Love at 11

Chapter Five



FROM: “Dr. Barbara Wilens” <bwilens@boston hospital.com>

TO: “Madeline Madison” <[email protected]>

SUBJECT: re: Leaded Lipstick



Dear Maddy,



Thank you for your inquiry about whether or not lipstick contains dangerous levels of lead. The chain e-mail you forwarded me is incorrect in saying that lead in lipstick causes cancer. Exposure to lead does not cause cancer. However, lipstick pigments can contain some amount of lead and while the levels are not sufficient to harm a grown woman, a pregnant woman might be inadvertently poisoning her unborn child, which could possibly lead to brain damage. It’s a pretty big stretch to say cosmetics can kill, but we would certainly advise pregnant women to stay away from lipstick, just in case.



Sincerely,

Barbara Wilens, MD



P.S. To avoid bad luck, I did pass the e-mail on to five of my friends. Sure, it’s probably completely unethical to forward incorrect medical information to the public, but I’m in surgery today and I couldn’t really risk dropping the knife or leaving a sponge inside the patient’s body!!! That would be a good story, huh? <vbg!>



I was never going out on a Thursday night again. I was way too old to handle such hangover potential.

I peeked around the corner of my cubicle to make sure the Special Projects department remained vacant, then plopped my head in my hands on my desk. So tired. Just needed a minute of shut-eye.

Jamie had offered to drive me to work that morning (on his motorcycle, no less!), but I decided it would look a little strange to anyone who saw us pull into the News 9 parking lot. Like why were we together in the a.m.? Didn’t need those kinds of rumors on top of everything else.

I closed my eyes, attempting to block out the world. I felt terrible—both physically and emotionally—and couldn’t stop beating myself up over all that had happened. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have let things get so out of control?

Deep in my heart, I knew the answer was simple. I had a massive, out of control, raging crush on the guy. And it didn’t seem to be fading very fast, even with the awkward morning-after syndrome.

I was in such trouble.

“Sleeping on the job, are we, darling?”

I looked up, bleary-eyed. In my hangover stupor, I’d failed to realize David, my very gay political producer cubicle mate, had sat down across from me. Guess he was back from Senator Gorman’s reelection tour. He grinned nastily, enjoying my pain a bit too much. I flipped him the bird and returned my head to its resting position.

“Girlfriend, you so cannot sleep! I have big gossip.” He reached over to shake me by the shoulder. “Big!”

“I’m listening.” Didn’t have to raise my head for my ears to work.

“I slept with Brock.”

Okay, that was news enough to warrant a head lift. “Brock?” I asked, incredulous. “As in Senator Gorman’s son, Brock? As in Ivy League, Preppy Crew Captain Brock?”

“There’s only one Brock, sweetheart,” David said in his flamingest voice. “And let me tell you, he is prime grade-A beefcake.”

“I didn’t know he was gay.” Senator Gorman was the most conservative Republican on the planet. Hell, he’d spearheaded the committee to make gay marriage illegal and had tried for years to stop gays from adopting children. “Does his father know?”

“Nope!” David looked pleased as punch. “He’d totally kill him if he did. And I’m sworn to secrecy. Of course, I was like: ‘You know, Brock, I could ruin your daddy’s career with this.’ And he’s like: ‘Yeah, I guess I’d better be nice to you.’” David giggled. “And then he sucked my dick, which let me tell you, was very, very nice.”

“Oh-kay then. Too much information alert.”

David grinned wickedly. “Oh grow up, Maddy Pants. You’re just jealous ‘cause you aren’t getting any.”

“Yes I—” … was stopping right there. I would not say anything about sleeping with anyone. “You’re right, David. I’m completely and utterly jealous. Cause I am getting nothing. Nada. Zip, zilch. I’m practically a born again virgin. And I am so jealous of all your gay action.”

