What Pretty Girls Are Made Of (22 page)

“Nice work,” he whispered in my ear. We laughed.

We found comfortable movie-watching positions on the sofa and began the flick. About forty minutes into it, Bret made a beeline to the bathroom.

He jumped up and ran so fast, I didn’t realize what was going on or pause the movie until he’d been in the bathroom for about thirty seconds. I pressed Pause and heard retching sounds coming from the bathroom.

Bret was vomiting, and it sounded uncontrollable.

Crap.

Was I supposed to turn the movie back on so he could vomit and I wouldn’t hear it? Should I check on him? I felt so bad for him. He must have been mortified.

“Bret? Are you okay?” I called out. A pathetic “Yeah” was the response.

“Let me know if you need anything, okay? Water . . . anything.” A weak attempt at a groan was all I heard.

With my knees hugged to my chest, I waited, feeling terrible for Bret. A third flush and the door opened. He appeared in the hallway, his blue eyes dim. He did not look well. And I just wanted to take care of him.

“I am so sorry you just got sick!” I said, resisting the urge to mother him.

“Yeah, me too,” he stated, holding on to the wall and looking green. “I wasn’t ready to see our cheese and M&M’s so soon.”

“Oh no. Can I get you anything?”

He came and sat down next to me, though I could tell he didn’t want to get too close.

“I think I should just go home. I’m really sorry,” he said as he gathered his stuff to leave. I desperately wanted to run my hands through his messy dark hair, to smooth it out for him and make it look like he hadn’t been pulling at it.

“Of course. Don’t be sorry.”

Just get better soon so we can have sex—I mean, so we can finish the movie.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Age Defying

I
woke up the next day without Bret’s stomach virus. Thank goodness, since I was taking the day off to go to court with my parents for a hearing about my grandfather’s finances and guardianship.

Maybe it was because we came from a Jewish family where everyone’s issues were family “events,” or maybe it was our unbridled hatred for my mom’s siblings, but it wasn’t even a question that Damon and I would be there to support our grandfather in court.

Depending on what the judge ruled, either there would be a trial, Pop’s finances would be up for forensic review, or my mom would be appointed as the financial guardian and continue as the personal guardian for her father. The best of everything would be if Farrah and Rick were ordered to return the money they stole from him, since they wouldn’t remove their names from his accounts and admit that they’d stolen additional money.

The tough thing to prove was that my grandfather’s signatures adding Farrah and Rick’s names to all of his financial documents and accounts weren’t in fact signatures written by him at all.

“I haven’t left the bathroom all morning,” my mom said over the phone, confirming her jittery nerves. I could hear my dad’s voice in the background telling her she needed to hurry up so they could leave.

“Such is my life right now, apparently,” I said. “I’ll tell you all about it when I see you.”

“Any distraction is welcome,” she said. “We’ll see you there. I really don’t want to have to take the witness stand, but I know it’s coming. You’re the actress. I don’t want to have to speak in front of the court.”

I hadn’t been in a courtroom since I was on the Mock Trial team in high school. Now, I was happy to be in court to support my family. Farrah showed up, sans husband, which we thought was surprising. Rick sent his lawyer. Clearly, he couldn’t be bothered to attend.

Before the proceeding got under way, the attorneys gathered in front of the judge and we couldn’t hear their discussion. The dark wood-paneled courtroom was large, and many lawyers, clients, and family members were waiting for their cases to be heard. The background noise was a further distraction, with the ever-present low hum of constant motion and jostled papers.

My parents’ lawyer opened the proceeding.

“We are here for two simple reasons, Your Honor,” he said.
Because my aunt and uncle are maniacs?
“First, because my client wishes to be both the personal and financial guardian for her father, who is slowly losing his capacity to fully care for himself and needs supervision to handle his affairs. While I don’t think there is any doubt that a guardian is needed here, the question is which of the three children will be granted that appointment, and why. I recommend my client, the daughter who has taken care of him and hasn’t abused or stolen anything from him.”

I looked at Damon. The lawyer was right on.

“What’s interesting to note, Your Honor,” the lawyer continued, “is that Rick Payne and Farrah Ashby, my clients’ siblings, aren’t filing for personal guardianship of their father, as his health and well-being don’t seem to matter to them. They just want to manage his finances. Isn’t that an indication of their motives? Which brings us to the second reason for why we are here. Forgery.”

“Just hold on,” the judge interrupted. “I want to hear from your client. You can summarize, but let me see what we are dealing with. One issue at a time.”

My mother exited her row in the spectators’ section of the courtroom and made her way to the witness stand. Her heels clicked softly on the tile, adding to the courtroom melody. I watched her take her oath and be seated.

