Señor Goldman was Mister Goldman, Tess’s producer husband, and although he was a reasonable man, I would not want to be caught waking him up. He was Jeb Restill’s producing partner, which meant that in Hollywood he had quite a lot of power. Plus, it didn’t help that in the first couple of weeks of working in their house, I made the mistake of changing my clothes for an audition in a room with video surveillance overlooking me.
Tess had assured me that it was just her in the room when the tape played back my naked chest, but I have my suspicions that Mister Goldman was watching as well. Random male friends popped up in the middle of the day, leering at me, undressing me as if they’d already seen what was underneath. So, I did not want another confrontation with Mister Goldman.
“Si, esta aqui y tu es too loud. El duerme. El trabajó hasta tarde anoche,” she said in her most disapproving tone. I don’t know what it is when someone speaks in a foreign accent, but disapproving is not one of those tones that translates. Plus, I had no clue what she said after “El duerme.”
“What do you mean, he is esta aqui? He can’t be sleeping. I didn’t see his coché outside, and he should be at work.” I tried to knock some sense into her.
“Si, coché out. I go back trabajar,” she retorted. Wait a second.
I ran downstairs and opened the door to the garage. Sure enough, it was Señor Goldman’s car and not Yasmena’s that I had seen parked there. So Yasmena was off with the girls after all. Not a great start to the day. I prayed that I hadn’t woken him up.
I quickly checked my email to see if Tess had sent me a list of errands to run that morning. Please let me leave this house as quickly as I entered it. She clearly wanted me to suffer because there were absolutely no emails in my inbox. There were always emails from her. Even when her Blackberry died and there was no internet working in her house, she still managed to get some type of email to me. I checked my voicemails…nothing.
I searched my purse for any dry cleaner tickets, shoe repairs, or returns that needed to be done…nope. There had to be a reason I could leave. I looked at the calendar, and still there was absolutely nothing on the schedule. Grinning and baring his wrath seemed the only possibility. I closed the office door.
An hour passed. I heard footsteps. The garage door. The engine started. He was gone. Mister Goldman left me. Hallelujah! There is a God.
Then, the office door swung open. It was Rosita again. “See, I told you Señor Goldman here.”
“Si, you were correcto. Lo siento. Sorry,” I said as I hung my head down towards the keyboards.
“You speak some Spanish. Why you no speak more good if you Cruz?” she asked me.
“I always wanted to learn, but my father never taught me,” I explained, the same answer I had given my entire life. “He wasn’t there when I was growing up, so I didn’t have the chance.” She stared at me expressionless. “My mother is white.” Pause. “I speak French though.” I tried to say with a bit of enthusiasm.
“No entiendo,” she said to me, and turned away, closing the door behind her. I didn’t know if she meant that she didn’t understand what I was saying, literally, or that she didn’t understand why my father never taught me. Nevertheless, she left and I didn’t see her for the rest of the day.
Now, I just had another 8 hours to work hard to make up for missing tomorrow. I picked up the phone fully intending to call those retailers I was supposed to be polling for Nurserytime, but instead, my mind wandered stealthily to what Cirque du Soleil shows were still on in Vegas. Focusing was going to be difficult today.
***
I hung up the phone with Chelsea and sighed. Tess had done it to me again. Just as I was about to leave for the day, she gave me thirty more things to work on…all the way from China. Chelsea and Zayna would have to go out on the town without me.
Next time, I thought, next time I will tell her no. On the flip side, staying later gave me bargaining power for taking off tomorrow. I’d agreed to stay, as long as she would let me leave for the day tomorrow. Of course, I’d promised her I would make it up to her. She’d agreed.
***
Back at my apartment later that night, I was finishing up the last of my packing for our road trip. Chelsea had just gotten back from dinner and drinks with Zayna.
“You listen ta me, dis ain’t -” Chelsea’s phone rang. She was about to go at me with her rendition of the classic Baltimore “ho-on-the-street-corner.” That was one of our favorite games.
