The Brenda Diaries

by Margo Candela

  Tempted to get myself dismissed, but I can’t take the financial hit. Maya better book a room with two beds, because I’m working way too hard to share one with her in Vegas. Even if it’s a king.

  Wednesday, August 10:

  I put my head on the desk next to a tall stack of files. If it falls over and buries me, maybe I can file that Worker’s Comp claim I’ve been fantasizing about. The phone on my desk rings and even though I have no idea who it might be, I reach over and grab the handset.

  “Yeah?”

  “What are you wearing?” Cal asks in a sleazy voice.

  “Exactly the same thing your mom is. What do you want?”

  “I want to rub something in.” He waits for me take the bait, but I don’t. Last thing I want is to talk masturbation with Cal in a dingy cubicle. “I’m working a convention this weekend. New age and crystals or some shit like that.”

  “Your kind of people. Lucky you.”

  Conventions are fun to work. There’s always something going on and there’s not much supervision. Plus, there’s tons of free swag to pick up. I haven’t bought a pen or note pad in a year because I cleaned up during the last one I worked.

  “They need bodies and I thought of yours. You in?” he asks.

  “Nope.” It doesn’t even take me a second to turn down the offer.

  “Come on, Brenda. I promise to protect you from the cult leaders and assorted weirdos.”

  “You’re the only weirdo I’m worried about, Cal.”

  He laughs, but I’m not joking.

  Thursday, August 11:

  Another day of scanning, but with the added twist that I can start shredding what I’ve scanned. All these sheets of paper are going to make for some depressing confetti. Maybe I should take a look at what exactly I’m feeding into the machine? Nah. The less I know the better.

  Friday, August 12:

  I’m sitting on my grandma’s couch eating slightly stale Brach’s orange wedge candy left over from my last visit and watching Hoarders. Grandma’s already seen this one so she’s telling me all about her fight with the woman next door over food smells. Not sure whose food it is that smells. I don’t think Grandma knows either. I’m pretty sure they’re both cooking up some stinky stuff, but I’m not taking sides. The lady next door gives me her People magazines and I don’t want my supply cut off.

  Saturday, August 13:

  Jared asked if I want to go with him when he visits his parents. Lucky for me he’s going on the same weekend that Maya is mourning the passing of her 24th year. Now all I have to do is figure out how to tell him in a way that he thinks I’d much rather spend the time with him, his judgmental father and over-sharing mother.

  Sunday, August 14:

  It’s not even 7AM, but something woke me up. It’s not my alarm (I turned it off the night before so I could sleep in) and, for once, it’s not Lou’s yapping from next door. Then it hits me—it’s way too quiet.

  “Maya?” I call out just loud enough for her to hear, but not wake up Lou who is a light sleeper. “Are you awake?”

  Nothing. I climb out of bed, pulling on my rainbow stripe socks and bathrobe. If someone is in the middle of killing Maya on my sofa bed, I don’t want to surprise him (or it) while wearing just my Elmo T-shirt and cherry print sleep shorts.

  I grab the bat I keep next to the nightstand (a gift from my grandma along with a bottle of cranberry tablets for, as she put it, “flushing out the plumbing after a night on the town”) and try to make myself look and feel bigger than I am.

  “Maya,” I say in my deepest voice. “Take a look at my new gun.”

  I snatch open the door and wave the bat around before poking my head out to look. There’s nothing and no one there.

  “Dirty bitch!”

  I stalk over to the couch, walking across the cushions, to the closet where Maya keeps her stuff, including her LeSportsac tote known as the Slut Sack because it’s what she takes when she spends the night with Armie. It, like Maya, is gone.

  I guess those cranberry pills might come in handy after all.

  Monday, August 15:

  Amy called me at ten to 8 with an assignment and, despite being stuck in traffic for 20 minutes, I got to Century City a bit before 9. But, because of a transposed floor and suite number (Amy’s fault, not mine), I didn’t get to the office where I’ll be working until almost 9:30.

