“Here, Renee,” I say graciously, “sit in my desk chair,” and I roll it over to where she stands.
“Oh, aren’t you sweet. That would be perfect,” she says, sitting down as if she hadn’t even thought of sitting in MY chair. I lean against the edge of the desk.
“Don’t you want to sit?” she asks in her saccharine-sweet voice, and she motions toward the couch.
No way. If the couch isn’t good enough for her, it isn’t good enough for me. “I’m fine, thanks. This way I’m closer to all my info,” I say, motioning to the color-coded file folders neatly arranged on my desk.
I am only able to give half my attention to Renee as she asks question after detailed question about what I consider to be extremely trivial matters because most of my brain is focusing on Suzanne’s instruction that I bring a date to the date auction. Now that I have had experience hosting the show, I honestly consider my daily (often twice-daily) fact sessions with Renee almost completely useless. She wants to know the answer to every single question she is going to ask before she asks it. It’s a complete waste of my time, especially given the more important things I need to address. Not to mention how stale it makes her interviews feel.
What on earth am I going to do about a date? I don’t feel comfortable going against Suzanne or rocking the boat too much, since pissing her off might spark her to do thirty seconds or so of research on Lizzie Platner and realize that she didn’t actually attend Harvard—or really exist at all! I mean, really, it is only a stroke of luck that she hasn’t even turned on The Renee Foster Show! and seen me giving my daily facts…although I guess few Harvard grads watch daytime TV. Almost immediately my mind goes to Buck, probably because it’s his name I’m using or because he’s basically the only guy I know—yes, it definitely must be one of those reasons. The truth is that he really is my only option. But if I’m there with Buck, how am I going to get Dan? I think about Tiffany and having her come along as well to bid on Dan, but I quickly realize that a fifteen-year-old is going to stand out as a non-Harvard grad even more than I do. That leaves Courtney as my only option.
I groan a little and Renee stops in mid-sentence. “Are you alright?” she asks, clearly annoyed that she has been interrupted.
“Oh, yes, sorry…toothache,” I lie and put my hand to my jaw.
“I understand pain,” she says melodramatically and motions to her leg. “Call my assistant, Mary, and have her give you the name of my dentist. Dr. Kelson is the absolute best in Los Angeles.”
“I will, thanks,” I say, sneaking a peek at the small clock on my desk. Renee has been in my office for almost twenty minutes. I look back up at her hoping that she leaves soon, but she is staring back at me expectantly.
“Have her bring me a Diet Coke from the soda fountain while you have her on the line,” Renee demands.
This woman is unbelievable. I don’t even have a toothache, and even if I did, I don’t need Dr. Kelson’s phone number because I already go to him, since long ago, before I realized how much I hate Renee, she mentioned him and it turns out he really is the best dentist in Los Angeles. Rather than explain all this, I simply pick up the phone and dial Mary’s extension. The fact that Renee is asking for a Diet Coke is actually a good sign…it means she is getting tired and needs caffeine. What she doesn’t know is that Mary is a genius, and whenever Renee requests a soda fountain drink, Mary gives her Caffeine-Free Diet Coke, which has no effect on her exhaustion and encourages her to go home earlier.
As we wait for Mary to deliver Renee’s beverage, she continues asking me crazy questions. “Do we have a sign worked out with Kate Winslet to let us know if she’s thirsty?
“I think if she’s thirsty she’ll probably just ask you for a glass of water during the break,” I answer.
“Does she prefer flat or bubbly?”
“I’m not sure. We’ll find that out,” I answer, writing it down and focusing huge amounts of energy on not rolling my eyes.
“We really should have that kind of information,” Renee hisses.
“I agree,” I answer. She is sucking my soul out.
Just when I think I can’t take another second and am contemplating taking her cane and beating her to death with it, Mary shows up with the Diet Coke.
She hands the glass to Renee, who looks at it as if she’s never seen such a drink in her life.
