Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang (18 page)

Things got particularly hairy one night on our vacation in Turks and Caicos, and fruit throwing eventually graduated from grapes and decorative acorns to ripe nectarines. When I turned around to peg a strawberry in Paul's direction, I didn't have time to duck before a nectarine hit me square in the eye. It hurt, but not enough to make me cry, and I quickly recovered, although all our other friends were a little taken aback at our level of violence.

Ted scolded us both: "Stop it, you two! Chelsea has a television show, and I already gave her one black eye when we were playing Wii tennis. People are going to think I beat her."

Sylvan was more impressed with Paul's hand-eye coordination, because at that point he didn't know if Paul was a boy, a girl, or a sea animal.

Either way, the party came to a screeching halt with Paul really concerned that he'd hurt me. He hadn't, but when I woke up the next morning, my friend Stephanie suggested that it would be a good idea to have me fake a black eye. With Eva and Stephanie's help, I was able to make one side of my face look like Rihanna's, and then I headed down in the bright sunlight with a hat and sunglasses, like any respectful abused woman.

My brother, Delicious, Ted, Paul, and Sylvan were all down at breakfast already when the girls and I arrived. When Paul caught on to my face, he was horrified. I assured him it was no big deal and that I had time to heal before I had to tape the show again. "Don't worry," I told him. "I bruise easily. If it's still there by Monday, I'm sure my makeup artist can cover it up. Or I'll just tell the audience my friend hit me with a nectarine."

"You should take iron," Ted told me as he got up from the table, giving me a thumbs-up for my cosmetic handiwork. Ted was in our room that morning when I applied my shiner and was excited to be included in a joke. "Good job, Paul," Ted told him, and threw his napkin down on the table dramatically before heading over to his beach chair.

Not knowing that it was a joke, Sylvan was disgusted by the whole event. He said to Paul, "If you weren't a girl, I would have the right mind to hit you," and then he stormed off. Brian, Ray, and Paul all looked at each other, wondering what Sylvan was talking about, until I explained to them that Sylvan didn't have a ton of experience with gay men and that calling men girls was just English slang for gay guys.

Shortly after, I explained to Sylvan that the whole thing was a joke, that Paul really hadn't hurt me and to just go along with it. He was bellowing with laughter. "Chels, you are a maniac! I can't believe I fell for that. And what an idiot he is, too, for believing it!"

"I know," I said to Sylvan. "Can you believe how stupid everyone is?"

As the day wore on, Eva, Steph, and I kept making the bruise darker and darker, until finally Paul took me aside with tears in his eyes.

Paul is gay with an exorbitant amount of energy and an annoyingly sunny disposition. He has the tendency to look at every situation as a glass half gay and is the type of person who says "Bless his heart" when he sees someone in a wheelchair getting off a ski lift.

"Chelsea," he whimpered, "I just feel terrible. You are so generous to all of us, and you have been such a good friend, and I thank you by hitting you in the face with a nectarine, and look at you, you look awful."

"Don't worry about it, Paul. I'm seriously not mad at you. I know it was a total accident." When tears started to fill his gay eyes, I took a towel and wetted it with a bottle of water. "Look," I told him, "it will probably just wipe off."

With Stephanie's video camera capturing the event, including the disappearance of the bruise, Paul realized what I had done. "You are horrible!" he screamed. "Horrible! You're a horrible, angry dyke!"

ONE-LEGGED WONDER

A while back I tried to set my friend Sarah up with my brother Ray, to no avail.

"Whatever happened to hooking him up with Sarah?" Sloane asked me when my sisters and I were on a three-way phone call discussing the fact that our brother had been single for far too long.

"It's a little late for that, since she's getting married in two weeks. I do love Ray, and I'd be willing to break up most relationships if it meant giving him one, but I have grown to love Sarah's fiance, even though Firouz is Iranian and has only one leg."

"Come again?" Sidney asked me.

"I told you guys this already," I lied.

"No, Chelsea. I think I would have remembered if you told me that Sarah's fiance was legless. Is he in a wheelchair?"

"No. I really can't believe I didn't tell you this already. He lost one of his legs in Iraq."

"I thought he was an editor?" Sloane asked.

"He is," I confirmed. "But he volunteered for the war and lost his leg in combat, so he's got one of those plastic thingamijiggies."

"Sarah is marrying someone with no leg?" Sidney asked.

"He has one leg. God, you guys are pretty judgmental. He loves her and she loves him. It's not like he can't walk around."

"So let me get this straight," Sloane asked. "She rejected Ray for a one-legged soldier? Is he a Republican, too?"

"No! Of course not! He's a Democrat."

"Where is the leg?" inquired Sloane.

"I have no idea where the leg is, Sloane. This isn't
CSI: Miami
. I didn't ask where the leg is. Obviously it's gone. It's probably still somewhere in Afghanistan."

"Chelsea, you said Iraq," Sidney reminded me. "Is this one of your stupid stories? Because it sure sounds stupid."

"Then ask her!" I yelled, exhausted. "Like I'd make up someone losing their leg."

A week later Ray moved out to Los Angeles to be the caterer for my show. He had come to learn about Firouz's leg through my sisters and had questions of his own. Sarah was nice enough to invite Ray to her wedding, since he was new to L.A., and when Ray watched Sarah and Firouz dance to their first song, he leaned over and said to Ted, "For a guy with one leg,
that guy
can really move. Are Iranians known for dancing?"

It didn't take long for Ted to come over and inform me that not only did he confirm my lie about Firouz's having one leg, but he also took it up a notch and told Ray that Firouz was able to score Heather Mills's old leg on eBay for only fifteen hundred dollars. Not an amazing attempt to corroborate my story, but a valiant effort nonetheless, especially for someone who took so long to get on board with my chronic storytelling. I was just glad we were finally on the same team. Like Serena and Venus playing doubles together. Not opponents but large black teammates.

Acknowledgments

These are the people I acknowledge: Michael Broussard, Beth de Guzman, Jamie Raab, Sara Weiss, Anne Twomey, Grand Central Publishing, Hachette Book Group, and the main person involved in getting everyone to give away all of their rights: Eva Magdalenski from Denver. My sisters and brothers for giving me a life; it's safe to say your efforts in me paid off. I acknowledge my father, although I don't appreciate his body type or complete lack of morality. Steve Marmalstein, Jen Kirkman, Heather McDonald, Johnny Milord, Chris Franjola, Sarah Colonna, Brad Wollack, Jeff Wild, Guy Branum, and Sue Murphy for carrying me when I am too tired to carry myself, like footprints in the sand but not really. Tom Brunelle is responsible for me having any time to write a book, and responsible for allowing me to sleep in, and responsible for me having a successful mid-level cable show. I love you, dearly. Also, thank you, India. And finally, thank you Belvedere Vodka for keeping me sane.