Psychos: A White Girl Problems Book

by Babe Walker

  I grinned at him.

  “Do you have a boner right now, Robert?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’d take your finger out of my pussy and make you taste it. Then I’d kneel down in front of you, unbuckle your pants, pull your dick out, and start licking it from shaft to tip.” God, it was refreshing to imagine being with a man whose dick I actually wanted to see/touch. Our food had arrived, but I’d suddenly lost my appetite. “Then, when you’re rock hard—”

  “I’d lay you down and fuck you slowly until you begged me to fuck you fast and hard. And then I would fuck you and fuck you more until we both came, screaming each other’s names.”

  Robert and I just stared at each other, both of us basically panting. I had to get out of Koi before I actually fucked him.

  “I’m sorry, I have to go. I have a boyfriend and I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I ran out of the restaurant and into the street, hailing the first cab I saw. I couldn’t stop picturing Robert’s perfect penis. I was trying to wrap my head around what had just happened.

  I’d mentally cheated on Charlie by having verbal unprotected sex with Robert.

  sixteen

  NAMASTE, UNIVERSE. NAMASTE.

  Charlie 7:15AM Good morning, love. Have the best day ever. Thinking of you.

  This was the text I woke up to. It made me smile, but smiling turned to sadness when I remembered the events of the night before.

  Babe 7:16AM Hi C.

  Babe 7:16AM I hope you have a nice day too.

  Charlie 7:17AM Miss you my darling.

  Babe 7:18AM You too.

  I needed to take some time to reset my aura, so I booked a full day of spa appointments and turned my phone off. Disconnect, exfoliate, reconnect. When I turned my phone back on the following day, I was shocked by the sheer volume of text messages I’d received, and made a mental note to drop off the face of the earth more often. Upon further inspection, I was especially shocked to see that most of them were from Robert.

  Robert 11:11AM When can I see you again?

  Robert 11:12AM I miss you, Babe.

  Robert 11:13AM If we could just talk for five minutes . . .

  Robert 11:16AM We could go get a Jamba?

  Robert 11:17AM They have one on the secret menu that tastes exactly like a clear gummi bear. It’s delicious.

  Robert 11:56AM I’m so stressed out. I think I’m having a shingles outbreak.

  Robert 1:48PM Just went to my doctor, it’s definitely stress-related shingles.

  Robert 2:20PM Babe?

  Robert 4:00PM Babe?

  Robert 4:02PM Babe, are you okay?

  Robert 5:39PM Babe, are you dead?

  Robert 6:17PM If you’re not dead, just text me and let me know you’re okay.

  Robert 7:07PM Remember when we went to that Italian restaurant and you ate whole wheat pasta? Then we made love and told each other I love you?

  Robert 7:10PM I miss that.

  Robert 7:11PM I miss us.

  Robert 10:45PM I feel fucking crazy.

  What in the mother of fuck? Was I in a parallel universe all of a sudden? Robert was totally Babette-ing out on me. He had a dark side? He had a dark side. A Roberto! I was momentarily overjoyed that I had made him feel this way because I knew it was out of love and infatuation, but then I got really sad because I might’ve given him shingles by not responding to any of his texts.

  I stared at my phone for fifteen minutes with no idea how to handle the situation. I couldn’t engage with Roberto because encouraging someone’s dark side only makes it worse, and also because he was never good at coping with Babette, so I figured I could let him suffer. Plus, all the desperation was kind of a turnoff. What was the answer? My head felt fuzzy; everywhere I looked, I was surrounded by boyfriends. I needed to get out of Charlie’s apartment and walk out into the universe and let it tell me what the fuck I was going to do.

  Please, universe, deliver yourself to me and help me find my way.

  Once I was out of Charlie’s building, I walked a few blocks and found myself descending into a subway station. It was brighter and smelled more like old, dry piss than I would’ve liked, but I was just following my instincts and letting the universe relay its messages. I got on something called the F train and took it to the Lexington Avenue station. Once I emerged from underground, I vowed to never take the subway again, said a short prayer for the unfortunate souls who have to take it every day, and started walking. It was as if I was being propelled by a force stronger than myself. Each step felt supported by the winds of fate. I was surrendering to a magnetic pull, not choosing my destiny. And then my legs stopped moving. I knew in that moment that the universe wanted me to stop, think, and look. I lifted my head slowly and realized that I’d been brought to the one place where I’d truly be able to clear my head: Barneys.