“Actually, I think I’m too exhausted for caffeine to even have an effect on me. I’m so addicted that I’m practically immune,” she informs us. “I think I’m just going to head home to my beautiful family. Mary, get my things together,” she commands, and she slowly lifts herself out of my chair. “Elizabeth, figure out the water thing and we’ll continue this tomorrow.”
“Sounds good, Renee. Have a good night,” I say sweetly.
I often wonder how Renee’s family can love her. Her husband, Steve, is one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. He actually writes children’s books, so he can work at home and take care of their sons. I have visions of him cringing when she walks in the door at night the same way I do when she walks in the door of my office. I’ve seen them together, though, and he is clearly crazy about her. She must be nicer at home than she is here.
Once she has hobbled her bony ass out of my sight I breathe a sigh of relief. I think I have all the answers worked out in my head. I’ll take Buck as my date to the auction and bring Courtney along as well. She will bid on Dan for me, and once he is purchased, she’ll simply give the prize to me. It seems simple enough.
36
Buck feels as if he is in quicksand. Here he is, as crazy about Lizzie as ever and seeing more of her than he has since the twelfth grade, but Courtney is on him like Velcro. Every time he thinks he’s going to have a chance for five minutes alone with Lizzie, there Courtney is, grabbing him around the waist and whispering “Hello, lover,” in his ear…and they are not even lovers! They have not slept together, which took a lot of strength on Buck’s part. On top of this, Lizzie doesn’t believe him. She thinks he is taking horrible advantage of her vulnerable friend. The truth is the complete opposite. He is desperate for Lizzie to know that he doesn’t want Courtney. He wants Lizzie, but it’s proving beyond difficult to get that point across…until he gets a surprise phone call from her.
Every once in a while, out of the blue, Buck gets a call from Lizzie. It sounds pathetic, but the calls brighten his day. Buck is preparing to spend another Sunday night watching television with Wildcat when his phone rings. On the other end, Lizzie greets him with a desperate-sounding, “I need your help.” “Anything,” he answers, hoping he doesn’t sound too desperate himself. Her phone call alone lifts his spirits up from what has been a difficult week. It was one of those weeks when nothing went right. He had been late to work, forgot a court date, and as always found his tongue in knots when trying to explain his absence to both his father and the judge (who was an old friend of his father’s). In truth, his mind wasn’t on his work lately because it was unavoidably on Lizzie. Buck just couldn’t stop thinking about her, which is why he was thrilled when she invited him to the charity event she was hosting. A real date!
It takes less than a minute for his joy to crash and burn. It’s not just a charity event, it’s the stupid “Plan C” that the girls told him about when they visited Victory. It gets worse and worse. Not only does she want him to come with her as her date, Courtney will be there, bidding on Dan, whom she will then give to Lizzie so that they can get back together. Buck’s too nice, though, and he finds himself agreeing to help her out. At least if he’s there with Lizzie he’ll get to spend a bit of time with her before she gets back together with her obnoxious fiancé, and Courtney won’t be able to maul him too much since he’ll be posing as Elizabeth’s date.
“Oh, one more thing,” she adds, sounding uncomfortable. “I had to use your name—well it didn’t have to be yours, but it’s just what popped into my head, so that Dan wouldn’t see my name as a host and catch on to what I am doing…so you’re goi
ng to have to use another name.”
Buck’s attention stalls on one tiny detail: “I had to use your name…it just popped into my head.” A small amount of joy returns to him…she must think about him at least a little bit if his name is floating around in her head. “What name should I use?” he asks with a smile so adorable that Elizabeth can hear it through the phone.
“I dunno…Castle?” she suggests.
“You want me to use your name?” he asks, almost teasingly. “Buck Castle?”
There is a second of awkward pause. “Maybe not Buck—since Dan met you once before and there aren’t many Bucks floating around…I dunno,” she says, sounding really uncomfortable. It is a stupid nickname, even Buck thought so, but it’s so stuck on him that he’s just grown used to it.
“How about Benjamin Castle?” he asks.
“Benjamin…that’s nice, where’d that come from?” she asks.
