Chore Whore (12 page)

“It goes in between the butt cheeks so a woman doesn't have panty lines,” I state emphatically.

He snatches his hand away from the display and frowns with tons of drama.

“Ewww! This was up some lady's ass? Gross! I want to wash my hands.”

He sniffs his fingers, imagining he smells something.

“Blaise!” I say, pushing his hands away from his face, “stop that and I don't like you using that kind of language.”

“This is a disgusting place.”

Embarrassed, I smile at Madame Romania and excuse myself. I pull Blaise to the side of the store and put my lips next to his ear.

“We'll get out of here a lot faster if you put the mask on so I don't have to lecture you every five minutes.”

“What's the point?” he asks. “I've already seen what's here.”

Romania calls out. “Ma'am, I found it. Would you like to see it before I put it in the box?”

I call back, “Yes, please. I'll be there in a second.”

Romania hands me the teddy and looks at Blaise, who is fingering the edge of the counter.

“It's better that children stay home. They don't belong out late at night,” Madame advises.

I hand her a fifty-dollar bill and wait for the change and the receipt before heading out the door.

“Mom, why were those fingers pinching the bra?” he asks.

I disarm Betty's alarm system, load Blaise into the back and try to avoid answering him.

“Why, Mom?”

“I'll tell you later.”

“Why later? Tell me now.”

“Put on your seatbelt.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No, I'll just have to tell you later.”

“How much later?”

“In about eight years.”

It's seventy-six degrees
outside and I dress as if I'm going into the deepest, darkest jungles of Panama. I put on my thickest jeans, my low-heeled, calf-length boots and a long-sleeved cream-colored shirt. I get out some protective clothing for Blaise.

After breakfast, he takes one look at the clothes that I've set out for him and refuses to put them on.

“Mom, it's hot today. Why are you putting all these clothes out? I can dress myself and I'm going to wear shorts. We're going swimming!”

I insist he slather himself with bug repellant and sunscreen and recall the times Shelly has told me about coming home with mosquito bites all over her legs when she wore shorts up to Liam and Esther's. She also found ticks on the master bedroom duvet cover from when the dogs were sleeping there, and I remember a rattlesnake the house inspector killed and the scorpions that constantly invade the garage.

“Mom, this stuff stinks. You worry too much.”

“No, this is the absolute minimum,” I say. “I'll let you wear shorts, but I don't want you running all over the yard. Only play in the cut grass, not near any big rocks or bushes, do you hear?”

“Atom lives there and he's never been bitten by a snake.”

“Yeah, just by everything else under the sun. Promise me you'll stay where I said. Snakes are supposed to be hibernating in winter, but it's warm so they might come out.”

I place Tree's gift-wrapped box on my front porch for the courier to pick up. Blaise brings his swim trunks, towel and goggles and we are on our way to the Schwartzes' for a day of fun and sun.

Driving down Sunset Boulevard toward the beach, I glance back in my rearview mirror to see Blaise deeply engrossed in the latest issue of Popular Mechanics magazine. This was his Christmas gift from my friend Noah, who says he's worried that anything less would “insult the poor boy.”

I pull into the Schwartzes' driveway, noting that Shelly hasn't arrived yet. Before I get a chance to turn off the engine and gather my things, Blaise is out and rushing through the hacienda's front door.

Esther is already getting Atom and Blaise prepared for the short hike up the hill to the pool by the time I arrive.

“Corki, you go ahead and start in the garage. I threw all the decorations from the holidays in there, but never got them back in their boxes. There's an odd assortment, but all the boxes are labeled. Then, they need to be taken up the hill for storage.”

Sunlight floods into the garage as the door opens to reveal a mess. Decorations from Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and Hanukkah are all jumbled together. Wrapping paper and ribbon clippings lie everywhere. The concrete floor is littered in so much paper and holiday “droppings” that it reminds me of a country-and-western bar's floor covered in peanut shells and sawdust.

Snakes, rats and scorpions could be anywhere. God knows I've encountered and killed enough of them to know. I sweep the ground with my eyes and walk the perimeter of the garage looking for stinging tails and rattlers.

“What on earth are you doing?”

I look up to see Shelly, Eden and Star standing there watching me in amusement.

“Just checking the place out for any pestilence that might be lurking here.”

“What's a pestilence?” Star asks.

“Technically it's an epidemic disease. But if I find any animals that might carry disease, I'll scare them away.”

Before Eden and Star can ask any more questions, Shelly herds them to the pool.

I'm deeply into packing and cleaning when Shelly comes back into the garage.

