by Beth Orsoff
I looked out into the darkness and wondered how long it would take them to find our bodies. It was too bad no one I knew still spoke to Scumbag. He was the only one I’d told that I wanted to be buried in a mausoleum. Less bugs.
Why wasn’t my life passing before my eyes like it was supposed to? All I could think about was what everyone else would think when they find out how I’d died. I was sure Scumbag would think it served me right for going out with someone else—even though he was the one who left me. Emily would probably feel guilty since she set David and I up. My parents, or at least my mother, would probably be happy that at least I died while on a date, and with a Jewish doctor no less. Everyone else would just think I was a complete idiot for going up in a two-seater plane with a guy I hardly knew who wasn’t even instrument rated.
As we crested over the hill, we flew out of the fog and I saw the mountains off to our left. That controller wasn’t kidding. Those mountains really were close. But that could be a good thing. This way, when we crashed, we wouldn’t have far to drop and we might actually survive the impact. Then it would be just like that old TV movie I saw where the couple survived the plane crash and lived for seventy-eight days in the wilderness by eating snow and toothpaste.
As we flew past the mountains, I noticed all the trees and shrubs covering the landscape. That was even better. They would really cushion our fall. Then all the foliage disappeared and we were following the path of red and white lights from the traffic on the freeway below.
“Is that the airport?” I asked, pointing to a long row of white lights off to our right.
“It looks like it,” David said and veered off in that direction.
The plane had started to descend when the controller’s voice boomed from the radio, “Alpha charlie four nine three zero, come in alpha charlie four nine three zero.”
David picked up the handset and acknowledged.
“It looks like you’re headed towards Whiteman Airport. You’re not cleared to land at Whiteman Airport. Repeat, you are not cleared to land at Whiteman Airport.”
There was an incredibly loud roar above us and a few seconds later a jet five times bigger than our prop plane dropped down in front of us. My heart nearly stopped. I looked over at David. He had finally stopped smiling.
He picked up the radio and told the controller he acknowledged, but that we were low on fuel. The controller told him he would check with the airport to see if we could be cleared for an emergency landing. While we were waiting, the runway lights disappeared.
“David, what happened to the runway?”
We both looked down at the blanket of white below us. “Fog,” he said. David picked up the radio again and told the controller we had no choice but to try to make it to Van Nuys Airport. The controller gave David the coordinates and wished us good luck.
Once we veered north, the fog disappeared and we could see the street lights below us. This time David spotted the runway before I did. I was too busy looking for an empty street or some soft trees.
The tires hit the runway and bounced once before settling back down to the ground. We were on our way to an empty space at the end of the row of parked airplanes when the engine choked and then died. David didn’t even attempt to restart it. We both climbed out of the plane and I followed him across the tarmac.
“Evening folks,” the terminal attendant said when we were close enough to hear. “Are you spending the night?”
“The plane is,” David told him. “I’ll pick it up in the morning.”
“No problem,” the attendant replied. “What space are you in?”
“We’re not,” David said. “We ran out of fuel on the runway.”
The attendant pointed me in the direction of the ladies room and I ran inside for the longest, most satisfying pee of my life. My mind was racing, but I couldn’t focus. All I kept thinking was the next time I go up in a two-seater plane with a guy who isn’t even instrument rated, I was definitely bringing toothpaste.
Chapter 20
Never Say Never
By the time I unlocked my office door Monday morning I was deep into my depression. I had a conference call with Mark Parsons at eleven, which meant that not only did I have to start working right away, but I would also miss the Monday morning bitch session which I sorely needed. Rosenthal had been on a tear lately and I had a lot of venting to do.
I’d finished looking over my notes by 10:55, but I was feeling rebellious so I waited until 11:03 to call Mark’s office. I congratulated Mark on the birth of his son, then we quickly got down to business.
“So what’s your analysis,” he asked.
“Although Rita maintains that the sex was consensual—”
“I’m sure that’s true.”
Having seen Rita, I agreed. “Unless we can prove that Jared is lying, my recommendation would be to settle the case. With Rita’s track record, we wouldn’t want to go to trial. It’s too great a risk.”
No response.
“Unless you object, I’m going to call Jared’s lawyer and set up an informal meeting. I want to get a sense of how strong they think their case is and what kind of money they’re looking for.”
“Good. Call me after the meeting.” He hung up before I could even say goodbye.
Since the conference was so short, I was able to catch the tail end of the Monday morning bitch session. When I walked into Simone’s office, Greg was already sitting on one of Simone’s two guest chairs. This was a new development. Greg didn’t normally join our bitch sessions. I moved Simone’s stack of files off the other guest chair and sat down.
“What’d I miss?” I asked.
“The usual,” Simone said. “Rosenthal’s being a prick to everyone.” She gestured to Greg. “Even golden boy.”
“It’s not possible.” I was only half joking. Greg had earned his nickname.
