The Brenda Diaries (10 page)

Wednesday, July 13:

Today sucked. I lost my car in the baffling underground parking lot not once, but twice. My key broke in my apartment lock and, with Ivan not around, I had to pay $100 for a locksmith to come out. Worse, Dimetric offered me Jerri’s job. Even worse, I actually thought about taking him up on it before I turned him down. Though, I did say I’d be happy to cover the cart when he needed extra help.

Thursday, July 14:

I swear I’m not a superstitious person, but lately my life has taken a turn for the suck. And, yes, I’m aware some of what’s happened (like the mixing of DayQuil and fruity alcoholic cocktails at Jared’s ex-girlfriend’s engagement party) was mostly my fault. Mostly, but not all.

For instance, how is it my fault that Maya fell in love with yet another married sleaze who dumped her for his wife, which then made her take off back to Chicago to stay with her dad and his (third) wife? Or that the gal at my temp agency has gone off to have (another) baby so now I’m stuck with a cow who hates me and has blacklisted me?

And, going back to Jared, he’s still freezing me out, but must have forgotten that my favorite thing in the world is to wear sweaters so I’m not sweating being exiled into relationship Siberia. I said I was sorry. I gave him the damn porkpie hat he was wearing in that picture of him with his arm around the booby blonde and I deleted it from my phone so I couldn’t unleash it on him during a future fight.

Even my one piece of good luck comes with contingencies. While I appreciate the work and don’t really resent Jerri for taking a vacation that I can’t go on, it does kind of burn my biscuits that my first day’s earnings went to my grandma who called me every hour until I paid back my bingo debt.

I usually don’t freak out when I see a black cat, but until this phase of bad luck passes I’m going to be extra careful when crossing the street, passing by any ladders and handling mirrors.

Friday, July 15:

I stop polishing sunglasses, a cold chill racing down my spine. I stand very still, thinking the animal part of my brain has sensed an impending earthquake. Nothing moves. Then I see Cal sauntering over to me. He’s with a girl who looks like Lindsay Lohan on one of her very bad days. Things go a little sideways, but I manage to not fall on my face.

“Brenda? How random is this! What are you doing here?” He’s holding her shopping bags.

“Hey.” I step away from the cart even though they must know what I’m doing standing so near it. Cal swoops in for a hug, squeezing hard enough to my breath whooshes out of me. I look over at the girl he’s with. She’s frantically texting on her cell phone. “What’s up?”

“You hear about Theo?” Cal asks. He’s the one who texted me the news. “I knew he was on something. The law office is paying for his rehab at that swank place in Malibu. What’s it called?”

“Promises,” wannabe Lindsay says without looking up from her phone.

 “Yeah, that place. Man, crazy shit. I should become a lawyer. Crazy.” Cal reaches for a pair of women’s Gucci inspired sunglasses that a Vegas hooker would consider tacky. “What do you think?”

“You don’t want to know,” I say.

His girl friend/girlfriend leans in and whispers something into his ear. Then she flips her hair and looks away from me. He hands me the sunglasses, our hands touching for a second. She walks away, expecting him to follow like an obedient dog.

“So, I’ll see you later,” he says hurrying after her.

“Sure. Bye.”

He turns around and waves. She frowns and tugs him away. I stand there, a grade-A loser holding a pair of tacky sunglasses that look almost exactly like the pair she is wearing, but hers are real.

Saturday, July 16:

I hate to admit this, but with Maya gone I’ve lost my moral compass. If she was here, I could look at her and ask myself “What would Maya do?” then I’d know the right thing is to do the opposite of what she would do. This is why I know agreeing to go on
date
date with Cal is a bad idea. Whatever. I’ll just keep channeling Maya and worry about the consequences tomorrow—or sometime next week. It’s not like I don’t have the free time for it.

Sunday, July 17:

Last night, which ended just a couple of hours ago, was a fun disaster. So fun that when Jared called and asked if I wanted to go out to brunch, I said yes.

