The Brenda Diaries (9 page)

Saturday, June 25:

Canceled my haircut. I’m not in the mood to chat. It’s an unavoidable compulsion to say something, anything and everything while sitting in a stylist’s chair. Maya is off at some Palm Springs resort with Armie having gross sex in an air-conditioned hotel room. I’m ignoring my cell phone with its many messages from Jared and immersing myself in the sordid but tidy world of
Law & Order: Special Victims Unit
.

Sunday, June 26:

I’ve known Maya long enough to realize she doesn’t like to be in anyone’s shadow. Even when it comes to whose relationship can blow up in the most spectacular fashion, hers has to involve a little extra drama.

Jared groping some chick in a bar while wearing the hat I got him? Boohoo. Armie’s wife banging down the door of their hotel suite and threatening to kill Maya? That wins, hands down. 

It’s sometime before dawn and my gas station coffee buzz that sustained me during the drive to Palm Springs has worn off. I’m tired, and since Maya doesn’t have to check out until 11, I don’t see the harm in me taking a little nap, followed by a shower and then wandering over to see what the breakfast buffet looks like.

“Are you insane?” Maya is a wreck. She’s wearing a hotel robe over her skimpy (and tacky) lace teddy and panty set. Her eye makeup is smeared and her nose is red from crying. “She said she’d kill me.”

“Which is sort of understandable. I mean she did find you in a hotel room under her name and under her husband.” I’m surprised this didn’t happen sooner. “I mean, yeah, it’s awful that she went all Jerry Springer on you, but what’d you expect?”

“He didn’t even try to defend me.” Maya starts crying again. I had already heard the story on the drive here and, like I said, I’m really tired. There’s no way I’m going to be able to drive back to L.A. if I don’t get some rest. “He just stood there! While she called me horrible, awful names! And then he left with her!”

I pat Maya on the shoulder. The robe she’s wearing is luxuriously plush. “But the room has been paid for, right?”

Monday, June 27:

Maya expected me to stay home with her today and wallow in her relationship grief. She’s forgotten I have my own relationship issues which I’ve decided to ignore by spending the day in some anonymous cubicle staring at a smudgy computer monitor while endless hours of brain numbing data entry take the pain away. She’s mad at me, but I can live with that. 

Of course, karma paid me back when Jared showed up at work with a bouquet and a face full of sorry. I had no choice but to accept the flowers, his tearful hug and I shoved my tongue in his mouth before he could declare his love for me in front of the gossipy receptionist. I would have agreed to have his baby if it would have gotten him out of there faster. 

Tuesday, June 28:

This morning Priss came over to my desk, all smiles and sunshine. She complimented me on my shoes and my purse, and then asked about my “cute boyfriend.”

I mumbled something and she went away only to come back an hour later to see if I wanted to go to Starbucks with her. I said no, of course. I don’t know what game Priss is playing, but I’m positive I’ll wind up the loser.

Wednesday, June 29:

I’ve finally figured out to ask Maureen for work before she has her first hit of caffeine of the day. She gave me the newsletter project. Better yet, she told me Priss had sort of made a mess of it. I interrupt my happiness to return Summer’s call.

“Hey, Summer, I’m good to come back for next week.” I print out a copy of the newsletter as evidence to prove how much Priss sucks.

“Sorry, Brenda, but they already booked everyone they need.”

“Oh.” It’s a genuine, surprised “oh.” With everything else going on, I sort of thought that at least my job would be there for me.

“Call me tomorrow. I’m sure something good will come in.” She hangs up and I have to take a few deep breaths before I can reach down to shove my Blackberry in my purse.

There’s a stabby feeling in my stomach. Just like the one I got when I was in the third grade and was the only girl in class not invited to Stephanie Novato’s princess-themed birthday party.

Thursday, June 30:

I’ve always been a very tidy person. Not crazy organized, but I like to keep things where they belong. My work life stays at work, my private life stays (relatively) private and I’ve always been careful not to mix the two.

Having Jared show up at work with a bunch of flowers on Monday—his face one big puddle of “I’m sorry”—was my worst nightmare come true. Because he couldn’t control his sentimentality, now everyone knows that I have a boyfriend and that that boyfriend did something he is sorry for.

