Not Quite A mom

by Kirsten Sawyer

  Courtney, Buck, and I head toward the bar and stake out a private spot on the short side along the wall. From there, we watch as the room fills up. It’s about three-quarters full and Dan hasn’t arrived yet. I glance at the clock and start to feel worried. He had agreed to be auctioned off, but if he doesn’t show, the whole evening will have been for nothing. What if he is sick? Or what if he and Defender Bitch decided to elope or something? The thought panics me, but thankfully, just as I start to feel as if I might hyperventilate, the door opens and Dan walks in—alone (thank God).

  Instead of his arrival helping the panic subside, it only adds fuel to the fire, and I am suddenly overcome with fear that he will see me, expose me, and end Plan C on the spot. So, instead of the calm, cool, and collected future wife of a future district attorney that I intended to come off as, I spend the entire evening huddled in the corner drinking Sauvignon Blanc. By the time the Sotheby’s auctioneer that Suzanne managed to convince to man our auction goes to the lectern my face is tingling.

  “Oh my God, this is it,” I slur to Courtney and Buck. “Take your paddle,” I hiss at Courtney, shoving the Ping-Pong paddle that Suzanne and I personally prepared.

  Courtney bursts into giggles but takes the paddle as instructed and moves toward the center of the room.

  “Please let this work,” I say as the auction starts.

  The first bachelor up for bid is one of the many lawyers in the group. He is slightly balding but otherwise fairly good-looking. The bidding starts slowly but quickly heats up as two girls, both early thirties and dressed in borderline doughty business suits, fight for the man. In the end, the slightly (slightly) more attractive girl takes the prize for $250 and the bachelor beams with pride. As he heads through the crowd to meet his date amid enthusiastic applause, I scan the room for Dan.

  I finally see him leaning on a tall pedestal table chatting with a slightly chubby girl with dark curly hair. The girl isn’t at all Dan’s type, so I know I don’t have to feel insecure. If anything, she makes me feel more certain that tonight is the night Dan and I will reunite. Unlike Defender Bitch, who was a more attractive version of my tall, light-haired self, this girl isn’t any sort of competition. They are both laughing, and seeing his big, open-mouthed grin makes me smile. Dan has an adorable laugh; it’s more of a guffaw, an almost goofy-sounding spasm that comes from his belly. It’s completely infectious, though, and I can never hear him laugh without giggling a little myself.

  “Can I get you anything?” Buck asks, breaking my stare.

  Most of my face is numb, but I’m still feeling pretty nervous, so I decide that one more glass of wine would be a good idea. Buck quickly returns carrying two glasses and hands one to me.

  “Cheers,” he says, looking (really, what can only be described as gazing) into my eyes as our glasses clink. “I hope the night turns out the way you want it to,” he adds in a tone that confuses me. My eyes follow his glass as it travels to his lips. His face is covered with the beginnings of blond stubble. I have secretly always thought a five o’clock shadow extremely sexy and often begged Dan to skip his razor on the weekends. He always refused. In the end, it’s probably better, because a smooth face is so nice to snuggle against and you don’t have to worry about getting one of those unattractive face rashes à la Katie Holmes from too much kissing. I take a sip from my own glass and then turn my attention back to the auction.

  The Harvard alumnae are apparently both wealthy and desperate because each bachelor is raking in more dough than the one before. In fact, the bidding is getting pretty cutthroat. I am halfway through my third (fifth) glass when the auctioneer announces in his speedy monosyllabic voice that the next bachelor up for bid is “Daniel McCafferty. Ladies, this former midwesterner both lives and works as an assistant district attorney right here in beautiful Beverly Hills, 90210.”

  Lives in 90212, I silently say to myself. I don’t know why, but it’s probably the only thing that bugs me about Dan…the fact that he is constantly trying to pass off his south-of-Wilshire apartment—which is a beautiful apartment—as 90210.

  “Let’s start the bidding at two hundred dollars,” the auctioneer concludes, and I snap to attention. Dan was supposed to be a fifty-dollar bachelor. There weren’t any two-hundred-dollar bachelors!

  Almost on cue, Suzanne comes up to me, her speed date still tagging along like a lost puppy. “Lizzie,” she says with a smile, “we are making so much! These girls are so desperate that I upped everyone’s opening bids, starting with this guy,” she says.

  “But this guy was so mean to Fatty What’s-her-name in our dorm!” I say with a pout before realizing how bad I sound.

