“I’ll send you both somewhere. A weekend on sunny South La Brea. You’re coming in to work tomorrow.”
“Come on, Malcolm, that sucks!” Coco whined. “Aren’t there labor laws that say you can’t make us work on a Saturday?”
Malcolm turned around quickly to face me, as if he wanted to make sure that I wasn’t going to jump him from behind, then he turned again and stomped out in his high heels.
“Fuck, he’s a little fucker,” Coco hissed.
“Not news. Well, it ain’t Big Sur but you could have a helluva trip helping me get to destination Mr. WTF.”
“Mr. WTF for reals,” Coco said, then sighed. “Fine. Just to make sure you don’t get killed. And I’ll help only on one condition.”
“Anything, name it.”
“You promise you won’t get hooked on him until you find out if this is for real?”
“I promise.”
I couldn’t get hooked on him. I already was.
Chapter 6
As much as I wanted to see Jason and have him apologize profusely, profess his undying love for me, and beg me to come back to him, vowing to be faithful till he was 105, I also didn’t want to waste any more time on MR. THOUGHT IT WAS HIM when I could be searching for MR. IT JUST MIGHT REALLY BE HIM. (OR MR. COULD KILL YOU AND YOU’LL BE DEAD—thanks, Coco.)
But before I could be fully present for my soul mate-to-be, I had to clear the slate and let go of Jason once and for all. So I got into the shower. With every drop of water pelting down on me, I tried to let my past swirl down the drain along with the layer of soot and exhaust that’s hard to avoid when you ride a scooter in L.A.
Afterwards, I headed down the hall to my room wrapped in a towel and heard Boo and Toupee barking. “Uh… hellloooo?!” S.H.A.R.I. was sitting on my bed, looking at my new camera, which of course she thought was HER new camera.
“Oh, sorry. I just saw this and thought it was so cool!” she said perky manip-style. “Maybe we could take some movies of me to sell on my site in addition to the photos!!! I’ll give you a cut of the profits.”
Oh My effing G!!! I was tempted to run back and take another shower. Like I would EVER shoot seminude movies of the Racktress???? I grabbed the camera out of her hands, and couldn’t help my harsh tone. “Would you please stay out of my room and away from my stuff?”
“Wow. Sorry. Someone must be PMSing.”
I love that when a female expresses herself in an emphatic manner, it’s always attributed to her menstrual cycle. I shooed the Quacktress out of my room, and then took the tape of Mr. WTF out of the camera. From now on, wherever I was going, he was going with me.
Once I got dressed, which only took one and a half minutes after fifteen minutes of outfit deliberation, I FaceTimed Cooper. Of course he didn’t answer. I left a message: “Yo, Bro, you better tell me what’s going on. Do I have to resort to threats? If so, then you call me back by end of day tomorrow or I’ll tell Narcie you’re in trouble. Laytah.”
I hated to go there, but I’m very protective of my brother since our dad left right after he was born, Mom was busy working and dating, and I pretty much raised Cooper myself until I left for L.A.
Fuck. He’s doomed.
Chapter 7
Scores of paper lanterns dangled from the ceiling like stars in a crowded Chinese galaxy. Red velvet wallpaper flocked with black Ming or Tang Dynasty-ish horse and carriages covered the room. Jason was already at a table in a dark corner when I arrived at the Good Luck Bar, one of our favorite neighborhood hangs.
He looked especially cute, like maybe he even washed his hair for our ten-minute date. Even though it was a Friday night, it was still pretty quiet as the crowds don’t start coming till after 10:30. I couldn’t risk getting too close to Jason, as I knew his smell would send me reeling. I looked at my shero nails for backup, stopped a few feet from the table, and said hi.
Jason stood up and hugged me. For the first time in over a month. It felt so damn good. It felt like home. But I forced myself to step back and sit down.
“I ordered your drink,” Jason said, pushing The Scholar (white rum, fresh mint, and fresh lime juice blended) toward me. Was he reeling me in with familiarity? Or trying to get me drunk, just like he said my neighbor Amanda did to him that fucking dreadful night when our world blew up?
