Find Me I'm Yours

by Hillary Carlip

  “Yeah, right!”

  Mark gave me some other suggestions on how to get my work out there. (UH, IF AND WHEN I HAPPEN TO MAKE ANYTHING NEW, note to self!!) We were sitting outside and, once again, a parade of happy couples strolled by like extras cast in a movie with the sole purpose to torture me. Mark mentioned something about his ex. Curious, I asked more.

  “We were together almost three years,” he answered. “She’s an actress and dancer, and even though that was a really different scene than mine, we managed to intersect somewhere in the middle. Well, until she was on location shooting a film and had an affair with the assistant choreographer. And then she came home and announced she was leaving me and moving in with him.”

  “Ouch. That had to be devastating.”

  “Pretty much. But what can you do but try to move on?”

  I nodded, without going into my own sordid story.

  His food arrived and he pushed the onion rings toward me. “Go ahead…”

  I would have shoved the entire plate in my mouth in seconds flat but didn’t want to scare him, so I took my time savoring each bite. “Umm… delish! Here, have some.”

  “Nope, they’re for you. I have plenty.”

  Sweet. Thoughtful. I could fall for a guy like that. “So, it must have been weird not having your ex at your show.”

  He looked at me deeply. Like maybe relieved that I understood him?

  “Yeah, it was.”

  He took a sip of beer. A fancy beer that he had ordered by name—something like Allagash Black, with a number even. Impressive. I could fall for a guy like that.

  “But she never fully got my work anyway. And at my shows, and anywhere else we went, it always felt like she had one eye out to see if there was someone more important around who could help her career.”

  “Do you believe in soul mates?” I boldly asked. “Do you think there’s one person out there for you?”

  Before he could answer, I heard a laugh. An annoyingly familiar laugh. Walking into the restaurant. S.H.A.R.I.

  Of course she was not alone. She was WITH JASON.

  I felt a hot flash flush all over again. They spotted me, and I couldn’t help myself. All of a sudden I leaned over and kissed Mark. Hard. Long. As seemingly soulful as possible. Like in Pretty Woman when the hooker with the heart of gold who won’t kiss her clients finally lets go with Richard Gere. And I kept doing it until I made sure Jason saw. He walked past us giving me a fuck-you glare.

  Once they were out of range, I gently broke away from Mark.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He smiled. “I’m not.”

  “My ex hooked up with my roommate and I just had to let him know I’m moving on.”

  “Are you?”

  I shrugged. “Let’s try again and see.” We kissed some more. And I let myself get completely into it, despite the fact that I had onion ring breath.

  Chapter 29

  DAY 6—NIGHT

  Mark didn’t want the night to end, and after seeing the Jacktress and Jason out together, neither did I. Even though I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that I hadn’t yet watched the new tape from Mr. WTF, and now I was really in a race with a Victoria’s SecretS modelS.

  “Want to come back to my place and hang out?” Mark asked, as we walked out of the restaurant.

  “I’d love to, but I’ve been gone a lot lately and I have two dogs.”

  “Well, then, let’s go hang out with them,” he suggested.

  And we did. Toupee and Boo took to Mark right away. They sat in his lap and licked his face. And he petted them and loved on them right back. I could fall for a guy like that.

  We talked, he asked to see my art and I showed him whatever I had. I made him a Drambully, and we kissed some more. I usually don’t hook up with someone on a first date (this was officially no longer a NONDATE!), but why not be that girl, I thought? All I wanted to do was exorcise Jason out of my head and body, once and for all.

  There’s something very intimate about having sex on a twin bed. Mark was more muscular and taut than Jason; his hands more adept, with an artist’s touch. We took our time exploring every inch of each other’s bodies, also different from Jason, who pretty much liked things fast and hard. I was trying to not think of my ex, doing my damnedest not to compare, but when you have sex with the same person for one and a half years, it’s like they leave an imprint on your body at a cellular level.

