by Babe Walker
Babe So true
Gen Yeah wtf
Gen Love you guys x
NINE
Still Thinking About the Popcorn I Ate in Chapter Eight.
I felt really guilty about eating the popcorn. Like, it was all I thought about for the entire drive home from the mall, the entire rest of the evening, and probably the entire rest of my life. Eating popcorn with butter is honestly just like doing cocaine. (New mantra?) You have some, it’s amazing, you feel amazing, and then all you can think about is having more. Like, right then. It becomes a need. Elemental to your very being. You have to have more popcorn/cocaine because it’s the best thing you’ve ever put into your body and why wouldn’t you want to have more of it? I’d always wondered why people actually get fat, and now, for the first time, I had a glimpse of how that could happen. But, I had two cigarettes, two generous imaginary lines of coke, and a HUGE bottle of Fiji for dinner and it made me feel much better. I was back.
The more time that I spent with Knox, the more connected I felt to him. He was Mini-Me and he got 75 percent of my pop-culture references, which is an extremely high percentage for this particular geographical region or really anywhere, especially considering he was seventeen years younger than me. Knox understood who I was. He didn’t judge me for being specific in my needs as a human being. He never scoffed at my dietary restrictions. He looked up to me. It was a strange experience, a wild sensation. In LA, no one would dare act like they looked up to me. But Knox was just proud to be my cousin. He genuinely appreciated me for . . . me.
It made me feel good in a way I wasn’t accustomed to feeling. But the feelings were also complicated by the fact that I knew in my heart that I was keeping a huge secret from Knox. He looked to me for total realness. I wondered sometimes if I was the first person in his life who was willing to level with him. But maybe I wasn’t being as real with him as he thought. I needed to sort this out. I needed to get confirmation that Donna wasn’t Knox’s mom. I spent the rest of the night Googling DNA testing methods and came up with some viable options for determining which vagina Knox had emerged from.
The next morning I was up bright and early at 11:15 a.m. I drove to Starbucks in the car I found in the driveway, got coffee, and then drove to a little river near Veronica’s house. It was quiet, smelled like outsideness, and I was feeling fucking namaste as fuck. I started to ponder an idea I’d been playing with for a book or a TV show about a lipstick lesbian who is running for president. I do that sometimes. I just jot down ideas I have in my phone and then I get really fucking excited about them and obsess over them and think about them constantly. Then I never do anything about turning them into a reality because without fail, every single time I look back at these ideas after a month or so, they’re complete shit and I’m shocked that I ever even considered them as legitimate. I get high a lot.
As I was drawing a sketch of The Lesbian President’s inauguration look (spoiler alert: she wins the election in the pilot!), I got a text from a rando number:
410-443-XXXX Hi Babe. It’s V
Babe Hi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
410-443-XXXX Need a big favor from you
Babe Sorry I can’t
Babe JK.
Babe Just kidding.
Babe Whats up?
410-443-XXXX When is your flight back to LA?
Babe Late tonight
410-443-XXXX Shit. Ok.
Babe Why?
410-443-XXXX It’s fine don’t worry about it.
Babe V. Whats up?
410-443-XXXX I have to go to Cara’s school tonight for conferences and I just got asked to cover someone’s shift.
Babe You want me to go to Cara’s school?
410-443-XXXX Honestly its fine I know you have to leave town. youve been really helpful already with the kids
Babe I can do it. I’ll change my flight.
410-443-XXXX Really?
Babe Yeah. NO problem!
Babe Who is this btw
410-443-XXXX V
410-443-XXXX Veronica
Babe OK thought so. Cool! All good love you
Question: What exactly did I mean when I said “no problem”? It was actually a huge problem because I hate schools and I hate people. This was a combo of both. But I felt for Vee. She was a single mom, she seemed to have done a pretty good job raising these kids, and I wasn’t really in a huge rush to get back to LA. In fact, it had been kind of nice to be out of town for the past few days. Then I had an idea.
