Find Me I'm Yours

by Hillary Carlip

  “To a strip club together? I think I’m gonna do this one on my own. Is that OK?”

  “As long as you promise no drinking.”

  “No prob there. That’s not gonna happen for a long time.”

  “And you need a good meal before you go.”

  Since when did Narcie get so “naternal”? Maybe growing up I should have ended up in the hospital more often. I hesitated, but said, “Sure. My treat,” praying she’d object. And object she did.

  “No.”

  PHEW.

  “But we can each pay for ourselves.”

  YIPE! Now what? “I… uh… forgot,” I stuttered. “I don’t get my paycheck until tomorrow.”

  Which was partially true. I just left out the fact that it would be my last one.

  Chapter 45

  DAY 10—NIGHT

  Camarones al ajillo (shrimp in garlic sauce), ropa vieja (shredded beef in tomato sauce), maduros (sweet plantains), and arroz con leche (rice pudding) with café Cubanos. These are all things I DID have for dinner (after missing out on breakfast) at El Cochinito.

  Even though I was with my mom, I felt so, I don’t know, grown-up. But then just to bring it all back to normalcy, Narcie did all the talking.

  The Things Narcie Talked About at Dinner

  By Mags Marclay

  1). Her job—including how her coworker at Bloomingdale’s was promoted above her, and how she’ll probably be doomed to be an assistant manger till she drops dead on the job. Cuz why? Apparently she’s cursed at work, too.

  2). Cooper—including how he just plays video games and smokes dope all day after school and she never has a moment alone in the apartment because he never leaves.

  3). Aunt Pam—including how she got her gall bladder removed, and how they were able to do it laparoscopically, but now she has pain every time she eats lettuce so Mom can never go out to lunch with her anymore like they used to. (WHAT?!?!)

  4). Her dating—including how she met a guy on the internet and was seeing him for eight months until she found out he was married and has four kids! (That counts as a Catfish, right?!)

  Of course after the last one, she started in about THE CURSE again, but I stopped her, reminding her of her promise.

  “Oops,” she said, and then mimed locking her mouth and throwing away the key.

  By the time dessert arrived, Mom was talking about how they wouldn’t let her exchange a pair of underwear she bought at Bloomingdale’s even though she’s an employee, because she had WORN THEM A FEW TIMES, but it took that long to realize they were uncomfortable and riding up in her crotch, I couldn’t wait to get out of there.

  When we returned to the apartment, S.H.A.R.I. was gone. I made out with Boo and Toupee as we all plopped on the living room couch, including Mom, and turned on the TV. I almost forgot there was a television in my apartment. Avoiding any contact with my doommate at all times, I usually stay holed up with my dogs in my room and watch TV and movies on my computer.

  We spent about a half hour in that position, seeing some pretty crazy shit that I never see while watching TV not on a TV—my fave being a commercial for a new workout called Laughsercise! SWEARS! Apparently, just by laughing, you can burn calories and lose weight, evident by their tag line, “Laugh Your Ass Off!” The workout tape featured classes like “A Guy Walks into a Barre,” and “Yo’ Mama’s So Skinny Gut Buster.”

  I got my computer from my room and we checked out the website to see more:

  www.Laughsercise.com

  Between the site and the commercial, it was the first time Narcie and I laughed together in years. (And maybe we were burning off our dinner by doing so?!) I wanted to stop time. To bask in the closeness I was finally starting to feel with my mom. But even more, I wanted to see what was next from Mr. WTF. So I stood up.

  “I’m gonna change. Want some tea or something?”

  “No, I’m fine, thanks.”

  I went into my room, put on a cute vintage dress and one of my half-and-half sweaters, and then remembered I had to put on my hunt shirt.