“I love my father, Your Honor, and it’s most important that we are able to take care of his physical and mental health before anything else, but I am dealing with a dishonest cast of characters, which I hope you’ll be able to see.”

My mom’s lawyer took her through the story of fraud and deception, bringing the judge up to speed. It was all seemingly routine.

At the end, like a lady, my mother turned to face the judge. “Thank you, Your Honor. I hope you’ll allow me to take care of my father at such a crucial stage in his life. I truly want to thank you for taking the time to hear our case.”

The judge smiled, clearly warming to my mother. Whether it was because of her words, her intelligence, or her outfit, you could see that he was on her side.

He ordered Farrah and Rick’s finances and all of my grandfather’s documents and accounts to be examined by a forensic accountant. Rick’s license as a CPA had been jeopardized and his accounting firm would be audited. My mom’s siblings were ordered to return the money they stole, an amount that would be determined after the forensic investigation. The judge called them “elder abusers,” making a point of saying that it wasn’t lost on him that they had been abusing their father their entire adult lives.

My mom would be able to legally assume control. But when you deal with sociopaths, it’s never over.

We walked out of the courtroom floating on air. Justice. And I couldn’t help but wonder how the judge would rule on my job situation, should it be logically presented to him.

“Do you remember when we used to take you kids to the double-decker diner?” my grandfather asked my mother.

She nodded.

“I’d like us to have some lunch there now,” he said wistfully.

Over omelets and pancakes, we were able to release the tension that had been building for months and enjoy each other as a family—Damon and I a bit too old to fight over who would choose the tune in our booth’s jukebox, and my mom looking revived as the Diet Coke she was ingesting at warp speed entered her veins.

I had been so elated after leaving the courtroom that I forgot to check my iPhone before lunch. After lunch, it registered forty-two emails and seven missed calls. Yikes! They were all from the office, though everyone knew that I had a family commitment and was taking a personal day.
Gotta love how they respect your time.
But with seven missed calls, I figured something was urgent.

One by one, I went through my messages.

“Alison. It’s Laramie. Call us at the studio when you get this. No disasters, just hilarious. Hope you’re having a good day.” That was the first.

“Hi honey, it’s Carly. Have you heard about the hairpiece incident at QVC today? You’re going to die. Call me.” I had no idea what she was talking about.

“Oh. My. Gawwwwd. It’s Jennifer. The girls from the studio called me at home to tell me about what happened in front of the live audience. Are you working today? I was squealing. I so miss the drama sometimes. Ha. Just kidding. Love you. Call me!”

“Alison. Ira. Did you make her wear that wig on television today? Hilarious. What was she thinking? It’s going to be your fault, anyway, so heads up. Take care, kiddo. Hope you’re having a good day off.”

I had to get the scoop. I had a rule of not calling into the office on a personal day except in the case of a true emergency, but this certainly seemed like one to me.

“I didn’t even know Sally owned a wig!” I said when Carly answered the phone at the studio.

“Oh, Alison, you would have died. It was so funny and we were all watching.” The girls almost never tuned in to see Sally on QVC, but since it was her first time in front of a live studio audience for beauty day, everyone had watched on the big-screen television at the front of the studio.

“So she was wearing a headband, which is unusual for her,” Carly said. “I’ve been here for years and I have never seen her wear a headband, ever. Turns out it was a ‘piece.’ A headband with hair attached. And it was exactly Sally’s color. She was putting eyeliner on the model. She finished Keri’s eye and when she went to scratch her head, she must have forgotten that she had the piece on, because she completely shifted it and it became lopsided. You could tell right away that it wasn’t her hair.”

“Did it come off, or was it just crooked?”

“Oh no, it came off. The whole piece came off!” Carly cracked up. “Keri tried to nudge the headband back into place because Sally couldn’t see what she had done. And by the way, it’s not only that she was rolling live and couldn’t stop the tape—there were a ton of people in the audience.”

I gasped. “This is unbelievable.”

“So Keri tried to push the wig into place, but the weight of it made it shift over to the other side of Sally’s head and fall off completely.”

“Holy crap! What did she do?”

“She panicked and yelled, ‘Oh, goddammit!’ which they were able to catch on five-second tape delay and bleep out, and all of us in the studio gasped in time with the gasp from the studio audience. We couldn’t breathe; we were laughing so hard.”

“Did the cameras pan off of her so she could fix herself?”

“They did, but you could see everything that happened in the reflection of the makeup mirror. Two staffers ran to her and were trying to help, but the fussing just made for more commotion. Sally shooed them away and barked orders to Giuseppe.”

“All captured on camera?” I was shocked that she had broken like that.