“Esther's in a snit today!” she whispers.

“About what?”

She starts wrapping the glass Hanukkah menorah with bubble wrap and tape. “Well, she's sitting out by the pool, iced tea in one hand and the portable phone in the other, yelling that she has contributed a shitload of money. . . .”

“She said ‘shitload' in front of the kids?” I ask.

“Yeah, but the kids were so busy with the water guns, they weren't paying any attention. So she says she has every right to talk to the principal on a holiday if she damn well wants to.”

“What's she so upset about?”

“Hold on, hold on. Let me finish. She holds the line long enough to tell me to help you, then jumps back on the horn announcing that this is an emergency.”

“An emergency?”

“Yep. I think she freaked out when she heard Atom ask me why I was putting sunscreen on the girls. He understands that you use sunscreen so you don't get dark, and since the girls are already dark . . . it was innocent enough. You know little kids. They take everything so literally.”

“Esther must've been embarrassed,” I say, wishing I could have been there.

“Atom didn't mean any harm by it, but Esther's so uptight, she exploded. Says she's going to save her child by saving these three ‘African-American' kids. She's back there popping Xanax and demanding that the principal grant our kids immediate entry into the school, all fees waived, so Atom won't be ‘indoctrinated' with a right-wing mentality!”

I can't help but gasp, then laugh out loud.

“Right-wing mentality? Because he didn't know that black kids could get sunburns?”

“Wait, wait, it gets better!” Shelly shushes me.

“She reminded them that for being a good, strong, liberally minded school, they sure as heck do lack color and she's really upset 'cause she's already made one phone call about this last week and apparently someone wasn't taking her seriously!”

“And what are you doing this whole time, just standing there, listening?”

“I'm applying sunscreen as thoroughly and slowly as possible, trying to hear every last word,” she says. “Have you told Blaise about Esther wanting the kids to go to Envision Prep?”

“No,” I say. “Have you told Star and Eden?”

“Yep. And they're already excited.”

I hold on
to the trunk of a palm tree for dear life. The winds that whip up the sea's white, foamy waves are bringing in dark skies behind me. No matter which way the tree bends, I keep my eye trained on the small patch of blue sky ahead. The more I stare at the patch, the bigger it becomes. But the longer I stare, the more fiercely the wind whips, pulling me, inch by inch, loosening my grip on the tree's trunk. As I start to slip, a swirl of wind lashes out and snaps the tree away from me. With nothing to hold on to, I find myself falling, falling into . . .

Giggles.

“Mom!” Blaise calls out insistently as he shakes me by the shoulder. “Mom, I think you'd better wake up now. The clock says it's seven-thirty.”

I sit up and throw the blankets off.

“I thought I set the alarm. What happened?” I ask, breathing hard.

“Your alarm clock went off at five, but you said you needed more sleep.”

“Oh no! Honey, I'll say anything to get more sleep.” I blink my eyes repeatedly, trying to focus. “Good for you, being dressed already, Blaise. Just change your shirt. You dripped toothpaste on it.”

I push myself toward the bathroom, turn on the shower and get in. I let the water run over my face, then quickly wash my hair, dry off and get dressed. I put a cup of yesterday's coffee in the microwave and scrub the jam that missed Blaise's toast off the counter. He watches me from the doorway.

“What's on the agenda today?”

“Well, I solidified most of it yesterday. We got the band, flowers, catering, bartenders, waiters, psychic, seating, artist, outdoor heaters, tables, what else?” I ask.

“The main thing is the party favors,” Blaise adds.

I sip my coffee. “Yeah, the party favors are going to drive me crazy. That and trying to figure out what to wear . . . and who's going to watch you if I go . . . and I need a date!”

“I'll be your date, Mom.”

I stare at him lovingly. This is the sweetie-pie boy I remember. Maybe our new year will be better.

I set my coffee down on the French bistro table in front of my breakfast nook's huge double-hung window that gives me a view of all the red-tiled roofs in my neighborhood.

“Honey, come sit down for a minute.”

“But we don't have a lot of time.”

“Just sit down,” I say.

Blaise sits down and sneaks a sip of my coffee.

“Stop,” I say, mockingly mad. “Listen, Esther may be creating an opportunity for you to go to Atom's private school. It's supposed to be an excellent academy and I wanted to ask you what you thought about that.”

“What's wrong with my school?” he asks.

“Nothing . . . okay, something. A couple of weeks ago, a drug dealer was arrested near your school. I don't want you exposed to that kind of element when you're at a young, impressionable age.”

