by Babe Walker
The next morning things were back to normal, and I attributed her freak-out to a mild case of altitude sickness/too much coke. It could happen to anyone. But then a couple weeks later we were both enjoying a dry sauna in the nude and I noticed that she’d copied my nipple piercings.
“When did you get your nipples pierced?” I asked.
“Oh, these?” she said, looking down at her chest. “I’ve had them pierced since I was fourteen, but I don’t wear jewelry. You are just now noticing?”
“I guess it’s just strange because your nipple rings are literally the exact same as mine, which is weird because I had these custom made in Amsterdam.” They were these super chic mini diamond hoops. I can’t remember where Thalia said she’d gotten her nipple rings, but I didn’t think twice about it. A couple nights later, when she Instagrammed a picture of me drinking beer out of a plastic cup, I had no choice but to get stern with her. I thought that would be the last of her weirdness, but I’d thought wrong.
We were trying on outfits one night, deciding what to wear to a dinner party she was throwing, when Thalia insisted that my white Helmut Lang dress (I’d switched from dressing in all black to dressing in all white) was “unflattering and a weird cut,” so I opted for a different, less concept-driven dress. I was downstairs having a drink and chatting up Guillaume and the other guests when Thalia waltzed down the stairs wearing the exact frock she’d criticized thirty minutes earlier. I was obviously not okay with her borrowing a dress I’d never worn before, and even less enthused when everyone started complimenting her on it.
“Thalia, that dress is amazing,” said some girl with weird man shoulders.
“Thank you! Babe gave it to me. Chic, no?” She winked at me.
“Um, no, I definitely didn’t, but it does look pretty great,” I said sarcastically.
“Babe, yes you did. You were going to wear it but took it off because you thought it was unflattering, and then you told me I could have it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I didn’t give you that dress.”
“This is making everyone uncomfortable. If you want it back, just say so and I’ll give it back to you later. Now, please, calm down.”
“Why would I want it back if I never lent it to you in the first place?”
“Babe, you are acting crazy. Do you want some champagne?”
“Thalia . . . forget it. I’m going outside to get some fresh air.”
I stepped out onto the balcony and lit a cigarette. I didn’t get the dress thing at all. Was Thalia mental? Had she had a mini break from reality? I guess it wasn’t that big of a deal. It was just some Helmut Lang dress. It’s not like she’d claimed some hard-to-find vintage item of mine. Plus, she was letting me stay at her dad’s place, so I decided to let the dress thing go and talk to her about it later.
I didn’t say much over dinner. I mostly stuck to drinking glass after glass of champagne while playing footsie with Guillaume’s dick. I guess I ended up getting pretty drunk, because I woke up on a sofa in the living room around 3 a.m. I stumbled upstairs to Thalia’s room and opened the door to find her and Guillaume sleeping together in her bed.
“What the fuck are you guys doing?” I said loudly.
“Oh . . . hi, Babe,” Thalia said casually. “We were just sleeping. If you need an Ambien, they’re in the pillbox on my vanity.”
“Can I talk to you for a sec?” I asked coldly.
She sighed and got out of bed. We walked into the hall.
“What are you doing? You knew I was into Guillaume, why would you sleep with him?”
“Babe, I would have never thought of touching him if I knew you were interested. I am so, so sorry.”
“Obviously I was interested, are you blind?”
Had I been too drunk to realize that Guillaume was flirting with both of us? I mean, he was French . . .
“Babe, it is too late to be fighting. What can I say? I’m sorry. Do you want me to make Guillaume leave?”
“No, it’s fine. Have fun. He smells like shit, P.S., but you know that.” I stormed off.
