by Babe Walker
He laughed. “Babe, I can’t stop thinking about you. I was trying to figure out how to get in touch, but I didn’t know how—”
I didn’t let Robert finish. I walked right up to him and kissed him hard on the mouth. When I pulled away, I looked into his eyes and I could see how much pain he was in. Our lives were miserable without each other, so there was only one thing we could do: fuck each other to death.
Smash-cut to Robert and me in his cottage tearing into each other. I pulled off his heather-gray suit jacket and ripped open his starched white Dior Homme button-down (this season), hungrily kissing his chest and neck. Then, without breaking eye contact, I pulled his pants down and gave him the most intense blow job I’d ever given anyone in my life. I’d forgotten what it felt like to be with someone whom I actually cared about. I wanted to please Robert and I also wanted him to know how much I loved him. His face was twisted in ecstasy. Suddenly he backed away; his gaze was smoldering, animalistic. I swear he growled as he threw me on the bed and began removing my clothes while kissing every inch of my body and teasing me with his hands. We knew each other’s bodies so well that we were able to skip all of the bullshit guesswork that usually goes into these kinds of passionate encounters. He was so diligent about leaving no inch of me untouched. Even though I was writhing in anticipation of what was to follow, Robert was setting the pace and I was loving every second. This was definitely burning more calories than “hiking” around the Chateau.
The moment he finally pushed himself inside me, my eyes filled with tears of pure bliss. I was happy. I was peace. I was Babe Walker: the love of Robert’s life.
For the next three hours we did nothing but laugh, drink huge, huge, huge glass bottles of Acqua Panna, and whisper “I’ve missed you” into each other’s faces. So many nights in rehab were spent fantasizing about getting back together with Robert. How he would smell. How he would kiss. How it would feel to run my fingers over his chest. How his huge fucking hands made my arms feel tiny. But this, right now at Chateau, this exceeded all of my expectations, because it was real.
Afterward, as I nestled into Robert’s chest, I saw our entire future flash before my eyes: the wedding, the house, the kid(s), eternity. We were in Hawaii, I was wearing a simple Calvin Klein wedding gown, Robert was wearing a puka-shell necklace, my hair was crimped, we were both barefoot, my French bulldog, Martin, was the ring bearer, and my miniature Italian greyhounds, Milan and Paris, were my maids of honor. There were hot-pink roses everywhere, my dad was crying, Mabinty was beaming with happiness and clearly stoned. Robert recited John Mayer’s “Your Body Is a Wonderland” as part of his vows. I sang Seal’s “Kissed by a Rose” as part of mine. Everyone was crying. It was beautiful.
Wait a second, I thought. John Mayer? Roses? I hate singing. Who is this person? What is this wedding fantasy? And then it hit me: I was crossing over to the dark side.
“What are you thinking about?” asked Robert, kissing the top of my head.
“You know . . . just, like, thinking about us.”
“I know. I am too. I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too, Daddy.”
“Ha-ha, what?”
“Nothing. Hey?” I said, looking up into his trusting gaze.
“Hey,” he said, smiling.
“Hey,” I said, smiling back.
“Hey,” he said back to me again.
Do something to show Robert how un-psycho you can be.
“Want me to toss your salad?”
Robert laughed, blissfully unaware that he was in the midst of a living demon.
“Babe, no. I want you. Come here,” he said softly, trying to pull me toward him for a kiss.
“Nooooo, I don’t think so, mister.” I grinned, coyly walking my fingers down his happy trail. “I want to go down south.”
Let me just clarify that I’m a total power bottom when it comes to anal play, and if the tables were turned and it was Robert wanting to toss my salad I totally would have let him, because it’s the best thing ever. But I had zero interest in seeing Robert’s asshole. Being the giver and not the receiver was clearly Babette’s fantasy, not mine.
“You’re joking, right?”
“Shhhh.” I placed a finger over Robert’s lips. “I would never joke about something as intimate as this. Now just lay back and try not to clench.”
He grabbed my shoulders.
“Babe. No thank you.”