“Dayamn hon, what, you got a cow bell for a ring?” I said in my best imitation Baltimore accent as well, but my laughter ricocheted back at me when I realized she’d already opened the door to head into the courtyard.
“Hello?” She said putting her huge Sidekick to her ear. I knew it was a popular phone but it looked so big for her tiny head. She turned her head at me and her eyes went big. A saccharine baby coo of “I miss you too mi amor” flowed out of her mouth, followed by, “But mi cuero, did you get some medicine? What did the doctor say it was?” That’s all I heard before she closed my front door.
I looked at my watch. Almost midnight in California, which meant it must have been 3 a.m. in Maryland. I couldn’t remember the last time I was awake at 3 a.m. - let alone midnight. What was her husband doing up so late?
For a quick second I panicked. I had completely forgotten about my gym session in the morning. I should be asleep right now. Muhammad would not be happy knowing I was still awake when I had to work out at 6:30 tomorrow morning.
Muhammad was my fifth personal trainer. Over the past two years, I had tried four others sporadically. Granted, I never went back for a second session, but I felt I had given them a fair share. This time was different. I knew him from my days in New York. It made it much harder to say no to someone I knew from a previous life.
He was the kick-start I needed to get in shape - a reason to commit and wake up at the break of dawn. And it had worked so far. I hadn’t missed a session out of the six.
***
Chelsea had been gone at least forty-five minutes. I had packed, cleaned the kitchen, finished off a couple of work emails and gotten into my pajamas before I decided there needed to be an intervention. I peeked out my window and saw her pacing amongst the roses and the chrysanthemums, still on the phone, speaking in high, sweet pitches mixed with concerned mumbles. I sighed. This trip might not be as much a get-away for her as I’d hoped.
I stepped outside and waved to her. She made that gesture that looked like a fly was buzzing in her ear. She was engrossed and didn’t want to be disturbed. I breathed in and out once more. This was frustrating. She had asked me to take tomorrow off. But if she was going to spend the rest of the trip on the phone with her husband, should I have even bothered?
Finally, she came back another forty-five minutes later, as I was curled into bed dozing off. I turned to her and flicked the light on. I wiped sleep from my eyes before asking, “Everything alright, Chels?”
She climbed into bed next to me. “Victor just had to go to the doctor, and we’re trying to figure out what it might be. They still aren’t completely sure,” she said. She paused and looked up at me, mulling something around in her head. “I’d prefer not to talk about it right now if that’s OK with you?”
“Oh, of course. No worries,” I couldn’t help but feel a little hurt that she wouldn’t share with me what was going on. I understood that for her, this was a private matter between her and her husband.
Still, I’m supposed to be her best friend, and we used to share everything…
***
I woke up the next morning, and felt refreshed. The one thing you learn when living in a city far from anyone you grew up with, is how easy it is to take having a history with someone for granted. There is no explaining to do with Chelsea. She simply gets where I came from because she was there.
Unfortunately, I still felt a bit lost with where she was coming from.
Wednesday, 21 May, 2008
Dearest A,
&nb
sp; Ah, finally, - electricity and an internet connection that works faster than opening one email per hour. LA has electricity and fit residents.
Hope NYC has treated you well, and you both enjoyed a good bender! Hope the hangover wasn’t too tough!
Not long now ‘til Chi-town and you, I’m really looking forward to it. How’s work and life with you? Did you get those auditions? Nip/Tuck and Nike - impressive! But if your heart isn’t in it, then why put yourself through that? Would hate to be judged like that.
I can’t believe it’s been over two weeks since I’ve had a chance to write. But when you read below, you’ll understand. Missed being able to check for your mail.
I’ve had a wild time passing through beautiful Malawi and Zambia, did some adrenaline sports in Zimbabwe (including the bungee swing at Victoria Falls – was 125 meters and it shit me right up. I’m not great with heights at the best of times, and it brought back that migraine I got after climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro. A nasty thing. Never gotten those before). In Zimbabwe, I also did a rip-slide and Superman-style dive off a cliff connected to a cable. Loved it, but didn’t help that damn headache! Walked with some lions one afternoon too, and stroked them. Very bizarre. This whole adventure is strange, but incredible.
