by Lisa Ferrari
My mother shouts, “You’re living in sin!”
I say, “Mom, please. You and dad shacked up before you were married. And I happen to know for a fact that you were pregnant with me when you guys got married. So you can just stop with the pious, holier-than-thou bit, okay? It’s all a charade. You know it, dad knows it, Beth knows it, I know it. Thank you for trying to set a good example. I understand that you feel you made poor decisions and you’re trying to prevent your daughters from doing the same thing. But the only poor decision for me would be not being with Kellan. I love him. I am madly in love with him. And if anyone in this room has a problem with that, you can kiss my fucking ass. Now, is there an actual dinner planned or should we be on our way? Because we’re on our way to the airport. We have to be in Los Angeles tomorrow for a very, very, very important meeting. We’ve been busting our asses every single day for the past three months. And tomorrow is the day. So what’s it going to be?”
Beth says, “There’s no dinner.”
The doctor asks, “Claire, how much marijuana are you smoking?”
“I don’t know… More than Mother Theresa but less than Snoop Dogg.”
Denise laughs out loud, then covers her mouth.
The doctor asks, “How much?”
“I don’t know… You want a number in grams? Kellan bought an eighth a couple months ago and we still have more than half of it left.”
The doctor asks, “Do you smoke every day?”
I say, “What difference does that make? Is someone who drinks alcohol every day an alcoholic?” For years and years while growing up, I watched my dad come home from work every evening and pour himself a drink: Scotch neat, on the rocks, vodka rocks, gin and tonic…He’s sitting there with a drink in his hand right now!
The doctor says, “Probably. Maybe they like the taste or they like having a buzz after a hard day at work. Or maybe they’re masking their pain. It depends on the person. Do you smoke every day?”
I say, “No, not every day.”
The doctor says, “Why do you use it?”
I say, “Because I like the way it makes me feel. It helps me to focus. It quiets my mind. It turns off the anxiety. The stress and tension I feel in my stomach all the time goes away. My mind gets quiet. Everything slows down. I’m no longer in a rush to do whatever it is I’m doing so that I simply get on to the next thing. I don’t feel like I’m waiting for tomorrow or always thinking about the future. Have you ever read The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis?”
The doctor says, “No.”
I turn to my mother, “Have you?”
She says, “No.”
I say, “Well, I have. C.S. Lewis was a devout Christian and The Screwtape Letters are a series of letters from a demon named Screwtape to a young demon who is brand new to the job of possessing humans and destroying their lives. One of the tactics Screwtape tells him to use is to make sure the human is always thinking about the future, always worrying about it, because that way they won’t be able to enjoy the present, they won’t be able to enjoy their lives because they’ll always be worried about the future. I’ve always felt that way. Like, I can’t just be in the moment. I can’t just enjoy today and stop worrying about tomorrow. It’s like I’m always trying to escape the here and now. But when I smoke a little pot, all that stops. I feel calm. I feel peaceful. My mind is quiet. I can simply be. And in that quiet, I can think. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about my life and my past and my experiences and my relationships and my family and my friends. I’ve made some very interesting discoveries. I’ve made a lot of connections. I’ve had a lot of A-ha! moments. It’s been very educational. Very therapeutic. Very cathartic. It’s allowed me to focus on me and on what I want out of life. This is my life, after all, and it’s the only one I have here on this planet. I want to make the most of it. I want to be a better person. I want to help people. I read an interesting quote once that said. ‘The person you are is God’s gift to you; the person you become is your gift to God.’ That’s a pretty tall order. That’s not something you want to mess up. But, if God exists and God is love, then it’s impossible to mess up. So my smoking weed doesn’t matter.”
The doctor says, “Do you feel your marijuana use is detrimental to your job or relationships?”
