“Hey doll! I’m loving how that tie-dye tunic exposes your matching tankini! And turn around so I can get a look at your ass in those cute little reverse-seam leggings!”
Oh, how I love my Slutty Co-worker. Sure, she’s still a big fat whore and I have a hard time wrapping my head around the amount of men she dates/fucks/accepts expensive gifts from, but the woman supports the hell out of me, so I continue to ignore the parts of her sex life that I find disturbing. Why do I love her so much you ask? Well, for starters, she didn’t bat an eye when I asked to use her apartment to rendezvous with Leo; she knew I needed time to sort out my feelings for him. And, she was the one with the great idea to track him down at the Red Devil Lounge so that I could win him back; she knew it was a mistake to break up with him. She even dragged me to his hang out, P.J. Clark’s, in New York after he moved there to show me all I was missing out on. And then she gave me her shoulder to cry on when I saw it all with my own eyes. Slutty Co-worker has always been there for me and not just personally, but professionally. I never could’ve made Forever Young, Inc. the success it is had it not been for her passion, dedication, and willingness to expose more of her ass than necessary to attract a larger than normal male crowd.
Trying to put on a brave face, I smile over at my little worker bee, Megan.
“Well, I have you to thank for my outfit. There’s nothing you can’t make look good, girl.”
I can’t believe I used to hate the girl I’m staring at right now. To quote myself, I wanted to “stab her in her childlike eyes.” Looking back, I don’t think I hated Megan so much because she was in love with Leo. I think I hated her because she reminds me of me, and we all know what a pain in the ass I am. Yep, Megan’s a mini-Chrissy. She’s stubborn, determined, and definitely a lot stronger and smarter than she looks. She’s also incredibly energetic. Which is a good thing because when it comes to her job as designer of Forever Young yoga wear, she has to handle solo trips to New York to sell the collection, which she does--a lot. Even after 9/11, she boarded flights without a moment of hesitation or an ounce of fear. Nothing was going to stop her from following her dream of becoming a respected clothing designer, not even a pack of angry Islamic extremists. And because of her commitment, she’s definitely becoming known within the industry. Her one-of-a-kind designs set our yoga collection apart from anything else on the market. Not many twenty-five-year-olds can handle the kind of pressure Megan does. Yep, when I look at her, it’s like looking in a mirror!
My gaze now shifts to the beautiful woman across the table who speaks to me.
“Wow, and who knew that crochet bag I made for you last week would coordinate so well with that outfit too!”
Never in a million years would I have thought that the woman sitting across from me is the same woman who used to sit next to me in the lobby of my therapist’s office. Thank God there aren’t any more rope-like strands of grey in her hair. That stuff was nasty. Nope, she’s all brunette now and proud of it too! Her old denim capri pants are now denim cargo shorts, to show off her super toned yoga legs, and her smile is often times the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night. Sad Frumpy Lady is no more and Barbara Cooper has become a very important person in my life.
Barbara came on board at Forever Young, Inc. shortly after she delivered the first batch of crochet yoga bags I asked her to make on the evening of my last therapy appointment with my beloved Dr. Maria. Jesus, she looked so scared when I asked her to make them, and I had to hold her hand through the entire process, but it was worth it…for the both of us. Barbara prefers her self-made title of ‘yoga trinket maker’ and backs it up by managing the production of hundreds of crochet yoga bags, hair ties, and other hand-made accessories to sell in our studios. And being the granola-eating Berkeley freak that she is, she’s also working on some new kind of biodegradable, PVC-free yoga mat. I don’t even know what the hell any of that means, but our clients are super excited about it, so that makes me super excited about it too. If you ask me Barbara’s title though, I’d tell you she’s really the Chief Financial Officer of Forever Young, Inc. She literally keeps track of every cent that comes and goes from our business. I’ve ceased asking her if she wants to go back to her Professor of Finance days at UC Berkeley, because every time I do she laughs at me. And, I’m glad, because I adore her and trust her with my life. Actually, I trust all three of these women with my life. And on days like today, it feels like I have to. Sensing I’m having a rough morning, Barbara walks over and settles in next to me.
