It hurt to get up off the couch. It hurt to shuffle down the hallway to the bathroom. It hurt to stand in the shower.
“I did this to myself!” Lala shouted to the barren space. “And you know what? I think I did it consciously. I just think I wasn’t aware that I was consciously doing it.”
Geraldine knocked on Lala’s door.
“Can I do anything to help?” Geraldine asked.
“Can you shoot me?” Lala yelled at the door. “Ow!”
“No, I can’t. I couldn’t the first five thousand times you asked me that, and I can’t now.”
“I think that number is an exaggeration,” Lala yelled.
“No, it’s not. I’ll bring you some dinner later.”
“Thanks,” Lala yelled. “Love you!”
During the third week of this passionsspiele—at a time when it seemed that every moment Lala felt that her leg might be getting a little better, that it just might be hurting a little bit less, and each of those moments were guaranteed to be followed by Lala somehow moving in some small direction that sent fresh waves of hell all up and down her side—Lala woke one morning, after what she would subsequently swear was a night during which she got “literally not one moment of rest, not one moment of respite from the nocturnal torture that seemed to have become my lot in life,” and slowly shuffled her way to the bathroom. Lala looked in the mirror. And screamed.
Her skin, which she could have sworn was relatively pristine if a bit pasty the night before, had been attacked and invaded and subjugated.
“Wrinkles and acne?” she whispered bitterly, her voice breaking. “It’s not fair. Damn you, Fate, it’s not fair.”
It wasn’t so much the quantity as the quality, which was of the horror-movie level. A horror movie with a budget too low to allow for high quality makeup, so that the effects are so unrealistic and exaggerated as to lend the entire enterprise an air of the absurdly grotesque and amateur.
Lala stared at the three massive pimples, one on her forehead, one on her chin, and one directly next to her left nostril.
She put her head in her hands and burst into tears.
“My body is trying to tell me something,” she sobbed. “My body is shouting at me. And my body is extremely strident. Also more than a little self-righteous.”
She shuffled out of the bathroom and got herself over to the big bay window with an obstructed view of the ocean.
The day couldn’t have been sunnier or lovelier.
The lovely, sunny day could not have held more rebuke.
I love to walk, Lala thought. Even if I were a full-fledged, card-carrying hermit who never wanted to speak to another living soul except my beloved puppies ever again, I would still love to go for long walks in the fresh air and sunshine. And now I have rendered that impossible. First of all, because I have made it such that I can’t walk. And, second of all, because my apparently extreme level of bile has resulted in my face becoming disfigured to the point where small children would run from me screaming, as from the Frankenstein monster. Or a Jehovah’s Witness.
Geraldine tried to use her key later that day to open Lala’s door so she could bring the dogs in for a stringently supervised visit. Her entry was abruptly halted by the secured old-fashioned chain lock.
“Are you all right?” Geraldine shouted.
“I’m fine,” Lala yelled wearily from the couch. “Ow! Hang on. Let me get over there so I don’t have to yell. Hold on. Hang on. I’m swinging my legs off the couch. Damn it, that hurts! Okay. Here I come. You all might want to sit on one of the steps while you wait. This is going to take a bit.”
Lala arrived at the door panting from the exertion. The dogs started barking and sticking their noses through the gap in the door.
“Ohhh, babies,” Lala sighed. “This is not a good time.”
“What are you talking about?” Geraldine demanded. “Why can’t we come in?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to. If you look at my face, you’ll probably turn to stone. Or to a pillar of salt. Something biblical, trust me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Adult acne. Epic adult acne. You can’t see me like this.”
“Ohhh, sweetheart,” Geraldine said. She paused. “I understand. Maybe I could come in and keep my eyes shut? Just so the dogs can see their mama? They really miss you.”
“And I really miss them,” Lala said, trying hard not to cry. “But, A, you would sneak a peek, I know you would.”
“That’s probably true,” Geraldine confessed.
“Uh huh. And then you would be struck dumb or dead or who knows what. And, B, the puppies also might not recover from the sight of me. Animals are so trusting, so innocent, so guileless. How could I explain something this horrifying to them?”
Geraldine paused again.
“You’ve got me very curious.”
“Yeah,” Lala said. “I bet I have. Suffice it to say that I am not exaggerating the trauma. In fact, I’m probably underplaying it.”
There was another pause.
Here it comes, Lala thought.
“You couldn’t maybe snap a quick photo?” Geraldine said. “I promise we could erase it right after I look at it. I mean, I’m really curious here.”
“Trust me, the camera would break. The lens would shatter into a million pieces. Trust me on this.”
_______________
Looking back at this turning point in her life that she would come to view as a major crossroad, Lala could never quite remember when it was that her leg began to hurt less. Gradually she noticed that there were isolated moments—isolated, but distinct moments nonetheless—when readjusting her position on the couch or in bed actually produced some higher level of ease. She wasn’t comfortable, but she was certainly less miserable. And then the time came—slowly, agonizingly slowly—when those moments of even the slightest relief were not instantly followed by a movement on her part that suddenly produced new and intense pain.
