by Anna Burke
The slinky little Dolce & Gabbana dress she had worn last night lay in a twisted heap on the floor, clearly not wearable ever again. A couple grand down the drain. It must have come off in a hurry. One red Alexa pump peeped out from beneath the bed, silk stockings nearby, and a pair of men’s jeans. Jessica’s scanning came to a dead stop. She raised her eyes to gaze on higher ground.
A barely-clad man was sprawled on the far side of her super-sized bed, face down. Something about him was familiar, but in her addled condition she could not make out who he was. Nor could she remember how he, or for that matter, how she got there. Looking down as quickly as she dared, she noted she was still wearing her Spanx. Jessica let out a little sigh of relief. Things couldn’t have gone too far with the guy in her bed. She was barely able to get into the body shaper thing stone cold sober. She would have needed a lot of help to get out of it if she had done her share polishing off the contents of the bottles in her room.
The guy on the bed looked like he could have given her the help she needed to get out of the Spanx. He must have been as wasted as she was. Jessica squelched a bout of shame about lingering so long on his well-muscled body, clad in nothing but a pair of boxers. It felt voyeuristic. Not to mention, that even if her life depended on it, she couldn’t say who he was. Besides, technically, she was still a married woman. She hadn’t signed the divorce papers yet.
“Why isn’t he moving?” Jessica wondered. From where she sat, it didn’t even look like he was breathing. It must have been his snorting that had brought her back so abruptly from the edge of insensibility. But he was dead to the world now, not a sound, not a twitch in any of the bronzed body parts she could see.
Lifting herself ever so carefully from the chair, Jessica leaned over to get a better look at his face. A shock of peroxided blond hair covered much of it. Jessica hiked one knee up onto the bed. Edging close she reached out to move the hair so she could see his face more clearly. She had barely touched him when he grabbed her hand, smiling at her. Jessica let out a loud whoop and struggled to break free.
“Whoa,” he said, still dull with sleep.
“Let go!” Jessica barked, loudly, pulling away from him. Startled, he let go of her hand and the momentum propelled her back off the bed. As her feet hit the floor she continued moving backwards. She tripped over the discarded Cristal bottle, and landed squarely on her butt on the floor, with a loud “ouch!”
Her shrieks evoked an even louder male response. Not from the buff, blond man-boy in her bed who couldn’t have been more than 23 or 24—25 tops. The sound came from the floor on the other side of the bed. Another male head popped up suddenly and Jessica could not stop another startled yelp. Her heart was starting to rev up again.
“What the hell, Jessica?” her friend Tommy said. “I’m going to take a technicolor yawn all over this fine Italian duvet you scored at Between the Sheets last week if you don’t stop screaming. I don’t want to ruin it,” he said caressing the silky cinnamon-colored duvet as though it were alive and needed soothing. He rested his head on the edge of the bed then looked up.
“You will have wasted all that revenge shopping, the time, the energy, the focus. You only have so many divorce tantrums in you, you know?”
Jessica blinked several times. Her eyes moved from the disgruntled Tommy, still only partly visible from his perch on the floor, to the sandy haired Adonis. Smiling broadly, he was now propped up in her bed. His arms were folded across a well-developed chest, washboard abs exposed above the waistband of his boxer shorts.
“Not my usual type,” she mused, “if I have a type.” Her eyes lingered a moment longer, focusing more on his face. In horror and recognition, her eyes widened.
“Ppppool boy!” she gasped loudly. Remembering how little she had on, a new wave of embarrassment worked its way through her body from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Suddenly, the bedroom door flew open. All three of them wailed and shrank away from the door.
“Dios mio, Jessica. Que te pasa? Are you okay? Esta bien?” Bernadette asked with a mix of fear and reproach in her voice and on her face. Reproach won out as she took in the scene.
The woman who stood in the doorway was barely five feet tall. Her short-cropped black hair had started to grey and her face was worn beyond her 60-something years. Jessica knew, without a doubt, she had contributed to that wear and tear.
