The Brenda Diaries

by Margo Candela

  “Brenda?” Theo calls from his office. “Can you come in here?”

  My lip curls at the sound of his voice and I keep it that way as I walk in. I’m really tapping into my snotty teenage self today. “What.”

  “There’s some, uh, filing I need you to do. Sorting and filing.” He points to a stack of case boxes in the corner.

  “Fine.” I start to drag a short stack of the boxes toward my desk.

  “Wait.” He stands up so quickly he knocks his cell phone off his desk. “You can do it in here.”

  “I’d rather not.” I bend over and pick up a box to carry out even though it means I’ll have to make a few trips, but it gives him a prime view of my butt.

  Tuesday, August 30:

  I fasted all day to prepare myself for the horror of bathing suit shopping. Unfortunately for me, suits are all shopped out. Managed to cobble together a couple of options that may really highlight my pasty skin. Even if I try my hardest between now and Saturday morning, I doubt most of my bikini issues will be resolved. Still, I’m picking up a giant bottle of self tanner at the drugstore and have told Maya to warm up a vat of wax.

  Wednesday, August 31:

  Jerri’s having a dinner party tonight. She’s preparing seitan four different ways. Hate to admit that Maya might be right; that seitan just one way is more than enough seitan for any one person.

  We’re stopping at In-N-Out Burger for double cheeseburgers before we get there and I’m packing plenty of mints and gum because I don’t want to break Jerri’s hippie heart.

  Thursday, September 1:

  Jared is beyond excited that we’re taking our first “vacation” together. When he started joking about us popping into a 24-hour wedding chapel, I pretended that my cell phone was cutting in and out and hung up on him.

  Friday, September 2:

  Theo is working my last nerve, but as I need something from him (the day off on Monday), I can’t be out-and-out rude to him.

  “Brenda? Can you come in here for a second?” This is the third time in an hour Theo has called me into his office. “Please.”

  I grab a pen and pad hoping he just wants to give me his lunch order. It’s very specific, things must be steamed or dry roasted and any sauces or dressings have to come on the side.

  “Have a seat,” he says as he stands up. He looks out toward the door and I just know he’s going to say something excruciatingly embarrassing. “Brenda—”

  “There’s this place that does a great vegan salad. It’s so good, it doesn’t taste vegan. I can ask them to put the dressing on the side.” I talk very fast and manage to stun him into temporary silence. “I’ll have to go pick it up—they don’t deliver.”

  “That sounds fine.” He regroups, leans forward and puts an earnest look on his face.

  “Rehab really cleared up a lot of things for me and I realized I can’t fall back on my drive to be successful, to always win, to have the best of and be the best at everything. Despite all of my accomplishments and wealth, my life is essentially empty, devoid of any real human connection.”

  I’m not sure if any of this is positive or negative for a person like Theo. Probably both. “Well, you can’t have everything. Right?”

  “Exactly.” Theo looks at me, not blinking which makes me blink twice as much. “Brenda. The one thing that kept me going was thinking about how you’re the only person who has ever been honest with me. I want to apologize for how I treated you in the past.”

  I set the pen and pad on his desk. “You don’t need to apologize. I mean, you do and you should, but I’d rather you didn’t. If you feel compelled, send me Edible Arrangement.”

  Theo looks like a puppy who’s made a puddle on the rug and is relieved that he’s not going to get smacked with a rolled up newspaper. “Thanks, Brenda.”

  “You’re welcome.” I grab my pen and stand up. “Oh, and I’ll be in Vegas on Monday so I’ll see you sometime after 10 on Tuesday.”

  Relationship Analytics

  September 3 to September 30

  Saturday, September 3:

  Las Vegas. The city where women wear leggings as pants and men can be judged by the hairiness of their visible butt cracks.

  “It’s so freaking hot.” Maya fans herself with her airport purchased copy of Cosmo. “Why is it so freaking hot?”