It wasn’t fine. I needed a safe space to cry, so I went to the closet and crumpled into a ball. What was I even doing in Europe, anyway? I missed LA, I missed the sun, I missed the smog, I missed my dad, and most of all I missed my Range Rover. I was so sick of being driven around everywhere by faceless drivers whose names I could never remember. The next morning I would tell Thalia that I needed to get the fuck away from that chalet. I grabbed the nearest long piece of fabric hanging next to me and wiped away my tears. I almost felt bad, because I got my mascara all over an almost-chic vintage Pucci dress. A Pucci dress that I’d seen before . . . Was it on eBay? No that wasn’t it. Wait a second. Wait two seconds. I suddenly knew exactly where I’d seen that Pucci dress before. I didn’t meet Thalia in Amsterdam. I met her at Gen and Roman’s horrid party that they threw in my honor when I got back from rehab. She was the random girl in Pucci who wouldn’t stop trying to calm me down! Thalia had looked familiar to me, but I’d assumed it was because she was so average looking. But no. I knew this bitch.
Why wouldn’t she have said anything? Where did she come from? Oh my God. She was the stalker. She had to be. Had she coerced me here to Gstaad to kill me and make a skin suit out of my flesh? There was only one way to find out. I went into the bathroom and started rifling through her makeup bag and that’s when I found exactly what I was looking for: black lipstick.
“What are you doing?”
I whipped around. Thalia was standing in the entrance to the bathroom with a weird look on her face.
“You’re the one who’s been after me this entire time.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been following me for months!”
“Babe, no. I’m not. I swear it.”
“Liar. What’s this?” I held up the lipstick. “Where did this come from? No one’s worn this shade since ever.”
“It’s yours! I was just borrowing it.”
“Oh, you were borrowing it? Just like you borrowed my dress?”
“Babe, please let the dress go. I told you, you can have it back if you want.”
“You are literally insane! I’ve never seen this lipstick in my life. Where’s Guillaume? Is he dead? Did you stab him in the head with a Louboutin?”
“You seemed upset, so I made him leave.”
“Why didn’t you tell me we’d met in LA?”
“We met in LA?”
“Don’t play dumb, Thalia.”
“I am not playing dumb. I do so much coke in LA I never know who I’m meeting.” She laughed to herself like the psycho she was. “I love that we have met before. It’s like our souls are cosmically connected.”
“Can you call the driver? I don’t feel safe here anymore.”
“The driver is taking Guillaume home and then going home himself. It’s almost four a.m.”
“Fine. Then I’ll call a car for myself.”
She smiled creepily. “With what phone?”
Fuck! I had no phone. I’d dropped all three of my phones off a chairlift the week before and was waiting for my new phone to arrive in the mail. Thalia was a criminal mastermind. She’d planned this all out. Every detail. My heart was racing. I had no choice but to fight for my life. I pushed past Thalia and ran down the stairs toward the study, locking the door behind me and grabbing a fire poker to use as a weapon if need be. I couldn’t call the police, because I didn’t think 911 would work in Switzerland, so I called the only person on the planet who could get me out of this mess.
“Dad, it’s me. I’m going to say this really fast because this is an emergency. Someone named Thalia Alexandrov is trying to kill me. She’s the one who’s been leaving the notes, she’s stalked me all the way from LA, and now I’m trapped in her house in Gstaad, her huge dog is going to eat my face off, and I have no phone and no way out. Send the police. Send help!
”
Thalia was banging on the door of the study.
“Babe, let me in! Let’s just talk. I don’t want to hurt you. You’re my best friend!” she yelled. Magnus was barking like a wild animal. It was the most terrifying moment of my entire life.
“What in the bloody hell is going on?!” my dad yelled on the other end of the phone. I was so shaken up that I thought I’d been leaving a message. I guess not.
“DAD! I’m going to die if you don’t get me out of here. I’m serious!” I cried.
“Where are you?”
“In Switzerland!”
“Jesus, alright. Hang tight, my darling. Send me an address and help will be on the way.”
Instead of saying bye to him, I simply screamed as loud as I could into the receiver to ensure that my dad understood how dire the situation was. I rifled through the room, throwing anything into my bag that I thought I could use as a weapon. Thalia’s fists still slamming on the locked door, Magnus’s booming barks sending shivers throughout my body. Finally, I heard the sounds of a helicopter approaching the chalet. It got louder and louder until it was basically right on top of us. Then a voice with a heavy Swiss accent shouted over a loudspeaker.