  The moment I finally let myself go and be present, I heard S.H.A.R.I. coming into the apartment. Of course she was with Jason, and of course they were laughing. If I were a guy, I would have lost my hard-on in a second flat. But Jason having the nerve to come to MY apartment with MY roommate just fueled my hot fire. I started writhing and moaning more passionately than I ever did with Jason, so much that it scared Toupee and Boo, who started barking. I don’t know if I came harder than I ever did before, but definitely louder, which turned Mark on even more, so he came right along with me at the same time. That was something Jason always wanted to do, but he always beat me to it.

  Afterwards, Mark and I were curled up in each other, our bodies glistening with sweat and sex.

  “You OK?” he whispered.

  “Yeah. I am.” I think I actually meant it.

  The rest of the night was spent in an unwitting fuck-off contest to prove which room was having better sex. Unfortunately the deck was stacked as the Stacktress gave an Academy Award–winning performance, having the edge on whose moans were the loudest.

  At least mine were real.

  Chapter 30

  DAY 7—MORNING

  SHIT. I like Mark. SHIT. I should never have slept with him. Men can just have sex and that’s it. Me? It’s hard to keep my heart out of my vagina.

  Mark was spooning Boo while Toupee, true to her name, was asleep on his head. He opened his eyes slowly and sort of laughed. “That was quite an interesting night.”

  “I just want you to know that I had an awesome time with you. It wasn’t all for Jason’s benefit,” I said.

  “I know. Me too.”

  Mark went with me to walk the kids (the same thing Jason would do every time he spent the night—TAKE THAT!), and I turned him on to K & C Donut, which he loved (and thankfully paid for coffee and donuts). While we sat outside in front, I made this for him, and then posted it to my Instagram. Come follow me—@Mags Marclay! (www.instagram.com/magsmarclay)

  Mark walked us back home, stopped outside, and said, “Sorry, you’re on your own now!” We kissed goodbye, then he kissed both Boo and Toupee on their heads, then me once more. “I’ll text ya later.”

  Slowly and as quietly as possible, I climbed the stairs to my apartment. Then I dashed in, and before I could run into Jason, grabbed my backpack, a washcloth, towel, soap, and my video camera, then sprinted out. I could have stopped at Coco’s and showered there, but I didn’t want to walk in on the possibility of her and Blake fighting. So I went to the nearest gas station to do a full-on sponge bath. Why do gas station bathrooms reek no matter the time of day, and why are the floors always so sticky in the LADIES’ room? But I had to just suck it up because it was the only safe place I could think of to FINALLY WATCH THE TAPE!

  Just as I turned on the camera and inserted the new tape, my phone rang. It was Narcie. I almost didn’t answer it, but what if she had news about Cooper?

  “Hey, Mom, what’s up?”

  “I haven’t talked to you all week. I’m worried about you.”

  “What? Me? You never were before.”

  Just because I was hiding in a gas station bathroom falling for a potential rapist/killer while I just slept with someone on our first nondate date who might not be over his ex, to get back at my ex who I’m not over who was fucking my roommate in the next room, why are you worried, Mom?

  “You should be focusing on Cooper, not me. How is he doing?”

  “How would I know? He never talks to me. Will you check in on him?”

  “Of course.” The stench in my c
onfined prison of urine was starting to get to me. I opened the door. “I gotta go, Mom. Talk to you later.”

  I hung up and did some deep breathing with my head out of the door. I saw an elderly woman pumping her own gas and thought of Grandma Dotty. THAT WAS IT! GRANDMA DOTTY!! I texted Cooper.

  Call me after school. Figured out how you can get $$$.

  Quite pleased with my idea, I locked myself back in the stench hole and turned on the tape. If I could figure Coop’s situation out, I was wholly prepared to solve whatever Mr. WTF threw at me next.

  Click the pic to watch the video:

  If you didn’t go watch it, here’s what it said:

  I know it feels like I’m the one pulling the strings here, but someone else pulls them much better than I do.

  And his name is one letter away from a famous ex–TV game show host.

  Maybe this clue’s a little far-fetched, and I probably could throw you a bone… but I won’t.

  Figure it all out, be there by 4:00 p.m., and you’ll have your next clue.

  Nothing else. And the video was shot in front of some awesome changing colors (excellent production value, Mr. WTF!), so no location clues this time. I would have to research and figure out what the hell he meant, AND be somewhere by 4:00. I had my work cut out for me—on top of convincing Malcolm he’s crazy when he undoubtedly teases me about my sex hair.