  “Well, it’s August. And this is the desert.” I’m wearing sunscreen, a hat, a long sleeve shirt and a knee-length skirt with flat, T-strap leather sandals. It’s my modified Out of Africa look and, yes, my heart went pitter pat when Jared guessed it as soon as he saw me. “What did you expect?”

  Maya ignores me to check her phone. Armie has been calling or texting on a regular basis, but this is as close as he’s going to be coming to Vegas. Maya’s trying to play it off like she doesn’t care her married boyfriend is going to miss her 25th birthday, but by the looks of the slut-tastic array of skimpy outfits she’s packed, she intends to make the most of the weekend away from her man. I’ll have to pack an extra pair of panties for her in my purse when we go out. Maybe two.

  “There’s Jared.” He was volunteered by me to go fetch the rental car and was very happy to do so. Jared, I’ve learned, loves to feel useful but it actually takes more effort on my part to figure out how to keep him busy.

  “So what’s up with the two of you?” Maya asks. “Am I going to get to wear the hot maid-of-honor corset I packed?”

  “There won’t be a drunken midnight wedding this weekend,” I tell her. “I’m sure you can wear your whorish corset to the hotel buffet and fit right in.”

  “Whatever, Brenda.” Maya gives me a bitchy look. “Make sure you’re sure Jared is the guy you want to be with because otherwise you’re just leading him on.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Maya.”

  But I do. I’ve cooled things off with Cal, for now, but I’m not fooling myself. We’re not done with whatever it is we’re doing and, as dumb as this might sound, I really hope Jared doesn’t get hurt.

  “Put your happy face on, Brenda,” she says. “Here comes your boyfriend.”

  Jared pulls up to the curb and pops the trunk. Without a backward glance, Maya climbs into the back seat and leaves me to deal with the luggage.

  Sunday, September 4:

  Morning after Maya’s birthday celebration, which she insisted on celebrating by flashing her boobs in each of the 25 bars and clubs we went to. Jared and I stopped taking pictures of her after the third bar.

  Monday, September 5:

  Things I did in Vegas:

  1. Got locked out of my hotel room and then realized I was on the wrong floor. So technically this one is: Got off on the wrong floor and tried to get into a hotel room that a couple from Des Moines was occupying it.

  2. Sang karaoke duet completely sober, but pretended I was drunk because no one should ever sing “My Heart Will Go On” unless fully smashed.

  3. Wore leggings as pants, but only because Maya spilled her drink on my one pair of jeans.

  4. Talked Jared out of getting a tattoo after he told me he wanted a Harvard “H” on his bicep. I would have kept my mouth shut if it had been anything else. Well, almost anything.

  Things I avoided in Vegas:

  1. Sunburn, but only by waking up at the crack of dawn to claim a spot under an umbrella at the pool.

  2. Losing any money, but only because I couldn’t bring myself gamble with my hard earned money. Jared’s was a whole other story—he gets his from his parents.

  3. Food poisoning, but only by staying away from shrimp and crab claw pyramids at the buffet.

  4. Getting married, but only because Jared never suggested it while he was sober.

  Tuesday, September 6:

  Despite being a little tired and cranky, I was in by 10:30 this morning, but Theo is out for the rest of the week. While I appreciate him not cancelling my booking, we both know this is it for us. He said he was sorry and we both know it wouldn’t be the last time he’d h
ave to apologize for being himself. Can’t say it was nice while it lasted, but as far as rude lawyers go, Theo was…pretty bad.

  I still fully expect him to send me an Edible Arrangement, though.

  Wednesday, September 7:

  I’m meeting Cal for dinner. Nothing fancy or romantic, it’s more of a continuation of my work day of trying to find things to do to keep me busy. It’s his birthday and he’s broken up, officially, with that girl was he was seeing. He’s feeling kind of blue and needs some company so there’s nothing to worry about. Just two friends getting together to bitch about stuff and being that I haven’t any work to do with Theo out of the office, I have plenty of complaints.

  Thursday, September 8:

  You know that feeling you get when you know something just isn’t right, but have no idea what it is? In my case, I know exactly what's not right and it's me.