  The shirt. Where was the shirt? My shirt. FUCK! I had left it out when I showed Mom! Hello??????? IT WAS FUCKING GONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  I tore up my room looking for it—maybe I had rehidden it?! Under the bed, in the hamper, in my backpack, in the closet. I dumped out every drawer. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” I had let my guard down for, what, less than two hours? And the Jacktress jacked my shirt!!!! What else did she take? I looked and the tapes were still in my backpack, thank God. BUT FUCK! The shirt had been on my computer. I ran and grabbed it from the couch next to Mom and looked at the open windows. Sure enough, I hadn’t even X’d out the Herlesque Club. How could I have been so careless? Could it really be possible? Could S.H.A.R.I. even figure anything out?

  “What’s wrong,” my mom asked.

  “Potential disaster.”

  “What happened?”

  “I’ll explain later. But I’m in a huge hurry—can I borrow your rental car?”

  “Sure.” She threw me the keys, then said, “Stay safe.”

  While I assured her I would, I could not guarantee the same for S.H.A.R.I. if I found her where I thought she might be.

  Chapter 46

  DAY 10—NIGHT

  Talk about giant things—not one stripper on stage at the Herlesque Club dancing in the “Peep-A-Boo” number could have been less than a size triple GGG. Their heads were actually smaller than their boobs.

  It had started raining on the drive over and since I had no money for valet, I had to park blocks away and walk, so I was drenched. I grabbed some cocktail napkins from the bar to sort of dry off as best I could.

  The audience of men and women were going crazy—applauding, hooting, and hollering and placing bills in G-strings as the burlesque ladies kicked in unison and then hid behind large fans. OMG—it was almost the same act the stripping señorita marionettes did!! I looked around the room carefully for anyone or anything familiar. The video screen next to the stage that on the website featured the shirt graphic was now showing black-and-white footage of burlesque shows from the ’50s. I kept searching through the packed room—some people sitting at tables, most standing, all drinking.

  And then I saw it. My shirt.

  But wait. It wasn’t my funked-up version of it. And it wasn’t on S.H.A.R.I.

  There, in a dark corner of the club was Whitney! Fuck. She had beaten me to it again! But to what?

  Suddenly, another shirt came into view. This one WAS mine, and it WAS indeed on my soon to be ex-roommate. I was frozen as I watched the Scamtress hand Whitney a shot glass, holding on to her own. They clicked glasses and downed the shots.

  What was even going on?! I had no choice but to go confront S.H.A.R.I. and ask them both what was up.

  I turned away for a second to gather my nerve to go up to the duo of extreme hotness and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror—still rain-drenched, in my two half sweaters sewn together, and my dorky black rimmed glasses. I hadn’t even showered or brushed my hair during the day, and was still wearing the hospital ID bracelet. I was a wreck. A sight that would stay etched in my mind forever, a screaming reminder of my inadequacy. Why would Mr. WTF ever want to be with me when he could be with either of them, or any of the millions of other gorgeous girls in Los Angeles? On the first tape he said he was looking for someone unusual, but come on—not flat-out funky like me. Someone that handsome and clever who had it all going on was not going to be interested in me. I’m fucked. I’m cursed. I needed to just accept it and leave quietly.

  I looked once more at S.H.A.R.I. and W.H.I.T.N.E.Y., like when you pass a traffic accident and turn your head away but something stronger in you makes you look again and you see a bloody, mangled body.

  I watched them for another minute, then left with my own bloody, mangled self-esteem.

  Chapter 47

  DAY 10—LATE NIGHT

  “Come home with me tomorrow morning,” my mom said when I arrived back at th
e apartment in tears. “And not just for me. You’ve tried it here, it hasn’t worked out. Just quit your job and come back to New York.”

  The JOB part made me cry even more. Maybe Mom was right—crying seemed to be all I was doing lately, and there was no way in hell I could stay one night longer in the apartment with… I was so furious with her, I couldn’t even write her name at all anymore, even with punctuation.

  Mom made us chamomile tea and we piled on my bed, Boo and Toupee licking away my tears. “Mom?” I asked, “How did you deal with Dad leaving? You seemed so strong and together. How could you do that when your heart was so broken?”

  Mom didn’t say anything. Like if she started with one word or sentence, the hurt would spew out and never stop.

  Then she finally said, “Well, it’s complicated.”

  “Try. It would really help me to know how you dealt with it all. We’ve never once talked about it.”