Am now in Botswana for some game driving and time in the jungle of the Okavango Delta. But this mail will describe the most outlandish four days I spent in Malawi.
Day 1 - Was pretty cool, saw a witch doctor and fished with the locals, all pretty standard. Got back to camp and one of the girls had to leave for hospital as it turns out she had pneumonia (in Africa in 35 degree heat (Celsius that is)).
Day 2 - We headed to a local market as it was somebody’s birthday and we decided to have a bad taste party (i.e. buy clothes that look stupid). When in the market one of the girls got robbed. (Why she had $600 in her bag no one knows). We chased this guy through the market for what seemed like ages but he got away (no exercise for 3 months, see. What I would have done had I caught him, I can’t say, I’m in a machete-wielding nation, you see.) Headed for the cop shop, as we needed a police report for her insurance. TIA, or what?
Two hours of hanging around. They asked us to go with them back to the ‘crime scene’. We got into the back of their rapid response vehicle - i.e. a cattle van we had to sit in the back of - and went to the market where they had a chat with a few locals over a Coke. Rapid response vehicle back and after a total of 5 hours we got a hand written report scrawled in blue biro, that a three year old could have written better, saying she was violently assaulted? So wrong.
Day 3 - One of the girls snapped her ankle on a step. Four hours, five different tin buckets passing as cabs and three different hospitals later, we found somewhere with an x-ray machine. All the while I was carrying this bird about cos she couldn’t walk, in 35 degree heat, the only white people in the village. We finally found a wheelchair, and it had no rubber on the wheels so made a real racket and I’m sure there were sparks as I pushed her along. Couple that with the fact that every time we hit a pot hole, she let out a huge groan, I’m sure the villagers thought I was either stealing a pregnant woman, or she was literally about to give birth. Jesus - if looks could kill.
As we’re white we got pushed to the front of every queue to the locals’ disgust, and I thought we might get hounded. Supposed to get ankle x-ray but got a foot x-ray so had to go back again, and was there seven hours…all for a sprain.
Day 4 – Went on a game drive during the day and camped overnight in the bush in tents. Had dinner. Sparked a fire up to ward off lions, elephants, etc, and a young lad fell off his stool and put his hand into the fire; it was one of the loudest screams I’ve ever heard.
Thankfully we had a cool box for the beers so we put his hand in there for a bit. We were miles from anywhere, so we couldn’t drive for medical help, but my first aid knowledge from 10 years ago kicked in and we strapped this burn up with plenty of cream to cool it down, knocked him out with some painkillers and hoped for the best. His hand was stripped of most of its skin, but he’s recovering now.
So there you have it: that was my 4 days in Malawi. To top it off, United (my football team) won the league. As a bet with the cook (Chelsea fan) prior to the Wigan game, depending on which team lost, one of us had to dress up as a woman for the bad taste party. I was so elated and shitfaced, that it ended up being me dressed as a woman anyway as the cook bottled out. Photos to follow but trust me I look hot.
Other than that all is well with me despite the hospital and police visits. Mozzies still love me and I’m getting used to the tent and no showers, electricity, etc.
All right, I better answer my questions so we can move on to yours!
1. What do my friends think of the trip? My mates are intrigued, I think. Most of them were too pissed to remember much of that night we met. Miles thinks it’s cool, and my Chicago mate is super curious. To be honest, I don’t really care what they think, as I’m the one who can’t wait to see you again. But you know what? I think you’re right – this time apart is probably a good thing for us, for some reason. Glad your mates are cool with it. I wouldn’t want them unnecessarily worrying. Understand your boss thinking what she does.
2. This year, learning has been on a steep incline. I’ve learned that I should ask myself this question when deciding something - ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’ That applies to everything – work, love, life, etc. That’s what I’ve learned the most.