  Sitting outside Theo's empty office has given me plenty of time to think about what a bad girlfriend I am to Jared who is a pretty decent boyfriend (even if he does have his faults). What I know now is that Jared would have to do some pretty rank crap to come even with what I did and almost did last night with Cal.

  I treated him to a birthday dinner, he paid for the drinks and a few hours later we wound up at his apartment. On his couch. Making out. But only because he was blubbering about the girl who broke his heart and I wanted to shut him up.

  As things progressed, I needed to slow it all down so I asked him what it was she was going to give him for his birthday. (I gave Jared a gift card to Best Buy.) Cal said what she'd promised him was her cactus flower and now what really wanted was mine. And he wasn't joking.

  I'm no prude (well, maybe I am), but having a guy you're just fooling around with and know you shouldn't be fooling around with asking for the ultimate gift that should only be given under very special circumstances just proves a birthday dinner doesn't count for much of a gift these days.

  Plus, no gal likes being runner-up to the first place cactus flower who had the brains to get herself and her butt out of there before you. And, double plus, the only person who should be asking for my cactus flower is Jared because he's my boyfriend.

  Cal had the balls to be annoyed with me when I told him that wasn't going to happen, but a Best Buy gift card was totally doable. He started whining about me leading him on even though we both knew it wasn't anywhere in the vicinity of my butt. I told him to grow up and I went home. Now I'm annoyed that he hasn't texted to apologize for being such a jerk.

  But really, it's me who is the jerk. But at least I have (most of) my dignity and my cactus flower. Not that anyone cares.

  I care. I care a whole lot.

  Friday, September 9:

  My last day as an imposter elevator attendant turned out to be my most profitable. I set my empty Starbucks cup on my bar stool between a lobby to top floor run and when I turned around, there was five bills in it. Four singles and a fiver! By the end of the day I’d cleared $37, ten of which I had to give to the fat security guard who had been nice about me running the elevator until he realized money was involved. If my temp dreams don’t pan out, I just might have a career in being a rouge elevator operator.

  Saturday, September 10:

  I sit across from Jared at Johnny Rockets, my choice, just waiting for him to blurt out valid accusations that I’ve been cheating on him. Instead he yammers on and on about why UCLA’s film program is better than UCS’s and this is the only reason he agreed to be wait-listed for UCLA’s spring semester instead of starting last week at USC, where he was also accepted.

  “Anyway, it gives me more time to work on my script and do another internship.” He reaches over and grabs one of my fries. “Then I can focus on getting through the program as quickly as possible.”

  I nod in all the right places, but my mind is firmly on what happened between me and Cal. Jared would never suggest anything like that even though, as my boyfriend, he probably would get the answer he wanted. Of course, he’d phrase it so it’d all be on me and he’d just be a happy passenger on the way to A-town.

  “Dad was hoping I’d go back up north, but he knows that I need to be in L.A. to pursue my career.” Jared smiles at me adjusting the brim of his brand new UCLA baseball cap. “Oh, my mom says hi.”

  “Did you ever consider moving back?” I ask. Spending the day with Jared to prove to both of us that I’m a great girlfriend who is worthy of his trust, companionship and foot rubs has been exhausting.

  “No. I have school and you. Why would I?” Jared looks genuinely perplexed. As far as he knows, everything is going more than right for him…and us. “Maya texted me.”

  “She did? Why?” Maya would never rat me out. Not when I have to cover for her with her parents about Armie. They’re in some sort of competition to come off as caring about what their daughter is doing with her life. So far they both suck at it. “I mean, really?”

  “She wants to know if you’re mad at her. Are you? I can never tell.” Jared filches another fry off my plate. He ordered onion rings and has yet to touch them.

  “No. Of course not.” Not that she would be able to tell. “She’s just being weird because her married boyfriend has been too busy to pay attention to her. He’s probably smuggling human cargo into Turkey from some poor Slavic country or maybe just counterfeit DVDs”

  “You think so?” Jared asks eyes wide. He reaches for another fry.

