Lala Pettibone's Act Two
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“Are you sure?” Lala whimpered. “Maybe that would actually be just the thing I need to take my mind off—”
“Absolutely not,” Geraldine said. “And tomorrow you come home, and we’ll start on Act Two of your life, okay?”
A Silver Lining
Before she went anywhere near the fourplex, before she showed up at Geraldine’s door to collect her dogs from their spontaneous slumber party with their great-auntie, Lala pulled Geraldine’s car into the driveway of Monty’s home.
Monty opened the door and when he saw that it was Lala standing there, he moved toward her with welcoming arms outstretched. Lala brushed past him into the house. Her self-righteous forward momentum was immediately halted by Benedict, who sailed through the air and tackled her to the ground with his Great Dane adoration.
“Ufff,” Lala grunted.
“Benedict!” Monty barked. “Bad boy!”
Lala spoke and giggled between the slurpy Benedict kisses that covered her face.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, I love it,” she said. “Now, Monty, listen, I came right over here as soon as I got back to town.”
Lala grabbed Benedict around his waist and rolled the massive beast over with her as she turned on her side. Benedict cheerfully complied. It seemed he thought they were now wrestling and wouldn’t that be wonderfully fun? In an instant, he was on his back, and Lala was rubbing his tummy, and she managed to get up on her feet without Benedict tackling her again.
Monty eased into his recliner and Benedict jumped up on the couch.
“Come sit next to us, dear girl,” Monty said. “I can’t stay on my feet too long.”
“Of course not,” Lala said. “How’s your leg?”
“Much better. Not quite there yet, but almost.”
Lala sat on the couch to Benedict’s right so she could also be next to Monty’s chair. Monty took Lala’s hand and kissed it.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “Geraldine said you had a rough night. I’m so sorry, my dear.”
“I’m fine. Thank you for asking. Please don’t worry about me. Now, Monty, listen, forgive me for being brusque, but you better not be dicking around with my aunt. I swear to God, if you are not taking her seriously, if she is just some kind of sunset-years sex toy for you, if you hurt her feelings in any way, and let me repeat that, in any way at all, I will break your other leg. I won’t do it myself. But I bet I could find someone who would do it for me. If I pay them. Which I will. Happily.”
Monty nodded his head as he listened to Lala. When she stopped speaking, he gave it a few seconds to make sure she was done before he said anything.
“My daughter has many good qualities. But sometimes she can be self-absorbed. And sometimes that leads her to lack grace.”
Great, Lala thought. Like I can continue to harbor a grudge against her for that. Pot? I’m kettle, and I guess I’ll have to stop calling you black right about now.
“What did she say last night?” Monty asked.
“It was her friend. An author. An unctuous author. He apparently had heard about Salman Rushdie. He spoke very derisively about my aunt. I wanted to clean his clock.”
“I wish you had,” Monty said.
“Yes, in retrospect I’m sorry I didn’t. I like you, Monty, but if you’ve been making fun of my aunt behind her back, I am not kidding about breaking your leg.”
“Helene was here once when Gerry mentioned your neighbor being under a fatwa. I would never mock your aunt. I take her very seriously. I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
“WHAT?”
Lala covered her face with her hands and burst into tears. Monty moved to come over to comfort her, and Benedict nudged her elbow with his huge, concerned snout.
“Don’t get up! It’s okay! I’m so happy!” she wailed. “My God, is it amazing how much a person can cry, or what? Seriously, if I’m any indication, tears are a perpetually replenishing natural resource. We should use them for power plants and cars and stuff. Monty, I’m so happy for you both! Listen, when are you gonna ask her? Because it better be soon, or else you should not have told me about it, even if I was going to have your leg broken, because if you don’t ask her by . . . tomorrow at the latest, I will blurt it out to her. Because I’m a blurter. So you can kiss your romantic element of surprise goodbye. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way I’m built.”
“Okay, I’ll ask her tomorrow,” Monty said. “Let’s have some tea to celebrate.”
“Great idea. I’ll go make it.”
“Thank you, darling. I think there are some shortbreads in the cabinet. From that cute place downtown with all the homemade stuff.”
“I love those,” Lala sniffled. “I’ll go make the tea.”
“Great idea, darling. And you’ll stop crying, okay, honey? Because I think Benedict is about to break the door down and run out to get help.”
Lala stood up from the couch. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and padded toward the kitchen. She called back to them as she left the room.
“Oh, yes, Lassie. Lala has indeed fallen down the well. But as God is Lala’s witness, she is going to claw her way out even if she dies trying.”
There was an unopened package of those exquisite shortbreads in Monty’s kitchen cabinet. Lala grabbed it to her chest and hugged it tight and prayed that it was even a tiny sign that her luck was turning around.
Lala looked up at the ceiling and whispered, “In the right direction, I mean. In case that wasn’t clear.”
_______________
“Are you sure you don’t want another one?” Lala asked Monty. She poured him a fresh cup of tea. “You’ve barely had any of the shortbreads. They’re so marvelously dense. They’re as marvelously dense as the first guy I dated as a freshman in college. Conrad Gettinger. He was brilliant. But dense. Walked around in a fog all the time. You had to spell things out for him. Any subtlety at all in your communication and he would give you the blank stare. But, amazingly enough given that fact, he was a natural superstar in the sack. Come on, have another shortbread before I eat them all.”