  Namaste, universe. Namaste.

  I took the elevator up to the second floor. I heard the faint murmur of sales associates greeting me as I floated through the racks. I addressed no one and I certainly didn’t make eye contact. This phenomenon has happened to me a few times before, usually in times of extreme confoundment. Complete out-of-body shopping. I wandered over to a rack of perfectly sheer plaid shirts and pants hanging near one of the walls. Dries Van Noten S/S ’13. I started sifting through the blouses. My fingers traced the seam of a feather-light maroon-and-black top, and I felt the cloth’s soul connect with my own soul through my skin. It was as if the two of us had met in a past life. “Hello, old friend,” I whispered to the blouse.

  A saleslady with a chic afro walked over to me and before she could open her mouth, I preemptively addressed her presence.

  “I’m in the middle of a crisis, and I would really appreciate it if you didn’t speak to me at all. It’s not you. You didn’t do anything. Your hair looks really amazing and I love that dress. Is it by Suno? Blink once for yes.”

  She blinked.

  “From last season, yes?”

  She blinked again.

  “So cute. So fun. Anyway, I just need to focus on me right now, and my mental processes cannot be interrupted by your or any other salesperson’s agenda. So if you’re okay with relaying that info to the other workers and can agree to being my silent sherpa, blink once again.”

  She blinked again.

  “Okay, let’s fucking do this, then. If you can just take this”—I handed her a silk floral caftan—“and this guy”—a silk floral skirt—“and these”—a light gray cashmere sweater; a sheer silk, high-waisted trouser; and another plaid shirt and dress combo—“and start a fitting room for me, that would be good.”

  She blinked again, grabbed all my stuff, and was gone just as quickly as she’d appeared.

  I knew my Dries selections were going to be amazing, but I needed to counteract all that nouveau grunge with something a bit more sophisticated. The Balenciaga color story that season was basically a reinterpretation of my current state of mind, and the Givenchy ruffles were really speaking to all the changes I’d been through over the past six months. Up, down, right, left. You get it.

  I found Safro (Suno + afro) and asked her to put both collections in the fitting room for me. Then I continued walking around the second floor, letting the universe guide me to a rack of romantic yet simple eleganza by The Row, and a denim pencil skirt/cape combo by Miu Miu, both of which were promptly delivered to the fitting room.

  Instead of grabbing clothes in a frenzy like a starving rat, I was letting the clothes choose me. All the stalker/emotional roller-coaster relationship drama had left me feeling exposed, so the entire Alexander Wang spring collection focused around strategic cutouts was calling my name, obviously. I thumbed through the racks and settled on a white cutout skirt and tank set, as well as a blue paneled lace dress that I handed to Safro, who was following me around the store silently, which made me feel very safe. I was so lucky to have Safro. I explored the “Babe: Exposed” theme some more and added a black mesh Giambattista Val
li tank top and a white floral crop top and skirt combo to my selections.

  I headed upstairs to the seventh-floor co-op. As I held a 3.1 Phillip Lim shirt in my arms that read “I Heart Nueva York,” I asked myself, Is this where I belong? Do I love New York? Maybe I just need to go back to LA. That’s when, coincidentally, I locked eyes with a pair of Ksubi cutoff shorts that made me miss LA so much I almost cried, but I didn’t because that would’ve been retarded. I hadn’t cried in a Barneys since before rehab and I was not falling down that rabbit hole again.

  I sifted through some Missoni bikinis, asking myself whom I’d rather go to the Hamptons with: Charlie or Robert. Did Charlie even have a Hamptons place? Surely he did. Maybe he rented. Next Safro and I journeyed down to the fifth floor and tried on a pair of Salvatore Ferragamo flats. They were perfectly sensible and sensibly chic. A must-have. Very Charlie. Then I spent fifteen minutes trying to decide between a pair of black Céline furkenstocks and a pair of bejeweled Céline furkenstocks and ultimately decided to get both. Very spontaneous. Very Robert. I also ordered a pair of canary-yellow fur pumps that I used to think were hideous but now needed in a way that I couldn’t even verbally express, and contemplated the idea that I might be in love with both Charlie and Robert. Can a woman be in love with two men?

