Horowitz has done it again! A gem of a collection—like her first one, her well-known interviews are featured alongside more of her personal essays. She tackles every topic—from homophobic Hollywood to how she manages depression with jigsaw puzzles—all with her signature dry, self-deprecating humor.
—Vanity Fair
A hilarious, occasionally weepy collection of essays and interviews. Horowitz is truly the queen of the celebrity interview—we all remember the Gabe Parker piece—and this book is a master class in the form. The perfect holiday gift for all your friends.
—O: The Oprah Magazine Why won’t Horowitz give her readers what they really want—the true story of what happened the night she passed out at Gabe Parker’s house? No one cares about her thoughts on New York or her marriage—we want to know the dirty details of the article that made her famous. Come on, Chani, give your fans what they’re begging for.
—Goodreads
Chapter
23
I don’t ask where we’re going. I just get my borrowed coat, and wind my thick, warm scarf around my neck until it’s under my chin. It’s so snug that it could probably hold my head up on its own. I lace up my boots. It takes forever, and when I’m done, I feel a little like an overstuffed penguin, preparing to waddle across Antarctica.
There’s a lightness between me and Gabe, as if we’re slowly lifting away years and layers of anger. Disappointment.
I know I have to ask him about the phone call, but I wait. Not now. Not yet.
Gabe clicks his tongue and Teddy comes sauntering out of his room, treating us to a long, luxurious stretch that ends with her lying on her stomach on the floor, as graceful as any two-legged yogi.
“We’re not lounging today,” he tells her. “Come on.”
She gives a little huff and rises, arching her back as she continues her morning stretch.
“If I’m ever late, it’s because of her,” Gabe says.
I give Teddy a pat on the head and she wags her shaggy tail with slow contentment.
“I think she’s perfect,” I say.
“Oh, she’d agree,” Gabe says. “Ready?”
I get my first look at Cooper, Montana, in the daylight. The town is almost aggressively charming, with double-stacked buildings lining narrow streets, everything made of brick and stone. There are colorful wooden shutters on second-floor windows, delineating the apartments above the stores.
It’s cold—a fresh, bracing cold, which seems at odds with the bold sunlight and cloudless skies. At some point last night, it snowed and the light makes the ground sparkle. My ears have already begun to hurt from the chill, so I pull the hood of Katie’s coat up to protect them.
Just as I do, a man walks by wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. The sleeves are rolled up.
“Morning,” he says.
“Morning,” I say.
“Morning,” Gabe says.
Even though I can feel the chill through my jeans, I suddenly feel overdressed and out of place.
“Isn’t he cold?” I ask.
Gabe, who is wearing an unzipped coat over his sweater, shrugs.
“He’s probably running an errand,” he says. “No point in putting on a lot of layers if you’re just running to the store.”
I feel a little better.
“I guess we’re not just running to the store,” I say.
Gabe grins at me. “Not quite,” he says.
“Are we meeting Ollie?”
“He’s got other things to do today,” Gabe says.
As far as I can tell, the only reason Ollie is in Montana is to spend time with Gabe, but I’m not about to make a fuss on his behalf. If Ollie wants Gabe, he can come get him.
Until then, he’s mine.
“I thought I’d show you around,” Gabe says. “Just the two of us.”
“Okay,” I say.
Teddy walks between us, a slow, relaxed amble that I appreciate, even though it also makes me more aware of her age. Of time.
The Cozy isn’t open yet, but I attempt a casual glance as we pass. It’s dark inside, but I can still see that it lives up to its name. The walls are lined with shelves and I can see some overstuffed chairs placed in duos around the store.
“We’ll come back,” Gabe says.
He takes me to a coffee shop that flips its sign to OPEN just as we walk up.
“Morning, Violet,” Gabe says.
“Hi, honey,” the woman behind the counter says. “Your usual?”
“Can you add an extra croissant to my order?” he asks. “And whatever drink Chani wants.”
Violet waits patiently while I look at the menu.
“Earl Grey tea, please,” I say.
“Earl Grey, hot,” Gabe says.
He can still do a British accent.
I smile down at my hands.
We take our drinks and our croissants and continue our walk. The pastry is buttery and I let Teddy lick my fingers when I’m done. Her tongue is wide and flat like a cow’s.
We pass a hardware store with bright Christmas lights decorating the doorway. The tea warms my throat and coats the inside of my chest. There’s a toy store next to a jewelry store. They’re both decked out for the holidays. Well. One holiday.
“Any Jews in Cooper?” I ask.
“I think you’re the only one at the moment,” Gabe says.
All the lights I see are red and green, poinsettia garlands and mistletoe hanging in windows. Lots of baby Jesuses in their mangers.
“Hmm,” I say.
“There’s a synagogue in Myrna,” Gabe says. “About thirty minutes from here.”
“Hmm,” I say.
“I love this town.”
He says it like it’s the start of something more, so I turn toward him.
“I love this town,” he says again. “But I bought the house in L.A. because I don’t want to live here all the time. Especially when the smallness of the place is too much, in too many ways.”
He’s telling me something without actually saying it.
I’m not in any rush.
There’s an enormous Christmas tree at the end of the block, where the road is closed off to cars and the pavement turns to cobblestones. It’s very beautiful. We stand in front of it for a while. Teddy sniffs the branches that extend outward.
“Does she live here all the time?” I ask, thinking of how his Laurel Canyon house didn’t have any dog supplies.