“Ugh, FINE! Forget it. Forget everything!” I shouted, getting up from the bed and pulling on my underwear. I turned around to face him. “Are you even attracted to me?”
“What are you talking about?” Robert looked exasperated. “Of course I’m attracted to you. We just made love for two hours.”
“Then why won’t you let me give you this gift?!” I demanded. “This is what future husbands and wives do for each other. Don’t you want to marry me someday?”
As soon as I said that, I saw all the color leave Robert’s face. This had spiraled completely out of control. All I was trying to do was tell him how much I loved him, but no matter how badly I wanted the right words to come out of my mouth, it was impossible to formulate a sentence that wasn’t drenched in crazed desperation.
“I bet you let Michelle toss your salad,” I muttered under my breath.
“What was that?”
“I said, I bet you let Michelle get all up in that ass of yours.”
“Jesus! Babe, this isn’t funny.”
“Oh, I’m not joking. Maybe we should just call Michelle and she can come over here and give you a rim job because you’re clearly still in love with her.”
“I am not in love with Michelle.”
“Well, then are you in love with me? Because I’m in love with you.”
“Babe. I’ve always been in love with you.”
We stared at each other in silence. This would have been the perfect moment to both start laughing and forget about this weird slip-up/fight. But Babette had something else in mind. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join Robert and Babe in holy matrimony—”
“What are you doing?”
“We’re in love, so I’m marrying us. I’m an ordained minister.”
“You are not.”
“I am too. I got my ordination online when I was eighteen so I could officiate Roman’s wedding someday. I married a dog couple at rehab. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me continue without rudely interrupting me.”
The light had disappeared from behind Robert’s eyes, and he now looked as if he was physically in pain. He got up and started getting dressed.
“Babe,” he said, “I know you’ve transitioned into Babette or whatever, but I hope you can hear what I’m saying to you right now. I’ve got to get out of here because I can’t stand seeing you like this. My presence will only make it worse.”
He started hastily packing his suitcase.
“I’ll talk to you soon. Call your shrink. I’ll check in with you tomorrow. I love you, but I can’t stand seeing you this way. It’s too dangerous for both of us. Bye for now, Babe.” He kissed me quickly on the forehead, then was gone.
Side note: From this point on, I will refer to Babette in the third person, as none of the following actions are a true representation of who I am as a human being or who anyone should be.
Babette traipsed barefoot around Chateau in a robe for hours, asking staff and guests if they had seen “her husband.” When she eventually gave up and returned to Robert’s room, she called room service and proceeded to order what can only be referred to as Babette’s Feast.
She ordered twelve liters of Diet Sprite, a bucket of ice, one bottle of Gran Maracame Tequila Platino, six liters of fresh-squeezed lime juice, the charcuterie board, a few of the heirloom tomato salads, and six side orders of mac and cheese, but requested that they be served in wineglasses.
And that was just breakfast. A few hours later, she rang room service again and ordered three of the bacon-wrapped bourbon apples
, a half order of deviled eggs, and seven orders of the basil-soaked radishes, but instead of radishes she asked that they just do basil-soaked basil. She topped it off with two orders of roast chicken and a bin of deep-fried spinach. All of which she inhaled like a starving kidnapee. She was in such an animalistic fit that she barely cut the chicken, she just stabbed them with large steak knives and ate them like Popsicles. Sick, greasy, poultry Popsicles.
Then it was time for a text break.
Babette 4:30PM Hey Rob.
Babette 4:31PM Real dick move leaving me alone in a hotel room.
Babette 4:32PM What if someone tries to rape me? What if I’ve ALREADY been raped? Think about that for a sec.
Babette 4:33PM Are you thinking about it?
Babette 4:36PM Whatever.
Babette 4:40PM It doesn’t even matter.
Babette 4:42PM I’m fine.
Babette 4:45PM Heartbroken but fine.
Babette 4:58PM Devastated but fine.
Babette 5:02PM Do you even care?
Babette 5:24PM What if I had been raped just now but I wasn’t telling u?