“’Tis true,” Greg said. “My sheen must’ve dulled. He ripped me a new asshole this morning for—”
Greg’s assistant opened the door and said, “Parker’s looking for you. He said he needs to talk to you before Mr. Rosenthal gets back.”
Greg stood up and bowed slightly. “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure, as always.”
I waited until Greg closed the door behind him before I asked, “What’s up with that?”
“I guess now that he’s single again, he’s decided to be more social,” Simone replied. “Why? Don’t you want to let him in the gang?”
“Of course I do. You’re the one who didn’t like him. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“I like him better now that he’s getting a divorce. He’s not so uptight.”
“He must not be if he doesn’t mind being called golden boy.”
She laughed. “That one sort of slipped out. But he took it pretty well.”
“Probably because he knows it’s true.”
After Simone told me about her weekend adventures with her fiancé, Todd, I filled her in on my disastrous date.
“I just have one question,” she said. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“I was thinking it would be romantic. I didn’t know he couldn’t land the plane if the airport fogged in.”
“Clearly trolling emergency rooms isn’t working out for you. I think you need to find a new source for men.”
I agreed. Even a Jewish doctor wasn’t worth dying for. “Got any ideas?”
“Actually, yes. Remember that company I told you about—Just A Date?”
“Isn’t that the dating service?”
“Yes, and don’t make it sound so suspicious.”
“I told you, I’m not joining a dating service.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s for desperate people, and I’m not desperate.” Not yet anyway.
“Why do you keep saying that? Joining a dating service doesn’t mean you’re desperate. It just means you’re a busy professional who’s having trouble meeting quality people on her own.”
“You soun
d like a brochure.”
“As a matter of fact,” she said and reached into her bottom desk drawer. She handed me a glossy purple pamphlet folded in thirds. Instead of ripping it up and throwing the pieces at her, I opened it. I’d hit a new low.
* * *
The following Friday afternoon it was Kaitlyn who called me looking for a drinking partner. Of course I obliged. When I arrived at El Cholo, a loud, always crowded, Mexican restaurant on Wilshire, she was waiting for me at the entrance.
“No table?” I asked.
She shook her head. “And it’s three-deep at the bar.”
If El Cholo didn’t have the best fajitas in Los Angeles, we would’ve found a new favorite long ago. We split up and each made several laps around the lounge until Kaitlyn spotted a couple paying their check. Kaitlyn hovered next to them and I grabbed their seats on the couch as soon as they stood up. It wasn’t roomy, but at least we had a place to sit and someone to take our drink order.
“Have I told you lately how much I love my job,” Kaitlyn said after our waiter had left. “My assistant brought me home-baked cookies this morning and my boss has to go out of town next week and is giving me his Hollywood Bowl tickets.”
If I’d had my margarita, I would’ve dumped it over her head. “Let me know when you’re hiring, I’ll send my resume.”
“You should,” she said. “You know in-house is the way to go.”
Kaitlyn had left her firm job after only two years and has been at Westside Studios ever since. “Eventually, but not yet. I want to make partner first.”
“You’re not up for partnership for another year and a half.”
“It could be shorter. Brian Reynolds made partner at the end of his sixth year. Of course, he’s a guy and he kisses Rosenthal’s ass.”
“Which I’m sure you’re not doing.”
“You know I wasn’t born with the ass-kisser gene. Besides, right now I need to concentrate on finding my soulmate. I can only focus on one major life-changing event at a time.”
“Any new developments?”
“I’m considering a new plan of attack.”
I waited for the waiter to set down our margaritas before I pulled the Just A Date brochure from my purse. I handed it to Kaitlyn and inhaled chips and salsa while she read.
“So what do you think?” I asked after she’d set it down on the table.
She paused for a moment before she said, “I can’t believe you’re really thinking about doing this.”
Not the answer I expected. Kaitlyn was normally so supportive. “Why are you being so negative?”
“Why do you feel like you need to do this?” she said in her best pseudo-psychologist voice. She’d definitely picked that one up from her mother.
“I don’t need to do this,” I responded in full defensive mode. “I’m not even sure I want to do this. I’m just thinking about doing this.” I’d been thinking about it nonstop all week.
That was when the woman sitting next to Kaitlyn picked up the brochure. Kaitlyn and I were still staring at her when she turned around. “Is this yours?” she asked Kaitlyn.
Kaitlyn leaned back as if the woman were trying to hand her a snake. “No, it’s hers.”
The woman reached across Kaitlyn and gave it back to me. “Sorry, my sister joined one of these a few weeks ago. I think that was the one.”
“How does she like it?” I asked.
“She’s only had one date,” the woman said, “but she liked the guy, so I guess it’s working.” The woman turned back to her friends and I put the brochure back in my purse.
“See,” I told Kaitlyn. “You’ve been with Billy too long. You don’t know what it’s like to date.”
“Past tense,” Kaitlyn said. “We broke up, remember.”
“Yes, but you haven’t started looking again. It’s not so easy. Once you’re out of school and past the singles bar stage, it’s really hard to meet people.”
“How can you say that? You’ve had tons of dates.”