Wow, Lala was thinking more and more often, I don’t think it’s as bad as it was. I think it’s getting . . . What’s the word I’m looking for? I can’t remember it . . . Begins with a “b”? . . . Wait . . . Yes, I think I remember . . . It’s getting better. Better! That’s that lovely word. That’s my old friend. Better. Things are getting better!
The progress with her skin clearing up was equally painstaking and tedious. But one morning she looked in her mirror—once again, as she had each morning for countless days, anticipating the sight of her face with a weary mixture of dread and resignation—and was initially skeptical and then warily delighted to find that the three mountainous colonies that had established themselves on her face had actually receded in size and shape and color and anger, to the point where a judicious application of spackle-quality concealer might actually make it possible for her to go among fellow humans and precious doggies again without being stoned and cast out of the village.
Okay, Lala thought. This is it. Time to start over. Right now. Before something else weird grows on my face.
Lala took a shower, and she got herself dressed, and it still hurt to move her leg but nothing like it did before, and, after she blew her hair dry and spent nearly an hour making up her face, she began to feel something wash over her that she felt sure any objective observer might recognize as positive energy.
Lala noticed her aunt quickly suppress the physical manifestation of a feeling of shock and delight when she saw Lala emerge from her cave. Geraldine was gardening outside in the courtyard. She looked up when she heard Lala’s front door open and then shut, and she let her eyes bulge and her eyebrows raise and her lips curl into a distorted grin for just a second before she slapped on a poker face and directed her focus back to her violets.
God, how adorable is that? Lala asked herself as she very, very, very carefully walked down the stairs.
Ya, Lala thought. How are ya? Adorable.
“So, what’s new?” Geraldine asked. She was fussing over a package of loam to the point where the poor box of dirt would have been completely within its rights to scream, “Jesus, back offa me, wouldja?” before filing a restraining order. Lala could feel her aunt’s psyche desperately trying to stop her aunt’s body from rushing over to help Lala down the stairs.
“Get over here,” Lala gasped. “I won’t feel smothered, I promise.”
Geraldine dropped her tools. She had one arm around Lala’s shoulder and her other hand grasping Lala’s hand before Lala could blink.
“Are you sure you should be out? Maybe it’s too soon? Are you feeling okay? Do you need to sit down?”
“I feel better,” Lala grunted. “Not great. Better. I have to get out of the house.”
“Good,” Geraldine said. “Good for you. Come sit outside for a few minutes and then we’ll get you back upstairs, and you can rest.”
Lala was now on ground level, and she continued to limp toward the door leading to the garages, even as Geraldine was determined to steer her to the outdoor dinette set under the big, colorful umbrella.
“I’m going to Dogs of Love,” Lala said.
“Honey, it’s too soon!” Geraldine practically screeched. “Go in a month or two! You’ve been donating to them. They’ll understand if you can’t actually be there helping out until the fall. Or maybe spring of next year!”
“Auntie Geraldine, sometimes you have to make your charitable work hands-on. Sometimes your soul requires that.”
Geraldine ceased her gentle but constant and insistent tugging on Lala. Lala nearly toppled over in the direction in which she had been exerting a counter pull against Geraldine’s determination. She would surely have ended up in a heap on the ground if Geraldine hadn’t caught her in a big hug.
“It’s your Act Two,” she whispered to Lala. “I just know it is. The Act Two I have dreamed of for you is beginning right now. You want me to drive you?” She held her niece at arm’s length and beamed at her. Until she remembered that thing she had been so curious about.
Oh, no, Lala thought. Will it withstand this kind of laser scrutiny?
“I can see what you meant,” she said. “Those must have been doozies. But, if I hadn’t known about them, I’m not sure I would necessarily notice them now.”
“Okay,” Lala said. “Good enough for me.”
Lala started to sway a little.
“You know what, I’m feeling a bit dizzy.”
Geraldine all but hoisted Lala over her shoulder to get her to one of several cushioned gliding benches that adorned the festive courtyard. Lala felt steadier as soon as she sat down. She rested her head on Geraldine’s shoulder and closed her eyes. The sun felt good on her skin. The fresh air felt good on her skin. Her left leg still hurt like the dickens. But not as much. Not nearly as much as it had.
“No one is more surprised or more grateful than I am to discover that, apparently, self-pity has a relatively short shelf life,” Lala said. “Because if you had asked me at the beginning of this episode, I would have sworn that wallowing is infinite.”
“I’m so relieved,” Geraldine sighed. “I swear, I had no idea how to help you drag yourself out of that shit-filled sink hole you had sunk into.”
“You’re tellin’ me,” Lala said. “Can I borrow your car?”
“I’ll drive you.”
“No, no, stay. Garden. I’ve got it. I’ll be using my right leg. My left leg can just sit there and keep its opinions to itself.”
Geraldine helped ease Lala into the front seat of her car and stood there waving and blowing kisses as Lala adjusted the mirrors and snapped her seatbelt shut.
The second she got in the car, Lala realized she had made a terrible mistake.
Motherfucker does this hurt! Lala silently screamed. Don’t let on. Don’t make her worry. GODDAMNIT OWWWWWWW!