Babette 5:30PM jk was def not raped LOL
Babette 5:36PM I have a perfect vagina so I’ll be able to get another bf asap
Babette 5:37PM Go back to fugly Michelle
Babette 5:37PM I’ll bet u call her meesh
Babette 5:38PM gross
Babette 5:45PM I’ll just become a hooker
Babette 5:52PM At rehab, Jeremy Piven offered me 20k to fuck him
Babette 5:53PM I obvs said no
Babette 6:00PM But now I’m going to text him and see if he wants to cum over
Babette 6:08PM See ya
Babette’s texting was interrupted by hotel security, who’d come to ask her to kindly go back to her own (my) room. Once she was back in the penthouse, she decided the only thing that would make her feel better was a movie marathon, so she made the concierge get her a DVD of every Nicholas Sparks movie. She kicked off her night with A Walk to Remember. All the crying made her hungry, so she called room service and placed a dinner order.
“Hi, let me get two orders of nachos with extra beef and extra jalapeños, two orders of your fish and chips with extra of that white sauce, I fucking love that sauce. Actually, can you put some of that sauce on the nachos too? Thanksies. And fifty fried oysters. Can you also go out and grab me a La Scala chopped salad, add cucumber, and include extra dressing and two seeded lemons on the side? You’re the best.”
Babette had finished Message in a Bottle and had made it through The Last Song and most of Nights in Rodanthe when she decided she needed a midnight snack. So she had the concierge send someone to pick her up a double double In-N-Out Burger, and also stop by Bella Pita in Westwood and get her a black bean wowshi with cheese and extra onions, and bread. She also ordered a pepperoni pizza and hit on the seventeen-year-old delivery boy by telling him he looked “stupid and dangerous.”
By the time I woke up the next morning, I felt like myself again, except for the fact that I was wearing a terrycloth robe and clutching a pizza crust, and the DVD menu of Dear John was playing on a never-ending loop. I was also the most bloated I’d ever been in my life, not to mention I’d driven away the only man I’d ever loved, and consumed more than ten thousand calories in twenty-four hours. I was devastated. But worse, Robert was horrified. Even though he said he’d call me, I knew deep down that he was scared out of his mind. And rightly so. We’d had a fucked-up relationship up until this point, but I was starting to believe that I could actually be the one for him. Robert and Babe forever. But Robert and Babe could never be, it would only ever be Robert and Babette. My heart shriveled to the size of a soybean and my life was basically over. What had I become?
seven
A DOBERMAN NAMED LARRY AND A GERMAN SHEPHERD NAMED TARZAN.
When I emerged from my hibernation I felt like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. My life was destroyed. I had no one to love, no place to live, nowhere to be, no place to go, and no one to cry to. Once again I had lost the battle against my psychotic alter ego. Babette had ruined my chances at a happy ending, but I was Babette and Babette was me. Would there ever be a way to separate Jekyll from Hyde?
I grabbed my iPad to check the Daily Mail site and came face-to-face with this:
Nice binge, fatso. I’m gonna have to give you lipo with a knife and a vacuum cleaner.
TTYL
It was written in black lipstick across the screen.
“Noooooooooooo!” I screamed and threw the iPad away from me with such force that it shattered against the wall. A single sob escaped my lips, followed by a much larger one, and before I knew it I’d dissolved into the kind of crying that only comes from feeling completely violated or humiliated. I was alert enough to know that I had to get out of the Chateau as quickly as possible, but I couldn’t catch my breath and my body was trembling out of control. Looking around the suite, I could feel the presence of an intruder. Few sensations are as frightening as realizing you’re not alone when you thought you were. I got dressed, grabbed my purse, and got the fuck out of that hotel. The Chateau Marmont was not safe.
By sunset, all my belongings had been moved back into the guest house, a major security system had been installed, and I’d bought two guard dogs: a Doberman named Larry and a German shepherd named Tarzan. Even though the grounds were “secure,” I was still so shaken by the experience that I spent the next few days moping around like a ghost stuck in purgatory, trying to cross over into the light of the living.