  Not that it matters. I’m not answering phones, filing or any normal sort of office work. Instead, Charles, the guy who had his HR department call for an emergency temp, has me updating his database of film agent and talent manager contacts. Once I’m done with that, I have to send out queries for his screenplay, Collapse (“After a tragic accident, a world famous architect discovers his entire life has been built on an unstable foundation of lies, deceit and betrayal”).

  Yeah, good luck with that, Chuck.

  Tuesday, August 16:

  Another day with reluctant architect Charles, or Chuck as I call him. To his face. I pointed out a typo and some mangled syntax in his query yesterday so he called in another emergency request for me to come in today.

  What’s the emergency? His screenplay. I’m sure he didn’t tell his HR department or Amy that I’d be doing this. Whatever. Work is work.

  Wednesday, August 17:

  I spent most of the day explaining to Chuck why his main female character sounds like a man because the man who wrote her dialog has never bothered to really listen to a real woman. And because that wasn’t going to be solved in an afternoon, we moved on to the intricacies of female motivation. Lesson one: sometimes women say something when the truth is exactly the opposite, but that doesn’t mean they’re lying.

  When he asked for my honest opinion on his script, I told him it needed a lot of work. I was fully ready to be tossed out of the building before getting my parking ticket validated. Instead of showing me the door, he asked if I could come back for the rest of the week. I told him I’ll have to check with my agency. And so ended my tutorial on motivation and women.

  Thursday, August 18:

  Maya and Jared are arguing about the difference between jam and jelly. It’s been going on long enough for me to do the maze and word search on the back of the Denny’s kids’ menu.

  “Which do you like?” Jared asks me. He wants me to pick his side and Maya wants me to side with her but I’ve lost track of who is for jam and who is for jelly.

  “I’m more of a marmalade fan,” I say just to screw with them. I ordered pancakes for dinner which is what started this whole thing. I dunk my spoon into my ice water, hoping to speed up the melting process. “But only on toast. I prefer my pancakes and waffles dry.”

  “Freak,” Maya says. “What else do you like dry? Oh, wait, it’s you who likes things dry. Isn’t it, Jared?”

  Jared blushes. Annoying. We haven’t had sex in days and days, which soon will add up to weeks. He just wants to kiss, cuddle and spoon me to death. I haven’t figured how to get out of that, but asking him about his screenplay does distract him from talking about us, his feelings, my feelings and our feelings about us. Barf.

  “I can’t keep eating like this,” Maya says. “How about you, Jared? Have you had to curb your eating out?”

  Another blush from Jared, but I’m not going to tell Maya to knock it off. After all, if I didn’t want her to know about our lack of sex life, I wouldn’t have complained to her about it on the way here.

  Maya yawns. She was out most of the day and didn’t get to take her daily three hour nap. “Anyway, Brenda, I’ve signed us up for a bootcamp type thing. To get in shape for Vegas.”

  “What?” I stop stirring my ice water. “Why do I need to get in shape? I don’t plan to do anything or show anything where boot camp needs to be a part of my life.”

  “So you’re going to Vegas?” Jared asks in a wounded voice.

  As much as I don’t want to say anything, I know I have to. “Uh…umm….”

  “You should come, Jared. Both of you can
get really drunk and go to one of those tacky 24-hour chapels and get married. I’ll totally be your maid of honor, Brenda, and make sure your nipples are lined up for the wedding photos.”

  “I don’t have nipples, but thanks for the offer.” I can feel Jared looking at me and if I want him to do more than that tonight or any night, I’m going to have give something up. “Maybe we can go up and see your parents the weekend after we go to Vegas?”

  “Totally doable,” he says.

  “So I’ve heard that Brenda is,” Maya snorts.

  Lucky for him, Jared doesn’t blush this time.

  Friday, August 19:

  Chuck called me his muse. I pretended not to hear him.

  Saturday, August 20:

  Maya has insisted I keep my promise (which I never made) to attend boot camp with her. It’s so early that even though the sun is up, the park we’re at is empty and there’s dew all over the grass.