Bernadette, whom Jessica sometimes referred to as St. Bernadette when she thought she could get away with it, had officially been hired as the family’s housekeeper before Jessica was born. But she had become much more than that over the years. A confidant when Jessica was at odds with her parents and her most formidable opponent in her teen years. Bernadette possessed an eerie sixth sense for when Jessica was up to no good and had caught her many times doing something she shouldn’t have been doing.
Bernadette stayed on as manager of the Rancho Mirage estate even after Jessica and her family moved out, one by one. First, Jessica’s father, who, by the time she was 8 or 9 had started to spend less time in the desert and more in LA where his real estate development firm was headquartered. When Jessica was in 7th grade, he divorced her mother and moved to their Brentwood house full-time. Then Jessica went off to college at UC Irvine, on to law school at Stanford, and finally, to married life in Cupertino. Her jet-setting mother was granted ownership of the house as part of the divorce settlement. After Jessica left for College, her mother took off too, returning only when she was not with, or in pursuit of, yet another husband. She was with number four right now, somewhere in the Mediterranean. Her mother’s absence was the main reason Jessica had allowed the family home to become a place of refuge as her adult life collapsed around her. She loved her mother a whole lot more from a distance than when they were in the same room together.
Bernadette put her hands on her hips. That was a bad sign.
“What’s going on in here, Jessica?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Jessica replied feeling like a 15-year-old again.
“It doesn’t look like nothing to me.” Spreading her elbows out, like a mother eagle’s wings, Bernadette puffed herself up so she looked nearly twice her size. Her black eyes blazed; her nose beaklike. “You going to ‘splain it to me?”
“It, it...it’s okay Mrs. B,” Tommy said, trying to sound reassuring in the midst of a terrified stutter. He’d known Bernadette almost as long as Jessica had.
“Oh, it is definitely not okay,” she said shaking her head. As she continued to speak, she pointed at each one in the room. “Not for you, Tommy, or for you, Jessica, or for you, Brien Anthony Williams.”
“Uh oh,” Jessica muttered. When she used all three names, you were in big trouble.
“Hey, be cool, Mrs. B, please. I can explain. It’s not what you think, honest. I need this job. I’m saving for a surf safari to the north shore.” Brien looked even younger than Jessica originally thought as he pleaded his case. “Honest, nothing really happened. She’s not even my type, Mrs. B. No offense, Jess.”
Jessica shot him a dirty look, not his type, huh? “Nobody calls me Jess, Brien.”
“Uh, sorry, Jessica,” he said with emphasis on the “ca”.
“He’s right, Bernadette,” Tommy interjected. “Jessica had a lot to drink at her divorce party last night. We all got carried away celebrating her, uh, liberation. We ran into Brien at Costa’s and he joined the party. When it was time to go, he helped me get Jessica back into the limo and home. We didn’t want to wake you up.” He shrank back a little farther away from the door under the pressure of Bernadette’s gaze.
“Divorce party, bah! Dios dame paciencia! What about all this mess? And why don’t you have any clothes on?”
“We were hungry so we brought food home, and then we had a little more to drink when we got here. Who could let chilled Cristal go to waste? We cleaned out the limo and came in here to finish it. Jessica tore her own clothes off, honest. That’s all that happened, I swear, Bernadette. I’m not Brien’s t
ype either.” Tommy’s head slumped back down on the edge of the bed.
“That’s totally the truth, Mrs. B,” Brien added with great sincerity. “Not that Jessica isn’t bangin’, I mean, for an older babe. I’m not denying I had some feelings when I saw her in that black dress, but she was doke, you know, whacked? She was really out of it by the time we got her home. I don’t take advantage, and I don’t mix business with pleasure.” He shook his head emphatically with that last remark, reaching up to push back the lock of blond hair that had fallen over his face.
Bernadette still looked skeptical but let it go. She took another look around the room and asked, “Who do you think is going to clean this up? Me? Not me. I’m going to go finish my coffee. Go home Tommy. Go home Brien. Jessica you’re going to fix this, right?”
Jessica nodded in agreement. Nodding her head reminded her that the world had not yet receded from spin mode.