“You should have ordered me The Fist of Fury.”
“Very funny,” he laughed. “How are Boo and Toupee? I really miss them.” Pause for dramatic effect. “And you, of course.”
Don’t let him get to you. Don’t do it. “Look, you’ve got eight minutes left,” I said in a tone that wasn’t mine but borrowed from The Real Housewives of New Jersey.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll spend all eight minutes repeating it till you get it. I fucked up, I know it. I didn’t mean to…”
“How can you not mean to sleep with my next-door neighbor?”
“Amanda was waitressing at AKBAR that night, and she kept bringing me more free drinks. I was so shitfaced, she drove me home. Well, to her home, which I didn’t even realize till I woke up the next morning. I know it’s no excuse.”
I just shook my head. How many guys use the “I was drunk off my ass” justification?
“Look, if me saying sorry isn’t enough, how’s this?” He pulled out his iPad. “I started this site to show you how serious I am.”
Jason is a video game developer, so he could start a site blindfolded. He typed in a URL and continued, “It’s a place where people can post how they fucked up, and apologize publicly, asking for forgiveness.”
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah, then other people can vote on whether the apology should be accepted by clicking on either HELL YEAH or FCK NO.” He paused, then added, “A lot of people think you should accept my apology…”
He showed me the site.
www.IFckedUp.com
Wow. I was fcking speechless. Jason had never done anything this cool before. And wouldn’t ya know, damn sap that I am, I started crying.
He took my hand. I let him. He scooted over his ottoman. I didn’t move away. And then he kissed me. His lips tasted sweet like peaches. It was that kiss that always got me going. That always made me melt…. Until I pictured that tongue rammed down Amanda’s throat, and other places.
“I’m sorry, I wish I could. I gotta go.” I grabbed a cocktail napkin and dried my eyes. I forced myself to remember that I had more important things to focus on, like finding my future husband in just two weeks. If this stranger had gone to all this trouble to find his soul mate, no way was he gonna fuck around on her. ON ME.
“Bye, Jason.”
He just stood there looking as sad as I felt. I turned and left before I could change my mind.
When I returned home, I pulled Jason’s shirt from under my pillow, walked it down four floors, and then out to the back alley, where I threw it in the large black trash can. If I was really giving him up, I had to go cold turkey. I passed some newly painted street art on the apartment next door that pretty much summed up how I felt.
I returned upstairs and put all my focus back on the hunt, spending almost three hours holed up in my room scouring the web, looking for info and pics of dog parks in L.A. I tried to match any visuals to the tape. And wouldn’t you know after finding the most obscure sites, with names like Haute Dogs, I finally stumbled upon one with a name so freaking obvious, it never even occurred to me to look for it. Dog Parks L.A.
And there it was. In all its glory. BAM. JACKPOT.
Go check out this site and see if you can find what I found.
www.DogParksLA.com
So, did ya see it? For those nonsleuthy types, here’s a direct link:
www.dogparksla.com/photos
Who is that in the photo gallery? The dog with the polka-dot tongue!!
Well, the pic doesn’t bring me any closer to detecting where it was taken. So, L.A. peeps, do you have any idea which dog park is in the tape or the pic above? Help a sistah out.
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Click here to take my poll:
(If ya didn’t go there, here’s what I asked.)
WHAT DOG PARK IS THE DOG WITH THE POLKA-DOT TONGUE AT?
Griffith Park
Pasadena
Laurel Canyon
Santa Monica
Encino
Other
I know it’s not Silverlake cuz I’m there all the time with Boo and Toupee and I know that terrain like my own backyard (if I ever had one!).
It was time to take matters into my own hands and contact Dog Park L.A.’s webmistress, Sandi Stern, “Mother of Roxy, Max, Sydni, and Rascal (2 dogs + 2 humans—guess who’s who!).” And to get what I wanted from her called for some big-time ass kissing. I even found a font to use that felt SO SANDI STERN-ISH, with lots of hearts! (FYI—Hole-Hearted.)
Dear Sandi,
I love your website!!!!!! What a wonderful service you’re providing!!!!
