Everyone looked at her like she was completely full of shit, and truthfully, she was, but she didn’t want to have to listen to this dumb bitch in her fuchsia polyester halter top apologize for a second longer.
“I didn’t marry the guy, so why should I care who he hooks up with?” She looked at Skinny. “You have my permission to suck off whomever you please.” No one seemed to have a response for this. Uncomfortable silence crept across the group. Zadie sighed, hating that pity for
her
was actually able to quiet these women. “Is anyone up for a drink?”
Jane and Gilda raised their hands.
“God, yes,” Jane said.
“Do we have to stop at one?” Gilda asked.
Big Ass Betsy wasn’t having it. “That isn’t part of the plan. Helen doesn’t drink. Denise is pregnant. Marci and Kim have toddlers.”
“If Zadie wants a drink, I think she should get a drink, what’s the big deal?” Helen smiled at her, extra accommodating now that she carried the guilt of having a slut coworker. “Shall we move into the bar?”
“Maybe we should go someplace else,” Zadie said. “I’m afraid if we sit in the bar, some guy will think we’re his ‘date.‘” Skinny and Snotty would be picked off in a matter of seconds. Snotty’s cleavage alone would have the whoremongers circling the table, wallets out.
“Why would someone think that?” Helen asked, full of innocence.
Zadie hoped she wouldn’t have to elaborate any further, and luckily Jane jumped in to the rescue. “Let’s go to the Sky Bar. We can sit outside, watch the sunset, have a glass of wine—”
“Sounds great. Let’s go.” Helen hopped up.
“But …” Big Ass Betsy looked to Marci and Kim for support. “That wasn’t on the itinerary.”
Marci and Kim were in accord. “I thought we were having dinner at the Ivy.”
“We can go after the Sky Bar,” Gilda said.
“But it’s the shower portion of the day,” Betsy said. “We’re supposed to give Helen her gifts next.”
Gifts? Shit. Zadie knew she’d forgotten something. She’d bought Helen a beanbag chair as a joke.
“We can do it afterward,” Helen said.
“But …” Betsy was completely flummoxed at this change in plans.
“C’mon, Betsy,” Denise said. “One drink and then we’ll be back on track.”
“It’s Helen’s day,” Eloise reminded her.
“Fine,” Betsy said, giving in, but making sure everyone knew she wasn’t happy about it.
Skinny and Snotty were going to agree to whatever anyone wanted, just to get back in the group’s good graces. Once they saw that the majority wanted a drink, they were onboard. “It’ll be fun,” Snotty said.
“Don’t you have to be on a list to get in the Sky Bar?” Skinny asked.
Gilda looked at her and gave her a fake smile. “Maybe you can charm the doorman for us. I bet they have a big parking lot.”
Zadie was liking Gilda more and more.
As they left the Peninsula, Zadie caught sight of Estelle sitting with an older man in the bar. Silver hair. Nice suit. Big smile on his face. Estelle was smiling back. And why not? They both knew exactly where they’d stand at the end of the night. No expectations whatsoever, and each fulfilled in their own way.
It occurred to Zadie that Estelle may be the wisest of them all.
The valets at the Mondrian Hotel, home to the Sky Bar, were used to limousines pulling up to their doors. Smack in the middle of the Sunset Strip, it was one of those locations that drew the party people. Not that this group could be so classified, but if Zadie had anything to do with it, alcohol would soon be flowing in copious quantities.
As she stepped out of the limo, she heard Eloise and Snotty making lustful noises at some unsuspecting male. When she followed their eyes, she realized it wasn’t a male in the flesh, but a giant painted male on the side of a neighboring building—the ever-present Gap ad that provided a focal point for those stuck in the ever-present Sunset Boulevard traffic.
Looking straight into Zadie’s eyes was a two-hundred-foot-tall Trevor wearing nothing but a pair of Gap distressed cords. Thumb hooked into a belt loop. Seductive smile. And what appeared to be a very large penis in his pants. What the Abercrombie people had hidden in their baggy jeans, the Gap people sought to highlight. God bless the Gap.
“Can you even imagine? One night. Just one night,” Eloise said, all hot and bothered. Which made Zadie want to strike her.
“I know someone who knew him? She said he’s amazing,” Snotty said. “They dated five years ago, and he used to drive her
to the top of Mulholland every night and make love to her under the stars.”
“Five years ago, he was in seventh grade. He didn’t have a driver’s license,” Zadie said, interrupting their worship at the church of Trevor. “He’s one of my students.”
Eloise spun around, tearing her eyes away from his corduroycovered crotch.
“He’s in high school?” Her voice was pained. Fantasy blown.
“Trevor Larkin?” Snotty asked, devastated that her gossip was inaccurate. “Are you sure?”
“I could show you his term paper. I gave him a B.”
Helen was at the door of the hotel. “C’mon, girls. We’re going to miss the sunset.”
Zadie took one last look at Trevor and his bare chest and went inside. Now was not the time to get aroused.
