The Brenda Diaries

by Margo Candela

  Wednesday, July 6:

  Ivan found out I was at loose ends for the week so he’s paying me to be his assistant. We’re working on fixing up an empty apartment to get it in shape to rent out. The place is trashed so before we can paint it we have to clean up, patch holes, replace doorknobs and missing cabinet pulls, and tidy up all sort of odds and ends.

  Ivan says the people who used to live here are fighting to get their security deposit back, but Mr. Papadakis is refusing. Good for him and good for me since that’s where my pay is going to come from.

  Thursday, July 7:

  I fixed my very first leaky faucet today. I also heard from Jared and Cal within minutes of each other, but didn’t call either of them back. Maya says I’m playing hard to get, but she didn’t ask who it is I’m trying to get. I guess it’s pretty obvious that I have no idea.

  Friday, July 8:

  Summer is going on maternity leave so I have to make nice with her replacement, Amy. I wash out paint brushes the way Ivan taught me and when I’m done I go out on the small balcony to call her.

  “This is Amy.” She has a deep voice.

  “Hi, Amy. This is Brenda. I’m calling because—”

  “I know why you’re calling and I’m going to tell you the same thing I told the person who called right before you: there’s nothing,” Amy barks.

  “I’d like to put myself on the open call list.” This is the last resort for a temp. It means you’re willing to take anything, anywhere with just enough notice to get yourself over to the assignment. “Starting on Monday.”

  “Fine. Keep your phone on. I only call once. You snooze, you lose, girly.” She hangs up on me.

  I’m positive that Amy is a cow and she isn’t going to put me on the top of her crap list for crap assignments—not when she has her own roster of temps to keep happy. Usually, I give a person the benefit of the doubt, but in Amy’s case there’s no doubt about it—I hate her. That “girly” was totally unnecessary and aggressive.

  Saturday, July 9:

  Drove Maya to the airport. She’s going to go stay at her dad and stepmom’s place in Chicago. She invited me to come along, but I don’t like her dad. He’s kind of pervy.

  Sunday, July 10:

  Not only did I NOT win any money at bingo, I’m in the hole for $85 to my grandma. She’ll make me pay, too. Lucky for me, I’ve lined up something for this week. It’s strictly retail, but it’s under the table. The sooner I pay my grandma back, the safer my knees and shins will be from her walker.

  Monday, July 11:

  I’ve had more jobs than boyfriends which makes me a job slut. And, as a slut, my standards are sometimes not the highest. This is why I’ve wound up at the Century City Shopping Center, an open air mall, covering for my friend Jerri while she’s on vacation in Belize. Jerri is a good friend, the kind who will loan you her last dollar so you can get a venti instead of a grande at Starbucks.

  Jerri works at one of those stand alone carts that sit outside stores and sell all manner of random crap. Where else can you get weight loss tea or printed cotton wraps you can supposedly wear a hundred different ways? Yes, I am a kiosk gypsy. And guess what? People hate kiosk gypsies.

  I sit on an uncomfortable bar stool and try not look desperate when someone approaches. Jerri’s boss, Demetric (who could be Armie’s first cousin), has made it very clear that I need to sell at least $500 worth of designer-inspired sunglasses.

  A woman with a dog prances by. I turn on the wattage. “Hi! We have a great deal on sunglasses today! I have the perfect pair for you!”

  She and her dog give me a dirty look and keep walking. Bitches. Both of them. I check the register balance. In the last four hours I’ve sold $187 worth of crap, which means to Demetric that I’m $313 short. He told me as much when he called to check up on me a few minutes ago.

  Here’s how he explained the job to me. “The trick is to get one person browsing and others will come because people are like sheep, they like to stick together. You hand them sunglasses and shoot off compliments until they buy something just to shut you up. Mention that you’re a student. People feel sorry for students.”

  I scan the crowd. Jackpot! Tourists! I can tell from the way they’re dressed—dumpy T-shirts, ill fitting cargo pants, and sensible missionary sneakers. Even better, none of them are wearing sunglasses. Easy pickings.