  Suzanne looks taken aback for a second. “Martha Wheeler, but she’s been chatting with him all night, so I figure if she can forgive him he must not be that bad,” she explains, motioning at the round, curly-haired brunette that had Dan laughing up a storm. I look at her in shock and horror—my fiancé had sex with her and never told me about it…and clearly she is my competition tonight because not only were she and Dan chatting like old friends (which I guess they technically are), her red Ping-Pong paddle is proudly held high. My eyes widen in horror.

  “That’s my Lizzie, she’s so defensive of her girlfriends,” Buck says adoringly, slipping one strong arm around my waist. “One of the many qualities I can’t help but love,” he adds.

  He smells so incredibly good that I am completely distracted and don’t even notice Courtney holding up her paddle when the auctioneer asks, “Do I hear five hundred?”

  “I wish I could auction you off,” Suzanne says without taking her eyes off Buck. “We’d get enough to house all the homeless.”

  “I’m incredibly taken,” Buck answers gently and leans down to give me a peck. His lips land in the little space behind my jawbone and under my ear. It’s such an innocent gesture, but I tingle between my legs and my panties feel moist. His arm is still around my waist as I turn and look up into his blue eyes. Suddenly we are the only two people in the room and I desperately want to kiss him. I have to feel the warmth of his lips and taste his tongue. I have been wondering—my mouth has been watering for it since the day in his kitchen so long ago. The expensive white wine pulsing through my veins gives me courage and I grab his lower lip between my own. I kiss him and he softly kisses me back. I hear Suzanne say, “Aaah,” to my side, but I have no shame. I slip my tongue into Buck’s mouth and his kissing intensifies. Dan would never kiss me like this in public (or private), I think with delight, but then much too quickly I come screeching back to reality.

  I hear Dan’s voice yelling about the buzz of the crowd, but it takes me a second to realize what he is saying.

  “That girl is NOT a Harvard graduate!” he hollers, motioning at Courtney, who is standing like a deer in headlights with her auction paddle still raised half way. “Who is in charge here?” Dan summons.

  “We are!” Suzanne retorts from beside me, motioning at me as she speaks. “Courtney Cambridge is a Harvard grad…and she’s main line…she was Lizzie Platner’s freshman year roommate. Right, Lizzie?” she asks me to confirm.

  “Oh, um, well…I thought she was. It’s hard to remember,” I fumble, my mind too cloudy from alcohol and my legs still wobbly from Buck’s kiss.

  “Elizabeth?” Dan demands from the stage.

  “Hi,” I greet him brightly. All I can do now is hope he’s happy to see me. It takes about a split second to see that he is not happy. I sense that everyone in the room is staring at me. I am vaguely aware of a flash of gold rushing in front of me hissing, “Let’s get out of here!” and then Buck’s hand is grabbing my own and pulling me through the crowd and out the door into the cool night air. Once outside, I gulp a breath of air and look back at the restaurant door, unsure of what will happen next.

  38

  “You seriously had to flee the party while everyone there chanted, ‘Crashers go home!’?!?” Tiffany asked for probably the fourth time. Each time she asked, she sounded a
little less horrified and a little more delighted. There was part of her that couldn’t believe that her completely average and boring small-town existence had turned into this. Spending her summer vacation trying to help her resistant godmother reunite with her unwilling ex-fiancé definitely wasn’t how Tiffany had imagined her break would be.

  The morning after the third failed attempt to get Dan to take Elizabeth back, Tiffany wondered how long this was going to go on. The first two were kind of fun, and this third one ended up being entertaining, but even a teenager could see that this man didn’t want Lizzie back. How long until she would figure it out? Plus, it was extremely clear that there was a man who did want Lizzie—Buck Platner. Buck seemed to spend most of their visits trying to dodge Courtney and be with Lizzie, who seemed completely unaware. It seemed that the only time she gave him a second glance was when Courtney was dragging him away.

  Tiffany had to physically restrain herself when Elizabeth said with a sigh over her morning coffee, “Oh well, I guess Plan C didn’t work…what’s Plan D?” Tiffany, Elizabeth, Buck, and Courtney were all crowded around a table at Du-Pars. Although Tiffany had yet to see a celebrity, the coffee shop had become her favorite breakfast place, so she convinced everyone to go there almost every weekend. Tiffany looked up from her bite of pancake, melted butter dripping back down onto her plate. Elizabeth was looking around the table waiting for a response. Courtney shrugged slightly as she picked at a veggie egg-white omelet, and Buck visibly cringed. Tiffany also shrugged, but her shrug was directed at Buck. She honestly couldn’t figure out why Elizabeth couldn’t figure this one out.