As they walked through the all-white lobby filled with staff wearing cream-colored suits, Jane nodded to a woman at the desk who was waiting for her key with an extremely bored look on her face. The woman nodded back and then turned to snatch her key from the desk clerk’s hands, stomping toward the elevator and checking her watch. Jane knew some bitchy chicks.
“I hope we can get in,” Skinny said.
“It’s early. We’ll be fine,” Jane said. “No one but Eurotrash and traveling salesmen hang out here anyway.”
Sure enough, when they got outside to the poolside area that made up the Sky Bar, the entrance was devoid of the usual large, suited, uppity bouncer, so they breezed through and parked themselves on the giant flowered mattress on the deck. Clearly the Sky Bar believed in doing away with preliminaries and making sure their patrons were in bed together before they even left the premises. Not that Zadie was complaining. Lounging on a bed in the shade of a ficus tree, overlooking hot-pink bougainvillea and a view of the city beat the hell out of a couch in the Peninsula. She looked at Jane. “Good call.”
“Drinking outside always seems more festive,” Jane said.
“From here on out, we are all about festive,” Zadie said. It was time for the fun to begin. She had promised Grey. She looked around at the crowd for potential allies. The blase crowd of chainsmoking Germans on the next mattress over wouldn’t be of any help. Maybe they’d get lucky and some Australians would show up. No one who actually lived in L.A. would be out before dark.
An impossibly beautiful waitress in a sarong and a bikini top came over to take their order. Zadie took the lead. “I’ll have a margarita, no salt.”
“Gin and tonic,” Jane said.
“Pinot grigio, please,” Gilda said.
“Pellegrino for me,” Denise moped.
“Two Cosmos,” Snotty said, motioning to herself and Skinny.
“Dewar’s and soda,” Eloise said. Proving once again that she had bad taste. Who the hell drinks scotch?
“Diet Coke for me,” Betsy said.
“Same here,” Marci said.
“Me, too,” Kim said.
“Oh, come on, girls. Have a drink. We’ve got a limo. No one has to drive,” Gilda said.
“We won’t tell your kids,” Zadie said.
“Hangovers are no fun when you have a three-year-old. They don’t understand that mommy feels like crap and needs to sleep,” Kim said.
Yet another reason not to breed, in Zadie’s opinion.
“Can’t your husband handle the kids?” Jane asked.
Marci and Kim looked at each other and burst out laughing. Clearly their husbands were either late sleepers or complete imbeciles.
Helen looked at the waitress. “I’ll have a glass of chardonnay.”
Helen ordering a drink? This was quite a day. Let the sinning begin.
Betsy was beside herself. “But you don’t drink.”
“It’s my bachelorette party. I don’t think one glass of wine will kill me.”
“I assure you, it will only make things better,” Zadie said. “In fact, I’d recommend two.”
“Let the party start!” Eloise said.
“This is gonna get interesting,” Gilda said, to no one in particular.
Jane kicked off her shoes and muttered, “God, I hope so.”
Vintage Prince tunes were playing, the sun was shining, and liquor was on its way. Things were looking up. When the waitress brought their trayful of drinks, Zadie downed her margarita in about four seconds and motioned for a new one. The women rearranged themselves into a large circle and put their drinks in the center.
“Now
this
is a tea party,” Eloise said.
“Wait, someone get out a camera,” Denise said. “We need to document Helen’s first drink.”
Marci pulled out a disposable camera from her purse and everyone cheered as Helen took her first sip of wine. “Mmm, delicious!”
Oh, yes, that’s all it took. One sip. Welcome to the world of “Did I really say that?” and “Where did I leave my bra?”
Helen took another sip. “Let’s play a game. What’re some of those games you’re supposed to play at parties like this?”
“I’m not sure what kind of party this is anymore, so don’t ask me,” Betsy said, with what Grandma Davis would call “a big puss on her face.”
“Quit being such a prude, Betsy. We’re having a drink, we’re not fucking sailors,” Jane said. Mmm, feisty. Zadie was changing her opinion of Jane more and more as the day went on.
“How about ‘I never’?” Denise said. “You know, ‘I never had sex in a car’? Whoever’s done it has to drink.”
“Why would anyone have sex in a car?” Betsy asked.
“Some of us actually got laid in high school,” Jane said.
As Snotty and Skinny snickered, Zadie looked from Betsy to Jane. It seemed an all-out war was imminent. Betsy was blushing, more from anger than embarrassment. Jane wasn’t sorry though.
She merrily sipped her gin and tonic and looked around the pool area, scoping out guys. A guy with a ponytail and a sunburn gave her a nod.
“That was uncalled for,” Betsy said.
Helen set her wine down and grabbed each of them by the hand. “Girls, please. We’re old friends … .”
“Okay, I’ll start,” Eloise said. Wanting to take credit for ending the spat. “I never had sex with more than one person in a twenty-four-hour period.”