“Hanging in there, hunny?”
“Hanging and kicking myself in the ass at the same time.”
“I guess you can thank yoga for the ability to do both of those things at once huh, doll?”
I give Slutty Co-worker a fake smile and then suggest we get on with the meeting. But Barbara knows I need a little more love.
“What happened wasn’t entirely your fault, Chrissy.”
All three of these women know how much Leo loved me. Barbara never got to witness it quite like the other two did, but she definitely heard about it after she came on board. Oh, the fun we had crammed in my cottage after Leo moved in! The girls and I would strategize over expanding our current business while he barbequed for us and opened bottle after bottle of wine. The love he had for me was in plain sight, visible to everyone when he did things like gently rub my back as I studied our second year projections and when he kissed me every time he re-filled my wine glass (which was a lot). Leo always had to leave for work at 4:15am so he’d be there by the time the morning bell rang on the Stock Exchange. So by the time I woke up, I’d find my leftover barbeque lunch in a bag on the kitchen counter with a sweet little note attached to it. He’d regularly show up to the studio with flowers or meet up with us after work for cocktails. No matter where we were or what we were doing, Leo always made sure I was happy and taken care of, and my co-workers always reminded me that I better fucking appreciate it.
I’m grateful for Barbara’s encouraging words, but that’s all they are…words. What happened was absolutely, one-hundred percent, my fault, and that’s why I’m kicking myself in the ass. Despite how much these three women care about me, I can’t help but think a few of them might want to give me a little kick too for what I did.
Despite my broken heart and the melancholy 9/11 undertone of our meeting, it’s productive as usual. We never talk about problems with our company, only challenges that one of us is always up to tackling. No one ever say’s “It’s not my job” and there’s never a “HELLS NO!” Well…maybe when we’re poking fun at the past. After the meeting, I do my best to make the best of the remainder of the morning by attending one of Slutty Co-worker’s hot yoga classes. Then, after a quick shower, I hit the road. Lots to do…Lots to do.
Ritual
September 11, 2002
When Kelly died, Courtney, Nicole, and I made a pact that we wouldn’t cry in her presence, which meant at her funeral and at her grave, which is where I’m headed right now. It was really hard to honor the pact at the funeral. I remember almost losing it during the eulogy when I started thinking about not having her to share all of the useless bits of information and gossip that fill my head every day. Then, like an idiot, I turned to look at her casket. I still thank God, and Kelly, for littering the funeral home with faces from my past to take my mind off what was really happening. I’m not sure I would’ve made it through the eulogy if I didn’t have all of those people as a distraction. Kelly absolutely hated tears, and since her death, I’ve done a remarkable job of hiding them from her. Every month when I visit her grave, I keep them in my back pocket, only releasing them when I get in my car and drive away.
Like always, I arrive earlier than Courtney and Nicole. The actual monthly anniversary of Kelly’s death was two days ago, but Nicole got stuck in the ER trying to save a freak, who in some sick sort of bondage maneuver, spread peanut butter all over his genitals for his black lab to lick off while his wife watched. Thei
r good/masochistic time came to a screeching halt when the lab confused the dude’s dick with his Kong toy (that the idiots typically filled with peanut butter for long lasting play time) and bit half of his fucking schlong off. So we had to postpone until today, which now I’m kind of glad about. I can talk to Kelly about the dream I woke up to this morning.
I lay a blanket on top of her, open up the picnic basket, dish out our spicy chicken wings and nachos, and crack open a couple of beers. I place her beer on her tombstone, and so as to not make anyone feel left out, I place the other beer on top of the tombstone next to Kelly’s. (We always did like a good party.) Normally, I’d open a third beer, which would get quickly deposited down my throat, but there hasn’t been any drinking for me for some time now…Well, except for my recent God awful slip up, which caused my whole world to turn upside down and which I’ll do anything to forget about.
Shaking off thoughts of the night I fell off the wagon, I crack open a bottle of water for myself and then lay in on my old friend.