“It’s my name,” Buck answers. “You thought my birth name was Buck?”
“I guess I never thought about it. You never know in Victory. Benjamin’s a nice name,” she says, sounding a little dreamy. “So you’ll be Benjamin Castle and I’ll be Lizzie Platner,” she tells him.
“You can call me Ben,” he says coolly. “But I thought you hated ‘Lizzie’?” For some reason he has had a horrible time getting his brain to remember. He’ll be completely prepared to say “Elizabeth,” and then “Lizzie” just comes out.
“I guess it’s kind of growing on me,” she says.
They are silent for a second while they both smile.
“Good night, Elizabeth,” Buck says in a way that is completely innocent and yet totally meaningful (and seductive) at the same time.
Elizabeth is silent for a split second—her apartment just got much hotter and it takes a beat to adjust.
“Goodnight,” she answers in a small voice.
They hang up and Buck smiles. He’s going to be Lizzie’s date. True, her plan might be to get back together with her ex, but Buck’s got a different plan for the evening. He cracks open a can of Budweiser with one hand and takes a big sip. He swallows and leans back with a satiated sigh.
37
On the night of the auction, the plan no longer seems simple. It seems like a disaster waiting to happen…what was I thinking inviting Buck to be my date? He is sitting in the living room, looking amazing in a tuxedo, joking around with Tiffany while I pace back and forth across the bedroom in a black lace bra and panty set purchased especially for the occasion. I bought the lingerie for my reunion with Dan but found myself wondering what Buck would like as I uncomfortably tried on different ensembles in the dressing room of Victoria’s Secret during my lunch break. Most of the choices accentuated my nearly flat chest and butt, but this one, with its push-up bra and boy-short bottoms, almost (almost) makes me look curvaceous.
I slip into a simple black dress and slide my feet into black satin heels. The shoes, too, are a splurge for the evening and I’ll probably never be able to wear them again. Since I’m only two inches shorter than Dan, he always prefers me in flats; since Buck is a good six inches taller, I felt like taking advantage of being able to wear heels without towering over my date like Nancy Archer, the fifty-foot woman. I think I wouldn’t be feeling so uncomfortable about the whole thing if Buck didn’t look so incredibly hot in the tuxedo he informed me he bought since he doesn’t think rentals look as good. I hate how rented tuxedos look, but Dan always refused to spend the money on something he would wear so infrequently.
I take a final look in the mirror and add a dab of lip gloss. I look like I’m going to throw up, probably because I feel like I’m going to throw up. I felt sick most of the day, but the nausea really hit when I opened the apartment door, still wrapped in my robe, to find Buck standing there looking ready to walk the red carpet. Now I make my way toward the living room, hoping that he has miraculously uglied up while I dressed, leaving me able to function. No such luck. I take two steps into the room and he cuts off whatever he’s saying to Tiffany in mid-sentence. He stands up and says, “You look amazing,” with the kind of passion and intensity that Tom Cruise talked about Katie Holmes before he jumped on Oprah’s couch.
“Not at all,” I say bashfully, but for some reason inside I am soaring. (He likes how I look!) “We should get going,” I say, deciding that changing the subject is a good idea.
“Okay,” Buck says, straightening the black satin tie around his neck. I hate bow ties—this looks so much better.
“Courtney is meeting us there,” I explain, and secretly I am pleased to have Buck to myself. Even though I am still 100 percent, completely in love with Dan, there is something about watching Buck with Courtney and the way she constantly has to touch him that bothers me to no end.
He smiles at me and I think I catch a glimpse of something mischievous in his eye, but when I turn around to look again it’s gone. One after the other we cross to the front door, and when we get there, Buck reaches around me and with one arm opens the door; the other hand he places on the small of my back and guides me out of the apartment. Tiny shivers run up and down my spine and I have to work hard to get my mind back on the evening’s goal.
