fate would have it, neither lasted two weeks.
“Mommy’s home!” I called out as I let myself into my apartment, which—for all you architecture fans out there—is a 1940s duplex in the low-rent area of Beverly Hills. Not that the rent is actually low, but it seems that way, compared to the Casa Kingsleys of the world.
Prozac raised her head from where she was napping on my best cashmere sweater and looked at me through slitted eyes.
When will you get over the ridiculous notion that you’re my mother? she seemed to be saying. In case you’ve forgotten, one of us is a cat, and the other a mere mortal.
I know she doesn’t like it when I call myself Mommy, but I’m the one footing the cat food bills, so Mommy it is.
“Mommy’s got a new job,” I said, scratching her belly. “And guess how much I’m getting paid, snookums? Three thousand lovely dollars a week! That’s enough to keep you in albacore tuna morning, noon, and night.”
Her eyes shot open wide. Just the mention of food can do that to her. We’re a lot alike, my Prozac and I.
The phone rang, and I got it.
“Three thousand dollars a week? Congratulations!”
It was Lance Venable, my next door neighbor.
“I couldn’t help overhearing,” he said.
And it’s true. The man has x-ray hearing. Really. Lance hears toilets flushing in West Covina. Which was pretty disconcerting when I first moved in to my apartment, but I’ve gotten used to it now.
“So tell me all about your new job.”
And I did.
“Wow,” he said when I was through. “SueEllen Kingsley. I see her picture in the society pages all the time. What amazing tits. You really saw them naked?”
“Yep. They float.”
“How come nothing fun like that ever happens at my job?” he pouted. “All I get to see are bunions.”
Lance is a shoe salesman at Neiman Marcus. Tall and thin with a headful of silky blond curls, Lance has been working at Neiman’s ever since I’ve known him.
Unlike the other shoe salesmen at Neiman’s, Lance is not an aspiring actor/director. He knows he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life selling shoes, but so far, he hasn’t figured out what he does want to do. So he spends his days fondling in-steps, and is kind enough to let me use his employee discount. Which means that instead of paying $500 for a pair of outrageously overpriced shoes, all I have to pay is $400. Not that I’d ever dream of paying $400 for a pair of shoes. But I could if I wanted to, thanks to Lance. And who knows? Now that I was making three thousand smackers a week, I just might.
We gabbed some more, mainly about Lance’s new boyfriend, a Brentwood real estate broker.
“Jim’s so great,” he gushed. “I only wish you’d meet a guy, too. Straight, of course.”
He babbled on about how kind/caring/handsome/loving/sexy/talented Jim was. I’d been down this road with him before, just like I’d been with Kandi, and I knew that as sure as Prozac would wolf down her next meal, there’d be heartbreak ahead. When it comes to picking boyfriends, apparently men are just as clueless as women. Which is why I for one am perfectly happy with a cat as my significant other.
Finally, Lance wound down about the Joys of Jim, and we hung up. I headed to the kitchen to get some kitty treats for Prozac and some Ben & Jerry’s for me. Then I checked my e-mail. Nothing except an offer to have hot cybersex with a woman named Brandi. And some letters from my parents. I decided to read my parents’ letters in the morning. I didn’t want anything to bring me down off my three-thousand-dollar-a-week high.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my mom and dad. But frankly, they’re—how can I put this gently?—they’re stark raving bonkers. To look at them, you’d think they’re just an average sixtysomething couple living in a retirement community in Tampa, Florida. But the truth is their lives are straight out of a soap opera. Somehow they always seem to be in the middle of a crisis, a crisis they expect me to solve. I’ve read about people like my parents, people who don’t feel alive unless they’re swirling in a maelstrom of drama.
Daddy is the main culprit. This is a guy who can take a perfectly ordinary day and turn it into an episode of Survivor. As my mom often says, “Daddy doesn’t have ulcers. He’s just a carrier.”
Mom’s only major lapse into nuttihood (aside from marrying Daddy) is her fanatic devotion to the Home Shopping Club. The woman has enough cubic zirconia to light up Times Square.
But enough about my parents. I’m sure you’ve got parents of your own to worry about. The point is, I’d had a good day and I wanted to keep it that way. I wasn’t in the mood for a domestic crisis, or one of Daddy’s bad e-mail jokes. I’d definitely save their letters for tomorrow.
Instead, I settled into bed with Ben, Jerry, and Prozac. The four of us happily watched an old Doris Day movie. At the beginning of the movie, Doris is a sensible woman, happy to be alone and independent. Not moping around, dreaming of having a man in her life. Why couldn’t Kandi and Lance be more like me and Doris? But then, of course, Doris falls head over heels in love with Rock Hudson and defects to the Lance/Kandi camp.
I thought about Lance and Kandi, and their quest for Mr. Right.
“What do you think?” I said, scooping Prozac up into my arms. “Are they the smart ones for trying? Am I a fool for holing myself up in the apartment with you? Should I give it one more chance and go out with that guy from Kandi’s show?”
Prozac purred in my arms, doing her best to look adorable. Of course you’re better off holed up here with me. Who wouldn’t be?
The phone rang. It was Lance.
“What guy from Kandi’s show?”
I told him what little I knew about Tommy the Termite.
“Promise me you’ll go out with him,” he said. “I won’t hang up till you promise.”
So I promised, and we hung up. I turned out the light, Doris and Rock still flickering in the background.
Maybe I would go out with Mr. Termite. And maybe one of these days when I talked to a man in bed, there wouldn’t be a wall between us.
YOU’VE GOT MAIL!
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: You’ll Never Guess What Your Father’s Done Now
Well, honey, I hope things are fine in Los Angeles, because they sure aren’t fine here in Florida. You’ll never guess what your father’s done now. He’s gone and bought a toupee.
It wouldn’t be so bad if he’d bought a regular toupee or joined the Hair Club for Men like a normal human being. But no, your father bought the darn thing at a thrift shop. That’s right. He bought a used toupee!
We