“What? No. It enhances my job and relationships. It’s helped me make new inroads with my writing. It’s helped me ignore all the negative bullshit being hurled at me constantly about being with Kellan. It’s helped me stop all the negative self-talk I’ve always used against myself. It’s helped me get my eating habits under control. I no longer eat to medicate. I eat to fuel my body to grow and be better than it was yesterday. But if you want to know the truth about pot, yes, it can be harmful. Yes, it can be a gateway drug. Yes, it can get out of control. But so can alcohol. So can antidepressants. So can cigarettes. So can Ritalin prescribed to kids. So can mouthwash. A closet alcoholic can drink mouthwash to get drunk. Is there potential for danger with marijuana use? Of course. But there’s more potential for danger driving your car to work every morning. How many people die in automobile accidents every year? And how many people die of pot overdose every year? It’s gotta be something like half-a-million to one. Unless some idiot eats an entire pot brownie and gets nutty and jumps out of a window or something. But people also do stuff like that when they’re drinking or taking pills. So, thank you for your concern, but there’s no need for it. My life is going better today than it ever has before. Well, it was until we walked in the door here today. But even this will be a valuable learning experience if we choose to see it that way. What’s that expression…? ‘Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you react to it.’ So, this is what has happened. How are you guys going to react to it? I’m going to react to it by choosing to see this as a declaration of love. Completely misguided and totally fucked up, but love nonetheless. I’m going to stay with Kellan, I’m going to continue writing, I’m going to continue training, I’m going to go after this movie role, and I’m going to continue smoking weed for as long as I feel compelled to do so and for as long as it is a fun and beneficial part of our lives. And I’m going to stay with Kellan.”
Denise says, “You already said that.”
“I know. But it’s worth repeating. And I’m going to say it over and over again until everyone gets it through their thick skulls.”
Chris says, “I think it’s great that you and Kellan are together. I was kinda bummed that you chose him over me but it looks like it worked out for the best.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
Chris says, “I was told there was cherry pie. Is there cherry pie?”
My mother says, in her patented tone of impatient condescension, “No, Christopher, there is no cherry pie.”
Chris says, “That’s a shame. Well, it was nice seeing you guys, but I’m going to Marie Callender’s to get some cherry pie. With vanilla ice cream. You coming, babe?”
My sister says, “Of course, babe.”
Chris shakes hands with my dad. My dad doesn’t get up.
Chris turns to Kellan and me. “Good luck with your thing in L.A. tomorrow. I hope you get it. If you think of it, send me or Beth a text to let us know if you got it. We can celebrate when you get back. You guys can come over and I’ll cook a nice dinner. A last supper before Beth and I move into our new house.” Chris turns to my parents. “You guys are invited, too, Mr. and Mrs. Valentine. And you can come too, doc, if you want to.”
Michael says, “Thank you, Chris.”
I turn to my mother. “So there’s really no food? I’m so hungry. I was hoping you made salmon.”
My mom screams, “NO! THERE’S NO SALMON!”
Kellan says, “It’s time to go, Claire. We need to eat, get to the airport, and get a good night’s sleep for tomorrow. Your mom needs some time to process all of this.”
We head for the door.
My mom shouts after us, “
I need no such thing, you heathen! You roided-out son of a bitch! You think you can steal my daughter away from me? This is not over. You hear me? This is not over!”
I can still hear her screaming as we follow Chris and Beth down the driveway.
Chris says, “You guys want to come to Marie Callender’s with us? My treat, you know, like a good-luck dinner for your big day tomorrow.” Chris turns to me, “They have salmon. Lemon Pepper or Cajun.”
I turn to Kellan.
Kellan says, “Free dinner? Okay!”
Chris and Beth get into Chris’s car and Kellan and I get into my little red Pontiac Solstice which I fall in love with more and more every day.
We’re ready to pull away from the curb when we see Michael the doctor therapist guy hurrying down the walkway waving his arm.
I put down my window.
Michael leans down so he can see both Kellan and me.