One of the pictures in your photo gallery is of a dog that belongs to my cousin! (#7, the brown dog with the spotted tongue.)
I just got into town and want to surprise him at the dog park and reunite him with Princess, my precious Peke who he’s always loved!!
Can you tell me which dog park you took that picture at?
Princess and I would SooOO appreciate it! And I know my cousin will, too.
Thanks in advance, and keep up the great work!
Maggi
I thought taking the E off the end of my name was inspired, if I do say so myself. Sandi would see us as joined in spelling solidariti.
At least I could go to bed with the image of the dog with the polka-dot tongue instead of visions of Jason with my neighbor, her squeals of delight echoing through my apartment, down the streets of Silverlake.
Progress.
Chapter 8
DAY 2 OF THE HUNT FOR MR. WTF
How does your body know that it’s Saturday, and sleep right through an alarm for an extra hour? On weekday workdays it knows exactly when to wake up. I texted Coco:
If malc there cover for me. Be there soon.
Yeah, pompadour in da house. I told him your scooter wouldn’t start and you took the bus. Park far away.
I owe you one.
You owe me way more than one hahaha.
Fuck. At the rate I was going, the only location Malcolm would send me to would be Unemployment.
When I arrived, with an Academy Award–worthy performance as “Wary Fake Bus Riding Girl #3,” Malcolm didn’t want to hear a word. I just would have to make it up by working faster and more furious than ever, and that was going to be impossible without coffee, which I wasn’t able to get since I overslept (sorry, Lady Macmeth!). Howevs, one of the few perks of working at Bridalville was that there was a coffeemaker and an endless supply of espresso beans.
“Thanks for covering for me,” I whispered to Coco as I watched the stream drip into my Hello Kitty mug. As I was about to load it up with Sweet’N Low, my sugar-sub obsesh, Coco shot me a raised eyebrow.
“What?”
“You so have a pink packet monkey on your back.”
“Is that a prob? It’s delish.” I tore and poured. “If only Jason had made me this happy…” I didn’t want to let on that I had seen my ex, although I was dying to tell Coco about I Fcked Up. “At least I know one thing—Sweet’N Low will never cheat on me.”
“Don’t be too sure. It’s seeing, like, millions of people,” Coco retorted. “And, hellooo, isn’t it bad for you?”
“Wait… I’d place money that you probs downed two martinis with Mark last night, then a bacon sundae when you got home. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“So, I may have a touch of cirrhosis and a clogged artery, but that’s artificial…” Coco pointed her coffee stirrer accusingly at my cup. “Like the top half of a Kardashian. It’s faux.”
“Who doesn’t love faux? Faux fur… faux finishes… Vietnamese Pho…”
“You can’t distract me with bad puns, dude. Faux Pete’s sake, it causes cancer.”
“I appreash the concern, but I Googled the findings after your last outburst. Faux the record, that’s a totally bogus claim from the ’70s.” I calmly laid out my case like Julianna Margulies on The Good Wife—my mother’s fave show, which I am forced to watch with her every time I go home. “They fed lab rats twenty-five hundred packets of Sweet’N Low a day. Twenty-five hundred packets!” I shuddered as a pain shot through my back molars—a rat saccharine sympathy pain.
“Ouch,” winced Coco. “Where was PETA then?”
“Right? And still the FDA or EPA, or whatevs agency, couldn’t connect the dots from any kind of cancer in humans to my party in a packet. No warning label, no hard facts. So after bitch-slapping saccharine for like forty years, they finally threw up their hands, uttered a giant NEVER MIND heard ’round the world, and we all got the memo. Well, everyone except for you.”
“All right, fine, then party on.”
I threw a packet at her. “You’re so busy all up in my biz, I didn’t even get to tell you—I found Mr. WTF’s dog!!!”
We discussed the hunt whenever Malcolm was not hovering nearby, and worked straight through lunch. At 2:15 I stood up for the first time, and went into the bathroom to check my email. Sure enough—GOLD.
Hi, Maggi!
