Lala Pettibone's Act Two

by Heidi Mastrogiovanni

  Am I flirting with him? Lala thought.

  “Will you join us, Doctor McLellan?” Stephanie said. “Our friends are very nice. This is our landlady and friend, Geraldine, and this is our neighbor and friend Thomas, and this is Lala, our new neighbor and friend.”

  “Please, would you join us, Doctor McLellan?” Chuck said.

  Stop stealing my lines, kids, Lala thought.

  “I will if you call me David. Let’s grab a table.”

  “Thomas,” Lala hissed. They were all following David to an empty booth across the room. Lala clutched Thomas’s sleeve and stretched upward to bring her lips to his ear.

  “I am awash in contradictory sensations,” Lala continued in an urgent whisper. “He’s not wearing a wedding ring, but that doesn’t mean anything for sure, right? I swear, terror and lust are staging an epic battle in my psyche even as I appear to be calmly sashaying over to the booth to grab the seat next to Doctor David McLellan just in case maybe he’s not married. So if I pass out at any point from the stress, if I fall face forward onto the table, promise you’ll throw a glass of water on my head to revive me? Promise? Because I don’t want to miss a moment of this evening. Unless he’s married. In which case I plan to drink myself into an epic stupor. Promise you won’t wake me up if he’s married?”

  “I promise,” Thomas said. “Your tits look great, by the way.”

  “Omigod, I love you so much,” Lala said. “How did you know that was exactly what I needed to hear right now?”

  Lala released Thomas’s sleeve and jogged over to the booth, sliding in not a moment too soon to wedge herself between David and the awestruck phalanx that Stephanie and Chuck had become.

  “So, David,” Lala said, “you live in Manhattan Beach?”

  “No, I live in Manhattan,” David said. “The real one.”

  The seat of Lala’s pants skidded to a halt in its trajectory over the glossy black vinyl.

  “What? Where in Manhattan?”

  “The West Village,” David said.

  Mother of GOD, Lala shrieked to herself, why does the universe torment me thus?

  “I do too! I mean, not right now, but I do, I’m just living here . . . in Manhattan Beach . . . for now. For now, I’m here. But I live in the Bancroft.”

  “Love that building,” David said. “I used to live right near there in the Connaught.”

  “I love the Connaught.”

  “So does my ex-wife. So now I’m on Bank Street.”

  Ex-wife, Lala thought. Things are lookin’ up. I can’t barfing believe we’re neighbors in Manhattan, and I’m stuck in this shithole of a gorgeous beach town. Barf.

  A waiter came over to their table.

  “How does everybody feel about champagne?” David asked.

  “Cool,” Stephanie said.

  “So cool,” Chuck said. “Wow.”

  “I think we’ll need two bottles to start. Veuve Cliquot, please,” David instructed the waiter.

  I think I’m having an orgasm, Lala thought.

  The waiter and a colleague appeared bearing tall ice buckets on thin legs. They popped their respective bottles simultaneously and poured out six glasses.

  “Thank you,” David said. He raised his glass. “If it’s not too self-centered, I’d like to toast to adventure. In my case, to the sailing trip I’m starting with my sons tomorrow.”

  Huh? Lala thought.

  “It’s so cool,” Stephanie said. “Doctor McLellan . . . Doctor David . . . McLellan . . . David told us about it at lunch at the conference. He’s going to be sailing around the world for like . . . I don’t know . . . months.”

  “So cool,” Chuck said.

  They all clinked glasses, and Lala drank her champagne in a daze that she hoped might prove to be permanent.

  Oy, Lala thought. Oy vey. Is mir. There goes my bicoastal romance.

  Lala reached over and grabbed one of the bottles. David just as quickly took it out of her hand.

  “Please, allow me,” he said. Her glass was instantly full again. And then it was instantly empty again.

  Oh, well, I have been meaning to try to live exclusively in the moment, Lala thought. I guess. What the hell, why not start now?

  The loudspeaker suddenly crackled and the impassive karaoke master’s voice enveloped the room.

