by Erin Spencer
“I think this is going to be a big party. Look at all the cars. And nice ones too,” I say.
“Come on, Liv.” Bex rolls her eyes. “I don’t care if a guy drives a pickup truck or a Porsche. You know, I’d actually prefer the pickup truck. You can’t haul anything around in a sports car.”
“Maybe there’s an app for that. Pickup Truck Bucks,” I say, racking my brain at all the dating sites I’d discovered while researching Bex’s profiles. “You know there’s even one for ‘Uniform Dating.’ How ’bout a fireman?”
Finally, after a pretty steep walk past a growing line of parked cars, our stilettos click-clacking up to the address, we arrive.
“Is this it?” Bex says.
“Yeah.” I look at my phone to confirm that we’re at the right number. “Yup, this is it. Shall we?” I raise my hand about to ring the doorbell.
“This is a house,” Bex states. “I mean it’s a nice house, but it’s a house. I thought this was some kind of event, like at a warehouse or a gallery. How do you know these people?”
“Yes, it’s a house. An amazing house,” I say. “You just don’t get this kind of place in London. This is so LA. Is that an infinity pool behind the gate?” I try my best to sound encouraging, sensing that Bex is about to turn tail and make a run for it.
“Are these friends of friends, or someone from Ethan’s firm?” Bex says, switching into LAPD detective mode.
I can tell she’s starting to get nervous. She’s been hibernating for longer than I thought.
“Beeexxxxxx,” I say, whining and stretching her name out beyond the one syllable to get my way. “Come on, you can’t bail now. It was Saturday night, I guess that makes it all right,” I sing out of key, knowing that the right lyrics will lure her into action.
“Oh, all right, fine, let’s do it.” When she sings back What have I got to lose I know I’ve got her hooked. “Hopefully, there won’t be anyone crying,” Bex says dramatically as she rings the doorbell.
We hear a high-pitched laugh from inside. “I’m coming!” a voice calls out with a slightly sarcastic edge as the door opens with a flourish.
“Hi, ladies, come in. Oh, I like the dress,” a giggly woman in one of those Hervé Leger bandage dresses says to Bex. “Very Dynasty.” We squeeze past her and walk inside.
“Dynasty? Why did she say that? Is it too fancy? Too Joan Collins? I mean, I got it from Anthropologie!” Bex whispers to me.
“Stop with the insecurity, you look amazing. You know you do. Okay, so let’s get a drink then assess viable suitors to approach.” I try to sound like I’ve got a plan when this party doesn’t appear to have as many single guys as I’d hoped it would.
“Assess viable suitors to approach? Could you make that sound any less cool?” Bex says to me. She’s right, but I’m not going to admit it.
We take a good look around. It’s not exactly how I thought the event would be, but I’m going to make the most of it for Bex’s sake. Two huge leather modular sofas form a semi-rectangular shape in the high-ceilinged living room. There’s a beautiful fireplace, but nothing on the mantel. In fact, there are hardly any decorative touches, or much furniture, anywhere.
“Hmm, strange that it’s so minimalist inside yet so Hollywood Hills rococo outside. I mean, did you see that water feature by the front door? It looked like something from Versailles,” I say.
“Okay, just because you follow Architectural Digest on Instagram doesn’t make you an interior design guru. Hey, there’s the bar.” Bex grabs me and we head for what appears to be a makeshift bar in the large, open-plan kitchen.
“Hi, could we have two G and Ts, please?” Bex says to the young bartender who isn’t wearing a shirt.
“I do love California.” I sigh, staring at his tan muscular arms. “He’s cute,” I whisper.
“Do not even go there. Do not try to set me up with another bartender,” Bex says.
“Oh all right fine, but look at those biceps. So, we’re sticking with the G and Ts then?”
“Yeah, I’m trying not to mix alcohol. Not that I always follow my own rules, of course.” We both laugh, acknowledging without having to say it, the many times we used to see each other bowing to the porcelain god.
Hot Biceps serves us the drinks. “Have fun tonight,” he says with a wink. “And I made them doubles so you won’t have to come back here too soon.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind coming back soon for a refill,” I say quietly to Bex. “Those arms.”
