Episode 28: Make Room For Daddy

Episode 28: Make Room For Daddy

Mimi Schmir, one of the writers from "Grey's Anatomy"

It all starts when I make up with La Annabelle. It's Friday night and the "Sex and the City" movie has just opened and my doorbell rings. Jeffrey has the boys for three days, because, I kid you not, he's supposed to spend a week at some ashram in the Blue Ridge Mountains and he wants some "quality time" with his offspring before he goes. This ashram nonsense is his Father's Day gift from the Concubine, who God bless her stupid little heart, insists on staying with him, at least through the summer. (This may have something to do with the tacky mansion he always rents on the beach in Santa Barbara every August, or it might just be his money.)

Anyhoo, I open the door and there's La Annabelle, with Cody the vegan teetering next to her. They're all glammed up, wearing Manolos, and oddly (or not so oddly) there are Cosmos in their hands. (Actually, Cody's shoes are that cruelty free brand that Natalie Portman, also a vegan, has designed. Even for the most anticipated chick flick of the century, Cody won't cross to the dark side.) "Are you my Miranda or my Charlotte?" Annabelle says, then reaches into her Balenciaga (the same one she flounced out of my house with when we had that nasty fight) and pulls out a bedazzled thermos. "I'm your fucking Samantha," I tell her, and kind of thrust out my boobs. Then Annabelle tells me to get the hell out of my ratty jeans and t-shirt because we're going to the movies. "Move your cute ass," she adds, "We have to stop somewhere first." "Stop where?" I ask her and she just shakes her head mysteriously while Cody wobbles in her meatless shoes and does her best not to give anything away. "What's the J-ster doing for Father's Day?" Annabelle asks me and when I tell her he's having dinner at home with the C-word and the kids she says something that sounds like, "Last Supper," which in the moment, I don't really understand.

When we get to our destination, there's a line out the door. At first I think it's some kind of clandestine movie theater, but then I realize we're at Annabelle's dermatologist, aka "Mr. Freeze." "What're we doing at your dermo?" I ask her. Annabelle shrugs, and I look around at all the other women who I now see are dressed in similar, Patricia Fields-like garb. "You're freaking me out," I tell her. "What's going on?" "Botox party!!" shrieks Cody, who can't contain herself any longer, and then I see that it's like the entire female population of the West Side of Los Angeles has come out to stand in line. "You're kidding, right?" I ask, nervously. "This is fucking serious!" yells Cody. (You'd think, as a hardcore veggie, she'd be morally opposed to putting toxins in her body, but apparently her veganism stops at forehead wrinkles.) "I thought we were going to the movies," I stutter. "We are," says La Annabelle, "But we're touching up here first."

Long story short, I get a little Botox happy on the opening night of "Sex and the City." Apparently groups of women all over town (egged on by Cosmos) have decided this will be a fabulous way to start the nostalgia-tinged evening. "Admit it, you're loving the look," gushes Annabelle after the husband and wife dermo team has shot us up. (They work in tandem and apparently also give shots to one another.) "What look?" I ask her until I suddenly notice the frown line that first appeared when Jeffrey admitted his faux pas with the prostitutes has magically disappeared. "Yay, Botox," I tell her, "I'm never going to look pissed off ever again." "That's the idea," giggles Cody at which point I realize she's pretty drunk. "Are you okay, Veggie?" I ask her and she's all, "No pain, no gain," and I'm pretty sure she's heading down a slippery, Cosmo-fueled slope.

So we're back in the car and I'm staring at myself in the rear view mirror. I kind of feel like I imagine it would feel to be on acid, all slow motion and observant and just plain weird. And I can see by the look in Annabelle's eyes (there's no expression anywhere else on her face) that I may be heading towards some kind of trouble.

"What's up, girls?" I say to them. "I can't move my face and fuckhead has the kids all night so you might as well just tell me." "Here's the thing," says Annabelle. And then she starts this story. It goes something like this: "You know I'm on Facebook, right? Well, the other day, I'm poked by this girl Mary." (What's with this "poking" thing, by the way? Seems oddly sexual.) "Anyway," says Annabelle, "I haven't heard from this Mary in years. We went to college together but all I remember is that she was still a virgin when we graduated. But we're both still single and we start writing back and forth. It turns out Virgin Mary lives in Vancouver now and she's like, pretty desperate to meet a man. And so she starts to tell me about this guy that she was dating, rich, handsome, you know the drill but it turned out he was a real a-hole." "What kind of a-hole?" I interrupt her but she just looks at Cody, shakes her head and says, "The fuck ‘em and leave ‘em kind."