  “Lala Pettibone, you’re up.”

  “Ohhh no,” Geraldine gasped. “Lala, don’t . . .”

  Geraldine was speaking to Lala’s rapidly disappearing posterior. Lala leaped onto the small karaoke stage and grabbed the mic. Geraldine put her head in her hands.

  “Ohhh, no.”

  The beautiful opening notes drifted out of the karaoke machine. David sat up straighter.

  “In French?” he yelled over the music to Lala. “Please tell me it’s the original?”

  “Oh, bien sûr, mon cher,” Lala cooed back. Or as much as one can coo when speaking at that volume.

  “Please, God,” Geraldine whispered into her hands, “make this nightmare stop. Give that poor girl a break. He’ll never schtupp her if he hears her sing.”

  Geraldine’s head snapped up as she felt the seat of the booth bouncing. David shooed Stephanie and Chuck out into the aisle so he could bound up to the karaoke stage.

  David grabbed a second mic and the lyrics appeared before them on the screen. He was the first to sing, but Lala was right on top of him.

  Geraldine listened to the singers. Her brow furrowed.

  “Something’s wrong,” Geraldine whispered.

  “They sound good,” Stephanie said.

  “He’s so cool,” Chuck said.

  Geraldine hazarded a look at the crowd. Everyone seemed to not be angry or upset or in physical pain. They seemed to be pleased.

  Geraldine looked at the stage and saw Lala and David with their arms around each other’s waists as they sang with their mics held close. Their eyes stayed locked on the karaoke screen.

  Geraldine looked over at Thomas, who was smiling and nodding his head along with the music.

  “Salman, have I gone insane? Am I aurally hallucinating? Is she singing in perfect thirds?”

  “Yeah,” Thomas said. “Lala can really harmonize.”

  _______________

  It was very tight in the cab. Stephanie was sitting on Chuck’s lap in the passenger seat, and the remaining four in the celebratory group were stuffed into the backseat like so many clowns in a tiny circus car.

  The applause following Lala’s duet with David demanded that they follow their debut performance with encores consisting of “Mack the Knife” in the original German and “Love Me with All of Your Heart” in the original Spanish.

  Lala had sung the encores phonetically and had acquitted herself quite well.

  David, she was further aroused to discover, was multilingual, being fluent in French, German, Spanish, and Russian, in addition to speaking English quite beautifully.

  He also spoke conversational Italian.

  Upon discovering this, Lala excused herself for a moment and ran off the stage to deliver an urgent, hushed message to Thomas.

  “I’m probably going to faint soon. In a good way. Have that glass of water at the ready.”

  And now she was in the backseat of the cab between David and Geraldine, and she was managing to resist the clawing temptation to recreate the beginning of so many sex-a-thons back in college by lifting her new shirt and flashing her boobs at this animal doctor of her dreams.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me that you can sing in perfect thirds?” Geraldine demanded.

  “I don’t know what that means,” Lala said. “Seriously, how cool is it that you can get hammered in Manhattan Beach because you can get a ride home in a cab or if you have an app on your phone. And what they do not have here is blue laws so you can buy liq
uor at practically any hour of the day or night. This place is so cool!”

  “I nearly had a heart attack back there from anxiety,” Geraldine said. “Can’t you hear that you’re harmonizing?”

  “Ummmm, I was singing the song and . . . Wasn’t I singing the same notes as David?”

  “No, it’s called harmonizing,” Geraldine huffed. “I wish I had known you could do that, so I wouldn’t have had to worry about you so much.”

  Lala gave a tight squeeze to the bottle of Veuve Cliquot David had only recently exploded out of the cab to purchase at a stop on the way home.

  “Okay, well, ummm, now we all know, so that’s good. David, did you also know that the weather’s great here? David, David, David, David, David, David, don’t you love Southern California?”

  “I do,” David said. “Try not to shake that bottle so much, okay?”

  The cab pulled up to the fourplex, and David handed the driver a hundred-dollar bill.

  “You’ve been great,” he said. “Thanks for your patience.”

