“Here are your noodles,” Apple’s mother said. “But there’s just a little something you should know about this quiet family dinner, Doug.”
“Let me guess. You forgot to order those fried wontons I love?” her dad asked, scanning the cartons on the table. “Wait… there’s an extra place setting on the table. Why, Bee Bee?”
“Well, there will be one more person joining us. But he’s a part of our family, sort of,” she answered, speaking quickly and avoiding her husband’s eye.
As if a director had yelled “action,” at that moment they all heard the front door open then slam shut.
“Hello! Hello! Guy’s here! Guy hasn’t missed dinner, has he? Sorry Guy’s late. Guy had a wardrobe malfunction! Meaning, Guy just couldn’t pick out what to wear.”
That was Guy, her mother’s long-time assistant on Queen of Hearts. He had his own key to their house, because, like Aunt Hazel, he spent a lot of time there. Guy walked—rather, strutted—into the kitchen as if he was a model on a runway, wearing a bright orange scarf around his neck and what looked like bowling shoes. Only Guy could get away with an outfit like that, Apple thought with admiration.
“Bee Bee!” her father said angrily. “I thought this was a family night! Sorry, Guy, but I’m a little taken aback to see you here.”
Apple was stunned at his reaction to Guy’s entrance. Her father was usually so gracious. And it wasn’t like this never happened. Her mother spent more time, and more dinners, with Guy than with her husband.
Guy, however, didn’t seem bothered. “Hey, sweet Apple. And Hazel,” he said, kissing each of their hands in greeting before turning to Bee Bee.
“There she is! The Queen of Hearts looking her very best. How excited are we for tomorrow? Guy is very excited!” he said, bending down to peck her on each cheek. “And no offense taken, Doug. I know you love Guy, even if you pretend you don’t. How could you not love him?”
That was the other thing about Guy. He always talked about himself in the third person.
“Guy, we’re just in the middle of dinner. Any chance you can come back in a couple of hours?” Apple’s father asked in all seriousness. “Or wait for Bee Bee in her office? Maybe you could get started on work, while we finish our dinner. We could make you a plate to take upstairs with you if you’re hungry.”
Apple looked down at her plate. She did not like confrontation—which was why she was never entirely comfortable watching her mother’s show.
“Honey,” Apple’s mother said calmly, then pointed to his place setting at the head of the table. “I invited him! Not only is he a part of this family, but the show starts tomorrow and we have to get organized. Guy, sit down. There’s plenty of food for everyone, especially my number one man, who makes my work life come together so effortlessly.”
Apple glanced at her father, who looked less than thrilled at the compliments her mother was throwing out to Guy. Apple thought he even looked hurt.
“There’s no rest for the wicked,” Guy said, sitting down at the table. He was holding onto a large folder. “And Guy loves to be wicked!”
“Are those our shows for the next few weeks?” Apple’s mother asked, snatching the folder from Guy’s hand. “I can’t wait to start solving people’s problems. Apparently, no one around here needs my help.” She looked pointedly at Apple and Hazel.
“Do you want to start going over them now?” Guy asked. “We can eat and work at the same time. This promises to be the best season yet! You should see the guests Guy has lined up.”
“You know what?” Aunt Hazel said, getting up from the table. “I’m really not in the mood to listen to romantic problems right now. So, Apple, am I picking you up tomorrow to take you to school?”
Hazel was a salesperson in the lingerie department at a high-end department store and never started work before 10 a.m. And since Apple’s parents left for work early, and she didn’t have an older sister like Happy did to drive her to school, Crazy Aunt Hazel was often her personal chauffeur. In exchange for practically living at their house and eating all their food, Aunt Hazel helped take care of Apple. It had been like this Apple’s whole life.
“Yes, please,” Apple answered. “Same time as always, okay?”
“Same time,” said Aunt Hazel. She headed to the fridge and grabbed a carton of cookie dough ice cream on her way out, saying, “I’m taking this. Later!” She slammed the door behind her.
“What is up her ass?” Guy asked, looking at Apple’s mother. “Oh, sorry, Apple. Excuse my language. Did she by any chance get dumped again?”
