“Joely, say what you will about me, but I don’t want you to self-harm,” Dr. Feelgoodstein said, ever calm.
“It’s not like I’m suicidal,” I said.
Sylvia burst suddenly from her Xanax-induced fog. “Your cupcake-a-day diet is no better than a prescription cocktail. What man will want a 250-pound gorilla?”
I looked over to see one of her hands flopped lazily over the side of the couch and in it, a half-full champagne glass, orange juice and vodka, puddling on the floor.
“Do you see what I have to deal with?” I asked Dr. Feelgoodstein. “My whole adult life I have had her trying to transform me into a silicone-pumped actress who can live out a time in her life that is far, far gone. Coco and Ethan are two of the most dysfunctional people you will ever meet — they’re both closeted commitment-phobe workaholics. If you’re saying that I should listen to any of these people, then you are crazier than you are trying to make me out to be.”
“All I want is for my daughter to reach her potential. Some toning of the midsection. A few bronze highlights to lighten up her face. A little tata-boost. Is this too much to ask? I just want you happy!”
“This is what I was getting at. Don’t focus on what Sylvia specifically wants for you, but rather you should realize that she wants to help you even if she is helping herself,” Dr. Feelgoodstein spin-mastered.
“What about our help?!” Coco shouted. “She is a brilliant attorney. She has to practice law!”
“Listen to me Joely, if you want to fan about primping to make your mother happy, fine. Whatever,” Ethan said, flapping his hand dismissively. “But you need to get your ass hired by a firm and fast. Notwithstanding the fact that your talent is too great to waste on the arm of a Hollywood has-been, you’ll be untouchable if you stay unemployed for too long. Your New York firm has tentacles reaching all the way to the West Coast. Stories of what happened to you are bound to trickle down the pipe to LA.”
Coco chimed in. “I’ve arranged interviews for you at both my firm and a friend’s firm for next week.”
“And I have the senior estates partner sold on offering you a junior income partnership in Silicon Valley with me,” Ethan said. “I’d prefer you take my opportunity so at least I could keep an eye on you.”
“Or maybe knock out two birds with one stone,” Sylvia offered, arching an eyebrow at Ethan.
“It seems like you three have my life worked out for me,” I said. “Now that you’ve tackled that little problem, why don’t you try to figure out a way to take down Ahmadinejad?”
“Wonderful,” Sylvia exclaimed, either ignoring or misunderstanding my sarcasm. “I have you booked in at Chris McMillan tomorrow for your hair, Anastasia for waxing and threading, and an appointment with Dr. Farber to assess your cosmetic enhancement needs at one o’clock. We can have a late lunch at Mr. Chow’s and the first of many personal shopping trips at 3 p.m.”
“How did you know that I would give in?” I sighed.
“You always have,” Sylvia said, her tone gentle but patronizing. “And you think I don’t know my little girl.”
“We’ll see how well,” I challenged.
“I know, I know, no Dr. Farber,” she joked. “We’ll see about that one.”
“Sylvia, I don’t care what you do with her so long as she doesn’t look like an escort for the interviews,” Coco said, getting up to leave. “I’ll call you later, Joels.” Coco gave me two air kisses and walked out.
“If you go ahead with Dr. Farber, get at least a D-cup,” Ethan said, juggling two open palms in front of his own chest.
“Another successful intervention,” Dr. Feelgoodstein said, leaning back with a sigh. “Nothing is more satisfying than saving another life.”
“Joely, I’ll be in touch to set up all of our one-on-one sessions. Remember to take your Valium and read your self-affirmation notes before bed. I’ve left the cards on your night table.”
“Thank you all so much for coming! Don’t forget the gift bags on your way out,” Sylvia said, attempting to cradle me drunkenly.
CHAPTER 8
Rebirth
“It’s six-thirty in the morning! Who the fuck is calling me?” I mumbled, groggily slapping around my nightstand to find the alarm clock.