  Everyone spilled out onto the sidewalk. Stephanie and Chuck started to dance on their tiptoes with excitement.

  “David, want to come to our apartment and meet our cats?”

  “Absolutely,” David said. “I will very much look forward to doing that next time I’m in town.”

  David grabbed Lala’s hand and used his free hand to shake Thomas’s hand and then Chuck’s hand, and then used it to hug first Geraldine and then Stephanie.

  “Thank you all very much for a great evening.”

  Stephanie and Chuck stood between David and Lala and the stairs leading to Lala’s apartment. Lala noted that they really didn’t seem to be doing it maliciously, which made her not hate them quite as much as she wanted to.

  Awww, Lala thought. I remember having a crush on one of my professors at school. Several professors, actually. And not all of them men. That is so cute that those two are so in awe of David. Take a number, kids, and get in line. And get out of my way.

  “Yeah it’s been great! Hey, maybe everyone can come over to our place, and I’ll make tea, and we can talk,” Stephanie said. Lala gave Stephanie and Chuck each a big smooch on the cheek as she shoved herself and David past them and up the stairs.

  “Kids, you are adorable, and we’re gonna go get naked now. Right now. ‘Kay? This was great! Let’s do it again soon!”

  Lala held the champagne under her left armpit as she searched through her purse for her keys.

  “Gimme that,” David said. He grabbed the bottle. “This is going to need to settle. It probably shouldn’t be opened for a few weeks.”

  Lala found her keys and tried to get the correct one in the lock right-side-up.

  “Oh, come on, it can’t be this complicated,” she huffed.

  After several false starts Lala got the door opened, and they were greeted by a trio of very enthusiastic dogs.

  “Look at these three,” David said. He sat on the floor and let the hounds surround him with their energetic welcome.

  “Oy, nooooo, they have to be walked!” Lala said.

  She grabbed the three leashes off a hook by the front door and lectured her precious dogs as she attached the leashes to their collars, complete with wagging finger and grave voice.

  “No sniffing! No being hounds! Pee, poo, and then we’re right back here, got it?”

  Lala and David rushed down the stairs and jogged through the circle of Geraldine, Thomas, Stephanie, and Chuck, who had seated themselves in the comfortable patio furniture to chat and enjoy the still pleasantly warm night.

  Out on the sidewalk, Lala and David guided the dogs to a large patch of grass.

  “I am not kidding,” Lala said. “Do whatever you have to do. Right now.”

  “They’re very handsome dogs,” David said. “Have you had them all their lives?”

  “No, no,” Lala said. She tapped her foot impatiently and glared at Petunia, Yootza, and Chester. “I adopt senior animals. Not many people want older dogs. Like I have to tell you that. I got them all at Bide-a-Wee. I volunteer . . . ed . . . there. Past tense. Because for now I’m here.”

  David took a poop bag from the roll that was cradled in a little pouch attached to Yootza’s leash. He bent down and scooped.

  You are so perfect, Lala thought.

  “The more I hear about you,” David said, looking up at Lala as he patted Yootza’s head, “the more perfect you seem.”

  _______________

  When Lala would remember that long, but not long enough, night with David—and she would remember it often—she would reflect on all the moments as though she were looking through a beloved photo album. With herself, sitting next to herself on the couch. While she and herself drank a bottle of wine together and ate a lot of expensive chocolate truffles together or maybe a big sack of popped sour cream and onion potato chips if they were craving something salty. The dogs—all the dogs over the years—would sit on the couch with Lala and herself and would snooze through all the giggling and reminiscing.

  “Oh, I love this photo,” Lala would say.

  “Me too,” she would nod back to herself.