  She still didn’t answer. She just sipped her tea and blew on it, even though it wasn’t that hot.

  “Is it just too painful to even go there?” I asked.

  “Yes…” she said, trailing off like there was more.

  I sat up and looked at her. With compassion—right in the eyes, hoping the connection would make her feel safe enough to open up.

  “I guess the time is right,” she said tentatively. “I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but I just never could.”

  What was she talking about? “OK…so…?”

  She blew on her tea again, then inhaled the chamomile with a deep breath. Then she just said it. Flat-out said it.

  “Your father didn’t really leave us.”

  “What do you mean?” I was confused. “Of course he did.”

  “Well, he did leave… but it was because… I cheated on him.”

  Huh? WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

  “We split up when he found out I was having a relationship with my yoga instructor.”

  WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

  “We both agreed it’d be better if you and Cooper never knew.”

  WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!

  “Are you fucking kidding me?!?!?”

  “Mags, watch your language.”

  “What? FUCK THAT! I’ve always believed I wasn’t worthy of having someone, or I’d get a taste of it and then they’d leave because I was CURSED. Are you telling me it’s all bullshit?”

  “No, the curse is real.”

  “How can you even say that?” I stood up and paced around my small room, which now felt like a closet. “How could you do that to me???” I screamed.

  “Calm down, Maggie.” I could tell how scared my mom was—she never called me Maggie.

  “And all this time you had us hating Dad???”

  “I NEVER did that.” She put her cup down on the nightstand. “I always encouraged you to have a relationship with him. I never bad-mouthed him once, did I?”

  “You didn’t have to. All we knew was that he left us. This is so fucked up!”

  “I’m sorry. Your dad and I both thought it’d be best that way since for years he was on the road playing and wasn’t around at all.”

  I was shaking. “Did you even TRY to fix things? Did you stop seeing the guy when Dad found out?”

  She shrugged. “It was just too late by then.”

  “I don’t buy that at all. So this whole time Dad’s been the victim, not you? How could you have thrown that curse bullshit on me all my life when you’re the one who fucked up your own marriage??”

  I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t hear another word. I was so exhausted from letting my heart and trust be continually trampled on. From being drugged, cheated on, stolen from, lied to, and betrayed. And now by my own freakin’ mother.

  “I gotta get out of here,” I said, as I grabbed a coat and my keys and put Boo and Toupee on their leashes.

  “I’m so sorry,” my mother said, looking dejected. “I guess this means you’re not coming home with me tomorrow?”

  “Seriously?!?!?!?”

  How could I go home when I didn’t have one?

  Anywhere.

  Chapter 48

  DAY 11—EARLY MORNING

  Isn’t rain supposed to be cleansing? Instead, it felt like the sky was crying giant tears. But they were still smaller than my own. Boo and Toupee and I walked. And walked. In a downpour. For hours. Past Coco and Blake’s, which was as dark and empty as I felt, down the streets of Silverlake. Looking for signs. For messages. How could anything have meaning anymore when my whole life had been based on a lie?

  I walked some more until I found myself in Echo Park, at Jason’s front door. I rang the bell, not really expecting him to answer, as it was now 4:00 in the morning. But he did. Again, wrapped in the quilt I had made for him.

  “Mags, are you OK?”

  “Not so much.”

  “Come in. Let me get you guys some towels.” He came back and wrapped a large towel around my shoulders, then dried off the girls. They were happy to see him.

  “Would you mind watching them for a few days? I have to go out of town.”

  “Absolutely. Sure. Come here.” He put his arm around me and led me to his fireplace. He turned on the gas and flames shot up around a fake log.

  “What’s wrong?” Jason asked. “Where are you going?”

  I couldn’t answer. I was literally dumbstruck. Jason took me in his arms. It felt so good. I cried a bit, then asked, “Do you have $100.00 I can borrow? Just until I get back to town and pick up my paycheck?”

  “Of course.” He went into his bedroom to get it. It suddenly dawned on me that someone might be in there with him and now, that didn’t even really matter. I was at the door when he returned and handed me five $20.00 bills.

