The Botox Diaries (35 page)

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Authors: Lynn Schnurnberger,Janice Kaplan

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Awkwardly Dan puts one arm around my waist, and extends his right hand to take mine.

“Usually you lead with the other hand,” I say, drawing on the lessons I learned when I was ten in Miss Hewitt’s weekly ballroom dance classes. Back then, we had to wear white gloves and one-piece dresses so the boys couldn’t cop a feel of skin by sticking their grimy hands between our skirts and tops. Finally understand the wisdom. Now if I could only convince Jen to wear overalls.

Dan switches position to extend his left hand. “Lucy and I always did it the other way,” he admits. “Couples fall into funny patterns, don’t they? I guess I’m going to have to learn some new moves.”

We find a groove and start swaying harmoniously to the music.

“Never heard this song before, but I kind of like it,” says Dan, starting to hum along to the predictable tune.

“It was the hit from that first girl who won
American Idol
,” I say.

“What’s
American Idol
?”

“You’re kidding. It’s my favorite TV show. A huge hit.”

“Not on CNN,” he laughs. “Only station I watch.”

I shake my head sadly. “Ah, Dan. This could be the end of a beautiful friendship. You and I clearly have nothing in common.”

We dance for a moment or two in silence. Haltingly Dan pulls me closer. “Not the end of a friendship, but maybe the start of something else,” he murmurs, barely audibly.

“Right. Maybe we can be ballroom dance champs,” I say as we glide comfortably around the floor. “Supposed to be in the next Olympics, I hear. For all of us who never got the hang of pole vaulting.”

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” Dan says. He stops but doesn’t let go of my hand. “Come on, I want to talk to you.”

He leads me quickly off the dance floor and guides me to a secluded spot by the rooftop railing that’s decorated with twinkling lights and hanging lanterns.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Look, Jess, I want to tell you the truth.”

Uh-oh. Please lie to me. Nothing good ever came out of a conversation that started with wanting to tell the truth.

“You’ve been such a great friend,” Dan says, looking out over the spectacular view of the city skyline rather than at me.

No good conversation ever came out of “you’ve been such a good friend,” either. But Dan, unaware that he’s sent up two red flags already, forges on.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. People in my office have been trying to fix me up since … well, you know since when.” He looks uncomfortable, but he quickly recovers. “I keep saying no because I haven’t wanted to go out with anyone. But with you it’s different. We’re already friends. I can talk to you about anything. And here we are out together and it feels good.”

He pauses and turns to look at me. I’m too stunned to speak, but for some reason, I reach out and rub his arm. I think I’m being sympathetic, but Dan sees it as encouragement. He clasps his hand over mine.

“I finally figured out that if I’m going to date, you’re the person I should do it with.”

His proposition hangs in the air like Glade room freshener. Kind of sweet, but a little too heavy.

“No, I’m not,” I say, trying not to let him see just how shaken I am. “I’m not the person you should be with. It’s Lucy. You should be with Lucy. Don’t try to get back at her this way.”

“This has nothing to do with her,” says Dan, miffed that I’ve even brought his wife into the picture. “It’s about you and me. I like you, Jess. We understand each other. We laugh. It just makes sense for us to be together.”

“It doesn’t make any sense at all. For one thing, Lucy’s my best friend. I could never do that to her. And besides, you belong with Lucy. You know you do.”

“I don’t know anything anymore,” he says. “No, let me correct that. I know how I feel about you.”

“You don’t,” I say, interrupting before he says something we’ll both regret later. “You’re just angry with Lucy. You’re hurt. You’re lonely. I’m not the answer. We shouldn’t even talk about it anymore.”

I start back to the table, but he grabs my hand. “Okay, I hear what you’re saying. I know this would be awkward for you. But put that aside for a minute. Tell me frankly. If it weren’t for Lucy, how would you feel about me? How would you feel about us?”

I stand there for a long time, looking at his anxious face. I should cut this off right now. Make it very clear that nothing can ever happen between us. Because nothing ever will. But gazing into his warm gray eyes, I end up admitting more than I intend to.

“I once told Lucy that you were the only husband in Pine Hills I’d want as my own,” I say honestly.

“And what did she say?” he asks with a wry smile. “That you could have me?”

“You know her better than you think,” I laugh. “But trust me, she loves you. You love her. And you’ve got to find a way back to each other.”