  “Here, you can have them.” I push my plate toward him. “I’m not hungry.”

  “You’re the best girlfriend ever, Brenda.” He gives me a big happy smile and piles the fries on top of his onion rings.

  I look away from Jared’s open and honest face, trying to ignore the stab of guilt in my heart and butt.

  Sunday, September 11:

  I open the door to my apartment knowing that Maya is there and she’s going to want to talk. Imagine my disappointment when I find her sound asleep, rolled up in blankets. I stand over her, watching her eyeballs twitch back and forth under her pink eyelids. She’s dreaming and, from the slight smile on her face, it’s a good one.

  If she were awake she’d be firmly on the side of never telling Jared about Cal. She manages the men in her life by keeping them largely in the dark and manipulating them into thinking that she is the person they want her to be. She once told me that there’s nothing a man fears more than dealing with an honest woman. But then she’d point out that Jared isn’t just another man, he’s a good person and a great boyfriend, and that what I did was really crappy. Both to him and to me.

  I tiptoe into my bedroom, change my clothes and shoes and tiptoe back outside, cringing when the lock closes with what sounds like a thunderous click. I scan around for Ivan and, not seeing him, I make a break for my car.

  I pull out of the carport and park a block away. For a second I think about just sitting here for the next eight hours, but I can’t stand the thought of being alone with myself for that long. I grab my cell and dial Dimetric. If I’m going to be an emotional pariah, I might as well try to sell cheap designer sunglasses to people who won’t look me in the eye.

  Monday, September 12:

  I talked a woman from Nebraska out of a hideous pair of Fendi knockoffs. Unfortunately, she didn’t take to my suggestion of almost Ray-Ban Wayfarers. She left bare-eyed and I didn’t make a sale. Just goes to prove that good deeds do get punished.

  Tuesday, September 13:

  Wyatt has an essay due on The Crucible next week and I’m annoyed that I have to tell him that watching the movie starring Daniel Day-Lewis and Winona Ryder is not the same thing as reading the book even though Arthur Miller adapted his own work into the screenplay.

  “Fine, I’ll read it,” he says with a shrug. “My parents are splitting up.”

  “Let’s go sit by the pool.” I grab our books and head outside.

  “Whatever,” he shrugs again but follows me out, tucking his skateboard under his arm.

  I’ve found that Wyatt thinks a little mo
re clearly when he’s moving. He’ll take a few trips around the pool, we’ll sit and talk and then he’ll do it again. By the end of our tutoring session, he’s got a good grasp on what we’ve talked about and he’s able to write his paper on his own.

  I watch him skim the edge of the pool. He’s gotten taller and filled out a bit. Not in a been-hitting-the-bong-too-hard way, but he’s starting to look more like a guy instead of an overgrown boy.

  “Are your parents married?” he asks coming to a stop in front of the lounge chair I’m sitting on.

  “Yeah. For a long time—40 years or so.” And I’ve always assumed they’ll stay that way, but I don’t say this to Wyatt. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were brother and sister. They’re not—I’ve asked.”

  “My dad was married before. I have a half-sister. She goes to NYU.” Wyatt sits opposite me, his focus on peeling a sticker off the back of his skateboard. “I’ve only met her a few times. She and my mom don’t get along.”

  “That’s too bad.” I set aside the books and tuck my legs under me. “Maybe, once you get older, you can get to know her better.”

  “My mom wouldn’t like that.” Wyatt shrugs his shoulders, rolling his neck to crack it. “Especially now—she doesn’t even want me talking to my dad.”

  “Parents can be real a-holes when it comes to stuff like that. Anyway, it’s your parents who are splitting up. You’re not getting divorced from your parents. As screwed as this is and might get, it’s not about you.”

  “Really?” He lifts his bangs so he can make sure I’m not jerking his chain. His gaze is bright and clear. Maybe he’s finally gotten over his pot stage. It would make my job a lot easier, but I won’t hold my breath.