“BABE WALKER. WE ARE HERE FOR BABE WALKER.”
This was my emergency escape moment. I used the fire poker to smash through a massive stained-glass window and leaped out into the snowy night. I fell one story into a snowbank, but my adrenaline was pumping too quickly for me to feel any physical pain. I ran into the trees behind Thalia’s house, staying low to the ground, and zigzagging left and right, lest Thalia try to shoot me with the crossbow I’d seen hanging in the mudroom. It was beyond freezing. My limbs were practically numb, but I was powered by the animalistic need to live long enough to wear Alexander Wang’s first collection at Balenciaga. I would not die like this. Not in Gstaad, of all places.
There was nowhere for the helicopter to land, so they’d thrown down a ladder for me to grab on to while they pulled me on board. It was exhilarating. So nineties, so True Lies. Like, it would have been the most amazing photo op if I’d been wearing that fucking Helmut Lang dress, but whatever, Thalia.
I hoisted myself up into the helicopter and the crew rushed to wrap me in one of those emergency foil blankets. One of the chopper guys was hot. We flew straight to the closest airport, where I was instructed to wait for my dad (who was already en route from LA). Sitting in that little airport, I meticulously recounted every single word that had come out of Thalia’s deceitful mouth. She’d obviously held a grudge against me for being rude to her at Gen’s welcome-home party and stalked me all over LA and most of Europe because of it. I vowed to have Thalia arrested for bitchery, thievery, and stalkery. Some girls are such fucking psychos.
When my dad’s plane arrived, we hugged for five minutes straight and immediately boarded another plane to London.
“Get me the fuck out of here,” I said quietly to myself once we were wheels up.
I was finally safe.
thirteen
IT’S FINE, DAD.
“Welcome home, guys! You’re just in time for warm roasted chestnuts!” shouted Lizbeth (my dad’s girlfriend) as we walked through the door of my late grandmother’s Chelsea duplex with all of my luggage. It was really nice to be in a familiar place after nearly being murdered. I feature a long, drawn-out, life-threatening travel moment, followed by a triumphant return to the familiar.
This was one of my favorite places to be, and other than our house in Bel Air, it was the place I’d spent the most time growing up. The home belonged to my father’s mother, Rose. I’d always called her Tai Tai because she thought the word grandmother was an ageist slur, which I completely respected. Her Chelsea duplex sat on the top two floors of a beautiful, terraced pre-war. The view of the river from the top terrace has always been one of my favorites in the whole city. It was on this terrace that I had my first kiss (age eleven), had my first glass of champagne (age six), read my first Paris Vogue (age four), had my first period (age sixteen), and my first experience smoking dust (age seventeen, with Elizabeth Taylor).
As I walked through the entryway, an overwhelming sense of relief washed over me. I had been the victim of a deranged stalker for months. But now I was safe, or at least I felt safe. I could only hope that Thalia would give up on her obsession with me after seeing what lengths my father will go to in order to save my life. The Walkers are not to be fucked with.
Tai Tai’s taste in interior design was the perfect blend of modern decor, mixed with a nod to old world chicness. Think antiques, Paul Smith rugs, mod furniture, Hermès china, and tons of taxidermy. It was weird to be back, considering the last time I’d been here was the last time I’d seen Tai Tai alive. After finding out she had rare bone cancer, she’d decided to take her future into her own hands and wore a zebra coat on safari in Africa. She was mauled and killed by a lion. It was dark. But ultimately light, because her lessons, such as “Never trust a man with a ponytail,” will stay with me forever.
“Hello, love,” my father said as he kissed Lizbeth’s forehead.
“Hey, Liz. How are you? Merry Christmas?” I offered.
“Babe, I’m so happy you’re okay,” Lizbeth practically shouted, hugging me tightly. “I had a stalker in high school and then another one in college and then another one in grad school, so I know how you’re feeling. That being said, for someone who’s just been to hell and back, you look gorge. What supplements are you taking? You’re glowing.”
“Thanks. You look nice too,” I replied on autopilot, checking out my hair in the hallway mirror.