  Chapter 31

  DAY 7—MORNING

  “So, how was your nondate?” Coco asked as she was filing her nails.

  “Uh, def date.”

  “Really? How so?”

  “Well, before I tell you about that,” I said, putting down my backpack, “you’re not gonna believe who I met last night.”

  “Who?”

  “Ready? The Victoria’s SecretS modelS.”

  “No effen way!!!!!!!!!!”

  “Yes effen way!!!!!!!!!!”

  “OK, I wanna hear all about it, but tell me about Mark first.”

  So I did. I told her everything, including that we slept together.

  “Wait, are you kidding me?!?!?! What the hell is wrong with you, Maggie?!” she shouted.

  “Whoa. Overreact much? When have you ever called me Maggie?”

  “Mark’s not ready for that!”

  “I thought you’d be happy. You’re the one who hooked us up.”

  “I kept saying he’s still fucked up over his ex but you couldn’t listen to me.” She got up and started pacing.

  “Wow. I wasn’t planning on it, it just sort of happened,” I explained. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

  “Sorry.” Coco took a breath and backed down, realizing her tone was a little muchy much. “I just had a terrible night with Blake.”

  Malcolm stomped in and luckily spared us from any of his filthy jokes. He was all biz. “I have a new location assignment coming up soon. Anyone in this cubicle interested?”

  “What do you think, Malcolm? I guess I haven’t expressed my enthusiasm clearly to you,” I said sarcastically.

  “Both of you focus on your work, show me what you got, and we’ll talk about this later. Any desserts for me today, Coco?”

  She just shook her head. “Sorry.”

  He left. Something was definitely off. “Are you OK?” I asked Coco.

  “Fine. Let’s just work.”

  Fine. On any other day, in any other week, of any other month, I would have focused my ass off for the chance to go on location. But I had more pressing matters—like finding someone with a name like some random ex–game show host before FREAKIN’ 4:00! Time was a-wastin’. I put all my attention on my computer, first Googling ex–game show hosts.

  What I Found While Googling Ex–Game Show Hosts

  By Mags Marclay

  1). A list that had all names alphabetically.

  2). There were about a hundred JUST THROUGH THE A’s and B’s! Did that mean there were thirteen hundred??? How is that even possible that there have been that many TV game shows?

  3). One died in a plane crash. Sad.

  4). One committed suicide. Even sadder.

  5). One, an animal activist, paid to have three elephants moved from the Toronto Zoo to a place called PAWS (Performing Animal Welfare Society) in California. “It will provide them with a large terrain to roam, lakes to bathe in, and barns equipped with heated stalls and therapeutic Jacuzzis.” Would he pay to move ME there?

  I was totally baffled. I didn’t know where to even begin. So I made two lists from the one main list.

  1. FAMILIAR NAMES I’D HEARD BEFORE

  Tom Bergeron

  Chuck Barris

  Dick Clark

  Betty White

  Groucho Marx

  Carnie Wilson

  2. SHOW TITLES THAT COULD BE A CLUE

  I’ve Got a Secret

  Beat the Clock

  The Dating Game

  Match Game

  It Takes Two

  The Newlywed Game

  So? Yeah? NOW WHAT?! OK, Mr. WTF said HIS name is a letter away from an ex–game show host. So I crossed off the two HERS. Then I spent about three hours trying everything. Looking up more about the shows with names that could mean something and replacing letters with others. Groucho Parx, Dick Lark, Hugh Gowns. Nothing. And what the hell did “someone else pulls them much better than I do” mean, anyway? I Googled every name PLUS “strings” and found nothing that could be remotely relevant, or interesting, except that ex–game show host Wink Martindale said when he was a child, his first microphone was two paper cups attached to a string. Didn’t he mean telephone? How is that a microphone, Wink? And what kind of name is Wink, Wink?

  I suddenly remembered Mr. WTF on the tape saying, “far-FETCHED,” and “throw you a BONE.” Helllllloooo?!?! Maybe it was a reference to the animal activist! I searched more and found out that he’s also a big advocate for spaying and neutering dogs. And his last name is—ready for this one? BARKER! SWEARS. Would he be all about cows if his last name were MOOER?