“Stop it. This is already hard enough for me. So can you take it seriously, please?”
“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. Let’s see, who do you think is cute?” I scan the room. “What about that—” I’m about to point out a guy across the room as I’m interrupted mid-sentence.
“Hi! I’m Candace and this is Chad. People call us Chandace.” Candace, a bleach blond twenty-something sidles up close to Bex. “I lovvvve that dress!”
“Um, thanks,” Bex says. “I wasn’t sure about it. The woman at the door said it was Dynasty.”
“Dynasty?” Candace says. “Oh, is that that new place on Sunset everyone’s talking about? Isn’t it owned by a Kardashian?”
Bex and I make eye contact, trying not to laugh.
“Hey, where’s your man?” Candace says to Bex, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
“My man? Oh God, um, where do I even start,” Bex drawls theatrically. The double G and T is already hitting her hard. “We met, like, ages ago, a few years after college. He was so gorgeous, I mean, I was really swept off my feet. A fairy tale. But, I’m here to tell you that not all fairy tales have a happy ending.”
Candace seems slightly confused. Meanwhile, Chad, a Ken to Candace’s Barbie, leans in to me. “I get it, it’s cool. She doesn’t have a man, does she?”
“What? Well, I mean,” I say, thinking to myself that this Chad guy is overstepping boundaries. But maybe he has a nice, successful friend here. “Dating in this day and age—especially at our age—has its challenges,” I say. Chad is so close I know that he had something with garlic for dinner. I take a small step back. “Besides, some men are uneasy with a woman who won’t settle and knows what she wants.”
“But women know what women want, don’t they?” Chad stares at Bex and me with a gaze that would give those full body X-ray things at the airport a run for their money. Maybe I’ve been around reserved English guys for too long, but Chad is just way too intense.
“You know, Chandace has done a lot of things. But we’ve never enjoyed the beauty of two women together.”
Okay, why is he talking about Chandace in third person? This guy is starting to creep me out.
“Would you two like to join us upstairs? There are still a few free bedrooms,” Chad says.
“Uh, thank you. But I think we’ll finish our drinks down here for a while. It was nice to meet you and Candace. Nice to meet you…um…Chandace,” I say haltingly, hardly believing what I think is happening.
I grab Bex by the arm and pull her away from Candace, who’s babbling on about a bikini she bought for a trip that she and Chad are taking to an “adults only” resort in Florida.
“So sorry, Candace, it was lovely meeting you. Excuse us.” I drag Bex away, not sure which way to turn.
“What’s going on?” Bex says, apparently oblivious to the not-so-subtle Chandace divide and conquer MO.
I hurriedly walk through to the dining room with Bex in tow and see a couple making out in a corner, half hidden by an empty china cabinet that has a lone decorative bowl on top. Intertwined and clearly enjoying each other, the man turns the woman and gently pushes her on to the table, pressing down on her as the table almost topples over.
“Whoa,” Bex says as we stand there frozen.
The guy continues kissing the woman as his arm reaches out, trying to find that bowl on top of the china cabinet. He topples it over and a confetti of condoms scatters across the floor. He grabs one, unzips his pants, and starts to unwrap the
condom. This could potentially be hot. Except, they’re not.
“Okkkaaaaay,” I say in stunned shock. Bex and I are like deer in headlights. A nervous, panicky feeling starts in the pit of my stomach and quickly spreads throughout my whole psyche.
Suddenly, Bex snaps to it. “Liv. Liiiiivvvvv. Where did you find out about this party?”
“Um, I…it was an ad that popped up when I was researching dating apps,” I say as a woman in lingerie runs by giggling.
“An ad? From a dating app? What kind of app?” A tone of impatient anger has edged into Bex’s voice. “Let me see the invite.” Bex grabs my phone and scrolls through to find the email.
Love the Lifestyle. Experience Hollywood high life at an out of this world party venue. Glamorous couples. Single ladies free. She lifts her eyes to mine and they narrow. “Liv…”
“I mean, who wouldn’t want this lifestyle? A house in the hills!” Shit, what have I done? I think to myself. I’ll never get Bex away from Netflix after this.