Our gay heroine is not only chic and only wears neutrals, but she is a single mom. Like Veronica. And her niece is an international bestselling author. An author of children’s books, because fiction!
Once I had my idea jotted down, I checked Instagram, smoked a cigarette, logged onto Grindr using Roman’s password because it’s fun to talk to real-life gays and see what types of dick pics they’ll send you, and tried skipping a stone in the river. That last part about the stone is actually not true.
I knew I’d have to rush if I was going to make it home to get ready and then to the school on time for tonight’s big event. I scooped my life up and pumped my way out of that little river park, snagging my favorite Rick Owens crepe drop-rise jumpsuit on a bush on my way down the path to the car. The rip was too big and could never be fixed so I just slipped out of it, left it to the wilderness gods, and drove home in my underwear. I knew there was no room for that type of mess in my life at that juncture. So, bye.
I was pulling into Veronica’s driveway when my phone ding’d.
Genevieve Did you hear that Remy died?
Babe Our shoe lady at Barneys?
Genevieve Yes!
Babe Stop
Genevieve I’m serious. She drove her little convertible off the PCH
Babe Stop
Genevieve Before that, she lit her boyfriend’s apartment on fire. Like full arson moment
Babe Stop
Genevieve And supposedly stole a bunch of Celine mules and gave them to homeless women downtown
Babe Stop
Genevieve I think she was a little crazy
Babe I would’ve had NO idea. We loved Remy!
Genevieve Loved
Genevieve When are you coming back? I’m over everyone here. Roman is out of his mind. I can’t. Do you miss me?
Babe Never coming back and don’t really miss you
Genevieve K
Babe Love you call me tomorrow
Genevieve Love you
I chose to wear all black to the Back to School gala in honor of my late shoe saleslady, Remy Something. She was a good woman who never lost composure when I screamed at her or cried while in her presence, which was often. I’ll miss you, Rem.
I threw my hair up in a high, tight pony, tossed myself into an epic pair of Miu Miu pumps that I’d forgotten I even brought, and took a shot from a bottle of vodka I found in Veronica’s freezer. I was excited to finally see what going out looked like in the wilds of Maryland.
“There are a lot of men in khakis here. Is that normal?” I asked the young mom standing next to me by the refreshments table. She smiled and nodded. It looked like she wanted to say something, but she ultimately chose to simply ice me and walked away.
Whatever. Being a fake mom for the night was already a snooze. And this was not an event. We were in a gym. I sat down at a table, pulled lipstick out of my clutch, and did that for a while. When I looked up I saw a familiar face. I thought it was the hot dead guy from the pool, Scotts, but he died, so it couldn’t have been him. I walked up to him anyway. He smelled good in a super basic way. No cologne, just Dove or Dial soap. It was definitely a weird smell for a dead person to have.
“Hey, I’m Babe. Didn’t I see you die the other day?”
“Pardon?”
I repeated the exact same sentence verbatim but slower.
“Ohhhhh. At the pool?”
“Yes, at the pool. The site of the accident.”
“Did we meet? You look super familiar.”
“There were glances and unnecessary but welcomed smiles.”
“Right. That was you. Well, I’m fine, yeah. It was scary, though.”
“And now you’re what, like, the walking dead? It’s not clear.”
“No, I’m okay. It’s happened before. It’s a nerve thing. I don’t know, I’m bad at going to the doctor. D’Angelo gave me mouth-to-mouth. It was wonderful to wake up to that face. Those kinky curls. You know.”
I looked at him for a while, contemplating what to say next. I’d never spoken to a real live dead person before. Ghosts, yes. I was even molested by two ghosts in New Orleans once—long story. But never the living dead.
“You’re hot even though you’re dead.”
“Still trying to make this dead joke work. Okay. Bold move, I can respect that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
He gave me a look that let me know he had no idea what I was talking about.
“You know what?” I said, tossing my hair over my shoulder. “Let’s start over.”