Thanks for your kind words about my labor of love. I can’t remember exactly where I took that picture, but it looks like it’s either North Hollywood Dog Park or Laurel Canyon Dog Park (addresses on my website!). As I go to both quite often with my kids (all four!=)) I’ll keep my eye out for your cousin’s dog, and if I spot him or her, I’ll drop you an email so you and Princess can surprise them both! What a neat idea!!
Sincerely, Sandi
I texted Coco from my toilet seat perch.
Heard back from dog park ladi. You gonna come with me after work?
Only to make sure you don’t get offed.
OK, it didn’t even occur to me that if/WHEN I found the right park, I might actually see or find Mr. WTF! Could it be that easy? Doubtful. He said on the tape clues in locations and on websites. Lots of s’s.
He was not about to make this ssssimple.
Chapter 9
DAY 2—AFTERNOON
I was so grateful that Coco was helping me (despite her reasons), that when she said we should divide and conquer, I agreed. She headed out to the park in North Hollywood, and after I walked ten blocks back to where my scooter, Lola, was hidden, I rode to Laurel Canyon.
Going to a dog park alone felt like I was cheating on Boo and Toupee. Believe me, if I could find a basket big enough for the scooter, they’d be with me always. Or a sidecar would be cool, but then they would have to wear goggles, or Doggles, and that would be totally humiliating for them.
Dog parks in L.A. are almost as hot a pickup spot as bars. Guys might as well just walk up and sniff your ass. There was no sign of Mr. WTF, or the dog with the polka-dot tongue. All in all, Laurel Canyon was pretty much like every other dog park I’ve been to. Same clumps of grass, dirt, gopher holes, stinky garbage cans with flies hovering over them, and one dog cuter than the next running around yipping and chasing dirt-encrusted tennis balls. Except one thing stood out. A GREEN BENCH. WITH A TRASH CAN BEHIND IT. It had to be the one from the video!!!! My palms started sweating. Either from the excitement of my discovery, or from anticipating what I knew I had to do next.
I am a shy person by nature. When I’m around people I’m comfortable with, I can be the life of the party. But put me in a room (or park) full of strangers and it’s altogether a diff story—I’m pretty much mute. But I couldn’t give in to insecurities now. I had no choice but to muster up my anti-shy courage and make a move.
“Excuse me,” I said as I walked up to each stranger. “Have you seen this dog around here?” I showed them the pic from Sandi’s gallery on my phone. Out of eleven people I got four nos, five don’t really knows, and two yeses! Pretty awesome average. Except what came after each of the two yeses were just more nos. No
, I don’t know who the dog belongs to. No, there’s not a certain time I always see it. No, no, do not know.
I sat down at a picnic table and started to text Coco about the green bench. And then something caught my eye. Was it there for me? Was it the clue I was supposed to find? For all I knew, even if I was at the right park, the clue could be hidden under a pile of dog shit.
I texted the pic to Coco. She hit me back immediately.
NO WAY!!!!!!! Look what I found here!!!
At least he covered more than one base! How considerate.
I looked up the site on my phone—it was just some apartment building in Venice. Could Mr. WTF live there? Did he leave another clue there? What else could it be? I texted Coco back, then her me. She didn’t see anything obvious, either.
Have to go home. Blake said he’d actually go out to dinner tonight. You come with us. After we can go to Venice apt if need to.
No you guys should have romantic date alive.
Alone.
Lol ain’t gonna happen. Come with. I’m paying. Xxxx
Coco knew exactly how to get me. Going out to dinner would mean some food that was actually hot and not out of a bag, like my meals of Funyuns and Keebler’s E.L. Fudge cookies. (The elf on the box is cute, and even sexier as the shape of the cookie! And so what, I have a thing for elves and leprechauns. Is that so wrong? Maybe if I were a few inches taller I wouldn’t!) Perhaps some food that belonged to an actual food group would ignite a temporary superbrain that would be just what we needed to get closer to cracking the case.
Chapter 10
DAY 2—NIGHT
Why do couples feel entitled to parade around holding hands in public? It’s like dangling pastries in front of a diabetic. I love sitting outside at any of the restaurants or cafes in our hood—until I have to watch the spectacle of happy lovers.
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