you into falling for him, by impressing you with his smooth moves. I told you I was onto his methods.
“Oh, shit! Don’t think I didn’t see this one coming! The fuck!”
Ava had just broken the news to Electra.
“Ava…not Dylan,” Electra pleaded, when Ava told us he was on his way over. We were having Baja Fresh on the patio in the backyard and a homeless man we call Fret was standing on the other side of the gate, in the alley, asking us if he could please have some money. We call him Fret because when people say no to him he goes back and forth with his hand in his mouth, saying, “Oh, dear, oh, dear.”
“Get out of here before I call the fucking police!” Electra finally screamed, throwing something at him. It was that limp green onion they always wrap up with your burrito. He ran off before she could chuck the slice of lime that comes with it.
“Electra, that was mean,” Ava told her, frowning.
“Well?” she asked haughtily, throwing her hair over one shoulder. Electra has the longest, shiniest brown hair ever. Stunning. She is fucking gorgeous.
“Well, you shouldn’t be so mean,” Ava lectured. “The man is homeless!”
“Yes, and I work for a living,” Electra replied, spooning up some of her rice. She eats a burrito from the center and never touches it with her hands. Her mother’s family name is on a bottle of whiskey. Her father’s family name is on a pack of cigarettes. Electra doesn’t like it when you talk about all that. She thinks it’s gauche for people to go around flaunting their wealth. Now check out those monogrammed Gucci slides of hers, and the matching bag.
“Back to Dylan,” I said, pouring more margarita into my glass from the pitcher on the center of the table.
“Yeah, why him?” Electra demanded.
Ava looked thoughtful. “He says I’m a star in his sky.”
Electra looked at her as though she were pitiful. “Oh, please. Must we go through this galactic debacle again?”
And the whacked-out milk lecture starts in five, four, three, two…
“You need to learn that women are like dairy products to men, sugar. They’re fresh before use, and spoil quickly. Women friends are like milk. Something substantial to drink if there’s not an appealing alternative in sight—like a Coke. Right now you’re like an unopened carton of milk to Dylan. And man, he’s gotten thirsty. So he wants to drink you because you’re right there and there’s no Coke and he’s fucking thirsty! That’s all it is! So fine, but when he trashes you, don’t be surprised. You won’t even go to the recycling bin because milk fucking spoils! Hello!” Electra shrieked.
“You’re totally stuck in the Milky Way, Electra, and besides—I’m not trying to alter the course of the universe,” Ava informed her. “I just like him.”
“Yeah, well…he’ll stop thinking of you as his fucking star as soon as you start thinking he’s pulled down the moon!”
Ava looked to be considering this. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” Electra said graciously.
“What makes you the authority on absolutely fucking everything?”
“Oh, ha ha, really funny!” Electra bitched as Ava and I collapsed into giggles. “Let’s have a gathering, then. I can’t handle Dylan on his own. Doll, you call some people.”
I called Jeremy even though I suspected he was with Pristina. He was. He told me over a bunch of restaurant racket that he may come over later because she was on call. If Pristina were kidnapped and held for ransom and I had a lot of money, I would put it all into mutual funds and not even feel guilty.
I hung out in the living room with Andy Whitcomb, who is my best guy friend. We grew up around the block from each other and have been pals since our moms were in our elementary school PTA. I even took him with me to college, which we attended at Chapman University in Orange. Andy is just like me. And just like me, no way in hell was he moving back home after graduation. So he lives nearby, just off Third Street near the Beverly Center. Everyone thinks he’s gay because he works in couture at Nordstrom and his apartment is beyond Pottery Barn. Fashion sense aside, he’s not gay at all. He is actually a real sleaze. When he talks about the female sex organ he calls it “trim.” One time he was hooking up with a girl and he found a hair on her nipple all long and dark just like it was a pube. Instead of ignoring it he bit it off with his teeth. When I heard that story I laughed for an hour. Andy gets laid a lot.
“Do you want to be in my wedding?” I asked him as he strummed his guitar and I looked through a Victoria’s Secret catalog for a pair of sexy boots I just know I saw in there. Have to have them. Ava and Dylan were making out on the other couch. I am a total voyeur. I kept sneaking glances at them.
“Yeah, sure,” he replied. “But there is no way in hell I’m wearing a dress.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure you can wear a tuxedo just like the other guys, Andy. Only you’ll have to stand on my side.”
I know this is the kind of thing everyone will ooh and ah over and think is the most adorable thing they’ve ever heard in their entire lives.
He nodded. “I’ll do it, then. Hey, you know something funny?”
“What’s that?”
“This’ll only be the second wedding I’ve ever been in.”
“The reason behind that, Andy, is that the majority of your bozo friends will be lifelong confirmed bachelors,” I predicted.
“Let’s hope so,” he said. “But don’t you want to know what’s so funny about it?”
“Enlighten me.”
“The other wedding I was in was Dan’s. Remember? Ha ha ha!”
Andy is cute but too much of a scamp. He has brown hair and impish brown eyes and a wiry build like a soccer player.
“You’re a fucker,” I told him, glaring.
“I am and I won’t deny it,” he practically giggled.
He was referring, of course, to Dan Michaelson. My high school sweetheart. Though our breakup took place years ago, we have sustained a heinous feud. This feud spreads out over time and geography. It has invisible, toxic tentacles.
“You’ve got to admit it’s kind of ironic,” Andy laughed. “I mean, wasn’t the original plan for you and Dan to get married at the same time? To each other?”
“Yeah, when we were seventeen,” I said, starting to get itchy. I feel sick talking about Dan and Andy knows it. “Anyway, you just take that Dan shit and shove it. Now, promise you’ll really be one of my bridesmaids?”
“I promise, Doll. It’ll be a great honor.” He winked at me. “Want me to play ‘Jane Says’ for you?”
“Sure.” He thinks it’s one of my favorite songs because my favorite grandmother, my father’s mother, calls me Jane. She doesn’t like my first name at all. Dalton