  “I had just woken up with David’s arms tightly around me and his fabulous bodingus wedged most delightfully against my tuchus, and the most amazing thought started to formulate in my mind, and so I very gingerly wriggled myself out of his grasp so I could reach down and slide open the drawer under my platform bed and grab the bottle I had—with a hopefulness that certainly did not mesh with my life experience of the past few years—placed there when I unpacked my travel cosmetics case. And, as I looked at the seemingly undisturbed bottle, I woke David, and when he got over his annoyance at being woken up after having slept maybe an hour, I asked him, ‘Am I insane or did we not even touch this bottle of moisture enhancing Silk-E personal lubricant which intensifies comfort and intimacy with Vitamin E and soothing aloe by the number-one doctor-recommended brand?’ and he said, ‘No, you’re not insane, because we didn’t use it because we didn’t need it,’ and then I said, ‘Wow,’ and then we fucked again.”

  And then Lala would turn the page and see a different photo, one that made her wince.

  “Ohhh, this is the part where I thought I truly screwed it up,” Lala would say, pointing to a photo of her in the living room blithely and naively grinning as she put a Rick Astley CD on the player.

  “Look at me go,” she would say to herself. Herself would take a big honkin’ gulp of wine because she knew all too well what was coming. “I had been lulled into a false sense of security by having just played a wicked cool selection of Steely Dan songs including ‘Everyone’s Gone to the Movies,’ and, of course, David is looking at me like I’m wicked cool because I am wicked cool, and then I remember how much I love Rick Astley, and I put on his greatest hits, and David looks at me like I’m the biggest dork in the known and/or unexplored universe. And as soon as I see David’s expression, all I can think is, shoot, did I screw up too soon? Is this a transgression that might have been forgiven after we were living together for seven months but will now totally torpedo our relationship because I did it on the first night?”

  And then Lala would turn the page and smile at the photo of her sitting in the breakfast nook with David, both of them wearing nothing but cookie dough ice cream mustaches as they wolfed directly from a large container of Ben & Jerry’s. The photo showed walls still wet with champagne and the rest of the Veuve Cliquot being passed between the two of them for gulps directly from the bottle.

  “We thought the champagne might have settled down by then, but no,” Lala would say. “David was so easy to talk to. Even in French. I don’t know that I was making sense necessarily because I was still intoxicated, but I do always marvel at how much easier it is to speak a foreign language when you’re plastered. David complimented me on my accent, and I told him I used to b
e an actress, which I could hardly say with a straight face because, as you know, I had no talent. But, okay, as I told David, that’s maybe not entirely true. Every now and then, with that comedy group I was in years ago in New York, I wrote a sketch or someone else wrote a sketch, and the role was just so easy for me and the audience cracked up. But there was no rhyme or reason to it. And I was the laziest actress on God’s earth.”

  “You really were,” Lala’s self would agree with her. “Somnambulistically lazy. Epically lazy.”

  “And when I was bad, I was very bad. I’ve seen videotape from some of our shows.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen those. Yikes. Remember how you used to start answering a question before the other actor had finished asking it? Wow, was that lousy acting, or what?”

  “Yikes. Stinky lousy. Look at this photo! We’re watching Casablanca!”

  And then Lala and herself would sigh deeply and wistfully.

  “And after Casablanca, David suggested we watch one of his favorite old movies, Random Harvest with Greer Garson and Ronald Coleman, and asked if I had ever heard of it. And I nearly had a stroke because that’s the movie, as you know, that Terrence and I would watch every single Valentine’s Day because it’s so lushly and painfully and unabashedly romantic, and so David and I watched that, and we made out a lot during both screenings, and it was great. And then the dogs started acting up again because they had to go out, and I nearly smacked them. Yikes, look at the expression on Aunt Geraldine’s face! It was barely past dawn. Who knew she wore that kind of outfit to bed?”

  Lala’s self would lean forward and peer at the photo of Geraldine standing in her doorway in a sleek neon blue jogging suit and would crack up.

  “She was pissed!” Lala’s self would say to Lala. “And rightly so.”

  “Oh, yeah. I showed up at her doorstep after walking David to his cab, so he could catch his flight out of LAX with not one moment to spare, and I’m whining and mewling about how tragic my life is, and Aunt Geraldine looked at me with more contempt than she had ever looked at me before or has ever looked at me since, thank goodness. And who can blame her?”

  “No one can blame her.”