after this.” Jim poured the sugar directly into his mouth and took a hard swallow. “Maybe you’d like to join.”

“I’m more Jeremy’s friend than Maryam’s. If you know what I mean.”

“Say it isn’t so.” Jim’s eyes slid down Sally, coming to rest on her ass. “Jeremy White picks seventy percent and gets to bang the likes of you? This dude is my idol.”

Sally threw back her head and laughed. “He should be.” Her long hair felt so soft against her bare back.

Jim reached forward and cupped the ballet slippers dangling from Sally’s necklace. “Don’t even tell me you’re a dancer.”

“Three years with the Colorado Ballet. I would have made principal, but I got injured.”

He quickly dropped the necklace. “Here comes the queen bitch.”

“You guys!” Maryam got in their faces and whispered, “Keep it
down
.”

“She’s
your
friend,” said Jim. “It’s not my fault she’s never been on a set before.”

“You!” Sally knuckled Jim in the shoulder.

“Easy,” he said. “We’re not in bed yet.”

“That’s the head of the network in there,” Maryam hissed. “Are you trying to ruin Jeremy’s screen test?”

“Of course not,” Sally shot back.

“Then
shut up!
” Maryam headed to the booth, walking on the back edges of her heels so her footsteps didn’t echo.

Sally returned her eyes to Jeremy and tried really hard not to giggle at Jim, who she felt watching her, maybe even making faces at her.

“. . . That’s why I like Arizona’s chances to upset Villanova,” Jeremy was saying. “Until next week, I’m Jeremy White.”

“Cut!” Applause erupted throughout the studio. Maryam received hearty congratulations from her beloved bigwigs as they all poured onto the set.

“You sure backed the winning horse, didn’t you?” Jim said. Sally flashed him a saucy smile.

She was
so glad
she had called in sick to the ballerina birthday party this morning to drive Jeremy to this screen test. For the past week, she had withheld sex, not spent the night, and waited twelve hours to return his calls. It hadn’t resulted in getting the ring on her finger, but she needed to give it time. She was, after all, a Flatlander going up against a mysterious potato.

“Jeremy?” the director asked over the PA system. “Next week, when we’re live, I want you and Jim to do some happy talk. Jim, where did you go?”

“I’m right here!” Jim boomed from Sally’s side.

Jeremy jumped out of his chair and headed straight for Sally, not even stopping to shake the hands of a dozen well-wishers. Sally got goose bumps; it was like the end of
Rocky,
when Sylvester Stallone called out, “Adrian!”

“Congratulations, sweetie!” Sally gave him a peck on the cheek.

Jeremy reared his head and turned to Jim. “What’s happy talk?” he asked, rolling an earplug between his fingers, then sticking it into his ear.

“I’m sure this little lady knows a thing or two about happy talk.”

Sally punched Jim in the arm.

“I don’t understand what that means,” Jeremy said to Jim.

“You know, banter,” Jim said.

“Can you write it out for me?”

“Then it wouldn’t be banter, would it?” Jim patted Jeremy on the butt. “Relax, big guy.” He gave Sally a wink and walked away.

“Uh, hello?” Sally stepped into Jeremy’s line of vision. “Sweetie?”

“I don’t know what they mean by banter.” Jeremy reached into his pocket, took out a quarter, and started flipping it.

“You just say stuff to each other,” she said. “You know, chitchat. You see it all the time on TV.”

“My contract says nothing about chitchat. Do you have a pen and some paper?”

“Jeremy!” She grabbed the quarter out of the air. “I congratulated you.”

“Thanks. Everyone seemed happy.”

Maryam rushed over. “We’re all going to Marie Callender’s. Do you want to come?”

Sally had resigned herself to the fact that spontaneity such as this wasn’t possible with Jeremy. “Thanks,” she said, “but no.”

“Sure!” said Jeremy.

“Wha —” Sally said.

“Great!” said Maryam. “It’s the one on Wilshire, west of La Brea.” She ran off.