“Well, I’d hope
not
!” Betsy said. Helen blushed and giggled. Gilda furrowed her brow, thinking. Jane drank. So did Snotty. Betsy was appalled. “Jane! What’s happened to you? Is it a stewardess thing?”
“Yes, Betsy. We have to screw all the pilots before we board.” Jane took another swig of her drink just to piss Betsy off.
Skinny spoke up. “Okay, I never let a guy videotape me.”
How did she know? Jack could’ve had a video camera on his dashboard. Or had a documentary crew following him and getting footage through the back window. Anyone who would keep a journal of each time an old lady recognized him while he was jogging was sure to film every fan blow job he received.
To everyone’s horror, Eloise drank.
“It was very tasteful. And I have the only copy.”
“Eloise! How can you be sure?” Helen asked.
“Because I watched him take it out of the camera.”
“He could have had another one running that you didn’t know about,” Jane said, trying to stir up some insecurity in the world’s most wrongfully secure woman.
“I trust him. He’s one of my clients. He knows I can screw him.” Eloise was a tax attorney. She specialized in evaders.
“Did you charge him extra for that?” Jane asked.
Damn. Jane was far more savvy than Zadie had remembered. The Jane she recalled from Helen’s high school slumber parties hadn’t even known that you were supposed to flip pancakes. She
let them sit and burn in a bubbling pile of goo before someone clued her in.
“Believe me, I’ve been screwing him for years with my fee,” Eloise said.
The waitress arrived with another round of drinks. “Here we go, ladies.”
“We didn’t order these,” Betsy pouted.
“They’re from the gentlemen over there,” the waitress said, pointing to a gaggle of guys across the pool who were enjoying their bourbons and cigars. The big ruddy-faced one waved. He had hair that denoted he was perhaps not from Los Angeles. Not quite a mullet, but mullet-adjacent. The girls waved back to him and he gave them a big smile.
“Should we send him one?” Helen asked.
“Sure,” Jane said.
Betsy had a cow. “No, we most certainly should not! He could be a psychopath for all we know.”
“Some of his friends are cute,” Eloise noted, checking out the one with visible chest hair. No waxers in that bunch.
“We’re not here to meet men. We’re here to celebrate Helen’s wedding and bond with each other,” Betsy said.
“Is that what it said in the handbook?” Zadie asked. “Why are there so many rules for this gathering? I feel like I’m in Catholic school.”
“That’s easy for you to say, you didn’t spend two solid weeks planning this event.” Betsy was a real estate agent. A bad one. In one of the most active, overpriced markets in the country, she only managed to sell one house every six months. She had a lot of time on her hands. Barry, her henpecked husband, paid the bills with his dwindling trust fund. Zadie didn’t feel the least bit guilty that Betsy had spent two weeks planning this party and now it was being subverted. How long could it possibly take to decide on breakfast, yoga, tonics, shopping, and tea? It’s not like she’d rented out Sea World so they could all swim with the dolphins. Besides,
they’d spent the entire day doing Betsy-approved events and if it was time to flirt with some drink-buying, hairy-chested residents of the fly-over states, then so be it. Zadie motioned for the waitress to send the guys a round.
“I never went to the bathroom with the door open,” Marci offered. Every other woman drank, including her sidekick Kim. “Are you serious?” Marci squawked. “I could never ever let Tim see me on the toilet.”
“Didn’t you say he’s seen you give birth?” Eloise asked.
“I never had sex with someone who wasn’t American,” Denise said. “I mean, not that I’m racist or anything, I’ve just never been laid in a foreign country by a foreign guy.”
Gilda drank. “Spring break.”
So did Jane. “Perk of the job.” She gave Betsy a smug smile.
Helen blushed and put her hands to her face. “We are a racy bunch!” The wine was hitting her. She was getting more animated with each sip, waving her hands when she talked.
“We are indeed,” Gilda said, clinking glasses with her. “I never had sex with someone more than ten years older than me.”
Skinny and Snotty chugged. Jane took a demure sip.
“Older guys have more money,” Snotty said, cementing her status as a gold-digging slut. Not that there was ever a question. The woman wore silver lame shoes. Manolo Blahnik or not, they were ugly and whory. Zadie never quite understood the hold Manolo had over the actresses and models and tarty shopgirls who wore his shoes. Was there heroin painted onto the instep? Why did women act so fucking giddy when they had them on?
“I never drank so much that I’ve thrown up,” Kim said. Wow. Kim was now the most boring person in the bar. Again, not that there was ever a question. Everyone drank except for Helen. Whose pristine esophagus remained unmarred by regurgitated alcohol.
The waitress appeared again, drink tray full. “Ladies, you have some serious fans.” The cigar-and-bourbon crowd waved again and the girls waved back. This was a nice arrangement. Maybe
they’d never even have to speak. The women gulped their drinks and accepted the new ones.
Helen giggled. “I’m feeling a little tipsy.”
“Two glasses of wine is probably plenty for someone who doesn’t drink,” Betsy said.