Bernadette stepped out of the room mumbling in both English and Spanish. Jessica could make out the words “Sodom and Gomorrah” but little else as Bernadette crossed herself and closed the door behind her. She didn’t slam it, but did shut it with enough force to make the three of them pay. They all winced, but once Bernadette was gone it was like the oxygen had returned to the room.
Released from Bernadette’s grip, they all began to move simultaneously, although not hurriedly. Tommy pulled himself up off his knees. Like Brien, he too was wearing only his boxer shorts. Unlike Brien, Tommy’s shorts were printed with colorful firework patterns set against a navy background.
“You have to love a guy like that,” Jessica thought. She did.
Tommy was the younger brother of Jessica’s closest childhood friend, Kelly Fontana. During high school he was always around, doing all of the things younger brothers do to be annoying. Not too long after Jessica went off to college in the OC she learned that Kelly was killed in a hit-and-run accident. Tommy and his parents were devastated. He stayed on to care for them. He still lived in their casita, a tiny but nice guest house. At some point, during her visits to the desert and his visits to the OC, she and Tommy had sort of adopted each other. He became the little brother she never had, and she stepped in for Kelly. It wasn’t always clear who looked out for whom, but they had forged a strong bond.
While the guys searched for missing articles of clothing and began dressing, Jessica pulled on a robe. Then, dutifully, she started picking up the garbage and straightening the room. She was still wobbly on her feet and those food containers brought on a new wave of nausea, but she kept going. Jessica wanted to be alone and get out of the frigging Spanx that were riding up her ass every time she bent over. She needed a shower and coffee. Or, maybe she should just crawl back into bed and pull the covers up over her head for at least a week.
Jessica knew better, of course. First, she had to set things right in the room or there would be hell to pay from Bernadette. Who was she kidding? There was going to be hell to pay no matter what. What else could you expect when you move back home and act like a delinquent?
The “older babe” comment still stung, mostly because it was true. At thirty-three Jessica was no kid. On the other hand, it wasn’t like she had one foot in the grave, either. As if on cue, a stabbing pain shot up her spine and rattled her brain as she bent over to pick up her ripped dress. Jessica stood up, stretched her back, and stuffed the dress in the trash can she had retrieved from a corner of the bedroom.
She definitely had to change her ways. No more bar hopping. It was time to get serious about swimming and working out. Her shrink in Cupertino assured her exercise would help with the panic attacks. She’d look better the next time she got caught in nothing but her Spanx. Not that such a thing was likely to happen again. In fact, she still wasn’t sure how it had happened this time.
“Hey, how did we all end up with so few clothes on?” Jessica asked.
Tommy looked up as he pulled on his t-shirt. “At first we were all sitting on the floor, stuffing our faces with nachos and downing the Cristal. We each had our own bottle.”
“Yeah, it was pretty awesome,” Brien added.
“You slopped something on the dress, Jessica. At first you giggled, then, you just went nuts. Saying all kinds of crazy stuff, like how disgusting it is to be a luxury slut. I wasn’t sure if you were talking about me or you. You were ranting about designer clothes and shoes being a rip off. You actually picked up one of those divine shoes and hurled it across the room,” Tommy explained.
“Yeah, I ducked just in time,” Brien said.
“Then you stood up and started ripping at the hooks on the front of your dress until it dropped down around your ankles. We laughed until you started pointing at us saying ‘take it off or I’ll tear it off.’ It was sort of psycho and sort of like you were going to cry. So we took you seriously and stripped down to our boxers,” Tommy added.
“I didn’t want you to trash my Gucci botanic pants you bought me, or this gorgeous poplin shirt.” As he spoke he gathered his clothes strewn about and held them close. “I thought maybe you were out to kill anything with a designer label so I got out of my clothes quick.”
“I just did what Tommy did. It was kinda whacked, but I didn’t mind getting rid of a few clothes,” Brien added soberly.
“Whacked sounds about right,” Jessica whispered. “Sorry guys,” she said in a louder voice. “I’m really going to try to get it together.”
“It’s okay,” Brien said. “We all gotta go whacko once in a while. But do you think I still have a job?”
“If you still want to be pool boy to the madwoman of Mission Hills, I’m sure I can square things with Bernadette. Just lay low for a day or so, then pick up your regular schedule like none of this ever happened.”