  After my jaunt through the mecca of white marble that is the Barneys shoe floor, I felt like I needed to do something to protect myself, so I did a quick lap of the accessories department to try on some sunnies and maybe peep a few bags. You need to learn how to be more of a bitch, I thought to myself while trying on a pair of Tom Ford Anastasia shades. No you don’t, I then thought, placing a pair of reflective Jil Sanders on my face. I handed both pairs to Saffro and informed her I’d be taking them. A Saint Laurent Paris hat called to me so I handed that to her as well. Then I headed back to the second floor to try on all my clothing selections.

  I knew that going to Barneys was a dangerous move on my part, and I was definitely going to buy a lot of shit, but instead of feeling frantic and crazed, I felt completely in control. I kept hearing Jackson’s voice saying, “It’s not a breakdown, it’s a breakthrough!” and I knew I was in the throes of a major power moment with myself. I was Babe Fucking Walker. I wasn’t going to lose my shit at Barneys (again), or freak out about Robert or Charlie or any of the stuff going on in my life. I was going to decide what I really wanted and I was going to get it.

  As I tried on all the garments I’d selected, I asked myself, “Is this what I want?” And carefully curated a yes pile and a no pile. Did I want to be with Charlie? He was perfect in every way except for his penis, and Robert was also perfect in every way except for the fact that he makes me act like a complete psycho whenever he’s in my life. But apparently I have the same effect on him. Did this mean we were destined to be together? Or were we both just two psychos with overcommitment issues?

  Even though I couldn’t come to a conclusion about Charlie vs. Robert, I did come to a conclusion about everything I wanted to buy. After a couple hours of putting looks together in my dressing room, Safro hung my yes pile on a rack, rolled it to the counter, rang everything up, and wrote the total damage on a piece of Barneys stationery (she was really good at her job). I slid my Amex to her, closed my tired eyes for a few moments, and she processed the payment. As I handed her back the slip, I grabbed her tiny hand, pulled her close to my face, and said, “I appreciate you.”

  I grabbed my eight large bags and out I went.

  I hailed a cab outside of Barneys and directed the driver to take me back to Charlie’s. Despite all my amazing purchases, I was frustrated that I hadn’t managed to come to a decision about the love triangle in which I was currently embroiled. Traffic was barely moving, weirdly mirroring my stagnant romantic dilemma. My phone rang. It was Charlie.

  “Hi, honey,” I answered. “How are you?”

  “Well, hello there, Miss Walker. I’m well. You sound tired.”

  “I just did a power shop at Barneys. I’m exhausted.”

  “Ahh, that will take the air out of your tires. I’m sorry to say this, but I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  “Oh, no. What’s that?”

  “The deal we’re working on is taking forever to go through, so I have to extend my trip another week. I won’t be back until next Monday.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I just miss you, that’s all.”

  But did I really?

  “I miss you too, love. I can’t wait to get back.”

  “I can’t either.”

  But could I?

  “I have a surprise for you that I think you’re going to like.” I could hear him smiling.

  “Exciting!” I said, trying to match his enthusiasm.

  “You have no idea. I have to run to a meeting. What’s your plan tonight?”

  “Nothing, just headed home to relax.”

  “Lovely. Maybe we can Skype.”

  “Yeah, maybe. I’ll text you.”

  “Okay. Love you.”

  “You too.”

  With that, he hung up. The cab was at a standstill somewhere in Midtown. I looked out the window and shuddered at the sight of the enormous Macy’s. It reminded me of the time I’d eaten pot brownies and gotten lost in the Macy’s at the Beverly Center during high school. It was one of the hardest days of my life. No matter how much I tried, or where I went in the store, I literally couldn’t find my way out. I spent seven hours in there and was about to resign myself to a life of living among midpriced, American designer diffusion lines, when a security guard found me and escorted me out of the store. It was a waking nightmare.