  I hop off the stool and step out a few feet from the cart to intercept them. “Hi! Do you guys want to try on some sunglasses? We’re having an amazing sale today on some of our most popular styles.”

  “Uh….” The larger woman wearing a Disneyland visor, too polite to ignore me, comes to a stop. “Sure. How much?”

  I hand her a pair with a chunky white frame that go with her visor and off-white pants. “These are just like Chanel, but without the Chanel price.”

  “They are pretty.” The woman tries them on while the rest of her family shifts from side to side. “I like the rhinestones.”

  I grab a pair of sporty wraparounds and hand them to the teenage boy (purple camouflage t-shirt with black cargos and, yes, white socks pulled up high and tight around his beefy calves).

  “These are great for sports and stuff. They won’t fall off your face. If you get both, I can give you a great deal.”

  Truth is, there is no deal. In the end, even if I say I’m knocking off $10, everyone is still paying four times the wholesale price. I sell four pairs, bringing up my total sales to $245.

  I look up when I get a waft of cologne and see Demetric. He’s dressed as if he’s going to a disco party. Sneaky rat was probably spying on me from inside Brookstone when he called.

  “Hi,” is all I manage to get out before he shoulders me aside and starts counting out the register.

  His thick, black eyebrows draw together and his face unsmiling. “How much?”

  “What? Oh, 245. I just sold four pair, but I’m sure you already know that.”

  “You’re short.” Dimetric pulls out his ringing cell phone and barks something in Russian. “It’s coming out of your pay.”

  “I’m counting it again. Move.” I push him aside, a little surprised that he moves, and start counting. He’s right—it’s short the cost of a venti quad latte. “Okay. Fine.”

  I grab a pair of sunglasses and I plant myself in the middle of the walkway.

  “What are you doing?” he asks as he settles down on the bar stool to watch.

  “I’m going to sell the fuck out of these sunglasses.” And because I don’t have much of a choice, I do.

  Tuesday, July 12:

  Watching the security guys bust a shoplifter is a lot more exciting and satisfying than I thought it would be. Not in a Romans watching lions tear into Christians kind way, but pretty close. From all the stuff they’re pulling out of her bag, she’s been busy making the rounds. I can’t really feel bad for her, even though she’s crying, because someone snagged a pair of sunglasses while I wasn’t looking and now I have to pay for them. Maybe it was her?

  Wednesday, July 13:

  Today sucked. I lost my car in the baffling underground parking lot not once, but twice. My key broke in my apartment lock and, with Ivan not around, I had to pay $100 for a locksmith to come out. Worse, Dimetric offered me Jerri’s job. Even worse, I actually thought about taking him up on it before I turned him down. Though, I did say I’d be happy to cover the cart when he needed extra help.

  Thursday, July 14:

  I swear I’m not a superstitious person, but lately my life has taken a turn for the suck. And, yes, I’m aware some of what’s happened (like the mixing of DayQuil and fruity alcoholic cocktails at Jared’s ex-girlfriend’s engagement party) was mostly my fault. Mostly, but not all.

  For instance, how is it my fault that Maya fell in love with yet another married sleaze who dumped her for his wife, which then made her take off back to Chicago to stay with her dad and his (third) wife? Or that the gal at my temp agency has gone off to have (another) baby so now I’m stuck w
ith a cow who hates me and has blacklisted me?

  And, going back to Jared, he’s still freezing me out, but must have forgotten that my favorite thing in the world is to wear sweaters so I’m not sweating being exiled into relationship Siberia. I said I was sorry. I gave him the damn porkpie hat he was wearing in that picture of him with his arm around the booby blonde and I deleted it from my phone so I couldn’t unleash it on him during a future fight.

  Even my one piece of good luck comes with contingencies. While I appreciate the work and don’t really resent Jerri for taking a vacation that I can’t go on, it does kind of burn my biscuits that my first day’s earnings went to my grandma who called me every hour until I paid back my bingo debt.

  I usually don’t freak out when I see a black cat, but until this phase of bad luck passes I’m going to be extra careful when crossing the street, passing by any ladders and handling mirrors.