“Oh, can you tell?” asked Bee Bee. “At least there is one plus about being dumped—you can eat cookie dough ice cream without feeling guilty.”
“Guy hears that, sister,” Guy said, slapping his left thigh, then sighing dramatically. “Guy’s thighs have not been the same since Brad left him. I really should start hitting the gym again.”
Apple liked Guy, though she would never admit to her mother that she thought he was pretty cool and good for a laugh. She felt torn, though, because her dad obviously was upset with Guy being there tonight. She didn’t want her dad to feel like a second fiddle.
“It’s just Hazel being Hazel,” Apple’s mother sighed. “Of course she got dumped again because she never listens to me. It’s like I wrote in my book—”
“You know what?” Apple’s father said suddenly, getting up from the table. “I’ve suddenly lost my appetite too.”
“Honey!” her mother said. “Don’t be like that.”
“Be like what?” he responded. “You clearly have to get to work this instant. You clearly are not interested in having a conversation that doesn’t center on your show. You clearly are not interested in having dinner with me.”
“You know how important my show is, honey. It’s my life!” her mother said. “We’ve worked so hard to get to this point. And you know what they say—you’re only as good as your last show.”
“Don’t ‘honey’ me. You know how supportive I am and always have been. But when you actually want to have dinner with me, let me know,” he said, and walked out of the kitchen.
Apple guessed her father was heading up to his study to watch the Golf Channel. She thought her mother should go after him, but she knew that would never happen. The show always came first. It seemed as though her mother was married to her show first, and to Apple’s dad second.
Wasn’t it Bee Bee who, just moments ago, told Crazy Aunt Hazel that relationships were based on compromise? Would it have killed her mother to spend a half hour eating with her father before getting to work? Why couldn’t Bee Bee see that she wasn’t paying as much attention to her own relationship as she was to those of perfect strangers?
Apple wanted to leave the kitchen too, excusing herself by saying that Guy and her mother should really get to work and that she didn’t want to be in the way. She wanted to stand by her father. He had a point—Apple’s mother really didn’t want to have dinner with her, either, it seemed.
But there was that promise to Happy that she’d find out what the upcoming Queen of Hearts with Dr. Bee Bee Berg topics were going to be. And Apple really wanted those jeans.
“So what exactly is in the folder?” she asked Guy.
“Well, my dear, like Guy just told your mother, it’s all the information for the upcoming shows, of course!”
“Let’s hear them,” her mother said, wiping her face delicately with a napkin. “I’m ready! I’m too excited to eat any more now.”
“Okay, this week we have ‘Torn between Two Lovers,’ ‘Commitment-phobic,’ ‘Should We Get Married?’ ‘Spouses Who Act Like Children,’ ‘Men Who Mooch Off Their Wives,’ and my favorite, ‘Sperm Bandits.’”
“What’s a sperm bandit?” Apple asked, apprehensively. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.
“It’s a woman who will lie to her husband or boyfriend about being on the pill so she can secretly get pregnant,” Guy answered.
“Oooh, fasci
nating!” Dr. Bee Bee Berg said gleefully.
“Where do you find these people?” Apple asked, genuinely amazed.
“Oh, Guy can find them,” Guy said. “Guy can find anybody.”
“So, you’re the one who agrees to the people who get on the show?” Apple pressed, remembering her promise to Happy. Apple had stopped paying attention to how the show came together at about the same time she had stopped going with her mother to the studio, eight years ago. In recent years she had just wanted to forget what her mother did altogether.
“Yup. Guy looks at all the e-mails, and sometimes we find real gems in what people suggest for show ideas. It’s not that hard, really,” he said.
“That’s it?” Apple asked.
“That’s it,” Guy said.
“Who cares how he finds them?” Apple’s mother interrupted. “These are real issues that real people have, and we’re going to help them.” She was in full-on Dr. Bee Bee Berg mode. “We’re going to give them the very best advice we can give, while offering viewers must-watch television.”
“Right on, sister!” Guy said, actually giving Apple’s mother a high five.