  Finally the cab turned a corner and we were flying toward home. It was on the West Side Highway that I had a realization: Charlie is like Macy’s. He’s accessible to the masses, he’s sensible, and he has everything I need, but nothing I really want. Like kitchenware and comforters. I don’t want any of that shit. Robert, on the other hand, is like Barneys. He has everything I want and need, like Missoni towels and The Row backpacks. And because of that, he makes me feel a little crazy at times. But now Robert was the one losing control of himself too. Maybe he and I were more in sync than I’d realized and maybe that’s why we loved each other so much. Our connection was animalistic. It was full of fire. It was ancient.

  Everything became crystal clear to me. I had to break things off with Charlie before things got completely out of hand. Robert was The One. He always had been. It was settled. I would go home, put my purchases away, get on Skype, break up with my boyfriend and his very small penis, and find Robert/Roberto and tell him that I’m in love with him.

  seventeen

  TOTALLY YUMSTER.

  When I got back to Charlie’s, I was flustered and starving, so I ordered a pepperoni pizza from Domino’s and started doing my nails to try to center my chi. I’d executed a perfect French manicure and was celebrating this victory with a slice of pizza when I realized Babette had clearly taken over my body/mind. Domino’s? French mani? I spat out the bite of pizza and threw the rest down the garbage chute. This could not happen. Not while Vogue was on the line. I tried every trick up my sleeve to get ahold of myself, but nothing seemed to work. I slapped myself, took two Xanax, took a bath, nearly Whitney Houston–ed, got out of the bath, and then lay in bed shaking for most of the night.

  I woke up in the morning wearing silk leopard-print pajamas. I had no idea where they’d come from. I checked my bedside clock. It was 8:35. I could hear Felix pounding on my front door, and I could feel Babette pulsing through my veins. FUCK. There was no way I could enter the halls of Vogue like this. I couldn’t let my alter ego sabotage me again, but I was powerless against her. So, under Babette’s spell, I called the office and left a quick message that I’d gotten a really “big bad period” and would be late to work, then let Felix in. I was trying to get dressed, but I couldn’t find anything to wear, it was all too chic.

  “I’m gonna need you
to take me to a few stores really quick,” Babette said to Felix.

  Three hours later, once her brief yet dreadful shopping spree was done, she slathered herself in Thierry Mugler Angel and changed into an Herve Leger bandage skirt, a Bebe leather crop top, a denim jacket, giant, sparkly platform Louboutins, and a rhinestone necktie, all in the backseat of Felix’s SUV. Once dressed, Babette realized that her hair was not cooperating with her outfit.

  “Feeeeeeelix?”

  “Yes, Miss Walker?”

  “You know that feeling where you just need bangs?”

  “I’m bald, Miss Walker.”

  “Exactly. Stop here for a sec.”

  They stopped in front of the first salon Babette saw so that she could get chunky bangs. She also had one of the salon’s manicurists apply pointy, leopard-print gel tips to her nails.

  Then she was ready to go to work. Babette strolled into the office at 1:27 p.m.

  “Hey, bitches!” she said loudly to the people who worked in her area. “I hope you’re hungry because I brought McDonald’s breakfast for everyone! It’s kinda cold because it’s been sitting in the car, but I had a hash brown and a McMuffin on my way over here—okay, I’ll be honest, I had two—and they were still totally yumster,” she squealed, passing out an assortment of McMuffins and hotcakes to my stunned coworkers. “Notice anything different about me?” she hinted, pointing to her face. “I got baaaaaannngggssss—”

  “Babe, what the fuck are you doing?” hissed Kate, grabbing Babette’s arm and pulling me into the Vogue closet.

  “Oh, hey. Nothing, just here to work. Should I tweet a pic of my new bangs?”

  “No. Here, put this on for the love of God,” Kate said, thrusting an ivory Oscar de la Renta cashmere shirt at Babette. “Lose the necktie and that horrible crop top thing. If Anna sees you wearing those, she’ll fire both of us. And here—” She shoved a pair of black Manolo Blahnik pumps at her. “You need to burn those Loubs.”