“Hi, uh, listen. After hearing what you had to say in the house, I think you’re fine. But your parents are concerned about you. Right or wrong, they’re concerned. They’re your parents, it’s their job. As such, I have a certain medical, ethical, moral obligation to confirm that you are not a threat to yourself or anyone else. I believe you’re fine. But here, take my card. I understand you’re up for this big movie. If you get it, you’re going to be thrown into a whole big business that can be rather harsh. So, please, take my card and if you ever have any problems of any kind or you’re feeling overwhelmed or you just need to talk, don’t hesitate to call me twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I never sleep.”
Michael offers his card. I take it.
Michael says, “Is this really going to be the first billion-dollar movie?”
I say, “That’s what they’re telling us.”
Michael says, “Wow. I hope you get it. I’ll be the first one in line. I love science fiction. Did you ever see Chasing Lazer with Calista-what’s-her-name?”
I say, “Calista Roth.”
Michael says, “Yeah, that’s her. She was something, wasn’t she?”
“I’m competing with her for the female lead in the billion-dollar movie.”
Michael says, “You are? Oh, I didn’t know that. Wow. Well, good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Michael points to my engagement ring. “Nice rock, by the way. Don’t let my wife see it.” Michael laughs and walks away, waving, and goes back into the house, presumably to resume consoling my well-meaning but delusional mother. I hope she at least serves Michael some cheese and crackers or something.
Chapter 13
AFTER A REALLY great, very fun dinner with Chris and Beth (Chris eats two orders of cherry pie a la mode and buys a cherry pie to take home!), Kellan and I drive to the airport. We park my car, get our boarding passes, and eventually get on the plane. I thoroughly enjoy the First Class cabin, especially after flying Economy on my trip to Manhattan to meet Nate.
Ray once again picks us up at LAX and gawks over us. Well, me, saying how great I look. Ray drives us to the Chateau Marmont and we check into our room. I’m so thirsty I want to drink all of Folsom Lake. But Kellan won’t let me. He says we’re going to be shredded for our meeting tomorrow with Sheila and Aaron and Rami and Heather and everyone at the production company. I have no idea what “shredded” really means or how that word could ever possibly apply to me in a million years, but I do exactly what Kellan says.
We eat our dinner in our hotel room, using the special pre-packaged meals that are waiting for us when we arrive. Dry chicken and asparagus. Kellan permits me a few sips of water to help get the chicken down. To my surprise, Kellan pours some soy sauce on my chicken. He explains that the salt helps with vascularity and makes the veins pop out. I’ve never had veins before. I always thought they were kinda gross. But I have one on the inside of each forearm, running along my wrist, and I find them to be somewhat sexy, much to my surprise. Kellan looks like a Greek god, as always, salt or no salt, veins or no veins. But as we take off our clothes so we can take a shower and go to bed, I admire all of his veins, even the ones in his beautiful penis. We’re both focused and not exactly horny, however, so we shower and turn out the lights and sleep.
Kellan wakes me at seven a.m. with a cup of coffee. It’s strong. Bitter.
“Diuretic,” Kellan explains. “Get dressed. It’s cardio time. Time to get sweaty.”
I drink my black coffee, which is bitter because Kellan doesn’t permit me any artificial sweetener either, because it causes bloating.
“It’s not like we’re going onstage,” I say. I hope I don’t sound like I’m complaining.
“We’re not? I thought this was the biggest audition of our lives. It may not be on a stage in front of a crowd of people in an auditorium somewhere. But as soon as we walk in, we’re going to be on stage, being studied and scrutinized and evaluated by every single person in that office because they’re the ones who have to decide if you and I have what it takes to carry this movie. If they say we do but we don’t, that’s it for all of us. Their careers are on the line. They’re really sticking their necks out for us. If the first billion-dollar-movie flops, none of us will be able to get work ever again.”
I hadn’t thought of it like that. Crap. Now I’m terrified.
Kellan says, “Now, before you get scared and start freaking out, let me just say that none of what I said has anything to do with us.”
I begin to protest, but Kellan stops me.