“Hard to imagine that happening,” he says as he leans in. He kisses me. It’s a sweet kiss that lasts no more than a moment but it lingers on my lips. “I won’t embarrass you anymore. Let’s go back to the table.”

We never make it back to our seats, because halfway around the room, the man in the blue tie who Dan had earlier identified as the vice president of marketing waylays him for some shop talk. I take the opportunity to slip away and head back to collect myself before having to face Dan again. Nobody else is at the table, but I’m glad to be alone. I pick at my arugula and radicchio salad, ignoring all the greens and chomping instead on the toasted pecans and hearty chunks of creamy blue cheese. What the heck. Doesn’t matter if my midriff expands. I can always take up belly dancing.

“Abandoned?” asks Josh Gordon, coming over and sitting down in his place next to me.

“Yup. What about you? Where’s the lovely Marissa?” I ask, realizing that the seat next to him is also vacant.

“The ice queen?” he asks, accurately gauging the temperature of his date. “She’s freshening up. Could take a long time. What do you say we dance?”

Dance with Josh Gordon? I’ll probably break my toe. Or worse, his. But I’m certainly getting my share of attention tonight. I guess this knee-length cotton dress isn’t so bad after all. I should send Bloomingdale’s a thank-you note and an extra ten bucks.

The orchestra segues out of a Celine Dion song and into a new tune. Something I vaguely remember. An old Carly Simon number—“Nobody Does It Better.” Who could resist an offer like that? Of course I’ll dance with Josh.

Chapter
SEVENTEEN
 

“DON’T PULL OUT THAT ONE
—it’s not a weed!” Boulder shrieks at me from across the lawn. “Let it live!”

But it’s too late. I’ve already yanked the oversized dandelion out by its roots and I’m holding it triumphantly. Now I stare, trying to figure out what else it could possibly be.

“A zinnia,” Boulder says, coming over and taking it from me. He cradles it tenderly, brushing the dirt off the smooth stem.

“Sorry,” I say. “Didn’t know.”

“Poor little plant,” he coos to the yellow-petaled orphan, uprooted so abruptly from its bed. “I’ll take care of you, baby. Don’t worry. I’ll even find you a better home.”

He clucks his tongue at me, strides five paces across the sunny garden, and kneels on the ground to begin replanting. What, he thinks I can’t kill it over there?

I go into the house to get a pitcher of lemonade and some fresh-baked oatmeal raisin cookies and bring them back to Boulder. I sink down on the grass next to him as he lovingly pats the soil around the resurrected plant.

“You’re going to be okay, zinnia,” he says in a high-pitched baby voice. “I won’t let that mean Jessie around you again.”

He dusts off his hands and devours a big glass of lemonade in a few gulps. “Mean Jessie with plants and silly Jessie with men,” he admonishes me.

“You mean what I told you about Dan at the party?”

“Right. You march back and tell that man you weren’t thinking straight last night. New plan. You’ll have sex with him, and if it works out okay, he can move right in.”

“Boulder, what are you talking about?” I ask, moving some small rocks around the edge of what is now the zinnia bed. “Lucy’s my best friend.”

He looks at me and raises an eyebrow.

“My best woman friend,” I amend. “Girls don’t do that to girls. You learn early that you have to be able to count on each other. Simple rules. You don’t break a date with a girlfriend for Saturday night just because some guy calls to ask you out at the last minute. Once you get a boyfriend, you still make time for dinner with the girls. And here’s the biggie. You don’t steal your best friend’s husband. Even if they’re temporarily split.”

“Why not? Where else are you going to meet people?”

“Match-dot-com?” I venture.

“Please, this way’s safer. The guy’s been preselected. If he’s good enough for your best friend, he’s probably good enough for you.”

“Dan’s good enough for anybody. He’s great. But that’s not the point. He and Lucy have the kids. They’re a family. Destroy that and you rot in hell forever. Besides, I know she loves him. She’s just been suffering from temporary insanity.”

“But Dan said he loved
you
,” Boulder says, arms raised passionately, as if he’s auditioning for a Danielle Steel movie.

“No, he didn’t,” I say annoyed. “Don’t you ever listen?”

“All I do is listen,” says Boulder. “That’s what the gay best friend does.”

“Okay, well listen again. Dan said he
liked
me. He said we laugh together. He said we were comfortable. Doesn’t exactly sound like he’s Romeo baying outside my window.”

“And if he was?” asks Boulder.

“I’d never do it to Lucy. Friendship. Loyalty. The Girl Scout oath.”