"The point is," says La Annabelle, "This dude told the Virgin he really wanted to be with her, blah, blah, blah. He said his wife had actually cheated on him with a gigalo—" "A what?" I say. "You know, like a male prostitute," says Cody, helpfully and then stops when Annabelle gives her the evil eye. "Yeah, a male prostitute," says Annabelle. "He tells her that, and that he'd found the guy's tidy whities under their marital bed and it had driven him to distraction and lotsa alcohol and he was going to have to go to rehab because his wife was a cheating whore. So this chick is all like, let me take care of you and I'll help you forget your horrible wife but then one day, he just up and disappears." "Does this story have a happy ending?" I say, and Annabelle takes a swig of her Cosmo and says, "Depends what your definition of a happy ending is."

"You want another one?" sloshes Cody as she reaches for the tumbler of Cosmo-liciousness. "Not yet," I tell her and then I look suspiciously at Annabelle. "Go on. " "Well, this old college pal of mine, the Virgin, is really pissed off and she decides to put this guy on Don'tDateHimGirl.com. She tells me she had a photo of him and she wrote the whole story up because even if the dude's wife did cheat on him with a gigalo, she doesn't think he should be out there capitalizing on his pseudo pain." Cody nods fervently, "Ex-fucking-actly."

"Wait, here's the thing," says Annabelle. "I went on Don'tDateHimGirl last night to check the loser out." "Fuck," I say to no one in particular. "You got it!" yells Cody, unable to contain herself. "The guy whose wife screwed the gigalo is Jeffrey! The cheating whore is you!!"

We get to Jeffrey's house in record time. I haven't really had anything to drink yet so I feel really comfortable with speeding. I knock on the door and before he even has it open, I'm inside. "Hello, Fuckhead," I say under my breath and then I see that the Concubine and the boys are sitting at the table surrounded by Jeffrey's favorite foods. (The guy fancies himself a meat maven and at this point I'm pretty glad Annabelle and especially Cody have stayed in the car.) "Mommy, mommy!!" yell my kids and they come running over and grab my hands. "We're having Father's Day, you wanna have some too?" I look from Jeffrey, to the Concubine to the boys. "Um...I can't stay," I tell them, and I'm glaring at Jeffrey. "I just wanted to say Happy Father's Day to you." Jeffrey looks at me in abject terror. No dummy (on this point at least), he can see that something is terribly wrong. "What now?" he says, nervously. "Does Don'tDateHimGirl mean anything to you?" I hiss. "Shit," he says, and suddenly, we're outside.

He's groveling before I even get started. "Look," he says. "I tried to take that posting off, I swear I did. That girl was crazy. I mean, for starters, she said she was a virgin!" "Are you fucking kidding me?!" I say. "About what?" he says, nervously. "You told her I slept with a gigalo?!!" I hiss at him. "It's all over the internet too!" "My cerebral cortex is emotionally damaged," says Jeffrey, in way of explanation. "What?!" I yell. "I should sue your ass for defamation." "Come on, E, gimme a break, it's my Father's Day dinner," he whines. "I'm enjoying my last flank steak before the ashram." "This isn't about meat!" I yell at him, (Or maybe it is. Regardless, I am having some trouble contorting my angry, botoxed face here) and then (I hate to admit this) I kind of trip him.

I'm not proud of it. But I've taken a little marshal arts in my day and Jeffrey's sense of balance is (obviously) off to begin with. "What'd you do that for?" he says. "I'm going to the fucking movies," I tell him. "I'm going to see Carrie go through eighty-five changes of hideously expensive clothes. But we're not done with this, believe me." "Since when are you the Karate Kid," he mutters, "Even the Virgin didn't punch me," then hauls his ass off the ground and heads inside.

The boys are all squished together at the dining room table, but they've put a plate for Jeffrey in between them. "Make room for Daddy, Daddy needs room!!" they yell at each other. "You have no idea," I mutter, as the Concubine shrugs her shoulders helplessly. "They're really excited about this Father's Day thing," she laughs, a little weakly. "Hey, mommy, what's wrong with your face?" says Mr. Handsome all of a sudden. "You look kind of funny." My hand flies up to my forehead. I want my fucking wrinkles back for this one. "Oh, mommy's just fine," I tell them. On my way out I slither past Jeffrey. "Think I'll make a new post on Don'tDateHimGirl.com," I whisper. "Happy Father's Day!" I call out loudly and with a flick of my ponytail (yep, it's one of those hair out of the face days) I'm gone.