“That’s cool. Gee thanks, Jessica.”
“Okay Brien. You and Tommy better get out of here.”
“Sure, Jessica,” Tommy said. “How are we going to get home, though? We got here in the limo you hired. You want us to call a cab?”
Jessica thought for a moment about last night. She had planned what she hoped would be a great evening. She’d rented a well-stocked stretch limo to shuttle her, Tommy, and a few other friends around town. Dinner had been great at Lulu’s, downtown in Palm Springs. Then there was Judge Judy Bingo and drinks at Toucan’s nearby, followed by dancing and more drinks at Costa’s.
She vaguely recalled Tommy asking if he could, “please, please, please” bring Brien along when they ran into him at Costa’s. She must have said okay. The plan was to go next to the Agua Caliente Casino to play some slots, and she was sure there would be more drinking. By that point things got really sketchy. It was like she had blacked out. Jessica strained to remember what happened, making her head hurt more, but there was nada, zip, zilch. She had no recollection at all of arriving at the casino or returning home after that.
“Tommy, I don’t get it. I just can’t remember much of anything after leaving Costa’s. Brien, you were there by then, what happened? I am so sorry you guys, maybe I just can’t hold my liquor anymore. Did I make a scene or pass out?”
She was definitely out of practice drinking. Most of the last three years of her marriage had been spent trying to get pregnant, being pregnant, or recovering from a failed pregnancy. Despite her love of good wine, and an appreciation for stronger spirits on occasion, she had quit drinking completely.
“Did everybody else get home okay?” she asked.
“Of course, Jessica,” Tommy replied. “Everybody was having a great time at your divorce party except you.”
“I wasn’t the life of the party, but I was doing okay until I flamed out on all of you,” she said, shaking her head in disgust. “How much do you have to drink to black out like that? Maybe I should book a stint at Betty Ford’s.” She shook her head sadly.
Brien looked anxiously at Tommy. “Dude, you’d better tell her.” Tommy whipped his head in Brien’s direction and shook his head no.
“Tell me what, Tommy?” Jes
sica asked, assuming the hands on hips posture that worked so effectively for Bernadette.
“We were really only trying to make the experience more spectacular for her, Tommy.” Then to Jessica he added, “You were kind of bummed out, Jessica. I could tell that right away when I saw you all at Costa’s.”
“Tommy, I’m asking you for the last time. What did you do?”
Tommy looked up sheepishly. “We sort of gave you something.”
“What the...?’’ Jessica’s voice rose in volume.
“Shh, shh, hush,” they both said in unison, cutting her off and looking over their shoulders at the bedroom door. “You don’t want to get HER back in here do you?” Tommy asked.
“Tell me what you did and then I’ll decide whether St. Bernadette comes back in here or not. Tell me, now.” Despite her bravado, she did lower her voice, since she wasn’t ready for another round with Bernadette either.
“We slipped you a roofy, okay?” Brien blurted out. “We talked it over and thought you might have some fun if you could relax a little more.”
“Thomas,” Jessica asked, “is this true?”
“Thomas, you haven’t called me Thomas since I was twelve...” his voice trailed off when they made eye contact. “It’s true,” he said looking at his hands and then a big, fat tear rolled down his cheek. “I had no idea you’d take it so bad.”
“Take it so bad! You could have killed me. You don’t have any idea what else I’m already taking. And I was drinking—a lot!” The volume of Jessica’s voice began to rise again.
“Wow, I never thought about that, did you Tommy?” Brien asked, wide-eyed.
“I am so sorry,” Tommy said. “I’ve never seen anyone get so weird after only taking one roofy and having a few drinks. You shouldn’t ever do that again.” Tears were streaming down his face now.
“Oh, I won’t do that again,” Jessica said grimly. “And neither will you. Not to me, or to anyone else. If I ever find out either of you has pulled a stunt like that again I’m calling your Uncle Don, Tommy.” They both looked down at the floor. Uncle Don was his dad’s brother, Sergeant Donald Fontana with the Palm Springs Police Department. She wasn’t sure she’d really call him but it sounded like a good threat.