“Hmm. Methinks my cubemate doth protest too much.” David studied me closely. “Me also thinks she has an I-just-got-f*cked look in her eyes.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You do.”

“I DON’T!”

“You do. You do. You just got f*cked. Who’s the lucky guy?”

Unfortunately, the “lucky guy” picked that moment to walk over to my cubicle. I must have turned beet red, ‘cause David’s eyebrows shot up in recognition.

“So what’s on the agenda today?” Jamie asked innocently. He must have gone home to shower and change. His hair was still slightly damp and he wore a button-down surfer shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. Delicious. Not that I was tasting. I’d already done too much of that the night before.

“Um, we, um, got a lead on the lipstick e-mail you sent me. I have an, um, interview with a doctor who can talk about it.” Why could I barely form a sentence? I shot a glare at David who had turned around to check his Gmail, still giggling to himself. “Want to meet me in the parking lot in fifteen minutes?”

“Okay. I’ll go get a coffee while I’m waiting. You want one?”

“No, I’m okay. Thanks.” I’d already drunk about ten and my hands had the shakes.

After Jamie disappeared, David, as I knew he would, whirled around and started screeching. “Who was THAT? I go away for four days and we get THAT as a new photog? He is sooo cute. But I guess you already know that.” He looked at me with a mischievous smile. “So, what was he like?”

“Like?” I asked innocently.

“Oh, come on, sistah soul. I totally gave you the scoop on Brock, and that’s way more of a secret than you shagging the new photog.”

“Yeah, but …” I lowered my voice. “He’s engaged.”

“Oh puh-leeze. Does he have a wedding band on his finger yet? No? Well, then, he’s still fair game in my book.” David clapped his hands together in glee. “So, I will repeat my question. What was he like? Divine with a capital ‘D’?”

“Honestly, I don’t remember.” I told David the whole story, starting with my family falling apart and ending with Jamie comforting me the morning after.

“Awh, so sweet. Honey, he sounds like a keeper to me.”

Was he on crack? “Did you listen to a thing I just said? I can’t keep him. I don’t even have him to begin with. He belongs to someone else.”

“For now.”

“Look, I’m not the type of girl who goes and steals other women’s fiancés. The whole thing was just a stupid, lousy, drunken mistake that I will never, ever repeat again.”

“Smart. Next time I’d do him sober. So you can remember how divine he is.”

I groaned. “There’s obviously no talking to you. Anyway, I have to go on my shoot. Do not under any circumstances tell anyone about this, okay?”

“Please. As if I knew anyone who would care about your little vanilla sexcapades.”

“Good. Keep it that way. I’ll see you later.” I printed out the directions to the doctor’s office and grabbed them off the printer.

“Peace out. Don’t let the man get you down.”

I rolled my eyes at him and gave him a wave goodbye, then headed out to the parking lot. I found Jamie loading his camera into the Ford Expedition news truck. Without saying anything, I hopped into the passenger side and took a deep breath. He joined me moments later.

“We off?”

“Off.” I passed over the directions, looking straight out the window. What did I say to him? This was so awkward.

To make matters worse, my memory decided to treat me with a fleeting flashback of the night before. Namely, us collapsing on the bed after a particularly rowdy rendition of bedroom karaoke to Duran Duran’s “Save a Prayer.” (A song about a one-night stand—how appropriate!) Him, kissing me senseless. Me, weak in the knees. Him, pulling my tank top over my head. Me, well, still weak in the knees. Pretty pathetic, considering I wasn’t even standing up. Hopefully he didn’t regain any memories of the night in question, as I was becoming quite certain I hadn’t exactly been up to par in the bedroom department. Not that I necessarily wanted him to have fond memories of my prowess there, either. “So, got any fun plans for the weekend?” Jamie asked, interrupting my musings.

Well, I had planned on painting my bedroom forest green, but suddenly that sounded overwhelmingly lame. After all, he was a filmmaker. He probably spent his weekends going to trendy parties with movie stars and complicated cocktails. I couldn’t possibly tell him I had no plans and was going to stay home and paint.