  That had to be it. I looked further. What was completely surprising was to find that several people had Bob Barker tattoos!!! For reals?!? Go see them on this crazy site I found:

  www.IHeartBobBarker.com

  And there’s Bob Barker fan art on the site, too! And also a great list of pet organizations and charities to give to if I had anything to give. Apparently Bob’s a pop culture icon! But nothing on the site gave me any further clue. So I worked with that name, and here’s just some of what I found:

  Bob Marker: Independent Health, Wellness, and Fitness Professional

  Bob Parker: A Republican candidate for Congress, Missouri’s Eighth District

  Bob Balker: Australian Ambassador to Cairo, Egypt

  Bob Barter: President/Inspector at HomeRun Inspection Services Inc.

  Finally, about an hour and hundreds of combinations later, I realized that instead of “his name is a letter away” meaning change or add a letter, it could mean TAKE A LETTER AWAY!

  And that’s when I found BOB BAKER!!!!!!!!! Who has… ready for this? A frickin’ MARIONETTE THEATER!! In downtown Los Angeles!

  BAM! DONE! Who’s pulling the strings now?

  Chapter 32

  DAY 7—AFTERNOON

  It was easy to lie to Malcolm (“We need some shots of the inside of a food truck for the article, and I have an appointment with The Wien at 4:00.” I knew he’d get off on me saying any part of the word “wiener”), but it was hard to leave Coco, who was definitely in a funk.

  “I figured out a clue and gotta go. You sure you’ll be OK?”

  “Fine.”

  “Can we hang out tonight after I’m done?”

  “Tonight’s not good. But I’m OK. Go. Just don’t get killed.”

  “You and Blake love each other. I know you’ll work it out. You better—you’re my role models!” I kissed her goodbye and set out.

  About a half hour later I found myself on the edge of downtown. There, nestled under a freeway overpass, was the maybe onc
e glorious Bob Baker Marionette Theater. According to my research, it had been there since 1953, and the gravelly parking lot, surrounded by an automotive body shop, a taco stand, and a few run-down houses, didn’t belie the date.

  After I parked, I walked into a courtyard. There were groups of kids—probably a hundred six- to eight-year-olds wearing bright yellow T-shirts, and a hundred more in bright green. They couldn’t have been more keyed up or more adorable. I looked around and saw nothing else but a crazy sign:

  Uh, not really flowers, and not much room to sit—unless maybe you’re a puppet.

  There was also a ticket window, so I walked up to it. “Uh, yeah, I guess I’d like to see the show?”

  “Do you have a reservation?” a man behind the window asked. He had a pointy nose that made him look like a puppet himself.

  “I’m not sure. A friend may have made it for me.”

  “Under what name?”

  “Hmm… good question. I don’t know.”

  “Well, if you don’t have a reservation, we can still squeeze you in. That’ll be $15.00.”

  Crap. If Mr. WTF thinks I’m independently wealthy, he’s got another thing coming to him. And, since I now had exactly zero cents to my name till tomorrow’s paycheck, what was I supposed to do? As I pondered, I looked around for Whitney. No sign of her and her towering busty frame in the hunt T-shirt. UH, HELLO?!?! DUH! OF COURSE!!!

  “I’ll be right back!” I said to Sir Pointy Nose.

  I ran to the parking lot, pulled THE SHIRT out of my backpack, ducked between two cars, and put it on. Then I returned to the window and sure enough, the guy just handed me a now-free ticket. “Enjoy the show.”

  The door opened and the children literally SQUEALED with excitement! Why do we stop expressing ourselves like that? When we’re lucky enough to feel such pure joy, why shouldn’t it burst out of us through any number of noises? I was just as excited, but if I squealed like the kids, I’d be carted off and prescribed drugs. We filed into the theater—a large room overflowing with tinsel, silver stars, kaleidoscope lights, sparkling chandeliers, tissue banners, and three mirrored disco balls. Burgundy velvet curtains with gold fringe at the bottom hung behind the stage area.