Blaise laughs. “ ‘Young, impressionable age'? Mom, I'm not stupid.”

“I'm relieved to hear that!” I say. “Eden and Star would be going to Envision Prep, too. And apparently if you get in now, it's a school that you could stay in until your senior year. They feed into the bigger universities and their scores are top-notch. The girls are very excited about it.”

“What's their science program like? Because that's the only thing I'm interested in.”

“It's one of their stronger programs,” I say excitedly, sensing that he's opening up to the idea.

“I'll think about it,” he says nonchalantly as he gets up and goes into the living room.

First stop,
the Apple Store. I'm estimating the guest list high rather than being caught short and having someone complain that Lucy Bennett is a cheapskate and didn't buy enough favors. Besides, everything is returnable. I buy twenty iPod minis at two hundred and fifty a pop. I get them in a variety of colors—all super shiny: blue, pink, silver, gold and green.

Next stop, Samy's Camera on Fairfax. For the guys, because this could only be a guy thing, I buy twenty-five binoculars equipped with infrared night vision at four hundred a piece. I first saw these hanging in Jock's closet and he's a man's man, so they'll do fine.

Next stop, a store on Beverly Boulevard—Mo' Hair—where I buy fifteen camel-and-cream-colored mohair throws for three-seventy apiece.

Last stop, the wrapping paper store for festive paper and streamers and other party decorations.

Blaise and I spend the next four hours wrapping all the gifts, then take them to Lucy's house and set them up near the front door. By the time we're done, the party planners are arriving to set up the tables, chairs, heaters and linens. The caterers, florists, bartender and the band follow them. Everyone's arriving so quickly and Lucy is nowhere to be seen. I phone her.

“Lucy, it's Corki!” I say in a panic.

“Is everything okay?” she asks, “I hear stress in your voice.”

“Everything's fine, but it's getting close to curtain time and the star of the show hasn't arrived!”

“You're so cute, Corki! Don't worry. We're on the 405 just past LAX. We'll be home in twenty, thirty minutes. Just enough time to shower and change.”

“Okay. I just had this vision of folks starting to arrive and me telling them you guys weren't going to make it home to your own party.”

I count thirty-five
people here to turn her house into a magical Parisian street scene for New Year's Eve. The cooks are buzzing in the kitchen, starting to prepare a menu chosen by none other than moi, featuring escargots in garlic; the bartender is searching for an electrical plug that doesn't exist; the crêpe maker is setting up his corner to become an on-demand crêperie complete with selections of fillings—crab, lobster, chèvre, chives and French Swiss cheese. The psychic, Madame Marie for the night, is setting up her booth, while Pierre the artist is setting up his easel and sketchpads. Almor Liquor's delivery guy arrives at the door with cases of chilled Dom Pérignon, and I show him to the kitchen. He pulls one chilled bottle of Dom out of a separate bag along with an envelope and hands them to me.

“Compliments of Mary! Happy New Year!”

“Wow! Thank you. Please tell her thank you, too.”

He winks at me, and leaves after I tip him handsomely with my leftover petty cash. I open the envelope and count four one-hundred-dollar bills with a note clipped to them. It simply reads, “Thank you for all your business. Mary.”

My mood lightens considerably. I barely notice the room as it transforms into a sidewalk café complete with bistro tables and chairs that are being set up while the workers are putting on their costumes—French striped sailor's shirts and berets.

Blaise is helping the band set up, pretending he's a roadie, I suppose, by hauling in their equipment and instruments for them.

I am so overwhelmed by how quickly the French Foreign Legion has descended upon me, I start longing for a visit to the old French king down in the wine cellar, Louis XIII and his most excellent cognac. But now, my fantasy of falling into bed with a glass of champagne, the truly fine stuff, will come true. Maybe I can go home soon. I don't have a date, I don't have a dress, but I have Dom!

Alejandra, Lucy's housekeeper, pushes into the kitchen past the caterers and waiters. “Happy New Year, Corki!”

We hug hello and survey the organized confusion.

“Sorry I'm late,” she says. “Traffic!”

“Don't worry, you beat Lucy here.”

Lucy and her new swain, Tommy Ray Woods, pull up to the house, literally ten minutes before the first guests arrive. Dumping their luggage with Alejandra, they sweep through the room, ohh and aah, and then head for the bathrooms to do the fastest shower and primp of their lives.

I tell Alejandra my plan, to skip out while the coast is clear, and give her the last-minute directions. I gather Blaise, wish everyone a “nouvelle année heureuse” and hit the pavement, just as Will and Jada Pinkett Smith's limousine pulls in.