“So Kel, are you ever gonna reveal the meaning behind these dreams?”
Silence.
“That’s what I thought.”
Sometimes she answers me though. No, I’m not delusional. I’m fully aware she’s not actually talking to me, but I know her so well that it’s not hard to speak for her. I always know what Kelly’s thinking…Except when it comes to how she would interpret these damn dreams.
“Works going good. We have three studios now. That one in Alamo finally opened last month.”
“Took long enough don’t you think?”
Ahhhh, there you are.
“Yep, way longer than I wanted, but things kind of came to a screeching halt after 9/11. I don’t have to explain that to you though…you’re up there…you saw the commotion.”
“Speaking of screeching halt…seriously, Chrissy? Again?”
“It’s not what it looks like.”
“Dude! I’m up here! You don’t think I know what happened to him?”
Shit, that’s right. Lying to Kelly, (even if it’s only in my mind) has to be one of the more pointless things I’ve tried to do.
I can hear her giggle as she says, “Nahhh, there’ve been way more pointless things.”
After a long pause, I look up at the sky, exhale and say, “Oh, Kel, what have I done?”
“Looks like you lost him for good is what you did.”
“Do you know that for sure?”
“You’ve asked some pretty dumb questions, but that one’s definitely up there, girl.” Kelly’s quiet for a minute before she starts back at me. “Hmmm. How do I put this? Getting him back might be just as difficult as getting me back.”
With that declaration, I close my eyes and hang my shaking head low.
“Sorry, Chrissy. It’s probably about time to start looking for the silver lining of his departure.”
“We’re calling it a departure now? Wow, you make everything sound so formal up there, Kel.”
“I’m serious Chrissy. What happened to your silver linings? You found plenty after I died.”
“Ran out I guess.”
“Bull! What about what happened nine months ago? You’ve been silver lining the crap out of that, so don’t give me the ‘I ran out’ line.”
That’s the closest she’s ever come to acknowledging the unexpected gift bestowed upon me nine months ago and for a minute I consider talking openly about it, but then I glance at the beer bottles sitting atop the tombstones and resist the temptation. I’ll cry and I made a promise that I would never cry here.
“C’mon, Kel! Tell me, do you honestly think any good can come out of what happened to Leo?”
“I’ll answer your question with a question. Do you think any good came out of what happened to me?”
“That’s not fair and you know it.”
“Sure it is. Answer it.”
“I won’t.”
“Okay then, I will. In the process of trying to take your mind off of my illness, you fell in love with yoga, and that led to the three yoga studios you have now!”
“C’mon, Kel, I--”
“Not done! You wouldn’t have had the money to open the first studio if you didn’t finally get off your butt, file for divorce, and sell your house. Another thing you probably wouldn’t have done if I hadn’t gotten sick. And by the way, I’m still waiting for my thanks for getting sick when the real estate market was on steroids!”
“Stop!”
“Nope, I got more! The only reason you went to New York to find Leo and tell him you still loved him was because I was near death and told you to. And, yes, that little trip didn’t end up like we wanted it to, but lucky for you, I died and that stubborn man opened his heart and mind to second chances and forgave you. See all of the lovely silver linings I’m talking about here?”
“Whoa! Did you just say I was lucky you died?”
“Yep. I have a much better sense of humor up here than I did down there, one of the perks of a stress-free existence.” Along with the giggle I miss so much she says, “C’mon though, Chrissy, you get my point, right? You dug deep and created some good stuff out of what happened to me. You can do the same with Leo…If you just try.”
“Can we change the subject?”
“Hey, it’s your imagination. Do what you want.”
I want to continue the conversation, but I hear Courtney and Nicole approaching. Actually, I hear Courtney chastising Nicole for spilling her mocha in the car. I swear, I still don’t get how that klutz is a doctor.
“Hey mama’s! Over here! I got started without you again.”
I hug Courtney first, mostly because she’s clean. Then I lay in on her as she’s tackling the picnic basket.
“Are you ever gonna wear make-up again?”