  “Get down or he’s going to come over and yell at us,” Maya says. She just did 50 sit-ups while I had my knees on her feet and now it’s my turn. “Hurry up!”

  “Hold on, Maya.” I take my time, laying a towel down.

  “Hurry up!” She yanks me down onto the ground and scrambles into position. “He’s coming!”

  We look over to where the large, beefy man in cut-off army fatigues who goes by the name “Corporal Payne” is looming over a guy who also has issues with putting ass to damp grass.

  I grunt as Maya digs her knees into the tops of my sneakers. I manage a couple of sit-ups before I have to take a little rest. “Did you pay extra to have him be such an a-hole?”

  “He’s the best and he’s promised to get me bikini ready in time for Vegas.” She pushes me down. “I need to look fabulous.”

  “Can’t you just turn bulimic for a couple of weeks? It worked for you in college.”

  “Shut up and sit up, Brenda.”

  I struggle through the rest of the sit-ups, ignoring the burning pain in my midsection and the grass that’s going to make my back break out in hives.

  Sunday, August 21:

  I can’t move, but lucky for me neither can Maya. This is all her fault, but it hurts too much to blame her. Just going to lie in bed and whine quietly to myself.

  Monday, August 22:

  Getting paid for a full day even though I only clocked a couple of hours with Chuck. Someone from his HR department finally caught on that he’d hired a temp (me) to help with his screenplay on the company’s time and on the company’s dime.

  Before I left, he asked if we could still see each other to “brainstorm” and that he’d pay me. I was tempted, but I think it’s best if I limit myself to my boyfriend’s screenplay. I told Chuck to look for a muse on craigslist.

  Tuesday, August 23:

  Amy’s mad at me for not telling her about what Chuck had me doing. Yes, I knew I should have called her, but I don’t like Amy and I was kind of having fun. Now the client is threatening to pull their business and I’m getting blamed for it. (Chuck isn’t in much trouble at all since his father-in-law is president of the company.)

  I’m getting another write-up in my file, which leaves me one short of being put on probation. Oohh, I’m so scared.

  This would never have happened if Summer hadn’t bailed on me to go on maternity leave. All the blame lies with that damn baby.

  Wednesday, August 24:

  Meeting Cal for lunch is a mistake. I know this the second I get to Urth Café in Santa Monica and he’s not here even though I forced myself to be 15 minutes late.

  I stand on the sidewalk with my back to the patio hoping I don’t give the impression that I’ve been stood up. I pull out my Blackberry and scroll through for any new texts or messages but there are none from him and two from Jared.

  I call Jared back thinking that as soon I start talking to my boyfriend, the guy I’ve been secretly flirting with will show up.

  “Hey.” I scoot into the shade of a scrawny tree knowing my sunscreen hasn’t kicked in yet. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” Jared says which begs the question of why then has he been trying to get in touch with me? But I need to kill some time, so I don’t ask. “Where are you?”

  “Oh, uh, Santa Monica.” There’s no use lying so I’ll just bombard him with the truth. “That temp assignment in Century City ended a day early. I’m on-call so I hope Amy—who’s taken over for Summer while she’s on maternity leave—will come through with something. I doubt it, though. She doesn’t like me very much. Yeah, anyway…. So what’s up? Jared?”

  Nothing on the other end. I look down at my phone and we’re still connected.

  “Surprise!”

  I feel a tap on my shoulder, followed by a kiss on my neck. I turn around and almost pee my pants.

  “No shit!” I yelp.

  When Cal texts a few minutes later that he can’t make it, I don’t bother to text him back. I’m too busy having lunch with my boyfriend.

  Thursday, August 25:

  It should come as no big surprise that I’m a gal who never played wedding with her Ken and Barbie dolls. Fairy tales and fantasizing about big white poufy dresses was never my bag. When I was a kid, I played store with my girl friends. I’d sell them cheese cloth bridal veils (75¢) and paid neighborhood boys a quarter to be rent-a-grooms.