“The Girl Scout oath?”

“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” I say righteously.

“That’s the Golden Rule.”

“Girl Scout Oath. Golden Rule. Constitutional amendment. What’s the difference? I just wouldn’t.”

“But do you want to? If there were no consequences. No rotting in hell. No bitchy Pine Hills neighbors passing judgment.”

I take a moment, thinking about it seriously. Me and Dan. Dan and me. Somebody I already respect. Somebody I already like. Somebody who doesn’t speak French.

“Dan’s wonderful,” I say slowly, letting the words form in my head for the first time. “Who wouldn’t want him? He’s got all the right stuff. He’s smart. He’s great-looking. He loves being married. He bikes twenty miles every weekend and he’s in great shape.”

“So?” asks Boulder, ready to choose my china pattern.

I shrug. “I don’t know how to explain it. Maybe it’s because he’s been my pal all these years. But honestly, he doesn’t make my heart go pitter-patter. And I bet I don’t make his heart skip a beat, either.”

Boulder crosses his arms. “That’s a problem? No pitter-patter means no joint checking account?”

“I guess so,” I admit. “Even at my age, I’m not ready to give up on real romance. There’s gotta be someone out there who’s as sexy as Jacques and as nice as Dan.”

Boulder sighs and turns back to his plant. “Itsy-bitsy zinny, will we ever find someone perfect for our Jessie?” he asks in that same itsy-bitsy little voice. “Someone she can love and cherish and who’ll make the earth move?”

“I’ll give you moving earth,” I say, laughing, as I dig in and toss a small clod of dirt at him.

He catches it. “You deserve more than the earth moving,” he says affectionately. “You deserve an earthquake.”

That’s my Boulder. Don’t want to explain to him that an earthquake isn’t usually a good thing. But I wouldn’t mind a rumble or two.

* * *

 

When Lucy asks if I’ve heard from Dan, I try “yes” and then “no” and then “yes” again. Going for the truth—well, some of it, anyway—I remind her that Dan and I went to a business party together.

“Oh, right, thanks for doing that,” she says, looking up from her desk and smiling at me across her office. “At least I know he’s not dating.”

“Right. Hanging with me instead. I’m safe,” I tell her, feeling just the slightest twinge of guilt. And regret. Should I be making decisions for Dan? If he really wants to pursue me, who am I to say he shouldn’t? Maybe the pitter-patters would come.

But no. Won’t even think it.

Lucy’s assistant Tracey comes in with a plastic bag of food from the Au Bon Pain around the corner.

“I thought were lunching at Le Cirque,” I say, watching Tracey set out vegetable wraps and iced tea.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Lucy says. “Can’t leave the office. Waiting for a conference call. My agent Gary Gray swore they’d call me first thing, L.A. time.”

“It’s still early in L.A.,” I say, looking at my watch. One-thirty. That’s ten-thirty on the coast. “What time do they normally finish up with their personal trainers?”

“By now,” she says impatiently. “Annoys me to be at their beck and call. But Gary says they love love love the show. Kiss kiss. The network president himself wants to talk to me. Len Sunshine.”

“Great name. Get his start as a stripper?”

“Close. FM deejay. Then a bit-part actor. Very handsome. Very charming. Could be the only straight man in Hollywood who slept his way to the top.”

“Huh? Didn’t think there were enough powerful women at the networks to make it worth his while.”

“There aren’t. But there are plenty of famous actresses. And if enough big female stars adore you, you’ve got your Saturday night lineup. Everyone loves working with him.”

“Can I hang out when the call comes? Put it on speaker. I want to hear a network president sucking up to you.”

“Sure. But I warn you. Even with the best of these guys, half of what they say is phony and the other half is fake.”

“Kind of like Hollywood boobs,” I say, pleased that I can participate in industry banter.

Lucy scrunches her nose. “No, I’m serious. I’ve had shows turn on a dime. From ‘Love ya, baby. You’re the best’ to ‘
Hasta luega
. See ya around, kid.’ ”

“Worried?” I ask.

“Not really,” Lucy says, as Tracey announces that The Call has finally come.

Lucy looks meaningfully at me and nods to a chair. “I’ll be quiet,” I whisper, as she sits down, hikes up her skirt, and perches cross-legged on the desk. Too bad it’s not a video conference. But doesn’t matter. Lucy knows she’s sexy and savvy and she projects that confidence even from three thousand miles away.

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