“Rise and shine! It’s a beautiful day in LA, so let’s make it great in the Dr. Feelgoodstein way,” a recording of Dr. Feelgoodstein’s voice came booming from my phone. I’d forgotten about Dr. Feelgoodstein’s “extra step” in affirmation therapy. I slammed down the phone and rolled over, drifting back to sleep. It rang again fifteen minutes later.
“Lazy daisy, time to face the day!” Dr. Feelgoodstein’s automated recording sang. I couldn’t believe this freak had programmed a snooze function into his morning wake-up call. With a second slam of my phone into its cradle, I rolled over and covered my head with a pillow, burrowing into its soft down. Five minutes later, my iPhone started vibrating violently, nearly sliding onto the floor. There was no hiding from the good doctor.
“I am trying to sleep. Who is this?” I barked.
“It’s Esty. Is this Joely? Did I wake you?” she asked tentatively.
“Oh, hi. So sorry about that,” I said, rubbing my eyes and stretching. “I thought you were my shrink.” Esty was quiet, stunned by my frankness.
“Don’t be alarmed. Everyone in LA has a shrink. It’s like having a dentist. You get booked with one as soon as you emerge from the womb,” I said, forcing a laugh.
“Oh. No worries. I was actually just thinking that I could use one,” Esty said, sounding distraught.
“Are you alright? Did the audition not go as well as you had hoped?” I asked, genuinely concerned for her.
“The audition was fantastic, actually,” she replied. “I’m in the final twenty-four.”
“That’s great! So what’s wrong?”
“Well, the timing couldn’t be worse. Turns out that there is a huge fight over my aunt’s estate and I’m being sued,” Esty said, breaking into sobs.
“I don’t understand,” I said, knowing the Chalmers case was about to get even more interesting.
“It turns out my aunt did leave me something — everything, actually — in her will, and now there is a huge fight about it because some nurse is claiming that she is my aunt’s rightful heir.” Esty cried harder. “Which I don’t get because my aunt hated being cared for and always said that she would never give a penny to someone who didn’t share the blood running through her veins.”
“I see,” I remarked, trying to sound calm.
“Listen, do you happen to have some time to get together this week?” she asked anxiously. “It’s just that with the show about to start, the producers want me to sign these documents. I thought maybe, since you said you have broad experience, these contracts would be pretty easy for you to look over for me.”
“Sure, it’s not a problem. Hey, I may even be able to help you with your estates case,” I said, reminded of what Blake had said about starting up my own practice. At least my ambition hadn’t evaporated completely.
“I appreciate that. It’s just that maybe I need an expert in that area,” she said gently.
“Well, when we meet, bring everything so I can have a gander,” I said, nonchalantly. “I have worked on a few estates cases and have some great colleagues, so don’t worry. Help is here.”
“Listen, I’ve got to run. We have our group performance rehearsals for tonight’s first taping. When are you free?” Esty asked.
“I am pretty busy,” I replied, almost laughing at the lie. “How would the day after tomorrow work for you? Lunch, maybe?”
“That would be awesome! Hey, could we go to the Ivy?” she suggested. “I read that that’s where all of the celebrities eat.”
“Sure,” I said. “Sounds great. I’ll make a 1:30 p.m. reservation. See you then.”
“You are a lifesaver!” she sighed. “Bye.”
Without a knock, the double doors to my childhood bedroom flew open
. The pool house was being fumigated after my little stint there, so I had no other choice but to relent to Sylvia’s demands and move under her supervision.
“Don’t you ever knock?” I asked, rhetorically.
“A confident woman never knocks. She announces her presence by entering,” Sylvia flounced in happily, flinging the curtains open to reveal a painfully bright California morning. Masha set about cleaning my room while my mother tried to give me a pep talk to ready me for the day ahead. I do love a good spa day, but not when it involves my mother.
“Let the light shine through! Today is makeover day!” She glanced at the phone in my hand. “Was that Dr. F-G? I am glad to see that you are responding to his therapy so quickly.”
“No one you know,” I replied. “Can you please tell your freak of a shrink not to bother me with his wake-up calls anymore? Thanks.”