  “I gotta go. Thanks for the loan and for watching the kids.”

  “Sure. Uh, it’s still raining hard. Can I give you a ride home?”

  I didn’t think I could ever set foot in that apartment again. Being furious with S.H.A.R.I. for unknowingly trying to hijack Mr. WTF paled in comparison to all that went down after.

  “I’m not going home.”

  “Well, let me take you wherever you’re going.”

  “OK.”

  I was quiet during the whole car ride downtown. Jason tried to get me to talk, but I just couldn’t. The only word I said was “NO” when he asked, “Is this about me?”

  When Jason pulled up in front of the Greyhound bus station he said, “Hang in there, Mags. You’re gonna be OK.”

  And I wondered if I ever would be.

  Chapter 49

  DAY 11—MORNING

  I woke up smelling like ham. I couldn’t tell if it was courtesy of the stench emanating from the bus station restaurant, or the fact that 99 percent of the people waiting to depart, myself included, looked like they hadn’t showered in days.

  I was shocked that I had fallen asleep at all on what were probably voted the most uncomfortable chairs in all of Los Angeles—or perhaps in the entire nation. All metal, all wiry. Did someone really think that if they were made in assorted cheerful colors, no one would notice how torturous they were to sit on for more than two minutes?

  On top of checkerboard imprints on my cheeks—both ass and face—I had one of those hangover-y headaches from too much crying. Let’s Make a Deal, blaring from the large TV screens that dotted the station, didn’t help much. A commercial for The Talk came on. On the rare occasions I’ve seen the commercials for that show, the hosts are always laughing. Laughing, laughing, laughing. What is so fucking funny, ladies?!?!

  I looked at my phone to see what time it was, and how much longer a wait I had until my bus left at 6:10 a.m.

  OOOO. MMMM. GGGG!!! It was 9:37!! I had fallen asleep for FOUR AND A HALF FREAKIN’ HOURS. I ran to the window to see if I could change my ticket. The man/woman behind the counter (I so couldn’t tell which. I’m all for gender fluidity, so I’ll just call him/her THEM). Them said that I had not only missed my 6
:10 a.m. bus, but also the 9:30 a.m. bus. At least them let me exchange my ticket for the next bus, but it wasn’t leaving until 12:30 p.m.

  I wandered into the ladies’ room, which might as well have been backstage in a dressing room at some Broadway show. Well, some skanky regional, out-of-town-before-it-hits-Broadway show. One woman was fully naked, wiping herself down with wet paper towels. Another was fixing her hair with a curling iron and a lot of Aqua Net, and a third was applying makeup with a druggy-speedy-shaky hand. My last costar had her pants off and was mending a hole in the crotchal area.

  I splashed water on my face and got out of there as quickly as I could. What could I do for almost three hours to keep myself distracted? I couldn’t very well sit on one of the wire chairs and replay over and over what had happened last night. And I couldn’t bear to see The Talk ladies LAUGHING one more fucking time. So I took to the streets.

  Walking has always been calming to me. Especially in NYC, where, for some reason, it’s the best place to get some “alone time,” even when surrounded by constant throngs and activity. In L.A. it’s the opposite. When I’m walking and pass the occasional person, I feel totally out there and exposed.

  Downtown was a ripe canvas for street art, which up until recently, I had barely noticed, and now, felt like a best friend. Every corner I turned, I found myself face to face with some masterpiece:

  But even walking through the urban museum wasn’t enough to keep at bay the images that were flashing in my mind like stop-action still frames—Whitney with S.H.A.R.I. doing shots together. Me, a sad-sack reflection in a sexy strip club’s mirror. And that was just the short film before the feature presentation. Mom lying. Dad lying. Mom cheating. Dad leaving. Me and Cooper cutting off Dad. The betrayals. The fiction.

  And then, OH BOY, wouldn’t ya know…. Like it had been happening from the start of the hunt, from the first second I began really seeing the street art and paying attention to the messages, I came upon a piece that SHOUTED AT ME.