My relationship woes have unleashed something even more twisted and evil in Priss. She’s been hovering over me, asking me how I’m doing, if I need to take a break, do I need someone to talk to. She’s the relationship grim reaper, which is a role Maya usually fills in my life.

Of course, my supposed best friend is too deep in her own relationship misery to pay any attention to anyone but herself. She could be sitting in a refugee camp right smack in the middle of Darfur and she’d still be crying over Armie choosing his wife over her.
So as of now, I don’t know what’s going to happen with Jared, how long Maya will hold out before she starts prowling for a money bags replacement or if Priss will stab me to death with a pair of office scissors.

Nothing about any of this is the least bit tidy.

Friday, July 1:

I’ve lied to Jared and told him I’ll be at my grandma’s this weekend. She’s going on her monthly Vegas jaunt with a rowdy group from her active seniors’ retirement community. And because I’m such a terrible liar, I’m going to go stay there so it’s only half a lie. I invited Maya, but she said she’d rather sleep in an alley. She’ll be ringing my grandma’s doorbell by noon tomorrow.

Not Quite Right

July 2 to July 31

Saturday, July 2:

I like geezers. My parents were pretty up there in years when I came around so I’m used to persons of advanced years. Mom thought she was entering early menopause, but the situation with her lady parts was exactly the opposite. So, yeah, by the time I graduated from high school my parents looked like my grandparents and I’ve been listening to their old people complaints for years now.

This is why spending the next couple of days at my grandma’s retirement condo complex doesn’t faze me. Old people are funny and smart, and I can walk a lot faster than the annoying ones so they’re easy to avoid. Aside from the periodic “code blue” announcements over the speaker system, it’s pretty nice here.

Sunday, July 3:

Maya showed up last night—she couldn’t face another night alone in my apartment. She’s paranoid that Armie’s wife is going to break in and machete her to pieces. I guess she assumed his wife would go for me first, giving her a chance to escape. Whatever you want to say about Maya, she’s not dumb and she always plans ahead. I’ve caught her up on all the condo gossip and she’s looking a little more like her old self-centered self.

It’s barely noon and we’ve already had breakfast and lunch, and dinner is only a few hours away. I’ve signed us up for a bingo tournament to keep us both busy. I’m hoping to win big to make up for my lack of a temp assignment for the coming week.

Monday, July 4:

Maya and I have talked each other into going over to a friend’s for burnt wieners, warm beer and illegal fireworks. Even with no word from Armie, Maya must be feeling better—she’s combed her hair and is wearing a new blouse from Forever 21 that’s an Anthropologie knock-off. Not going to ruin things by pointing out that it’s my blouse and she didn’t ask if she could borrow it. It was only $12.99 so I’d rather eat the cost then deal with the grief she’d give me for pointing out she’s a blouse stealer.

Tuesday, July 5:

I’m sitting in my car still parked in the carport with nowhere to go. I hold up my phone to the heavens and pray that Summer comes through with an assignment, but I’ve been on hold for 10 minutes and I know that’s not good. I hunker down in the seat so Ivan doesn’t see me. He’s happy, whistling under his breath and carrying a coiled water hose over his shoulder.

“Brenda?” Summer pops her gum. “You still there?”

“Yeah. Yes. Anything?” I know I sound desperate, but I really need her to come through for me.

“Sorry. I even tried our Valley branch. Things are really slow right now.” Another pop of gum. “Call me next week.”

That’s it. I’m screwed until next week. I hang up and start picking the polish off my nails. My phone rings and I answer it without bothering to check who’s calling.

 “What the hell is going on?” Cal. I sit up straight, my heart kicking up a notch or two. “And don’t tell me you’re working because if you were, you wouldn’t have answered your phone.”

Cal is taking what he calls a “temp sabbatical” for the rest of the summer. Supposedly, he’s recording songs and playing gigs with his band. What he mostly seems to be doing is calling me up at all hours to play random bits of songs in my ear and then trying to talk me into meeting him at some bar or another.

“What are you doing up so early?” It’s not even close to 9, but it’s already scorching hot. Maya’s going to call me any second now bitching about the lack of air conditioning in my apartment.

