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She’s used to me doing most of the talking, but even so, I’m barely letting her get a word in edgewise. I punch the pillows lined up to represent my errant spouse. “Iama good mother. People judge me for having a nanny, but she was only there for times when I had to make publicity appearances for Brett.” I’m talking like she doesn’t know this firsthand. “Yet unbeknownst to me, in addition to some light housework, she apparently took over servicing my husband.” Punch, punch, punch. “We treated her like a little sister. Well, I did. Brett clearly didn’t see her that way, the lying sack of hemorrhoids.”
“He really is, hun. For real. It’s the reason I called so late—”
“How could I have fallen for that slick line about being the other half of his star? The first time we went away together to Cancun—do you remember that? You warned me not to go, but did I listen? No, I did not.”
“Harper, you need to listen to menow.”
“Instead, I just hopped on that private jet with him and let him pull the wool over my eyes with his ‘Harper, I don’t shine nearly as brightly when you’re not around. Will you marry me?’ I thought he meant his love for me made him shine brighter, when in fact, he meant that my love forhimmade him shine brighter. What kind of an idiot was I? All Brett ever wanted was to see his own reflection in my eyes.”
“Yeah, he’s a real bastard, Harp. Now quit talking. TMZ broke the story about him and the nanny ten minutes ago. It’s going to be all over town by noon, and I’m guessing by twelve-oh-one every reporter from here to Santa Barbara is going to be sitting at your gate.”
Panic slams into me like a bucket of ice to the head. It’s a full thirty seconds before I say anything. “How did they find out? Brett said he’d keep their relationship under wraps until we worked out the details of the separation.”
“Well, if by under wraps he meant a picnic at the Hollywood Bowl with champagne, caviar, and a load of cameras pointed at them, then hopping on a jet to Hawaii, kudos to Brett.”
Shock vibrates through my bones until my teeth nearly start to chatter, although the only thing that should shock me is that I didn’t see this coming. Thank God for Prisha. She’s been the tether in the storm of my marriage. She has kept me focused and calm in times where I wanted to do nothing more than run Brett over with that stupid Hummer he bought himself. Talk about over-compensating.Nothingsays tiny wiener like a man with an oversized vehicle.
Prisha and I moved to LA within months of each other. We met while waiting tables at Pinot Bistro in Studio City. We were both aspiring actresses, but at the time there was a serious lack of roles for people of color in the industry, so instead of being in front of the cameras, my friend found a home for herself in Tinsel Town public relations.
“I guess I’m a prisoner in my own home now,” I practically whimper.
“I just packed a couple suitcases,” she tells me. “I’ll move in and make sure to keep the wolves at bay and go for regular ice-cream runs.”
“I love you, Prish,” I tell her, meaning it with my whole heart. “Why couldn’t you have been a man?”
“Why couldn’t you have been a lesbian?” she asks. “I don’t have the answers, so let’s focus on the matter at hand, okay? Sheila wants to come along, but I told her she’d better not. The last thing you need is for the press to report on your being part of a queer love triangle.”
“That sounds much more appealing than being the wife of a husband who cheats on her with the nanny.”
“Hang tough, my friend. We’ll get you through this. I have a meeting at nine that I can’t reschedule, but I’ll come straight there as soon as I’m done. Hopefully, the vultures won’t have arrived yet.”
My stomach lurches as my entire body goes weak. “Oh, God, this is it. This is really happening.”
“Get some sleep, sweetie. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Her words are so warm and caring, they feel like the hug I need.
“Okay.”
“And go ahead and buy yourself something really nice since it’s Brett’s credit card.”
“I will,” I sniff. “There’s a set of gold-plated shotgun ammo for almost four hundred thousand.”
“So long as you don’t buy the gun to go with it.”
“No promises.”
When I hang up, I toss my phone across the bed and cry until I finally drift off to sleep. I don’t wake up again until I hear, “Mommy ... Mommy ... Mommy ... MommyMommyMOMMY!!!”
“Lily, what?” I roll over in bed, so sore I feel like I’ve just run a full marathon in an hour.
Grief hurts. Unfortunately, unlike actual running, there are no health benefits from it that I know of.
“There’s a man in a tree taking pictures of us!” my daughter yells while wedging a finger so far up her left nostril, I’m afraid she’s going to accidentally give herself a lobotomy.
This news propels me out of bed in record time. “What man? What tree?” I demand, following her into the living room.
There I find my son on his knees in front of the large bay window. He’s staring up at something. “Liam, honey, come back here by me, please.” I’m hoping he detects the urgency in my voice without getting scared. Brett and I may not have been a good couple, but we did shield our children remarkably well from the scum-sucking paparazzi.
“I’ve got this, Mom,” my sweet son says while standing up. Then, as if speaking for us all, he turns around, drops trow, and moons the photographer trespassing on our property. I can just see the front page of theInquisitornow. Luckily, they can’t print a picture of my child’s bare bottom smooshed against the glass without breaking all kinds of child pornography laws. But still, somewhere out there someone will have an image of him doing that and that isnotokay.