  When it came to matters of the heart, I was all business. Still….

  I found the couple who broke up and moved out of the apartment below mine left behind their wedding album and it kind of hurt that small place inside me where sentimentality lives. From their pictures, it's pretty obvious they never thought they'd end up hating each other so much that neither of them would want to remember what looked like a happy day—if not their happiest day.

  Maya talks about getting married all the time. Just the wedding part, though, not what happens afterward. I used to think that was dumb of her, but maybe if people knew what was going to happen, they'd never bother with getting married in the first place.

  I'm going to put the album in a safe place. I'm not a romantic, but a part of me does hope one of them (if not both) comes looking for it and just maybe they'll realize not everything was so horrible about what came after their happy day.

  Friday, August 26:

  Saved by Theo from a week of not working or working for Dimetric at the mall. Theo’s out of rehab, but doubt they cured him of his lawyerness. He’s booked me for two weeks which is okay with me. The only issue (besides having to work for, near or around Theo) is I might not be in exactly on time on Tuesday morning because of Vegas. I’m not going to cut out early on Maya’s desert birthday blowout because Theo or Amy says I have to.

  Saturday, August 27:

  Maya is faking cramps to get out of going to boot camp. So am I. I told her the only thing that will make us feel better is if we stay home and watch Lifetime movies.

  Sunday, August 28:

  I spent the day doing laundry and cleaning so by the time Maya got back from boinking Armie, I felt a little like a neglected housewife. She walked in with an almost hot Abbot’s wild mushroom pizza and even that didn’t win me over. I still ate my fair share, but only gave the occasional grunt when she tried to make chit chat with me.

  “Okay, fine! Spit it out. You’re pissed that I’m seeing Armie again.” Maya leans back on the couch, relieved.

  “Yes. I am. He’s married and he’s old and he’s….” There are so many things I suspect him of, but am too afraid to ask Maya about. “Why him?”

  “He makes me feel safe.” Maya picks at the hem of her dress. “He’s going to leave his wife. He promised.”

  “And what? You guys are going to get married? You’re not even 25.” Granted, I’ve always assumed Maya would be married by 22, but I don’t have to be overjoyed just because she waited a few years. “Why don’t you travel or, I don’t know, get a job?”

  “Like you?” Maya rolls her eyes. “I don’t think so.”

  “What’s wrong with what I do? Ye
ah, I’m not saving the world or curing cancer, but I don’t have to worry about anyone’s wife slashing my tires.”

  “She’d never do that. It would violate her parole. Anyway, you get your life in order before you start trying to fix mine.”

  Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes, but I keep my mouth shut. Maya’s actually right for once. I do need to take a look at what I’m doing with my life. And maybe I will—after another slice of pizza.

  Monday, August 29:

  Turns out rehab has changed Theo. He’s gone from rude to whipped since I last wasted my time sitting outside his office sorting paper clips. How do I know? He’s the one who’s fetching the Starbucks. I’m completely not into the whole BDMS lifestyle, but if I was, he’d make a good slave.

  “Brenda?” Crap. Theo is back with my zucchini muffin and latte. “Do you want to have your latte on the patio?”

  “No.” I hold out my hands for my food. I’m wearing red nail polish, which I know he likes and which I now regret.

  “Okay. If that’s what you want,” he says. I suppress a shudder not only because of him being so needy, but because he sounds exactly like Jared.

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I want.” I stare over his head, finding it easier than looking into his desperate eyes. “You have a lunch thing at the Palomino.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Brenda,” he bleats like a lost little lamb.

  “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.” I roll my eyes like I’m a 15-year-old who’s been forced to go on vacation with her parents.

  So he bought me a latte and a muffin. What does he want me to do, walk over his back in my high heels? I bet that’s exactly what he wants. I ignore him until he finally gets the hint and goes back into his office to mope. He gets paid $475 an hour to do that. Maybe I should become a lawyer.