“But none of them worked out. I need to find a new source for men.”
“What about David?”
“Besides the fact that he almost killed us, there’s no chemistry. I’ve decided to stop wasting time with people I know aren’t The One. My new rule is three dates max. If I’m not convinced there’s a chance in hell that I might want to spend the rest of my life with someone after three dates, then they’re out.”
“You only had two dates with David.”
“Three if you count the dinner party.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“Fine,” I said, “then we only had two. But it doesn’t matter because three is the maximum, not the minimum.”
“Well if that’s the rule, then you’re definitely going to need to expand your horizons.”
“Exactly my point. Everyone keeps telling me it’s a numbers game, so all I need to do is increase my numbers.”
* * *
I’d stumbled halfway across the living room before I noticed the blinking red light on my answering machine. “Yaaay,” I said to Elmo who was dutifully waiting for me on the couch. “Somebody loves me, besides you, I mean.”
I gave Elmo a squeeze and he responded with “Elmo’s not ticklish there.” Obviously he was mad at me for leaving him alone so long. I pushed PLAY and the answering machine told me I had one new message. “Well at least one person loves me,” I told Elmo.
The machine beeped again and my mother’s voice came on the line. “Julia, it’s Mommy. Call me when you get this. Daddy and I are coming to visit.”
Sometimes it’s better when nobody loves you.
Chapter 21
Parental Crisis
I called my parents the next morning before I’d even had my coffee. My mom picked up on the second ring. “Hello, Julia. We were wondering when you were going to call us back.”
“What are you talking about? I just got your message last night. By the time I got home it was too late to call you back.”
Her voice brightened. “Oh, did you have a date?”
“No, I was out with Kaitlyn.”
The critical tone returned. “You’re never going to meet anyone if you spend all your time with Kaitlyn.”
“Mother, I’m not discussing this with you. I called because you said you and Daddy were coming for a visit.”
“Right,” she said. “Your father has a business trip to San Diego the end of next month. Since it’s Labor Day, we thought we’d stay over the weekend and visit you in L.A.”
Another holiday weekend shot to hell.
“We figured we’d drive up on Friday afternoon and spend the weekend at your house. Then you can take us to the airport Monday morning. We have an 8:00 a.m. flight so you’ll have the rest of the day to yourself.”
“Won’t you need to drive yourself to the airport so you can return the rental car?” I didn’t want to have to get up at 5:00 a.m. on a vacation day.
“Your father thought we’d drop it off on Friday night. No sense having two cars all weekend.”
“What if you two want to go off and do something on your own? Spend the day at Disney or something?” In other words, save my sanity.
“I guess either you’ll come with us or we won’t go.”
I made a final attempt. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable in a hotel? My apartment only has one bedroom.”
“We can sleep in the living room. You still have the pull-out couch, don’t you?”
A ray of hope. “No, I replaced it with a futon.”
“Oh, let me tell your father.”
In the background I could hear their yelling to each other from opposite ends of the house. Having lived with them for the first eighteen years of my life, I knew exactly where they were and what they were doing.
“Phil,” my mother yelled from the phone in the kitchen.
“What?” my father yelled back from the couch in the den. The TV was so loud I could hear the announcer’s play-by-play.
“Julia’s on the phone. She says she got rid of the sleeper sofa and now she has a futon.”
“So?” he yelled back. At this point he would be rolling his eyes and muttering to himself.
“So do you want to sleep on the futon?” she said with an edge to her voice, “or do you want to stay in a hotel? I know you don’t like futons.”
“What are you talking about? I never said I didn’t like futons.”
“The last time we slept on one at Deborah’s house, you did nothing but complain about it the—”
“Mom, can’t you argue with Dad later?”
“We’re not arguing, we’re just talking.”
“Then can you talk to Dad later? In the meantime I’ll assume you’re staying with me.” Maybe Kaitlyn could get her mom to write me a prescription for a weekend supply of Prozac.
“Hold on a minute and I’ll put your father on the phone.”
I could hear more yelling in the background, then my father came on the line.
“Hello?”
“Hi Dad.”
“Hi baby. How are you?”
“Fine, Dad. How are you?”
“As well as can be expected for someone my age.”
“What are you talking about? You’re only sixty.”
“That’s old. But it’s better than the alternative.”
After we discussed what he would be having for dinner, what I would be having for dinner and the weather, we hung up.
I immediately dialed Kaitlyn’s number and she convinced me that all I needed was some ice cream and a little retail therapy. I agreed to meet her at the mall at noon.
* * *
“It’s too bad your parents told you so far in advance” Kaitlyn said between bites of waffle cone.
“Why?” I asked before swallowing another spoonful of hazelnut gelato.
“Because now you’re going to spend the next six weeks stressing about your parents’ visit. If they’d waited to call you until the week before they come, you’d only have one week to stress about it. That would be five less weeks I’d have to deal with you like this.”
“I told you my mother was selfish.”
“Jules, don’t say that. She’s your mother.”