“You enjoy them. I do not know how you can eat so much and still stay so trim.”
“Anxiety,” Lala explained. “Anxiety and exercise. You can’t beat that combo. I worry the calories away.”
Monty pointed to the wet bar.
“Go grab the brandy, please, hon,” he said.
“Jesus, I thought you would never ask.”
“What? You had to wait for an invitation? You’re not at home here?”
“Yeah, you’re right, Uncle Monty,” Lala giggled. “That’s the last damn time I stand on ceremony.”
Lala climbed over Benedict, who had been using her feet as a pillow for the last hour, and ran over to search the bottles on top of the bar. When she found the right one, she seized it, trotted back to the sofa, and poured a stiff shot into each delicate china teacup.
“Atta girl,” Monty said. “So, now you tell me what Helene did last night to upset you.”
“It’s not her. It’s not her fault. It’s me. It’s me; I’m insane. But not for long. I’ve got a plan.”
“Good for you. What did she say last night? Was it about Paramount? Was she crowing about her meeting? I can understand how that’s not easy to hear.”
“Yeah, but, I mean, I can’t blame her,” Lala said. “Though I did wear her out in my mind in the car ride to the hotel. I had some major esprit d’escalier goin’ on. It was mostly inchoate grunts and snarls, but it got the job done.”
“Good for you,” Monty said.
“Yeah, but I mean, I don’t have a right to hate her because she’s successful. I mean, of course, I hate her for being so successful. But it’s wrong, right?”
“Wrong, schmong,” Monty said. “It’s human. Every time a friend succeeds . . . I know you can finish that one for me.”
_______________
Home again, home again, Lala thought, and with that big stupid grin I can’t control. I’m going to have to start planning the bachelorette party A.S.A.P.
Geraldine threw open the door to her apartment, grabbed her niece, hugged her tight, and started sniffing the air.
“You didn’t drink and drive, did you? I will kill you if you did that!”
Lala planted a big kiss on Geraldine’s forehead. She put her arm around her aunt and marched Geraldine into the living room, where her dogs were sleeping on a huge pile of blankets that had been lovingly and strategically placed in a large wash of warm sunlight.
“I went to see Monty, and we had tea with brandy. Lots of it. Not lots of tea. Lots of brandy. Your car is still in his driveway. I walked from there. Because I am hammered.”
Lala ran across the wood floor and dove into the pile of hounds and blankets.
“Mama’s home!” she crowed.
None of the dogs woke up.
“Why did you go see Monty before you came home?” Geraldine demanded.
Ooops, Lala thought.
“Forget I said that. You misunderstood me. Hey, come join us. I’ve got tales out of school to tell.”
Geraldine, still eyeing Lala suspiciously, sat down on the blankets. She grabbed Yootza and put him on her lap.
“Get this,” Lala said, “Monty told me that one time Helene was flying to Paris on Air France, and she was using miles for the tickets, and she had enough for one first-class ticket but not two. Right? And she was traveling with her live-in boyfriend who was basically her common-law husband at that point, and, instead of using the points for two business-class tickets, she got herself a first-class seat and made him sit alone in business class. Can you believe it? It was supposed to be a romantic trip for them, and she started the voyage d’amour by having them sit apart for the twelve-hour flight because she absolutely had to be in first class. Merde! Ça c’est une princesse! But you know, God love her, no one’s perfect.”
“No. That’s certainly true. No one is. But why didn’t they just add cash to the miles so they could both sit in first class?”
Lala giggled.
“I don’t know. That’s not part of the story.”
Lala leaned her head against Chester the greyhound’s big belly.
“Isn’t life grand?”
“Why are you winking so often?” Geraldine demanded.
Ooops, Lala thought. God, I feel like there’s a nuclear bomb ticking inside my skull, and Goldfinger is cackling, and James Bond is nowhere to be found.
“No particular reason,” Lala said. “Maybe I’ve got dust in my eye. Maybe I’m just happy and my happiness is manifesting itself in a jovial but clichéd facial tic. Who can ever know why things happen?”
“Well, it is getting a bit annoying. You might want to put some drops in. But it’s nice to see you smiling again. You’re smiling quite a lot today, and it’s lovely. I think it’s a very good sign for this Act Two of yours, don’t you?”
“Ohh, yes,” Lala said. “Out with The Old. Take a hike, The Old, for you are banished. We’re makin’ room for The New. The Brand Spankin’ New.”
“Good for you.” Geraldine stood and carried Yootza with her as she exited the room in the direction of the bathroom. “Let me get you some drops before I lose my mind with all that damn winking.”
_______________
Lala was very pleasantly surprised by how straightforward a process it was to pay Ariel’s graduate-school expenses. And now she was on the phone with Ariel, and she was getting a strong message of self-reflection in the course of the conversation.
Wow, Lala thought. After just a few minutes, maybe not even a few, it is kind of annoying when someone cries so much. I have to try to remember that when I’m on my next jag.