“Actually, I’ve got a hot date.”

Oh, Maddy? Why did you say that? Once again, my mouth had blurted before my brain could rationalize that the impulsive idea to tell Jamie I had a hot date was an extremely bad one on many, many levels. The most basic being because it was a complete and utter lie.

“Oh yeah?” Jamie turned to look at me. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

He said it so casually it made my stomach ache. Not a hint of jealousy in his voice. He’d obviously moved on from last night’s encounter already. Couldn’t care less that I had a potential new lover. And why would he? He had his fiancée, after all. I was nothing to him.

Get a grip, Maddy. Forget about last night. Or you’re in for a world of hurt.

I realized Jamie was waiting for me to describe imaginary-date man. “Um, well, he’s this surfer guy.” Yeah, surfers were cool. “With blond hair, blue eyes. About six foot.” If I were going to have an imaginary date, he might as well be a hottie. “He’s sponsored, actually. Does all these competitions.”

“Really? What’s his name? I did a documentary on surfing in So-Cal. I know most of the guys.”

Argh. Maddy, why? Why not just say he was some normal guy Jamie would have never heard of?

“Oh, you probably wouldn’t have heard of him …”

“Try me.”

“… because he’s from, um, Czechoslovakia,” I said, naming the country farthest away from So-Cal that I could think of. “Just moved here last month.”

“A Czech surfer?” Jamie asked, sounding intrigued. “Interesting, since the country’s so far inland. How’d he become so good at surfing?”

Oh yeah, I’d conveniently forgotten the Czech Republic wasn’t exactly beachfront property. Duh.

“His father sent him to, um, Ibiza every summer as a kid. He learned there.” Ibiza was an island, right? I was saved.

“The Spanish Island with all the nightclubs? I didn’t realize it was a kid-friendly place.”

Darn. “Um, no, no. Ibiza, Florida. It’s near, um, Fort Lauderdale.” I laughed nervously.

“Hmm. Never heard of it.” Jamie shrugged. “I spent a few months in Miami last year, too. Must be a small town.”

“Yeah. Real tiny, evidently.” Please don’t press me on it, I begged silently. I was running out of lies.

Luckily at that moment, we turned in to the doctor’s office. I breathed a sigh of relief. Jamie parked the SUV and turned to me. “Well, I hope you have fun on your date. You just let me know if this blond-haired, blue-eyed Czech surfer who grew up in a tiny town in Florida gives you a hard time, okay?”

I felt my face heat. Was he teasing me? Did he know I made the whole thing up? I narrowed my eyes in anger. I wanted to protest, tell him I did have a real date. But problem was, I didn’t.

I know! I’ll find one!

Jodi had been trying to get me to sign up for that online dating service for months. She said it had tons of cute guys. From all over. I was sure out of the thousands available I could find a blond-haired, blue-eyed Czech surfer who summered in Florida, right?

Yup, that’s what I’d do. I’d go home from the shoot, find myself a surfer and go out on a date. Then I’d take pictures with my camera phone and casually show them to Jamie on Monday to prove that I wasn’t some pathetic lying girl who made up a whole person because she was too embarrassed to admit she planned to stay home and paint her bedroom.

“What are you up to this weekend?” I asked as I waited for him to unload his gear from the back of the Expedition.

He groaned. “Nothing as exciting as your weekend. I’ve got to paint the bedroom of my new place.”

Oh.

“I have to do some major yard work, too. I want to have the place all ready for when Jennifer comes down next month.”

Argh.

I tried to squash the jealous feeling that bubbled deep inside, but no luck. All I could think of was what a nice guy Jamie was. Why couldn’t I find someone who would sacrifice his weekend just so his fiancée could waltz down from LA and have a great place to live?