Apple took that as a sign that it was definitely time to leave the kitchen. She could not put up with the high fives. Plus she had the show list for Happy and knew how to get on Queen of Hearts. All Happy would need to do is think of a good show topic and e-mail it to her mother’s website. Apple’s end of the bargain was done. She imagined herself in those hot jeans.
“Well, I’m going upstairs to my room now,” Apple said. “I’m tired.”
“Are you sure? You don’t want any dessert? Is there something wrong?” her mother asked automatically, but Apple knew she wasn’t paying attention anymore, at least not to her.
“No, I’m fine. Just full,” Apple said.
“Well, Guy, I guess we should head to my office.” Bee Bee and Guy pushed back their chairs at the same time and headed for the stairs, as if Apple were no longer in the room.
“Our viewers’ questions are piling up too, and we need to start answering them. I swear, in the two weeks you’ve been gone, almost a thousand people have sent e-mails. We have so much to do …” Her mother’s voice trailed off as they walked away.
Apple decided to stay and clear the table. Her mother would probably spend hours working, and if Apple didn’t do it, no one would.
Apple knew that Guy was the one who answered the majority of the viewers who sent e-mails to the Queen of Hearts website for advice. When he wasn’t at the studio with her mother, Guy spent hours alone in her home office, typing out replies to lovelorn viewers. Guy and Dr. Bee Bee Berg had worked together for so long, they could finish each other’s sentences. It was almost like they shared the same brain. Not that Apple would ever tell that to anyone, not even Happy or Brooklyn. When it came to keeping secrets, Apple also kept her mother’s, at least when it came to things that could harm her mother’s reputation as the Queen of Hearts. Apple was the Sponge.
Dear ED,
Okay, I’ll admit it. I’m nervous. And extremely tired. I spent most of the night—gulp—reading one of my mom’s advice books. I hardly slept at all last night. I’m heading off to school now, so this is going to have to be a quickie. I get to see my Zen Crush! My hair, at least, is kind of having a good day. It’s still boingy—how did I get Aunt Hazel’s crazy hair and not my mother’s nice, sleek hair? So not fair!—but at least it’s not puffy. I can’t say so much for my father—the having a good night part—either. I heard him snoring in the spare bedroom last night, which means my parents are not even sleeping in the same room now! And that spare bed is so uncomfortable it makes camping in a tent on a bed of rocks seem like staying at a five-star hotel. I just wish my mother would treat him a bit better. He’s a good guy and has always stood by her. Why can’t she just see that he’s in pain and that his not even wanting to sleep in the same room as her is not a good thing? Unlike me, my father actually wants to spend time with my workaholic mother. I don’t get it. But at least I got some advice from my mother’s book. Not like I’d ever tell her I read her book. And especially not like I’d ever admit to her that maybe I do need some advice. No, I don’t need “advice.” I just need some pointers. That’s right. I’m going to rename what I need “pointers.” I just need a few on as how to get my Zen Crush to turn into a Zen Relationship. According to the book, my first job is simply to talk to him. My mother calls this “baby steps,” one of those catchphrases she uses all too often, in my opinion. Then, once I talk to him, we can start having deeper conversations, which, according to my mother, should eventually lead me to asking him if he’d like to do something together, like join me for a movie. I can’t believe my mother has made such a successful career out of these “baby steps.” But if I’m going to start this new semester on the right foot, I’m going to have to put Plan Z (Plan Zen) into action. First step? Just talk to him without stuttering. I’ll kill you, ED, if you ever let it slip that I’m following Dr. Bee Bee Berg’s advice—I mean POINTERS. I will deny everything. I swear. Oh, crap, Crazy Aunt Hazel is honking outside. I’ve got to run. Baby steps … baby steps …
Okay, my first goal, thought Apple as she headed toward the spiral staircase, where she and all her friends hung out, will be to talk to Zen casually, not to stutter, and not drop anything. And maybe to look him in the eyes. Baby steps, thought Apple, baby steps. All I need to do is ask him about something he’s doing. That’s it. How hard could that be?