A woman with overprocessed hair plopped down a canvas gardening bag with pockets full of makeup brushes. “Hi, I’m Faye.” She sidled up to Jeremy and started wiping foundation off his face. “Looks like we’ll be spending lots of time together.”

“Honey,” Sally said, “they don’t have anything you like at Marie Callender’s.”

“It’s for my work,” Jeremy said. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Faye brushed her fingers through Jeremy’s hair. “There you are.” Out of the side of her mouth, she added, “I’ve been doing this a lot of years. When the president of the network delays his flight back to New York to eat buffalo wings with a new guy — well, you better show up.” Faye gave Sally the stink eye and walked away.

A fuming Sally led Jeremy through the studio and outside to the sunny parking lot in the gross part of Hollywood. The gigantic double-hatch doors sealed shut behind them. She spun around. “Jim asked me out just now.”

“Are you going?” Jeremy asked.

“On a date. He asked me out
on a date.
”

“But you’re my girlfriend.” He walked to Sally’s car and waited at the passenger door.

“
Am
I your girlfriend, Jeremy?”

“Of course you are.”

“Because I just don’t know anymore. We haven’t spent the night together in one whole week.”

“You’re the one who wanted it that way.”

“Why would I want that?” She stood an inch from his face.

“You said you’re on your menstrual cycle.”

Everything with Jeremy was so frigging
literal
. It was impossible to give him a hint. Yes, Sally had told him she was having her period. But the last time she had her period, during the “honeymoon phase,” she had given him blow jobs every night and slept over. Shouldn’t the numbers guy be able to put two and two together?!

“What do
you
want, Jeremy?” Sally felt herself entering that zone that scared off all the other boyfriends, the one that gave her the reputation for being “crazy.”

“I want you to stop getting mad.”

“Then stop making me mad!”

“I want to. But I never know how.”

“You’re so freaking selfish, Jeremy.”

“I don’t understand. When I met you, everything made you so happy.”

“I
was
happy. But you just manipulate me and walk all over me like I’m a doormat!”

“Do you need something to eat?” he asked.

“I’m sorry I’m not a
number,
Jeremy. Because you’d probably pay more attention to me. I’m sorry I’m not a hamburger at Hamburger Hamlet! I’m sorry I’m not a cheese quesadilla! I’m a human being who has feelings, who just wants to connect. But trying to connect with you is like trying to connect to a robot!” Sally shrieked and sobbed all at the same time.

Technically, she could rein herself in. But once she started losing control, she enjoyed the release and didn’t want to pull back. It’s what she imagined car buffs meant when they said high-performance cars “liked” to be taken out and opened up on an empty highway. Like the finest Ferrari, Sally enjoyed pushing the envelope of her emotional pain to see how far she could take it. The horror on people’s faces as she did — and it was always boyfriends who were on the receiving end of these spectacles — only reinforced her humiliation, which made her want to go further.

“I’m sorry I’m not a makeup whore or a television camera or a
quarter,
you bastard! I’m sorry I’m in love with you and turn down dates for you. I’m sorry I crushed the dreams of a dozen little ballerinas this morning so I could drive you here!
I’m sorry I exist!
I’m sorry I ever met you! Oh God, look what you’ve done to me! What have I become? I’m sorry I was ever born!”

Jeremy looked utterly bewildered. “I’m glad you were born.”

“Don’t lie to me!”

“If you weren’t born, I wouldn’t know you. And then what would I do?”

“Huh?”

“You’re my life, Sally. I’ll do anything for you. If you don’t want to go to Marie Callender’s, we don’t have to.”

“Really?” Sally looked up, her eyes moist. “But what about your career?”

“Television is just television. I can live without television. You, Sally, you’re a person. A person I love.”

“I love you, Jeremy.” She hugged him. It was four o’clock. She
did
need some food in her. “Let’s go to Marie Callender’s.”

CHAPTER SIX

Spring Equinox   
   Thank God It’s Just Diabetes   
   Super-Rica

This Is It?   
   Just the Check   
   Standing There   
   Ho!