If there was an upside to all of this, it was that it gave me time to try to figure out Babette’s reemergence. I guess I had a pretty serious personality disorder and needed professional help, but not, like, from an astrologer or facialist. There was only one person who’d be able to ease my woes, and that was my old therapist, Susan. The bad news is that Susan had terminated our doctor/patient relationship after a tiny incident (she fell asleep during one of our sessions and I drew a dick and balls on her forehead with a Sharpie in retaliation). One huge gift basket from Joan’s on Third (her weakness) and an apology from me in person got me back where I needed to be: sitting across from Susan in her safari-chic, super Ralph Lauren-y, Santa Monica office.
“I’m a mess,” I sobbed to Susan. “I have no one. Like, I woke up today and checked my phone and didn’t have a single missed call or text.”
“And how did that make you feel?”
“Um, lonely? Obviously.”
“Mmm. Hmm.”
“This isn’t helping as much as I hoped it would.”
“What do you mean?”
“Paying someone to talk about myself. It’s kinda not as fun after so much rehab. Could I be over hearing my own voice? Oh my God, that’s so dark.”
Susan sighed. “I think it’s time you take action, Babe.”
“Action?”
“Create new relationships. Broaden your social circle. Los Angeles has so many different types of people to offer. Explore that.”
Susan had never been more right in her life. It was obvious that I’d simply outgrown my friendships with Gen and Roman in the process of finding myself at rehab. Yes, I would always love (and mostly hate) them, but I was lost, friendless, and in need of a complete reinvention, again. Also the dark fact of the matter was that Robert and I hadn’t spoken since our Babette/salad tossing/Chateau Marmont rendezvous. It had only been a few days, but he hadn’t gotten in touch with me, and I was far too embarrassed to reach out to him, so I figured he was probably over it. It was time to do exactly what Susan suggested and go outside of my comfort zone. As much as I hated trying to make friends, it was time to be open to new relationships. Ugh . . . fine.
I met my first new friend, Téo, one night when I was having dinner with my dad at the Sunset Tower Hotel. I was applying eyeliner in the bathroom when a super famous (but horrible) actress stormed in. I noticed her truly heinous Louboutins before I noticed who she actually was. When we made eye
contact, she screamed “Leave!” in my general direction, covered her face, ran straight into a stall, and started snorting lines of blow. I did leave, but only because coked-out famous people scare the shit out of me. They’re like the cheetahs you see while on safari—beautiful, but deadly if you pull out a camera.
As I walked out of the bathroom, I noticed a cherubic manboy leaning up against the wall, chewing gum and texting. His outfit (leather jacket, baggy-ish jeans, Jordans, baseball cap) said “straight,” but his vibe said “gay.” He shot me an intriguing smile. This was my chance to branch out.
“Isn’t she so rude?” he asked. “She’s like my best friend, but she gets so bossy when she’s high, which is, like, all the time these days.”
“Um, yeah, you might want to go check on her,” I suggested as I walked past.
“Oh my God, you’re Babe Walker.”
“Yeah. I am. How do you know that?”
“What do you mean? You’re huge. I’ve read your book, like, twice.”
“Okay, I’m gonna pretend that you didn’t just call me huge because if you did in fact just call me huge then I’d have to turn around, go back into the bathroom, and vom away my sadness.”
“Oh please, you know what I mean.”
“Kind of . . . Anyway, thanks for reading my book, I guess. Cute hat.”
“You’re funny,” he replied. “We should hang out. Is that hot guy your dad?”
“Um . . . yeah?”
“Cool. I’m Téo.” He nodded toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna check on homegirl and make sure she isn’t choking on her own puke in there. We’re staying in the townhouse suite. Come party with us after dinner?”
“I’ll think about it,” I said as I walked back to the table.
Normally I wouldn’t deign to hang out with some weirdo celeb hanger-on, but I was in an especially vulnerable place, given my recent friend divorces, and in this case I was kind of the celeb who was being hung on to and that made me feel better about myself. So I finished dinner with my dad and up I went.