“I like that plan.”
“So.”
“So . . . you’re Babe? This is your actual name?”
“Yes. And you’re really not dead? You swear on your own life?”
“Swear on my family’s life, and I happen to genuinely like my family.”
“Okay. I mean, this is gonna take some getting used to because to be quite fucking honest, I initially walked over here because I was so fascinated by the hot zombie boyfriend in our presence and I wanted to see what the vibes were. But now you’re saying that you were resuscitated. So you’re just, like, alive, I guess? Like me?”
“Yep.”
“That’s boring.”
“Sometimes it is. Yes, sometimes being alive is very boring. That is correct.”
“Most of the time it is. Like right now I’m a little bit bored. I was expecting much more from a Back to School Night. Growing up, my dad would always come home wasted from my schools’ Back to School Nights.”
Scotts looked a little confused. “Well, tonight is actually parent-teacher conference night.”
“What?” I asked, shocked, disappointed, and more bored than before.
“Who are your kids? Maybe they’re in my class.”
“Oh, no. No no no no no. I don’t have kids. Cara and Knox are my cousins, and I’m just here filling in for their mom, Veronica. She had to work late. I’m from LA. I’m a writer. This is not my life. I’m here as a joke, basically. But I did think this would actually be cute and fun but I was clearly wrong. Okay. I’m gonna stop talking now ’cause you don’t care and I definitely don’t care. Okay, so you can say something now.”
Scotts chuckled. “Ah, I see. I have Cara in my English class. She’s a super bright kid. A little dark. She’s bright and dark. As a lot of teenagers are.”
“Um. Okay. Cool?”
“I’m an English teacher here. Pretty thrilling stuff.”
“So you’re saying I’m not here to drink and talk shit about kids and then leave?”
“Well, typically on conference night we go over each kid’s progress in their respective courses with their parents. But I wouldn’t hate if we went for a drink after. Thoughts?”
“I like your style,” I said with a real smile. He liked me.
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a ‘not no.’ ”
“I can work with that. I’m Scott by the way.”
“Stop.”
He looked around the room, extremely confused now.
“Stop what?”
“Before we met tonight I called you that in my head because you look like a cross between Scott—”
“Speedman and Foley.”
“Yes!”
“I’ve gotten it before. And thank you,” he said, smiling, “I take that as a huge compliment. They’re babes.”
“They are babes. So am I. I’m a Babe.”
We both laughed.
“Good one. Funny,” Scott said.
“Thanks. I’m one of the quickest people I know. Just a heads up.”
“I’ll consider myself warned. So.” He glanced at his watch, not a vintage Rolex, but okay. “I have to go to my next appointment. And I believe I’m actually supposed to have my conference about Cara in fifteen minutes with, well, I guess with you? So, see you then?”
“Oh. Sure. Yeah, see you then.”
“Okay!” Scott said and started to walk away.
“Hey, Scott? How do I know which teacher to go see now?”
He pointed to a board on the wall with a big grid on it.
“Have a look at the schedule over there. See you soon, Babe.”
“Ciao.”
After dying a little for saying ciao (I don’t know, it just came out), I found my schedule of appointments on the board and made my way over to room 2054, Earth Sciences. I was going to meet Cara’s biology teacher.
Mr. Young was an extremely tall and pale thing. His look/body/aura was serving me raw wax bean. Even his outfit was beige and his shoes were white and surely orthopedic. Halfway to his desk I stopped.
“You know,” I said to the man, “I think I’m gonna pass. I’m not even Cara’s real mom.”
Mr. Young looked baffled even when I assured him that this was fine with Cara’s mom and that “I simply just needed to do me.”
Before exiting the brick dungeon that was that school (honestly, no wonder this country is so fucked up if that’s where children are expected to learn to be cute), I found Scott’s room and slipped a note under his door.