  Friday, July 15:

  I stop polishing sunglasses, a cold chill racing down my spine. I stand very still, thinking the animal part of my brain has sensed an impending earthquake. Nothing moves. Then I see Cal sauntering over to me. He’s with a girl who looks like Lindsay Lohan on one of her very bad days. Things go a little sideways, but I manage to not fall on my face.

  “Brenda? How random is this! What are you doing here?” He’s holding her shopping bags.

  “Hey.” I step away from the cart even though they must know what I’m doing standing so near it. Cal swoops in for a hug, squeezing hard enough to my breath whooshes out of me. I look over at the girl he’s with. She’s frantically texting on her cell phone. “What’s up?”

  “You hear about Theo?” Cal asks. He’s the one who texted me the news. “I knew he was on something. The law office is paying for his rehab at that swank place in Malibu. What’s it called?”

  “Promises,” wannabe Lindsay says without looking up from her phone.

  “Yeah, that place. Man, crazy shit. I should become a lawyer. Crazy.” Cal reaches for a pair of women’s Gucci inspired sunglasses that a Vegas hooker would consider tacky. “What do you think?”

  “You don’t want to know,” I say.

  His girl friend/girlfriend leans in and whispers something into his ear. Then she flips her hair and looks away from me. He hands me the sunglasses, our hands touching for a second. She walks away, expecting him to follow like an obedient dog.

  “So, I’ll see you later,” he says hurrying after her.

  “Sure. Bye.”

  He turns around and waves. She frowns and tugs him away. I stand there, a grade-A loser holding a pair of tacky sunglasses that look almost exactly like the pair she is wearing, but hers are real.

  Saturday, July 16:

  I hate to admit this, but with Maya gone I’ve lost my moral compass. If she was here, I could look at her and ask myself “What would Maya do?” then I’d know the right thing is to do the opposite of what she would do. This is why I know agreeing to go on date date with Cal is a bad idea. Whatever. I’ll just keep channeling Maya and worry about the consequences tomorrow—or sometime next week. It’s not like I don’t have the free time for it.

  Sunday, July 17:

  Last night, which ended just a couple of hours ago, was a fun disaster. So fun that when Jared called and asked if I wanted to go out to brunch, I said yes.

  “How have you been?” he asks. I don’t have to ask about him, he looks miserable. This makes me happy.

  “Fine.” I don’t hold back my yawn. “Sorry. Late night.”

  “You went out?” Jared is genuinely shocked.

  I’m not surprised he thinks that my life came to a standstill after our last conversation when he said he wasn’t sure we were right for each other.

  “A little bit.” Another yawn. This one is fake, but I do a pretty good job at it.

  “Where’d you go?” What he really wants to know is who I went with.

  “Some club. Very loud and obnoxious. Maya would have loved it.”

  She also would have loved watching me dance like a maniac after I had a drink of this, another of that, and some of what Cal offered me in pill form. The combination of the three made me forget that Cal’s girl friend might be his girlfriend, that I still might have a boyfriend and that I don’t have a job to go to on Monday.

  “Are you mad at me?” he asks.

  “Nope.” I’m not. I was annoyed that he was mad at me, but I deserved it for the scene at his ex-girlfriend’s engagement party. “I never really was. You were mad at me. Remember? I have a photo to prove it.”

  “Yeah, about that. Nothing happened. She was just a friend of a friend. I’m sorry. It was really douchy of me to do that.”

  I smile at Jared, my chest filling with a warm feeling. “Whatever. All good.”

  “Really?” He looks so relieved, I could kiss him. But I don’t. I did plenty of kissing (and other stuff) in front of people last night.

  “So what have you been doing?” It’s comfortable and safe with Jared and exactly what I need after a night of the opposite with Cal.

  “I’m taking a couple of classes at UCLA, working on my script...and thinking about us. You.”

  “That’s nice,” I say. And it really is.

  Monday, July 18:

  I’m opening up a package of generic toothbrushes to scrub the bathroom tile grout when my phone rings. I drop everything and run to it as if I’m in a sun dappled field of wild flowers and my handsome lover is galloping toward me on a white horse while syrupy orchestra music swells in the background.