3. Definitely a night owl, can’t sleep before midnight, have a mental block in that area, have been up at 5-6 a.m. for the last few months so know I can handle that, but defo a night time person.
Winking at you, ya fit bird. Your turn to ask me questions.
Gx
VACATION TIME IS HERE
“I smoked way too many cigarettes last night. I think my friend Zayna’s husband, Ramsey, may have been a little grossed out, but fuck it - he used to smoke a ton, right?” Chelsea said. She had woken up briefly after I did, and we were now packing up the car. “We didn’t drink too much - just basically caught up and made fun of the people at the restaurant. Victor called me a million times, and I only picked up once I got back home. Aren’t you proud of me? But, I’m sure I’ll hear from him a lot today.”
“Don’t feel like you can’t pick up when he calls. He is your husband, ya know?” I tried to be comforting while completely, one hundred percent, disagreeing with what was coming out of my mouth.
“I know, but when I’m out with my friends for the first time in how many years, I think it’s rude that he’s calling me over and over. I don’t pester him when he’s out…as much as I may want to,” she explained.
“That’s true.” I said. I slammed the trunk closed, and we walked back to the apartment to grab our purses. “Are you guys doing OK?”
“Oh, yeah. Yes…definitely, we really are,” she tried to assure me. I didn’t buy it. “He’s so caring to me, and he always watches after me when we go out, getting me drinks, making dinner…” she trailed off, running out of explanations.
“But, I mean, are you happy?”
“Some days are harder than others, but yes, I’m happy,” Maybe she could teach me a lot about relationships, through thick and thin, and all that. “Of course there are little things about him that bother me that I wish he would change.” I opened my apartment door. “But everyone has things like that about them, ya know?”
“Little things like what?” We both grabbed our purses off the bed and headed back out.
She held the door closed for a moment. “Del, there are so many things I want to tell you. I just don’t know if I’m ready to yet. I do love him, and I just need to deal with his little problems. Let’s just get on the road, OK?” She put on her brave face, and closed the door. She scuttled away from me as she said, “Vegas baby, here we come!”
“Chels,” I said. She turned around. I felt the expanse of the courtyard closing in on me. “Nevermind. Let’s get on the road.”
W
e moseyed over to the parking lot. I stopped in front of the car before unlocking it. “I just want to let you know I’m here if you do want to talk,” I said. “I don’t want to push anything, but you also have to know that I won’t judge you for anything. I’m just saying that the longer you hold it in, the harder it will be to face…or something like that.”
“I know. You’re right,” she said. “There are actually so many things wrong I don’t know where to start.” She shook her head. “Ah how does this happen? Let’s stop and get some treats for the drive, yeah?”
I looked at her for a second to make sure she really didn’t want to talk, and when I was satisfied, I climbed over the passenger seat and put my seatbelt on. “Sounds good,” I said.
As I was getting in, I suddenly realized I had forgotten to let Muhammad know I wasn’t coming in to work out that morning. I grabbed my phone and wrote quickly ‘SO SORRY! Friend in town, and meant to tell you before. Reschedule?’ Send. Putting off a workout once more, but when I got back he wouldn’t know what hit him. I’d be so determined to get in shape.
***
“I thought you said there would be no traffic if we left at this time,” Chelsea said innocently as we plugged along at 25 mph on the 101 Freeway.
“This is not traffic for LA. Anything going over 15 mph means that you’re flying down the interstate,” I said. “Trust me.”
“How horrible is that?”
“You get used to it. I feel like as long as I’m moving, it’s fine. Plus, once we hit the 10 freeway, things should start going much faster.”
“Mixed tape?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I said. Chelsea climbed over the seat, dug around in her purse, and pulled out a CD case. She popped in the mixed tape, twisted the volume higher, and turned to me.
“Wait for it. Wait for it…here it comes…!” she screamed. “You know we’ll find a reason, girl.”
“Good choice woman. Damn shame Sublime had to cut out early on us. Imagine the songs they could have come up with?” I said.
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