Normally I loathe the women my dad sees, but I’ve come to be very conflicted over Lizbeth. The thing about her is that she’s an overwhelmingly positive person, which makes her hard to hate. I know I’m supposed to be vehemently opposed to her perma-sunny disposition and everything it represents, but deep down I kind of respect her. Also, she would never blow smoke up anyone’s ass, so I knew I must have actually looked good.
“Can I get either of you anything to eat or drink? I just went to the store and got some yummy stuff.”
“Scotch neat, love,” said my dad.
“Coming right up. Babe? Anything for you?”
“Nap time.”
When I got to my room, I dropped my bag on the floor and collapsed on the bed. All I wanted was three days of solid, Valium-induced sleep, followed by a four-hour mani/pedi/massage, followed by a five-hour cleansing facial situation. But it just wasn’t in the cards for me. After just three short hours my dad interrupted my restorative slumber and told me that I was needed in the kitchen and that he had great news. Rude.
I slowly got up, threw away all of the clothes I was wearing because they smelled like helicopter, showered, blow-dried my hair, put some makeup on, and walked out into the living room. The smell of roast chicken and potatoes was coming from the kitchen. My dad wasn’t much of a cook—actually he never cooked, except for one dish: roast chicken, with whole-grain-mustard fingerling potatoes. He used to make it for Tai Tai and me. Of course, we only ever ate five ounces of breast, no skin, no potatoes, but it’s always been one of those comfort foods that makes me feel at peace.
My dad popped his head out of the kitchen.
“Babe, darling. You’re up. Come join. Can I fix you a drink? I think you’ll be delighted to see who’s stopped by to say hello,” my father said.
Oh, great. What now? I took a quick self-survey: How was my skin? Fine. How was my hair? Seven out of ten. Was I wearing a bra? No.
The surprise guests were George and Maggie Dean, my dad’s childhood bff and his wife. They still lived in London, but I hadn’t seen them in years. They were also the parents of Charlie Dean, the first boy I’d ever kissed. The very same Charlie who’d turned up in my dad’s kitchen in LA, looking incredibly handsome, the morning after I got home from rehab. George and Maggie were very nice, if a bit boring and pompous, but they certainly weren’t the kind of snoozefests who’d make me
want to leave my own home. I was safe. Or so I thought.
“Barbara, such a pleasure to see you, dear,” said Maggie.
“I think she goes by Babe now,” George chimed in.
“It’s whatever. Hi, Deans. How are you both? It really has been forever.”
“We’re pretty much the same, love. Although George is retired, so we’ve been traveling quite a bit.”
“Love that. I’ve been traveling myself, actually. I randomly hung out with my absentee lesbian mom in Paris before hooking up with this super sexy, albeit dishonest, Greek man who took me to Mykonos and stole all of my earthly possessions. Then I wandered around Amsterdam for a minute getting high and talking to prostitutes. It was really great for my soul, you know? Then I ran into this psycho at my hotel who basically forced me to go to Gstaad and then tricked me into being her slave, for like, months. Dad had to send Trump’s helicopter to rescue me. And now I’m here!” I smiled.
“Well, doesn’t that sound like fun!” exclaimed Maggie. “Regardless, you’re even more beautiful than Charlie said you’d be.”
“Charlie said I was beautiful?”
“Well, of course he did, Babe. He’s always held a bit of a candle for you.”
“That’s so sweet of him. Please give him my best when you see him next.”
“Well, you can tell him yourself, he’s just in the loo, darling,” said my father.
“Oh God. Please no,” I whispered to myself.
“Babe?” I heard a voice say from behind me.
As I turned toward the voice, this thought raced through my head: I look awful, I feel exhausted, and I can’t compete with your “actress” girlfriend or whatever she is at this particular juncture.
I turned around to find a tall-ish, handsome Charlie, looking better than ever. He was wearing a Barbour jacket over what looked like a navy Loro Piana cashmere sweater, khakis, and all-black Stan Smith Adidas.
“Hello,” I replied awkwardly.