Opening a beer as if relief is washing over her like a waterfall, she drinks and answers at the same time, “Are you ever gonna stop asking me that?”
Courtney looks as stressed as usual. She left her position as Assistant Professor of saving the world (or whatever it was called), at University of California San Francisco School of Medicine and took on the gigantic job of Chief of Medicine at the local community hospital. She’s the youngest person to EVER fill the job. Nobody ever sees her anymore, not even her family. If, for whatever reason, I can’t make it to these gravesite visits, I can forget about seeing her for a month. If you want into Court’s life, you have to be penciled in waaaaay in advance. I’d worry about her if she wasn’t so damn happy.
“I’d hug you too, Nicole, but I don’t feel like getting chocolate all over me.”
Nicole, on the other hand isn’t so damn happy. Like me, she went through a little bit of a metamorphosis when Kelly got sick. She realized that being a doctor isn’t something she completely loves being every day. She felt like she had a different calling, and after much soul searching, revealed it was to be a junior high science teacher. While she’d be an amazing role model to a bunch of seventh grade freaks, she’s completely saddled with student loans and stuck in the ER until she wins the lottery. Looking at her chocolate-stained shirt, I don’t know who I feel sorrier for--her, or her patients.
I reach over and pluck what looks like a muffin crumb out of her hair.
“Jesus, girl, are you ever gonna pick that fro out?”
“I don’t have a fro, you dumbass. And you better watch it…you’re not looking so hot yourself these days.”
She’s right. To say I’ve let myself go is an understatement. After plopping down on the picnic blanket and sharing a moment of silence, mostly because we’re all exhausted, we begin our usual chit-chat.
“We saw you when we walked up. Talking to her again?”
“Of course, Court. I don’t know why you two think it’s so weird. She can hear us, you know.”
Drinking the rest of her beer in one gulp, burping and then reaching for another one, Courtney says, “What’s she sayin’ today?”
“Buncha crap about Leo, silver lining
s…same ol’, same ol’.”
Rolling her eyes, Nicole chimes in with, “Tell me this, John Edwards, does she ever ask about you-know-who?”
“Nope, and I’ll never bring her up, doesn’t seem fair.”
Looking up at the beer bottles perched atop the tombstones next to us, Courtney whispers, “Nothing about what happened is fair.”
With her admission, we silently toast our surroundings by clinking our own bottles together. And then it gets quiet again. For the ten months after Kelly died, we laughed a lot at her gravesite. We knew that’s what she wanted us to do and because of the memories we shared, it wasn’t that hard, really. But then, for the second time in our short lives, death reared its ugly head and the laughter came to a screeching halt. Now, no matter what Chrissygan or flashback to our carefree days we chat about at her grave, the laughter is missing. Outside of the giggles that take place in my cottage, I’m beginning to wonder if the laughter will ever return.
Must stay focused right now though. Lots more to do today. Lots more.
Muddled
September 11, 2002
The sun is setting on the way to my last pit stop of the day. The sky is burnt orange, and the air is thick with the smell of a thousand backyard barbeques. As I enter the neighborhood in Walnut Creek that Kurt now calls home, I scan the faces of all of the seemingly happy suburban families enjoying the last days of summer. I see proud fathers washing their cars and squirting their children as they ride by on their bikes. The kids who aren’t on bikes are tending to their lemonade stands and hopscotch games. It’s total suburban utopia. The scene makes me forget about graveyards and Muslim terrorists, and for a split-second I almost forget about what happened just two weeks ago and why I’m so mad about being here.
Rounding the corner to the house, I see the mothers. They’ve come to recognize my black Land Rover, and when they see me pull into the neighborhood, they cling a little tighter to their small children and give me a sympathetic courtesy nod. As much as I always wanted to be a pretty suburban soccer mom, complete with all the suburban bells and whistles, these women make me think otherwise. They’re always out here, doing absolutely nothing except drinking Starbucks coffee and what looks like gossiping about each other. Truthfully, I’d love to punch one of them in the face. At least tending to their wounds would give ‘em something to do for a few hours.
The Unexpected List (The List Trilogy) Page 2