“What does Jennifer do?” I asked, trying to sound casual. After all, we were supposed to be friends, right? “She’s an actress,” Jamie said as he closed the SUV’s back door.

Of course.

“Has she been in anything I might have seen?”

He shook his head. “She’s done cameos in some low-budget movies. She’s also a model.”

“And a waitress?” It was cruel, but I suddenly realized her type.

He grinned sheepishly. “How’d you guess?” Easy. Though he already knew how. Actress/model/waitress types were par for the course in So-Cal. Just most people sort of tried to hide the waitress part.

“So, what does she think of relocating to San Diego?” I couldn’t imagine if she was trying to have a career in Hollywood she would think this a very good move.

Jamie sighed. Deeply. “She realizes it’s necessary for us at this time.”

In other words she was pissed off about it. Poor Jamie. Here he was, sacrificing his moviemaking career to work in local TV news, so his loser waitress fiancée could continue to live in the lifestyle she was accustomed. And did she thank him for his dedication? No. She bitched about moving from LA where she would compete with two thousand other blond bimbos for lousy movie roles in even lousier movies that were destined to tank on opening day.

Okay, maybe I was projecting a bit here, but I bet I wasn’t too far from the truth.

“When she comes down, you’ll have to meet her,” Jamie added as we walked into the hospital. “You’d like her, I think.”

Men were so clueless. Didn’t he know that I could never like her? You could never like the fiancée of a guy you slept with. It just didn’t happen.

“Sure. We’ll do lunch,” I said, trying to sound amiable.

Jamie looked at me funny, but didn’t reply. We took the elevator up to the correct floor and entered the doctor’s office.

The interview went well. The doctor talked about the dangers of lead to a fetus and gave us examples of lipsticks that had tested positive. Evidently it wasn’t an exact science. When the lipstick goo was being stirred at the factory, the lead levels didn’t mix in evenly. So each tube from the same batch could have completely different levels of lead. And while nine times out of ten you were probably pretty safe, she did advise pregnant women not to use lipstick during their pregnancy just in case. And that was all I needed for my story.

It would have been better if we had a victim. I knew the station would have loved to get video of a brain-damaged baby, forced to live out a miserable existence all because his mother vainly applied lipstick every morning. But I could work around it.

I had to get this piece done and on the air so I could start working on that Mexican drug cartel one. Miguel had left a voice mail for me this morning before I got in and I couldn’t wait to call him back and get the scoop.

I just had a feeling that was going to be the story that changed my life.



*



“How about that guy? He’s cute.” Jodi pressed a well-manicured finger up to the computer screen. Back at the station, she and I had holed up in her office and opened the Match.com dating site.

“He’s not a blond, blue-eyed surfer from Czechoslovakia.”

She rolled her eyes. “Tell me again why he has to be that?”

“That’s my type.” I shrugged. I didn’t want to admit my embarrassing lie if I didn’t have to. Plus, Jodi might get suspicious about Jamie. I wasn’t ready for the lecture she’d be sure to give if she heard of my overnight adventure. As much as I loved Jodi, let’s just say she once had a cheating fiancé of her own and wasn’t too keen on encouraging her friends to engage in such activities.

“Since when is your type a blond? You’re always dating brunettes. You hate blonds.”

“Tastes change. Besides, I like Owen Wilson. He’s a blond.”

“Right.” Jodi gave me a weird look and went back to searching. Unfortunately, there were fewer blond-haired Czechs who lived in Southern California and surfed than one might have imagined.

“Click on him.” I pointed to a cute blond guy. Jodi complied and a profile popped up.

Ah-ha! He was perfect.

Blond, blue-eyed surfer. Lived in Czechoslovakia for several years as a child though he was originally from Germany. Under hobbies he listed surfing. I couldn’t believe my luck. My imaginary guy actually existed. I should try this Match.com thing more often.

According to his profile, Ted liked long walks on the beach, cuddling up to a roaring fire. Thunderstorms. (Why did everyone always put that in their “likes” category? Was it supposed to be romantic or something?)