“Please. I know everyone,” Sylvia said, sitting down on the foot of my bed.
“Actually, now that you’re here, you should know that I may have a client. So I don’t know how much time I have to play Barbie with you,” I said, knowing that any return to work would antagonize my mother.
“You are too fragile to go back to work now,” Sylvia said, leaning in to rest a hand on my knee. “You need at least a year before you can even consider the possibility of working as a lawyer again. Maybe by then you’ll realize that your true calling is to follow in my footsteps.”
“I spent my childhood being told that becoming an actress was verboten, and now you want me to grace the silver screen? My career is a topic that is off limits. So, where I am off to first?” I asked, trying to draw her away from the subject.
“You have hair and makeup first, followed by shopping and then several spa treatments, with lunch in there somewhere,” Sylvia replied, her mood shifting with my interest in today’s itinerary.
“Right, and if there isn’t time to stop for food, we could pop by the In-N-Out drive-through,” I said, already imagining what I’d order.
“Over my dead body. I haven’t worked my ass off detoxing you these past few days to have you slink back to junk food!” Sylvia said, running a hand down her own toned midsection for emphasis.
“While we’re talking detox, you should know I flushed the ADD and diet meds you’ve been plying me with,” I told her. “I’ll eat what you say for now, but I’m done with the drugs.”
“Fine. The kitchen will send up your breakfast, and Juan will drive you and me to the salon.” She walked toward the door before turning to add, “And please make it quick. We’re on a tight schedule.”
I choked down my breakfast of plain oatmeal and fruit, before pulling on my Juicy track suit. I trudged downstairs to where the hot pink atrocity was waiting.
“Buenos dias, Big J!” I said, genuinely smiling for the first time that morning. “How come I haven’t seen you for the last few days? Are you avoiding me?”
“No, senorita. The doctor and Miss Sylvia said you needed to have little contact with anyone who might help you destroy yourself. Since I can never say no to you, I had to obey.”
“Benedict Arnold! I could have used some of your wife’s empanadas,” I teased. “Do you have any clue what I have been eating all week?”
“I can guess. Why do you think I brought you this treat?” he said, offering me up a tinfoil wrapped burrito, still warm and overflowing with beef and cheese. “Eat quickly before your mother sees.”
I scarfed down the burrito, swallowing my last meaty bite just as my mother walked out the front door.
“Good! You’re here. Juan, we’re off to the Four Seasons,” she said, barely glancing at the driver.
“What about Chris McMillan’s?” I asked.
“I consulted with Dr. Feelgoodstein, and we decided it’s best that the world only see you after you have been rejuvenated. Why should you been seen as anything less than your best?”
I did enjoy my spa day, though I would never have admitted that to my mother. I had been overdue for some grooming. Mother-daughter mud baths and seaweed wraps had replaced any plastic surgery bonding activity — the lesser of two evils, I supposed.
I emerged from the day fairly unscathed and actually looking pretty good — even my new wardrobe was in surprisingly good taste. My mother remained behind at the hotel to meet with her agent but told me a surprise was waiting at home. When I got there, I found Coco lounging by the pool.
“Look at you! The beauty queen has been resurrected,” Coco said, twisting the syllables dramatically. “All joking aside, you look hot!”
“Well, thank you,” I said, curtseying. “So are you my babysitter for the evening?” I took a seat next to her.
“Yup,” she said. “And since pizza is verboten, you and I will be feasting on a calorie-restricted, Spago-catered feast care of your mama!”
“Very swank,” I said. “We should invite some boys over too.”
“I think Sylvia’s one step ahead of you there — the matchmaker should be here at 7:30,” Coco deadpanned. We chuckled.
“What, no Ethan? No inappropriate attempts to marry us off?” I asked.
“While your mother and I know you two are destined to marry and breed bounds of beautiful babies, she seems to have relented a little where he is concerned. I think she knows that any relationship involving him would sweep you away to the northern cold of San Francisco,” Coco said, mock-shuddering at the thought.