“How have you been?” he asks. I don’t have to ask about him, he looks miserable. This makes me happy.

“Fine.” I don’t hold back my yawn. “Sorry. Late night.”

“You went out?” Jared is genuinely shocked.

I’m not surprised he thinks that my life came to a standstill after our last conversation when he said he wasn’t sure we were right for each other.

“A little bit.” Another yawn. This one is fake, but I do a pretty good job at it.

“Where’d you go?” What he really wants to know is who I went with. 

“Some club. Very loud and obnoxious. Maya would have loved it.”

She also would have loved watching me dance like a maniac after I had a drink of this, another of that, and some of what Cal offered me in pill form. The combination of the three made me forget that Cal’s girl friend might be his girlfriend, that I still might have a boyfriend and that I don’t have a job to go to on Monday.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks.

“Nope.” I’m not. I was annoyed that he was mad at me, but I deserved it for the scene at his ex-girlfriend’s engagement party. “I never really was. You were mad at me. Remember? I have a photo to prove it.”

“Yeah, about that. Nothing happened. She was just a friend of a friend. I’m sorry. It was really douchy of me to do that.”

I smile at Jared, my chest filling with a warm feeling. “Whatever. All good.”

“Really?” He looks so relieved, I could kiss him. But I don’t. I did plenty of kissing (and other stuff) in front of people last night. 

“So what have you been doing?” It’s comfortable and safe with Jared and exactly what I need after a night of the opposite with Cal.

“I’m taking a couple of classes at UCLA, working on my script...and thinking about us. You.”

“That’s nice,” I say. And it really is.

Monday, July 18:

I’m opening up a package of generic toothbrushes to scrub the bathroom tile grout when my phone rings. I drop everything and run to it as if I’m in a sun dappled field of wild flowers and my handsome lover is galloping toward me on a white horse while syrupy orchestra music swells in the background.

“Hello? Hello? Amy?” It’s well after 9 in the morning and this is usually the time a place will call in looking for someone to cover a reception desk. I haven’t showered but I can be ready and out of here in 15 minutes.

“Brenda? It’s me.”

“Oh, hey.” I’m not sure who me is, but his voice is familiar. I look at my phone, but all it says is Private Caller. No help there. “So, um, you. What’s up?”

“You don’t know who this is, do you? It’s Wyatt.”

“You’re voice has gotten deeper. Congratulations.” His mom sent me his summer reading list which I doubt he’s gotten around to. “Are you calling to discuss
The Sound and the Fury
?”

“What?” Now he has no idea. “No, um…. My parents are going out of town tomorrow for a week. France.”

“Lucky them.” I doubt they’ll leave him on his own. I sure wouldn’t. He could throw some great parties at their house. “Remember to take
The Sound and the Fury
with you.”

“I’m not going. France blows. They don’t trust me to not wreck the place so I need someone to supervise me. Will you do it?”

“Huh?” I’ve been a babysitter, housesitter, dogsitter, catsitter even an officesitter, but I’ve never been a teenagersitter. “You mean stay there while your parents are out of town? With you?”

“Yeah. You won’t have clean—we have someone to do that—and we can just order food or go out to eat. You might have to drive me places if my friends can’t pick me up.” Wyatt didn’t pass his driver’s ed class, which is something we’ll be working on once September rolls around. “I won’t try anything rapey, if that’s what you’re worried about. The guest room has a lock. I won’t give you a hard time, either. And they’ll pay you.”

“Um….” I think about what I have going on, which isn’t much of anything. Temp jobs have dried up, Jared and I are being weird to each other, Cal wants to be weird on and in me, and I have no idea when or if Maya will come back from Chicago. “You know, I think it’s something I can do.”

“Really?” His voice cracks. “That’s awesome. Thanks, Brenda. Let me get my mom. Don’t hang up!”