“Liv!” Bex whisper-shrieks. “I know you haven’t been over here for a while, but what do you think Lifestyle means? We are at a swinger’s party! You know, a sex party? What did you think it meant? Glamorous Couples? Free entry for single ladies? Do I need to spell it out for you in condoms?”
“I know! I’m sorry. I can’t believe it. I didn’t realize! I thought it was an exclusive dating event. A glamorous cocktail thing. Oh my God. And Chandace were all over us. He actually asked me if we wanted to go upstairs!” I am full-on panicking now.
“Let’s get outta here. Get an Uber, stat.” Bex orders in a voice as serious as a trauma surgeon. “I cannot believe I got all dressed up for what turns out to be a swinger’s party. I just want to go home, get in my bathrobe and eat Ben & Jerry’s. I’m done!”
“Come on, we can still go out somewhere. You look so nice,” I gently plead, desperate to salvage what’s turned out to be a total disaster of an evening.
Bex’s dagger eyes dart sideways to look at me. “Is the car on its way?”
“Dammit, I can’t get a signal here. My roaming coverage is awful, especially in these hills. Try yours.”
Bex pulls out her phone and swipes to unlock it as the screen fades to black. “Of course, my battery is dead. I mean, why would anything go right at this stage?”
“Maybe we can just parachute down to Hollywood Boulevard?” I say, half-joking, half-serious. “Wait, what about the bartender, he seems nice? And I mean, he’s working, so he can’t try to kidnap us to a bedroom upstairs.”
We go find Hot Biceps, who has now turned into our knight in shining, shirtless armor.
“How’s your evening going, ladies? Chandace were just over here looking for you two. They said you’re the most beautiful unicorns.”
“Unicorns?” Bex and I say in unison and look at each other.
“Look, can you call us an Uber? My phone is dead and we need to leave. Now. This isn’t our scene at all,” Bex says.
“Okay, okay, I understand.” He picks up his phone to order a ride.
“Here’s twenty bucks for the fare.” Bex puts the money on the bar.
“No, that’s okay.” He pushes the twenty-dollar bill back to Bex. “That’s nice of you, but I’d hate for you to leave with a bad impression. You know, this isn’t my thing either, but the tips are great. I’d rather wear a shirt, but the event organizers say it helps to create a ‘party mood.’” His golden brown arms flex as he mimes air quotes. “I like my life to be more calm and authentic. My name’s Alex.” He extends his arm to Bex for a handshake. “I know this might sound strange but I don’t care. I’ll say it anyway.” He’s still holding on to Bex’s hand as he continues. “I feel like you’d enjoy the spiritual journey of yoga. Have you ever tried a class? My friend Skip teaches at LoftYoga and I can get you both comp passes.”
I nudge Bex and pull her aside. “Say yes. I know this has been a total bust and I feel like such an idiot. But please, this night has got to come to something! He might be a new age Jeff Spicoli but he seems like a nice guy, and besides, those arms.”
Bex elbows me sharply and I think I’ve blown the whole thing, that she’ll never want to date anyone ever, but then she turns to Alex and says unenthusiastically, “Sure. Yes.”
“All right! You’re going to totally dig it, I promise. What’s your name? You can pick up the passes from reception before class. They have an amazing class on Mondays. Super energy and vibe. A great way to spiritually detox from the weekend.”
“Summer Moon Lotus,” Bex says.
“Summer Moon…I dig it.” Alex nods appraisingly, bowing to Bex with his hands in prayer position.
Back at Bex’s house, blissfully decked out in our sweats, we stand side by side in the bathroom brushing our teeth.
“Oh my God, that was crazy!” Bex says with an edge of humor in her voice. This night will probably turn into a story she’ll get a kick out of repeating.
“Ridiculous,” I say, relieved that my mistake is something we can make fun of now that we’re safely home and far from the likes of Chandace. “We’ve got Colgate rabies.” I gurgle and foamy white toothpaste cascades from my mouth down into the sink.