“This is a happy thing,” Lala said. She managed to keep almost all of the irritation out of her voice. “Don’t cry. This is good news.”
“But how will I ever pay you back?” Ariel wailed.
Wow, Lala thought. We must be related. We must be third cousins or something. I feel like I’m looking in an aural mirror.
“It’s not a loan,” Lala said. “I’m paying your school expenses. All of them. Because I can.”
“But how will I ever make this up to you?” Ariel howled.
“Make it up to me by going out into the world when you graduate and doing good. For those who need help. Human and animal. And, of course, by taking care of me in my dotage.”
There was a brief moment of silence on the other end of the line.
“I thought you were kidding when you said that at the party.”
“Absolutely not,” Lala said. “I’ll be taking care of my Auntie Geraldine, who is also childless, and you will carry on that tradition. But don’t worry, I’m not talking about any of this happening any time soon. I intend to rage, rage, rage against the dying of the light for a good many years to come.”
Lala was finally able to get off the phone with Ariel after assuring her for a full five minutes that there was no issue about interest rates and repayment schedules because this was a flat-out, simple-as-pie, what-are-you-not-understanding-about-the-word-gift gift for chrissake, and, after that, Lala spent the next full five minutes reminding Ariel that she was seriously not, for chrissake, kidding about expecting Ariel to mix her cocktails and get her prescriptions filled and order her Chinese food deliveries when she was too feeble to do those things for herself.
Lala cheerfully returned her attention to her laptop and pulled up a blank screen. Yootza was on her lap sleeping. She pulled him to her with her left hand and nestled him under her chin as she typed and moved the mouse with her right hand.
The words “Monthly Donations” appeared at the top of the screen, centered and in bold.
“Okay, okay, okay, let’s think,” Lala mused. “Any thoughts. Anyone?”
Her query was greeted with an expected chorus of snoring from her canine consultants. Lala smiled contentedly.
I love having old animals, she thought. It’s so peaceful. I haven’t had to throw a Frisbee or a squeaky toy or really anything at all for . . . gosh, years. I like it this way.
She began typing again and narrated as her right hand did the work for two.
“Well, certainly Bide-a-Wee. And KidSave. And of course Dogs of Love. And the Democrats. And I have to look up organizations that provide scholarships for poor kids. Gosh, this is fun!”
There was an energetic and distinctly cheerful rapping on Lala’s front door.
“Here she comes!” Lala announced. She carried Yootza with her and kissed his little forehead as she sprinted to the door.
Be cool, Lala thought. Be cool. Just. Be. Cool. For. Fuck’s. Sake. Act surprised. Do not ruin this moment for her. Do. Not.
“Hi, what a nice surprise. Come on in! What brings you here?”
Geraldine’s face fell.
“You already know?”
“Yup. He told me when I got back. It wasn’t his fault. I had threatened to break his other leg. It almost killed me not to tell you. At one point yesterday, around that time I was doing all that winking? I thought my head was going to explode. Please don’t be disappointed. We can still celebrate! We must still celebrate! Where’s the ring? For chrissake, show me the ring before my head explodes!”
With all the finesse and charm of a starlet of the 1950s who had just landed the millionaire leading man in a Technicolor extravaganza destined to be a camp classic, Geraldine coyly smiled and slowly raised her hand to her cheek with the palm facing inward. She
wagged her fingers to make the diamond sparkle and Lala gasped.
“It’s exquisite,” Lala whispered. Her voice caught in her throat.
Do not cry! She silently yelled at herself.
Geraldine and Lala hugged. Yootza, who was mashed between them, let out a grunt by way of a yip and then growled before he fell back asleep.
“You didn’t blurt,” Geraldine said. “You’re evolving! Why are you still in your bathrobe?”
“I guess I’m getting a late start to my day.”
“It’s half past five,” Geraldine said. “In the afternoon.”
“Great! Happy Hour!”
_______________
Lala had enjoyed the past two weeks immensely. She had showered regularly, but she had rarely put on anything other than her bathrobe or her exercise clothes.
On the limited occasions when she left her apartment, it was to go to the gym or to volunteer at Dogs of Love. She didn’t go shopping for anything. Her food was brought to her either by a grocery service or, more frequently, by delivery people from local restaurants. Her toiletries and over-the-counter drugs and paper goods were delivered by a very nice young man from the local branch of a national chain of drugstores. Lala wanted to flirt with him, but she forced herself not to.
When Lala did venture out into the world, she hid her identity under a large oatmeal-colored hat that she had ordered online. She scurried from the apartment to her aunt’s car. She behaved like a celebrity being mercilessly stalked by the paparazzi. When she took the dogs out for their frequent walks in the neighborhood, she looked like a cotton-encased mummy.
At home, she slept only when she passed out from exhaustion, and always at odd, off-sync hours, as though she was suffering from ongoing jetlag. She spent nearly every conscious minute at home on her couch surrounded by hounds, writing. Writing whatever she wanted to write, be it another episode of “The Soused Cinéaste” or another chapter in the comedic novelization of her screenplay.