“I won’t.” For a second I know what it would be like if I had a brother and it’s not an entirely bad feeling.

Tuesday, July 19:

I’m officially in charge. I’ve been left with the keys to the house, garage, liquor cabinet, family Volvo, a credit card, an envelope of cash, the security system code, emergency contact numbers and instructions to say good-bye to Wyatt. He was asleep when they left.

Now all I have to do is call Jared and let him know I’ll be spending the next few days in Pacific Palisades with a teenage boy. He’s bound to be thrilled.

I wander outside to the pool to make the call. He answers on the second ring. “Hey, babe. Did you get an assignment?”

“Sort of. You know the kid I tutor?” I’ll admit that I’ve scripted out how this is going to go to minimize any weirdness. As long as Jared doesn’t stray off script, this will be fine.

“The Void.” He sounds distracted. I probably caught him right in the middle of revising his screenplay. He does that a lot.

“Yeah, Wyatt. Anyway, his parents are out of town and I’m housesitting for them.”

 “Do they have a pool?” he asks. I can imagine he’s already packing his swim trunks and goggles.

“As a matter of fact they do. So I’m going to be here until Sunday keeping an eye on things and him.”

“Who’s him?” I have his full attention now. “The Void? You’re babysitting him?”

Jared has no reason to suspect I have any interest in cheating on him. That whatever thing with Cal is just intense flirting and flirting isn’t cheating. Much.

“Wyatt. He’s a nice kid. I can’t have any overnight guests, but maybe you can come over tomorrow or Friday? To hang out and meet him.”

“I’m kind of busy this week. But call me. Call me a lot.” One thing we talked about was that I needed my space and Jared’s giving it to me. Nice.

“I will.” And now I have to pony up with something that Jared said he wants from me. “I’ll, uh, miss you.”

“I’ll miss you to. Call me later.”

I turn around and watch as Wyatt shuffles into the kitchen, yawing. When he sees me, he gives me a happy wave then looks down at his saggy boxer shorts and sprints back to his bedroom. Jared has no reason to worry that anything is going to happen. Even if Wyatt does have a puppy dog crush on me (I flatter myself thinking that he does), I’m not interested in educating him in the ways of women and love. At least not for what his parents are paying me. 

Wednesday, July 20:

Wyatt is trying to convince me that video games don’t turn guys into immature weirdos. He’s making this argument while wearing camouflage print swim shorts, a t-shirt with a squirrel holding a bat with “Protect Your Nuts” underneath it, mismatched flip flops and a pair of his mother’s Chanel sunglasses.

I don’t blame video games for his outfit.

Thursday, July 21:

I’m trying not to be judgmental, but if a four-year-old has to go to therapy once a week, shouldn’t one of his parents take him instead of a nanny? And might the fact that he calls the nanny “mama” be a sign that therapy isn’t working?

Wyatt wanted to skip his weekly appointment with Dr. Mike (his therapist), but I told him it was no big, weird deal. I even said I went to therapy even though it’s a lie and he knew it.

Wyatt doesn’t need therapy—okay, maybe some. What he really needs is a job. A super crappy one so he can figure out for himself just what kind of person he is. I think everyone, including this Dr. Mike, would be pleasantly surprised.

Friday, July 22:

What happens when you take a teenager to the supermarket for essentials? A shopping cart loaded down with seven types of sugary cereal, enough soda to fill a lap pool, two plastic squirt guns and one granny smith apple. The apple is for me, not Wyatt. Not that I have any plans to eat it. My job is to set a good example for him, but not necessarily be a role model.

Saturday, July 23:

Technically, we’re not violating the “no house parties” rule because his parents didn’t say anything about not going to a party at someone else’s house.

“You can drink if you want,” Wyatt says. He’s dressed in his usual uniform of cargo shorts, a rude t-shirt and flip flops. I made him leave his mother’s sunglasses at home. “I’ll drive us back. No problem.”