He says, “It has nothing to do with us because it’s outside of our control. The only thing we can control is ourselves, our preparation, and the package we bring to the stage today. All we can do is what we can do. Right?”
“Right.” I guess.
“So, we prepare, we show up, and after that it’s out of our hands. Whatever happens… happens. You and I will still be together and life will go on. Right?”
“Right.” This does serve to calm me down.
Kellan and I put on our workout clothes and go to the hotel’s gym. Kellan makes me wear a hoodie with the hood over my head. He does the same.
An hour later, I’m soaking wet.
Kellan asks me to remove my sweatshirt and my tee shirt. He looks at me and says, “More.”
I put my clothes back on. They’re heavy and wet and gross. But I focus on the goal (getting that role!!!) and not on how icky they feel.
We do another hour.
I’m so thirsty. I’m worried about getting a headache. But I force myself not to mention it. Kellan is working even harder than I am and he’s not bitching about getting a headache. If I get a headache, so what? As soon as we leave the meeting we can find a smoothie place and drink a huge smoothie and a couple gallons of Gatorade.
Kellan has me peel my clothes off again. He studies me. “Close,” he says. “Follow me.”
We leave the cardio area and go to the weights and begin lifting. Arms and shoulders and chest. We do a circuit of those body parts.
“You pumped yet?” Kellan asks.
I flex in the mirror. I can’t tell. I don’t feel pumped.
Kellan says, “A little more.”
We do another round.
He checks the time on his phone. “A little more. We have time.”
Kellan has me do high-volume bicep curls and tricep extension and lateral raises and military press and bench press. He even adds in some squats and lunges while I hold the dumbbells.
I’m so thirsty. But I don’t mention it. I’m too fascinated by what I’m seeing in the mirror. My arms and shoulders look amazing. They’re lean and cut. I can see the separation where the side of my shoulder meets the bicep and tricep. When I lift my arms to do lateral raises with the fifteen-pound dumbbells, I can see the striations in my shoulders. I can actually see the muscles rippling under the skin. I pinch my skin. It’s so thin. I have veins in my forearms, not just my wrists. I’ve never seen that before.
Kellan says, “Lift up your shirt.”
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I do as instructed and holy sweet Moses I have abs! And not some cheesy little mini-me four-pack like I had before. But a bonafide six-pack. The spray-on tan helps, but I can see my obliques and where they make an inverted triangle leading down to my lower abdomen and pelvis. I push my sweatpants down so I can look at my legs. They look incredible! My thighs are a network of long muscles and sexy bulges. I flex and the muscles ripple and pop. “Holy cow!”
“You like that?” Kellan asks me.
The grin on my face says it all.
Kellan says, “Now you see what all the fuss is about.”
Kellan pushes down his sweatpants, too. We stand together, flexing in the mirror, he in his black boxers and me in my panties and sports bra. I am in awe. Kellan looks awesome as always. But how can that be me?
Kellan says, “See what eight solid months of proper eating and regular cardio and training will do?”
One of the hotel trainer girls comes over and says, “You guys look seriously amazing.” She pinches the skin on my stomach. It’s so thin. She leans around and checks out my ass. “Wow,” she says, “you make me wish I was a lesbian.” We all laugh. “Can I take a pic?”
Kellan says, “Sure.”
She pulls out her iPhone and takes several pics and shows them to us. I scrutinize the tiny me on her phone. I’d thought perhaps my muscles were a trick of the light and the mirrors, and that I don’t actually look like that. But the pictures look phenomenal.
The trainer says, “Can I post them to my Instagram?”
Kellan says, “Sure. Tag us both, though, okay?”
“Of course,” she says. She quickly uploads the best photo with the caption, ‘Getting chiseled at the Marmont!’, along with our usernames.
She says, “Got it. Now, can you please pull your sweatpants up?”
We laugh and do as requested.
Kellan and I head upstairs, where we shower and dress for the meeting. We check our phones. The picture of us is getting likes so fast we can’t keep up. I wonder if Calista will see it before the meeting.