She noticed that Happy, along with Hopper, Cooper, Clover, North, and a few other classmates, was already lounging on the stairs, which were right in the center of the foyer. There were other staircases in other parts of the school for getting between floors, but this middle staircase was where students who wanted to see and be seen hung out.
At first Apple couldn’t see any sign of Zen, but then her heart skipped a beat: Hopper leaned back laughing, and let Zen’s blond head poke out from behind, smiling that oh-so-adorable smile, with that oh-so-adorable dimple that made Apple blush immediately.
Apple was suddenly terrified, and thought about sneaking away. No, she thought, you are doing this. You did not stay up half the night wasting your time reading your mother’s book for the first time for nothing.
“Hey, Apple!” Happy said, patting the space on the stair next to her. “Come sit beside me.” Apple had no choice now.
“Where’s Brooklyn?” Apple asked, nodding hellos to her fellow classmates, trying to stay relaxed.
“Oh, she’s somewhere in one of the hallways doing some yoga, she’s so stressed over the Helicopter. And you think your mother is bad,” Happy said. It was true. Brooklyn’s mother was the complete opposite of her daughter, whose sole mission in life was to spend a year upon graduation at an ashram, studying with a guru. They called Brooklyn’s mother “the Helicopter” because she was always hovering around her daughter, making demands. She was as high-stressed as Brooklyn was laid back. She always needed to know what Brooklyn was up to, every minute of every day.
“Well, I’d say it’s a toss-up,” Apple said. “Oh, there she is,” she added, her eyes resting on Brooklyn, who was lying in the middle of the floor as classmates literally walked over her body. “Oh my God, Happy. What is she doing?”
Brooklyn had just gotten up and folded herself into a back bend.
“God, it’s amazing that girl doesn’t have a boyfriend. What guy wouldn’t kill to be with a girl that flexible?” asked Happy, as they stared at Brooklyn.
“I wouldn’t kick her out of my bed,” piped up Hopper.
“Gross, Hopper!” moaned Happy and Apple in unison.
Brooklyn could stand on one leg, holding the other leg in the air next to her ear, without wobbling, for many, many minutes. She unfolded herself and went back to simply lying on her back in the middle of the hallway. It was a pose called Sivasana, a position Brooklyn always went into when she was feeling stressed out. She looked like a corpse, she was so still.
�
��Hey, get over here!” Happy yelled to Brooklyn.
Brooklyn picked herself up from her mat as if she was getting up from a nap, grabbed her purple yoga bag, and slowly came over.
“The past doesn’t matter. The future doesn’t matter. It’s all about the present,” said Brooklyn to herself, as she took a seat near her friends. “I will remain in the present.”
Unlike Happy and Apple, Brooklyn just couldn’t get good grades. Her attention span was about zero when it came to studying, because her plan was to move to India when she was old enough and study with the yogis, and she figured she didn’t need good grades for that. She spent more of her time at school doing yoga than attending class.
“I’m just trying to get to the state of Ananda,” Brooklyn sighed, which Apple knew, from past Brooklyn-talk, meant “bliss.”
“Good luck with that,” Happy said.
“Hey, Apple,” said Hopper. Hopper was a walking, talking ad for Calvin Klein underwear—he was that good-looking. And he had the ego to match. He was munching on an apple. Apple knew what was coming and shook her head before he even started to speak.
“Do you happen to know what kind of apple this is?” Hopper asked, smirking at her.
“God, you’re really an idiot, Hopper,” Happy shot over her shoulder. “You know you’re the only one who thinks you’re clever, right?”
“Well, at least I didn’t ask her about her apple pie,” Hopper said, laughing.
“God, grow up, Hopper,” Apple said. “How old are you, anyway? As if we couldn’t make fun of your name, little frog.”
“Come on, Apple. How is that pie of yours?” Hopper pressed.
“You only wish you could get near her apple pie,” Happy threw back.
“Happy!” Apple shrieked.
“Hey, I’m just sticking up for you,” Happy said to her.
“What about you, Happy—are you interested?” Hopper asked, winking. Happy just rolled her eyes.
“How about you, Brooklyn?” Hopper said.
Rotten Apple Page 4
