Chapter 41
41
A n hour after the red-carpet affair, I was dropped by an Uber a few blocks from home. I thought the walk would clear my mind and would be the perfect occasion to make a couple of necessary calls. But I didn’t anticipate how dark—and cold—it was going to be even after a gloriously sunny and warm afternoon.
Brenda picked up at the second tone, and we exchanged the customary greetings. Fortunately, I had seen her and Amelia the previous weekend and I didn’t have to bother with many civilities. So I cut to the chase.
“Remember how over Christmas I babysat those furry monsters who are your children, and you said you owed me one?” I asked my former colleague at LA Misconducts . I loved spending time with Brenda and Amelia’s dogs, but they were the most spoiled and demonic canines I’ve ever met.
“Of course. It was a glorious week in Bali,” Brenda said. “Troglodita, sit. Sit. Sit. SIT! Bimbo, no! Leave it!” she yelled, not at me but at little demon number one, the red merle Australian Shepherd aptly called Troglodita; and little demon number two, a feisty, overweight Corgi named Bimbo. Bimbo was unafraid of showing teeth whenever she didn’t feel happy, which was often.
“I’m ready to collect,” I told Brenda, and I was so happy Troglodita and Bimbo were being their usual worst selves because Brenda had to be very aware that those ten days I spent with her two furries weren’t easy. “What are you wearing?”
“The navy silk pajamas Amelia gave me for my last birthday,” Brenda said.
“Great, you don’t even have to change. You can dress that up. Just put some heels on and a little bit of rouge, will you?”
“Where am I going exactly?” Brenda asked.
“I need you to be your wife’s plus one at the SAG afterparty because I really need a bath right now. Tell her I sent you.”
“You’re shaming me into being a dutiful wife?”
“Of course not! I’m going to tell you that I’ve been not giving a shit what everyone thinks about me for the last few months, and now I’ve even learned how to tell everyone what I think about them. It’s pretty awesome,” I told Brenda, as I kept walking alongside Broadway Street. “So get out of the house and don’t even think about the press taking pictures of you or comparing you to Amelia’s previous partners. You get to spend your life with her. You are amazing and always look amazing.”
“Even in my pajamas.”
“Even in your fancy pajamas. Oh, and you can take the dogs to the party with you! Just tell them they’re your emotional support animals, and if anyone tells you they can’t be there, call my mom or Victor. They’ll sort it out. They just passed some municipal ordinance that’s going to be a nightmare for anyone with a dog-hair allergy, but it gives animals and dog owners a lot more rights.”
“I always liked you, but I think I like this newer version of Elena more,” Brenda said.
I preened. “There’s something else: Thank you.”
“For entrusting my overindulged fur babies with you?”
“That as well, I suppose. But I meant for talking to David so many months ago and being brave enough to expose Dashing Henry,” I said. “Your testimony meant he was able to publish the article.”
“Henry needed to be exposed,” said Brenda. “David simply gave me the perfect vehicle to exorcise some of my demons by talking about what Henry did. And we exposed him.”
“That article brought David and me back together.” The thing that changed inside me that day six months before when I went to David’s studio for the first time in the middle of the night was that he’d just published the article that exposed Henry and would keep him at bay for other people like me.
“I didn’t know you two were back together.” Brenda sounded surprised.
“We weren’t,” I said.
“But you are now?”
“It’s a long story, and I promise to tell you and Amelia all about it. But now, chop, chop. You need to get ready. Big hugs to you and the demons.”
I continued strolling and called my sister next.
“You’re calling me to let me know you’re not coming to tomorrow’s brunch at the Four Seasons, and you want me to tell Papá,” Marta said the moment she answered. “He’ll be disappointed.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I figured after almost being killed twice in a day, you’d like some peace and calm instead of Mamá telling you you need a haircut and a photofacial.”
“Don’t forget about the closet overhaul,” I told my sister with a chuckle. “Wait, how do you know about the second time Fred tried killing me?”
“I’m reading the Voice ’s latest article written by Gloria Fucking Kingsley. Apparently, you and David have been strutting your stuff all over town,” Marta said. “Oh and congrats on the new project.”
“What new project?”
“The movie you’re writing,” Marta said. “It’s going to be so meta. I want to see it already, and Amelia playing you is the best.”
“Don’t you think she’s a bit tall, statuesque, and high-cheeked to be me?” I asked, suddenly insecure about the comparisons.
“There’s nothing wrong with the placement of the cheeks on your face,” my sister protested. I was so glad she was back at being my most ferocious cheerleader and then realized she’d never quit being it.
“What time is that thing tomorrow?” I asked.
“1 p.m. sharp .”
“And you’re going to be there?”
“Unlimited matcha margaritas.” I loved that we could be so different yet so similar for certain important things.
We hung up after exchanging a fair amount of hugs, kisses, and all manner of affectionate reassurances as I arrived at the Eastern Columbia and sighed in relief. I was finally home and about to accomplish a much-needed feat.