  “Hello? Hello? Amy?” It’s well after 9 in the morning and this is usually the time a place will call in looking for someone to cover a reception desk. I haven’t showered but I can be ready and out of here in 15 minutes.

  “Brenda? It’s me.”

  “Oh, hey.” I’m not sure who me is, but his voice is familiar. I look at my phone, but all it says is Private Caller. No help there. “So, um, you. What’s up?”

  “You don’t know who this is, do you? It’s Wyatt.”

  “You’re voice has gotten deeper. Congratulations.” His mom sent me his summer reading list which I doubt he’s gotten around to. “Are you calling to discuss The Sound and the Fury?”

  “What?” Now he has no idea. “No, um…. My parents are going out of town tomorrow for a week. France.”

  “Lucky them.” I doubt they’ll leave him on his own. I sure wouldn’t. He could throw some great parties at their house. “Remember to take The Sound and the Fury with you.”

  “I’m not going. France blows. They don’t trust me to not wreck the place so I need someone to supervise me. Will you do it?”

  “Huh?” I’ve been a babysitter, housesitter, dogsitter, catsitter even an officesitter, but I’ve never been a teenagersitter. “You mean stay there while your parents are out of town? With you?”

  “Yeah. You won’t have clean—we have someone to do that—and we can just order food or go out to eat. You might have to drive me places if my friends can’t pick me up.” Wyatt didn’t pass his driver’s ed class, which is something we’ll be working on once September rolls around. “I won’t try anything rapey, if that’s what you’re worried about. The guest room has a lock. I won’t give you a hard time, either. And they’ll pay you.”

  “Um….” I think about what I have going on, which isn’t much of anything. Temp jobs have dried up, Jared and I are being weird to each other, Cal wants to be weird on and in me, and I have no idea when or if Maya will come back from Chicago. “You know, I think it’s something I can do.”

  “Really?” His voice cracks. “That’s awesome. Thanks, Brenda. Let me get my mom. Don’t hang up!”

  “I won’t.” For a second I know what it would be like if I had a brother and it’s not an entirely bad feeling.

  Tuesday, July 19:

  I’m officially in charge. I’ve been left with the keys to the house, garage, liquor cabinet, family Volvo, a credit card, an envelope of cash, the security system cod
e, emergency contact numbers and instructions to say good-bye to Wyatt. He was asleep when they left.

  Now all I have to do is call Jared and let him know I’ll be spending the next few days in Pacific Palisades with a teenage boy. He’s bound to be thrilled.

  I wander outside to the pool to make the call. He answers on the second ring. “Hey, babe. Did you get an assignment?”

  “Sort of. You know the kid I tutor?” I’ll admit that I’ve scripted out how this is going to go to minimize any weirdness. As long as Jared doesn’t stray off script, this will be fine.

  “The Void.” He sounds distracted. I probably caught him right in the middle of revising his screenplay. He does that a lot.

  “Yeah, Wyatt. Anyway, his parents are out of town and I’m housesitting for them.”

  “Do they have a pool?” he asks. I can imagine he’s already packing his swim trunks and goggles.

  “As a matter of fact they do. So I’m going to be here until Sunday keeping an eye on things and him.”

  “Who’s him?” I have his full attention now. “The Void? You’re babysitting him?”

  Jared has no reason to suspect I have any interest in cheating on him. That whatever thing with Cal is just intense flirting and flirting isn’t cheating. Much.

  “Wyatt. He’s a nice kid. I can’t have any overnight guests, but maybe you can come over tomorrow or Friday? To hang out and meet him.”

  “I’m kind of busy this week. But call me. Call me a lot.” One thing we talked about was that I needed my space and Jared’s giving it to me. Nice.

  “I will.” And now I have to pony up with something that Jared said he wants from me. “I’ll, uh, miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you to. Call me later.”

  I turn around and watch as Wyatt shuffles into the kitchen, yawing. When he sees me, he gives me a happy wave then looks down at his saggy boxer shorts and sprints back to his bedroom. Jared has no reason to worry that anything is going to happen. Even if Wyatt does have a puppy dog crush on me (I flatter myself thinking that he does), I’m not interested in educating him in the ways of women and love. At least not for what his parents are paying me.