“It isn’t too late to unpack my New York winter parka. But in all seriousness, where is Ethan?” I asked. “I haven’t seen or heard from him since he came to my little intervention party.”
“Actually, he had to fly back to Hong Kong,” she explained.
“He was here for like a minute,” I said. “How long was the break for? A week?”
“Forty-eight hours. He borrowed your mother’s plane to be here,” Coco said, smiling knowingly. “Now that we’ve established how well-loved you are, what are we going to do about your career?”
“I don’t know. I love law, but it hurts to think about starting from the ground up. I have no billable hour history, so I’m looking at another eight years before I could be considered for partner.”
“I wouldn’t say that yet,” Coco said. “With either my firm or Ethan’s, no one has to call Mavis, McLeish, Meinsdorf and Mooring LLP for a reference. I do have to admit though that your chances of getting a job may be a little better through Ethan. While I make the firm the most money, I am still a double token.”
“And, from what you told me in your last email, your affair with the managing partner didn’t end too well,” I reminded Coco.
“That would be putting it mildly. His estranged wife finding me bent over his desk didn’t exactly put us in a good position, even though she was coming to the office to drop off her signed divorce papers,” Coco said.
“So what does that mean for your partnership?” I asked.
“I’ll still be offered partner,” Coco said. “But I had to blackmail the managing partner after I dumped him. Unfortunately, ex-wife number three was his former secretary and still friends with all of the firm’s support staff. Needless to say, the word of our affair spread through the firm faster than a California wildfire. So now I’m a triple threat: female Asian attorney who sleeps her way to the top.”
“Oh Coco, I had no idea it was that bad,” I said, knowing that double standards could end careers in this business.
“It’s fine,” she said stoically, as the Spago catering staff arrived and laid out dinner on the patio dining table. “Actually, it’s a good thing. My ambition to be a rich and successful attorney who uses men for her needs is too great for the limitations that the firm has placed upon me.”
“Hey, you could join me in early retirement. Under Sylvia’s tutelage, we could snare some lucky rich schmucks looking for their trophy wives,” I suggested, trying to lighten the mood.
Coco finally cracked a smile.
“My career isn’t what I had expected either, Joels. I’
ve been ready to leave the firm for a while, but where would I go? I know your predicament. I am a token everywhere,” Coco said, her eyes welling up with tears. This was the closest Coco ever let herself get to actually crying.
“Babe, while I love you and think you are the smartest and bravest woman alive, what were you thinking when you got involved with the managing partner of your firm?” I asked, trying to be gentle.
“While I may not have been demonstrating the most sound judgment with that decision, you know that the heart does not always listen to the rational mind,” she said, looking over my shoulder absentmindedly.
“But a married man?” I asked, regretting the question immediately.
“Do I need to remind you of Blake?” she snapped. “At least my guy was leaving his wife. Unlike Blake, the divorce papers were all but signed, and he would have been a free man. The relationship is over now, but my career is not. It’s just seriously injured. So my future has also lost some of its promise. Let’s just eat before my career and man troubles ruin the rest of the night.”
The cater waiters signalled us to come and eat before the cold food turned frigid. We sat down to a feast of cold steamed lobster salad and even colder miso-infused steak tartar with Asian coleslaw.
I dug in ravenously.
“We are smart women,” Coco said suddenly. “We could start own firm. I have tons of clients and a bit of personal estates experience.”
“What?” I asked, surprised by the comment. “What kind of experience?” I looked at Coco, starting to settle into the idea.
“Nothing, really, just my cousin died and left everything to her dog, à la Leona Helmsley, so I have to look after Lucky,” she said. I laughed. “And no, that is not what I call him because he is filthy rich now, it’s his actual name. Call it clairvoyance.”
“You know, it’s funny you should suggest that we hang our own shingle. I met someone on my flight home that needs a lawyer. I am meeting with her tomorrow. I was going to refer her to your firm since you have both estates and entertainment practice groups, but maybe she could be our first client.”
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