We make comfortable small talk between my apartment and the restaurant where the auction is being held. We talk about the weather—we both love the cold of winter the best. We talk about movies—we both think Monty Python is hilarious. We talk about food—we both love yellow cake made from a mix with canned chocolate frosting. It’s insane how much we have in common and how relaxed I feel sharing my true emotions with him. It might sound silly, but I couldn’t admit any of those facts to another soul. Everyone in L.A. hates the cold, and when it drops below 70, people have a hard time functioning; Monty Python is considered idiotic and unsophisticated; and my favorite food would have to be something far more gourmet and interesting.
We pull up to the valet at the restaurant—a place I have been a handful of times with Dan and selected for the event, and yet have never felt comfortable in because it is painfully trendy; the kind of place where the staff is rude to you and you gratefully accept it. As the valet opens Buck’s door, a flash of insecurity and embarrassment strikes me to be arriving at such a place in a Ford pickup truck. My insecurity quickly melts away when the valet greets Buck with a humble smile, and Buck himself hurries around to open my door and help me down. Unfortunately, we haven’t made it halfway to the front door before Courtney comes rushing up looking breathtaking in a gold minidress. She looks so beyond sexy that I feel like a sandcastle at the beach getting unceremoniously washed away by a breaking wave.
“Oh my God, you guys, I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, sounding truly grateful to see familiar faces, and I feel bad for being unhappy in return. Courtney is amazing. I would never (never, ever) have the guts to show up alone at a party to which I’m not technically invited, and at a place like this. Courtney has done just this, though, and she’s done it for me.
“Let’s go,” I tell her with a grateful smile. I step in front of her and lead the way into the restaurant. Behind me, I hear Courtney quietly say to Buck, “It’s going to be so hard for me to keep my hands off you tonight. You look so hot.” My good feelings toward her quickly tank, but I am pettily happy to hear Buck reply, “Thanks. You look great.” Amazing is better than great, and Buck said I look amazing. Even though my dress is plain black and about a mile longer than Courtney’s gold frock, I look “amazing.”
With a small surge of confidence, I open the door and hold it for Courtney to enter. As she steps through, I can’t help but admire the way she walks into the place as if she owns it…although I guess there is a decent chance that she does own it, since her father owns real estate all over Los Angeles. Buck reaches behind me and takes the door from me.
“After you,” he says as I step past.
Inside, the maître d’ shows us to the private room where the event is being held. Since I am a hostess, we have arrived on the early side, so it is
easy to spot Suzanne on the other side of the room. As soon as she sees me, she grabs her date by the hand and drags him toward us.
“Lizzie, you’re here! It’s our big night,” she almost squeals with excitement. “I want you to meet Elliott,” she says, turning to beam at the man standing to her left.
Elliott looks almost identical to the guy in Sideways—not the guy who used to be on Wings, the other guy.
“Nice to meet you,” he says, extending a slightly limp and sweaty palm.
I smile, return the sentiment, and introduce my companions. “Ben Castle and Courtney Cambridge.”
“Courtney, what year are you?” Suzanne asks with a slightly skeptical eye. Of course I had to lie and say Courtney is a Harvard graduate since explaining who she really is would have been a bit of a mess.
“Courtney and I were freshman year roommates,” I jump in.
“Of course! Duh…that’s why you look so familiar,” Suzanne giggles. Thankfully for a Harvard graduate she is remarkably bubble-headed. “Cambridge?” she repeats, then adds almost in a whisper, “Are you—”
“That’s right,” Courtney says with a twinkle in her eye, “main line.”
Suzanne takes a deep, sharp breath and her face glows. People from the East Coast are so impressed with this main line nonsense—people who had family members on the Mayflower. Courtney and I both know that Suzanne had come close to placing her as the daughter of Bennett and Alana Cambridge, but Courtney knows how to throw people off.
“So, we’re all set and ready to go?” I jump in.
“We’re ready. I think everything is handled and we can just relax and enjoy the fruits of our labor,” Suzanne answers.
With that, she sees someone she knows—someone who presumably actually attended Harvard—and drags poor sweaty Elliott across the room again.
Not Quite A mom Page 19