Lala gave a broad, cheerful wave to her aunt and triumphantly hoisted both her thumbs skyward. She rolled down the window and yelled to her aunt as she shifted into drive and coasted out of the alley behind the apartments.
“Yeah! Uh huh! Act Two! Rock ON!”
_______________
“What’s amazing, I think, is when you think you’re utterly fucked and suddenly you kind of move a little, and it starts to feel like maybe your leg isn’t actually being squeezed in a massive vise. I think the technical term for that is ‘healing.’”
“I’m so glad you’re feeling better. We’ve all missed seeing you here.”
Lala was lying on her back in a large pen in the open reception area of Dogs of Love. One of the other volunteers, a charming high school school student named Andrew, had helped her down onto the carpet and had then put a pillow under Lala’s head and also one under her left hip and left knee. Lala kept calling him her angel and kept telling him to call her Grandma, and kept assuring him that his place in Heaven was secure because of his kindness to a wounded lady.
Andrew was sitting cross-legged next to Lala. He had a very old terrier on his lap. Lala was surrounded by very old dogs, all of whom had fallen asleep right next to her.
“And this is my idea of what Heaven is like,” Lala said. “Where your place is secure, by the way.”
The week before, Lala had paid for all the dogs to be transferred off death row in several LA County shelters so they could live safely in the no-kill haven that was Dogs of Love. A good number of the dogs were already being fostered by local residents. Lala was paying all the expenses for their care.
Lala rubbed the snoring head of a dog that looked like what might have been the consequence of a Borzoi having an unprotected encounter with a Shar-Pei. The resulting mishmash of sagging skin, wispy and curly fur, and a reed-thin body topped by a huge, snub-nosed head, was more than Lala could stand. She had determined that Eunice, as she had named the trusting old girl, would be coming home with her and joining her pack.
Eunice sighed in her sleep and put her snout on Lala’s tummy. Lala burst into tears.
“I want to help them all! All of them! Everywhere! I’m still on a lot of painkillers. OMIGOD, look who’s here!”
The front door had opened shortly after the aqueducts in Lala’s eyes did, and Lala’s eyes saw, through lenses that resembled a car windshield with malfunctioning wipers in a cloudburst, the charming figure of publisher James Lancaster walk through the front door of Dogs of Love. Her instant recognition of him, along with her instant desire to make out with him again, were to no small degree ushered into existence by the fact that James was pushing the beautifully familiar carriage that Lala knew would be carrying his precious dog, Ruby.
Lala tried to get herself up off the floor. Andrew jumped to her aid. As did James, who parked the carriage and handily stepped over the collapsible chain walls of the pen with his long legs to grab the elbow opposite the one Andrew had seized. The two men easily lifted Lala to her feet and held her airborne while she winced and grunted.
“It’s not bad. It’s really not nearly as bad as it has been. Maybe I should sit on the couch for a few minutes.”
Andrew undid the gate to the pen and, together with James, helped Lala over to the couch, where she collapsed onto her right side and smiled up at them both.
“Can I pet Ruby?”
“Yes,” James assured her. “I’m sure she’d love to have you pet her in a few minutes. My God, are you pale. Is anything wrong? Are you sick?”
Oh, God, Lala thought. I hope he can’t see the craters on my face. I hope “pale” isn’t a euphemism for “ghastly.”
“The sun is bad for you,” Lala chirped, hoping to redirect the conversation. “Did you know that? It’s bad f
or you.”
“Some sun is okay. You look like one of the undead. No offense. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s sexy in that vampire mania kind of way.”
Oh, Lala thought. That’s nice. He thinks I look sexy. Wow. I’ve been fearing my days of looking sexy might be over.
Lala hoisted herself up off the couch and was shuffling toward Ruby’s carriage before James or Andrew could utter a word of protest.
“Wait,” James said. “Let me help you.”
“I’ve got it, thanks, I’m fine,” Lala said. She dragged her damaged leg behind her and James watched her tedious progress across the floor.
“What’s wrong with your leg?” James asked.
“It’s a long and not at all flattering story,” Lala said. “Ohhhh, look at Ruby! Who’s a beautiful girl? Who is? Ruby? Yes, Ruby is!”
Lala stuck her face in Ruby’s carriage and loudly covered sleeping Ruby’s tummy with kisses.
James is perfect, Lala thought. He’s perfect.
“I might have guessed I’d see you here, James, you kind, caring, compassionate, hunka burnin’ love,” Lala cooed toward Ruby. “Because you’re perfect. I’m on a lot of painkillers. Which is not by way of meaning to suggest that my assessment of you as perfect is inaccurate because it’s drug-fueled. It’s by way of pointing out that I’m saying things aloud that might be better left kept to myself.”
Lala lifted her head from Ruby’s domain and dramatically blew a big kiss toward the smiling James.
He is so cute, she thought.
“You are so cute,” she said. “Have you met Andrew? He’s my new grandson. Not that I’m old enough to have a grandson. Unless there were some very young pregnancies in two generations. Very young. Very. Hey, James, guess what?”
“What?” James said. “You need to sit down again? It’s a good idea for you to sit down again? You’re going to let us help you sit down again?”
Lala Pettibone's Act Two Page 21