Scott,
I left because I hate it here. I’m sorry this is your place of work. I’m sure you’re a wonderful teacher. Let’s make out before I leave town? 323-XXX-XXXX. Text me, zombie.
xo,
Babe
TEN
You’re Hot, but Fuck You.
“Scott,” I said as he sat down at the table across from me. “Scott, Scott, Scott. You’re super lucky I didn’t say fuck it and leave.”
“Why’s that?” he said with a smile. Gorgeous. I was even a little nervous for him to get there, which was weird but cute, I guess. I’d ordered a glass of rosé, which I’d almost finished already, which is not that cute, I guess.
“You’re twenty minutes late.”
“I’m five minutes late.”
“That’s not true,” I informed him, holding up my phone to him so he could see the time for himself. Scott’s eyes widened, and he started laughing as soon as he looked.
“What?”
I turned the phone to me and to my horror, there was an enormous pink dick staring back at me.
“Fuck!” I shouted. Oh my God. It was a dick pic from Genevieve that she must’ve sent at the exact moment I was turning my phone to Scott. “Fuck. Fuck. Ew, God. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he said through laughs, which were becoming more of a nervous, confused giggle. Straight guys don’t know what to do around dicks. I can appreciate a beautiful vagina. It’s weird that they can’t just appreciate their natural beauty, but hey, to each his boring and straight own.
“It’s nice,” he managed to say. “Very pink.”
I looked again.
“Very pink. So true.”
Maybe Scott was a cool straight guy who actually appreciated dick. Like, as art.
“Well, sorry I’m late. We had a town meeting at school this afternoon that went on about three hours too long.”
“You have town meetings here? So cute. So Gilmore Girls.”
“No, no. That’s just what the principal at our school calls them. They’re long, drawn-out faculty meetings with an open-floor policy. This basically just means that Kath from the art department can talk about the healing faculties of pottery for as long as she wants. And Jackson, the music teacher who’s never not high, never ceases to amaze us with his annual suggestions for ways to make the school more ‘tie-dye.’ ”
“Jackson sounds funny. I used
to know a Jackson. He was a thorn in my fucking side, and his breath smelled like something made with almond milk that might be served in a mason jar.”
“Yuck.”
“Extreme levels of yuck. But he meant well. And Kath just sounds like a bitch.”
“She’s miserable. I really wish someone would do something about her already. I think about how to do it all the time.”
“Kill her?”
“Kill her, yeah. She has no family. It wouldn’t even matter.”
Hot. I took a long sip of my sparkling water while holding eye contact with Scott.
“Are you a murderer?” I asked, serving him my best Law & Order: SVU, which I believe is a show where cops ask people questions like that.
“No. I was kidding.”
“Ah . . .”
“Sorry, bad joke. Kath is lovely. Odd thing going on with one of her toes on the left foot. It’s literally the color of a green apple. Couldn’t tell you why. But otherwise she’s lovely.”
“You’re funny,” I said. I didn’t mean to. I never compliment guys that I like. It’s not cute. Dammit. Just run with it, I told myself. He doesn’t have to know you’re horrible. What if he thought you were nice? That might work.
“I was excited to hang,” Scott said.
“You know, I was, too. I didn’t expect to go on any dates while I was here, but I’m learning quickly that this trip is just a series of weird but welcome surprises.”
“Tell me more.”
“Okay.”
I ran my hand through my hair, mussing it, letting Scott know that I was totally a normal person that he should be attracted to. To be honest, I knew nothing could work between us because I would never move here, but I did need to have sex and he was a cross of Speedman and Foley.
“So I didn’t meet my mom until I was about twenty-four, which is a long story that maybe I’ll bless you with when I’m drunk later. So yeah, I basically don’t know the crazy bitch. And she is crazy. She may seem put together because she’s a supermodel who’s still working in her late forties, but trust me, she’s a mess. But she invited me here to come to her dad—my grandpa’s—eightieth birthday. I accepted the invitation after much delibs because honestly, I needed to get out of Los Angeles and work on finding a mantra.”