I rinse my mouth and wipe it with a towel. “I miss you,” I say with a sharp, bittersweet pang in my chest. It’s true, God, how I miss this familiar companionship, the feeling of being with a friend who’s a sister—family forged from love, laughter, and a shared journey from adolescence to adulthood.
I take my mouth guard out from its case and run it under the faucet.
“Why do you have that thing?” Bex says.
“I grind my teeth. Stress. Plus, it helps keep all that teenage orthodontic work from being all for nothing.” I shrug, ignoring a rising wave of emotion that I don’t want to surface.
“What do you have to be stressed about?” Bex says. “You and Ethan are okay, aren’t you? I get that Francois is just a onetime blip on the radar. I know things can be up and down, but your life is basically Notting Hill. And now thanks to all that dental work, your teeth are almost as razzle dazzle as Julia’s.” She singsongs “razzle dazzle” a la Chicago the musical.
“Is any marriage ever really ‘okay’? I wish grinding my teeth was the only thing that needed fixing.” I shake the mouth guard dry and feel the tears starting to well up despite my best efforts to keep things breezy.
“What’s going on?” Bex asks with concern.
“Nothing, come on. I don’t want to talk about me. Let’s talk about your hot yoga date,” I say in an upbeat tone.
“Wait, hot yoga date as in hot date or as in hot yoga? Isn’t that like over a hundred degrees, no way I’m doing that. Why can’t this be a Zumba date? I love Zumba. And besides, I don’t think he was asking me on a date. He just wants us to join his yoga cult or something.” Bex gives me a gentle smile. I know her, and she knows I know her. She’s giving me some space right now, which I’m grateful for. Maybe it’s just the jet lag and leftover adrenaline, and gin, that’s making me feel so emotional.
“This is LA, everyone’s in some kind of cult or another. At least he didn’t invite us to a Scientology meeting,” I tease. “Hey, let’s do pore strips and get grossed out. Doesn’t Maddie have some?”
“No,” Bex says “She’s thirteen with perfect skin but she and all her friends use these filters and apps to look like poreless, porcelain mannequins. It’s crazy.”
“When is someone going to invent an app like that for life? There’s so much in this world I’d love to get rid of,” I say.
“I know.” Bex starts listing, “War, poverty, hatred.”
“Yes. And Chandace’s breath.” I take a swig of mouthwash then pass the bottle to Bex. “So, are you gonna go? The yoga date on Monday?”
“To culty yoga recommended by a shirtless bartender from a swinger’s party? How could I say no?” she says. “Fine, why the hell not. But only if you come with me.”
“I can’t. I’ve never done yoga. And besid
es, I’ve lost a toenail.”
“How can you lose a toenail? No one’s going to be looking at your no-nail toenail.” Bex laughs.
“I bought a pair of Stuart Weitzman boots at a sample sale that were a half size too small. But they were such a great deal,” I say wistfully, then suddenly remembering Emily’s fringed boots and the photo of her with Francois.
“A great deal that only cost you a toenail.”
“So my toenail aside, you’re really going to go?” I say. “It’s a yes?”
“I don’t know. Liv, I know you have the best intentions and I love you for being here, but do you see now that it’s not so easy getting back out there? Saying yes doesn’t automatically find me Mr. Right. Let’s just enjoy the rest of the weekend and go to the Estate Sale tomorrow. I want to forget about guys and dating, at least for one day.”
In the guest bedroom, I mindlessly read the jar of anti-wrinkle cream as I slather it on. Gently sloughs away dead skin cells. Hmm, well, slough away, I think as my phone chimes. It’s a message from Ethan.
Darling, hope you’re having a delightful time in Provence.
The message is nice, but impersonal. It’s like our whole marriage has turned into a string of polite text messages. Sometimes I feel as single as Bex. I toss the phone onto the comforter, not even bothering to set an alarm for tomorrow morning, then flop back on to the pillow except I miss it. My head hits the headboard with a thud. I smile; serves me right.
Chapter Five
Treasure Hunt