“Up? I haven’t even been to bed yet. I wanted you to hear something. Ready?” Without waiting for me to respond, he blares one of his songs in my ear. “So? Brilliant, right?”

“Sure. I like it.” It sounds like all his other songs. Kind of techno with some funk mixed in and lyrics that don’t make much sense, but sound good. “I thought you guys found a singer.”

“You should come by. We can hang out.” What Cal means by hanging out is we talk, laugh, hold hands and make out until I’m overcome by guilt and take off. 

“Sorry. Can’t. My roommate just broke up with her boyfriend and I promised to braid her hair and wipe away her tears.”

“Sounds kinky. Maybe I’ll come over and watch.” Cal has been dropping hints that he wants to meet my friends, but so far I’ve brushed him off.

I watch as Maya trudges toward me, wrapped in a blanket.

“I gotta go. Call you later.” I snap my phone shut and open the passenger door for her.

“Hey. You want me to drive you to McDonald’s to get breakfast?” This always cheers her up, but from the slump of her shoulders I can tell it’s not going to work this time. Nothing. She stares blankly at the dashboard. “Maybe we can go somewhere. Vegas?”

I hate Vegas and she knows it. For me that city is hell on earth. The heat, the people, the wasting of money. Ugh.

“What’s his name?” She has her chin tucked into her chest, but I heard her clearly enough.

“Uh…Cal.” That I’ve been able to keep him a secret from her this long is something of an accomplishment. Not one I’m necessarily proud of, but it still wasn’t easy to do. “I met him on a temp assignment.”

“What about Jared?” She looks at me. Without mascara, her lashes are very blond and her eyes have a pinkish look to them. “Are you guys really broken up?”

I put my hands on the wheel and grip it. Up until now I’ve had the luxury of not asking myself that question. It’s not a big surprise that I don’t have an answer. I shrug.

Ivan comes back carrying the same hose over his shoulder. He stops short when he sees us, startled, before a smile overtakes his face. I wave him over. “We’re going to get breakfast at McDonald’s. You want to come along?”

“Sure,” he climbs into the backseat.

I carefully back out of the carport, aware that my passengers are both relying on me to get them safely there and back again. 

Wednesday, July 6:

Ivan found out I was at loose ends for the week so he’s paying me to be his assistant. We’re working on fixing up an empty apartment to get it in shape to rent out. The place is trashed so before we can paint it we have to clean up, patch holes, replace doorknobs and missing cabinet pulls, and tidy up all sort of odds and ends.

Ivan says the people who used to live here are fighting to get their security deposit back, but Mr. Papadakis is refusing. Good for him and good for me since that’s where my pay is going to come from.

Thursday, July 7:

I fixed my very first leaky faucet today. I also heard from Jared and Cal within minutes of each other, but didn’t call either of them back. Maya says I’m playing hard to get, but she didn’t ask who it is I’m trying to get. I guess it’s pretty obvious that I have no idea. 

Friday, July 8:

Summer is going on maternity leave so I have to make nice with her replacement, Amy. I wash out paint brushes the way Ivan taught me and when I’m done I go out on the small balcony to call her.

“This is Amy.” She has a deep voice.

“Hi, Amy. This is Brenda. I’m calling because—”

“I know why you’re calling and I’m going to tell you the same thing I told the person who called right before you: there’s nothing,” Amy barks.

“I’d like to put myself on the open call list.” This is the last resort for a temp. It means you’re willing to take anything, anywhere with just enough notice to get yourself over to the assignment. “Starting on Monday.”

“Fine. Keep your phone on. I only call once. You snooze, you lose, girly.” She hangs up on me.

I’m positive that Amy is a cow and she isn’t going to put me on the top of her crap list for crap assignments—not when she has her own roster of temps to keep happy. Usually, I give a person the benefit of the doubt, but in Amy’s case there’s no doubt about it—I hate her. That “girly” was totally unnecessary and aggressive.

Saturday, July 9:

Drove Maya to the airport. She’s going to go stay at her dad and stepmom’s place in Chicago. She invited me to come along, but I don’t like her dad. He’s kind of pervy.