“All on camera. And of course Sally felt like she needed to address the debacle on air, and then had to show her wig and make a joke out of it. But she looked like a troll underneath, since her hair wasn’t done and Giuseppe hadn’t put the powder in it to make it look thicker. It was a mess.”

“I can’t wait to see it online,” I said, laughing. Until I realized . . . and my smile faded.

“Ali? Are you there? Where did you go?” Carly asked.

“I’m here,” I said, in all seriousness. “This is not good. I’m going to be blamed for this. And I had nothing to do with it!”

“No, no. This one was all her. Crazy, right?” The consequences didn’t apply to Carly like they did to me.

“Yeah. Okay, I’m going to get back to my family,” I said with caution. “Trouble or not, they are going to love this story. Bye, babe.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Scapegoat or not, I was dubbing today “Psychopaths’ Comeuppance Day.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Pure Radiance

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Do-over please!

In an effort to redeem myself from what happened the other night, can you reserve Sat night for me so I can cook you dinner? Let me know if you’re free!

Poor guy was still mortified that our last date ended in vomit. I happily agreed to Saturday, looking forward to being back at Bret’s place. He opened the door to his apartment with flowers in hand.

“Hello,” I greeted him. I couldn’t stop smiling. I had barely noticed Bret’s apartment at his party. It was a big-boy apartment, with real (not particle board!) furniture, a huge flat-screen (man priorities!), an exposed brick wall in the living room, and a terrific view.

As Bret put my flowers in a vase, I browsed the framed photographs he had on shelves in his living room. From the look of it, they were mostly of his family. I loved that.

“The salmon is ready when you are. I hope you like salmon—I probably should have asked before I cooked it.”

“Oh, no! I don’t eat fish . . .”

He stared at me, crestfallen. I’m not sure he knew what to say. “We can order in, then, if you want. I can have the salmon tomorrow.”

I laughed. “I’m just kidding. I love salmon. I’m sure yours is delicious.”

Bret threw his oven mitt at me. He missed. We giggled at his horrible shot. Over salmon, spinach, and wild rice, we talked about our days and the latest episode of
Keeping Up with the Kardashians
, an obsession I found hilariously troubling coming from a man.

“Alison. Seriously, I think you need to watch this show. It’s great. Totally mindless and addicting.”

“I don’t need another show. I watch a ton of crap as it is. The
Real Housewives
franchise takes up enough time. Add that to
The Bachelor
and I’m set.”

“I will swap you an episode of
Real Housewives
for
Keeping Up with the Kardashians
. I’ll sit through an episode of yours if you sit through one of mine.” He was determined to get me to watch this show.

“Fine. We can even start tonight!”

I think that was Bret’s impetus to finish his meal, clean up, and get the show up on the DVR. I brought our wine to the couch, knowing I would need my glass to get through the episode. He held my hand as we watched.

“You have the softest hands,” he said to me.

“Shh. Bret, I’m watching Kim and Kanye.”

He squeezed my hands a little tighter and started rubbing them intensely. It was nice to know that the thought of making out was more important to him than watching television.

“I like your ring,” he said, examining the dainty gold band on the index finger of my right hand, one of the few gifts my mom had passed down to me from her grandmother. “It looks like something special.”

“Thank you.” I smiled at him. “It is special.”

He put his wine down on the coffee table and took my head in his hands. We looked at each other, and before I could tell him the story of the ring, he kissed me. The need that we both felt, the craving for each other, was so primal. I pushed closer to him.

“Alison . . .”

“Yes . . .” I could barely speak.

“You are beautiful and so hot to me,” he whispered. I wasn’t sure if he could feel my lips form a smile on his.

Before I could reply, Bret was kissing my neck and I felt the familiar chills run through my body. He grabbed my hand and led me to the bedroom. With gentle force, he pushed me against the wall, kissing me hard and removing my shirt. I wanted to rip off his clothes but was going to keep to my rules. No more than PG-13. Okay, maybe a soft R?

I hadn’t felt such passion in a long time. There were good men out there—men who could be gentlemen yet still throw you down on the bed and take control.

I was coming undone . . . and not just my shirt
.

But I kept some of my clothes on, much to Bret’s dismay. And I knew I had to leave before the rest of them came off.

“I’m going to go,” I whispered into his ear.

“Not yet, you’re not.” How could I not give in? He pulled me back on top of him.

“You’re too strong.”

“And you’re flexible,” he replied, as he somehow pinned my arms over my head with one hand, grabbing my leg with the other. This man was killing me.

After make-out session number two, I made my way to my pants and got myself together before leaning in to say good night. He walked me to the door and kissed me before sending me off. “Good night, beautiful,” he said as the door shut.