I pushed Jodi out of the way and jotted off a quick e-mail to Ted, asking him to check out my profile and whether or not he wanted to go out tomorrow night. I normally would have been a bit more coy, but these were desperate times.

Then I went in and changed my profile so my likes agreed with his likes. Sure, I didn’t really enjoy foreign films or follow European football all that closely, but the likelihood was that these topics wouldn’t come up on a first date anyway and I only needed that one date to prove to Jamie I hadn’t lied.

I clicked back to his profile to see what he put under family. Ten kids?! He wanted ten kids? Wow, I felt bad for the woman he’d make his broodmare. But okay. I typed “ten” under my desire for kids. Why not? I wouldn’t know him long enough for it to matter.

Satisfied that I had created a profile that would intrigue him, I clicked off the site. Tomorrow night at this time, I was sure to be on a date.



*



Ding, dong!

Why did the doorbell always ring the second I stepped in the shower? I could be conditioning my hair at four a.m. and someone would be sure to stop by. It’d better not be a vacuum salesman, I thought as I turned off the water and grabbed a towel. Or some Girl Scout. Actually, that wouldn’t be so bad on account of getting some cookies out of the deal. Thin Mints. Mmmmm.

Ding, dong!

“I’m coming!” Whoever it was, they sure were impatient. I scurried down the hallway, clad only in my towel, and opened the door.

Lulu. And she had a big backpack, stuffed to the brim. “Hey, sis, what’s up?” I asked, already kind of getting the gist.

“You said I could stay with you, right? Well, here I am.” She pushed by me and dumped her grimy backpack on my beige IKEA couch.

Oh, great. Just what I needed. My crazy sister living in my tiny apartment. She stayed with me for a weekend once when my parents went to Vegas, and she trashed the place in two days. It was not for nothing her childhood nickname had been Pigpen.

“Did something happen, Lu?”

Lulu slumped down on the couch, putting her combat-booted feet on the coffee table. “Dad took off to go be with what’s-her-face. And Mom hasn’t been back from shopping.”

“What?” I asked, alarmed. “She never came back?”

“Nope. I stayed up ‘til like one a.m. last night and there was no sign of her. When I woke up, I was still alone. I decided to skip school and wait for her. But she’s not back yet.”

Fear raced through my heart. This was not good. Not at all. Mom could be lying in a ditch. She could have rented a hotel room and committed suicide. She could be dead. My mother could be dead!

“Omigod. Omigod. What are we going to do?” I asked, not really addressing my sister, since I knew she would have no solution. I grabbed the telephone and dialed Dad’s cell.

“Hi honey,” he answered. “I’m so pleased to hear from you.”

“I’m not calling for a friendly chat, Dad,” I said testily. I was still very angry at him and wanted to make sure he knew it. “It’s Mom. She never came home.”

“I’m sure she’s fine, Maddy.”

I white-knuckled the phone. “She’s not fine. She’s missing. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

“Well, according to my online banking register, it appears to be Hawaii. Oh, no. Wait.” I hear clicking in the background. “She flew to Fiji this afternoon.”

“What? Why would Mom be in Fiji? Or Hawaii for that matter?” I screamed into the phone. This was unbelievable.

“Well, from what I can see by looking at the charges, it appears she’s shopping.”

“And we are not to be concerned that our cookie-baking, stay-at-home, never-been-outside-the-continental-United States mother is suddenly on a globe-trotting shopping spree?”

“Honey, I’m sure she’s fine. She’s free for the first time in her life and she’s enjoying herself.”

“Fine. Whatever, Dad.” Furious, I threw the phone across the room. Unfortunately, phone throwing only hurts the phone itself, not the person on the other line.

“So can I live with you?” Lulu asked.

I sank down into the armchair, head in my hands. What did I do in a previous life to make my karma so screwed up?