Sunday, July 10:

Not only did I NOT win any money at bingo, I’m in the hole for $85 to my grandma. She’ll make me pay, too. Lucky for me, I’ve lined up something for this week. It’s strictly retail, but it’s under the table. The sooner I pay my grandma back, the safer my knees and shins will be from her walker.

Monday, July 11:

I’ve had more jobs than boyfriends which makes me a job slut. And, as a slut, my standards are sometimes not the highest. This is why I’ve wound up at the Century City Shopping Center, an open air mall, covering for my friend Jerri while she’s on vacation in Belize. Jerri is a good friend, the kind who will loan you her last dollar so you can get a venti instead of a grande at Starbucks.

Jerri works at one of those stand alone carts that sit outside stores and sell all manner of random crap. Where else can you get weight loss tea or printed cotton wraps you can supposedly wear a hundred different ways? Yes, I am a kiosk gypsy. And guess what? People hate kiosk gypsies.

I sit on an uncomfortable bar stool and try not look desperate when someone approaches. Jerri’s boss, Demetric (who could be Armie’s first cousin), has made it very clear that I need to sell at least $500 worth of designer-inspired sunglasses.

A woman with a dog prances by. I turn on the wattage. “Hi! We have a great deal on sunglasses today! I have the perfect pair for you!”

She and her dog give me a dirty look and keep walking. Bitches. Both of them. I check the register balance. In the last four hours I’ve sold $187 worth of crap, which means to Demetric that I’m $313 short. He told me as much when he called to check up on me a few minutes ago.

Here’s how he explained the job to me. “The trick is to get one person browsing and others will come because people are like sheep, they like to stick together.  You hand them sunglasses and shoot off compliments until they buy something just to shut you up. Mention that you’re a student. People feel sorry for students.”

I scan the crowd. Jackpot! Tourists! I can tell from the way they’re dressed—dumpy T-shirts, ill fitting cargo pants, and sensible missionary sneakers. Even better, none of them are wearing sunglasses. Easy pickings.

I hop off the stool and step out a few feet from the cart to intercept them. “Hi! Do you guys want to try on some sunglasses? We’re having an amazing sale today on some of our most popular styles.”

“Uh….” The larger woman wearing a Disneyland visor, too polite to ignore me, comes to a stop. “Sure. How much?”

I hand her a pair with a chunky white frame that go with her visor and off-white pants. “These are just like Chanel, but without the Chanel price.”

“They are pretty.” The woman tries them on while the rest of her family shifts from side to side. “I like the rhinestones.”

I grab a pair of sporty wraparounds and hand them to the teenage boy (purple camouflage t-shirt with black cargos and, yes, white socks pulled up high and tight around his beefy calves).

“These are great for sports and stuff. They won’t fall off your face. If you get both, I can give you a great deal.”

Truth is, there is no deal. In the end, even if I say I’m knocking off $10, everyone is still paying four times the wholesale price. I sell four pairs, bringing up my total sales to $245.

I look up when I get a waft of cologne and see Demetric. He’s dressed as if he’s going to a disco party. Sneaky rat was probably spying on me from inside Brookstone when he called.

“Hi,” is all I manage to get out before he shoulders me aside and starts counting out the register.

His thick, black eyebrows draw together and his face unsmiling. “How much?”

“What? Oh, 245. I just sold four pair, but I’m sure you already know that.”

“You’re short.” Dimetric pulls out his ringing cell phone and barks something in Russian. “It’s coming out of your pay.”

“I’m counting it again. Move.” I push him aside, a little surprised that he moves, and start counting. He’s right—it’s short the cost of a venti quad latte. “Okay. Fine.”

I grab a pair of sunglasses and I plant myself in the middle of the walkway.

“What are you doing?” he asks as he settles down on the bar stool to watch.

“I’m going to sell the fuck out of these sunglasses.” And because I don’t have much of a choice, I do.

Tuesday, July 12:

Watching the security guys bust a shoplifter is a lot more exciting and satisfying than I thought it would be. Not in a Romans watching lions tear into Christians kind way, but pretty close. From all the stuff they’re pulling out of her bag, she’s been busy making the rounds. I can’t really feel bad for her, even though she’s crying, because someone snagged a pair of sunglasses while I wasn’t looking and now
I
have to pay for them. Maybe it was her?