  “I think all we have left is the reverse rear-end bump,” Tiffany offered, hoping that Elizabeth would continue to reject the plan that would damage her beloved car.

  As she said it, she watched Lizzie’s face. Much to Tiffany’s horror, her expression changed from a scowling, head-shaking look to one of resignation and acceptance.

  “Well, if that’s what we’ve got, then I guess we have no choice,” she said solemnly.

  Tiffany almost choked on the large mouthful she had just shoveled in…she couldn’t believe it had come to this.

  Back at the apartment, she cornered Elizabeth in the narrow hallway between their bedrooms. Buck was in the living room trying to avoid Courtney. It seemed that there wasn’t a seat he could sit in where she wouldn’t find a way to practically climb on top of him. He had taken to standing six inches in front of the television set as if he couldn’t get a good enough view of the large screen from the sofa a few feet away.

  “You really want to go through with Plan D?” Tiffany asked Elizabeth, blocking her path to the bathroom.

  “What choice do I have?” she asked. Her voice sounded as if she had been worn down.

  “There are other guys in the world,” Tiffany said pointedly. She then raised her eyebrows and tilted her head down the hall where a few steps away Buck was avoiding Courtney by feigning great interest in the remote control.

  Elizabeth wrinkled her brow with confusion before gasping, “Buck?!?” Her cheeks flushed such a bright shade of red that she looked sunburned. “Oh my God…no,” she finished.

  “Why not?” Tiffany pressured. “He’s totally hot.”

  Tiffany felt hopeful for a moment. Elizabeth’s face continued to glow like a sunset, and she seemed to be thinking it over.

  Finally she said, “No. He’s just not what I’m looking for. He’s a great guy, a great friend…but he’s…he’s not…and besides, he’s with Courtney.” Elizabeth didn’t seem to have a real reason, just a lame answer.

  Tiffany let out a disappointed sigh and shrugged. “He’s not interested in Courtney,” she said quietly as she turned and sulked down the hall. At fifteen years old, she could see the mistake Elizabeth was making, but her thirty-two-year-old godmother didn’t seem to get it.

  39

  Twenty-four hours later, the conversation with Tiffany is still running through my head on a never-ending replay. She came right out and said what I have been secretly asking myself for months. Why not? Why not Buck? As Tiffany put it, “He’s totally hot,” not to mention polite, sincere, thoughtful, kind, fun…I could go on and on. Why can I go on and on?!? It’s just because he’s a great friend. I could go on and on about Courtney as well—also a good friend, who happens to be totally in love with Buck. Tiffany is right, though; he’s not interested in Courtney. Ugh! I cannot think like that. I have important things to concentrate on…like Plan D…and my job.

  At this moment, I am stuck in the middle of an intersection on Santa Monica Boulevard breaking strict gridlock laws. The light was green when I entered the intersection, but halfway through, the traffic suddenly stopped and I got caught as the light turned yellow and then red. Now I’m blocking the cross-traffic and having to endure honking, cursing, and gesturing. Not to mention the bright flash from the odd-looking box on the corner—I’ll be getting my ticket in the mail. Lots of intersections have been outfitted with cameras that take your picture if you run a red light and then mail you indisputable proof of the infraction. Should I have smiled for the camera? I’m kind of (just slightly) a minor celebrity now. If nothing else is happening in the world, my moving violation could get noticed. I start to daydream about seeing myself in Us Weekly’s “Stars: They’re Just Like Us” section.

  Finally, my lane begins to move and I am able to escape the crossfire of angry drivers traveling north and south for their morning commute. I suffer through the stop and go all the way to my office, and it feels good to stretch my legs when I finally get out of the car. My apartment is about six miles from where the show tapes, but it takes almost thirty minutes in the morning. I make my way up to my office, as always taking the back steps to avoid any Renee run-ins that aren’t absolutely necessary. I am almost at my door when Hope runs up from behind.

  “Elizabeth,” she hisses, and I stop in my tracks. Hope and I have an agreement that she will always warn me when Renee is up to something. I can tell by her voice that a warning is coming. “Kevin and Max are in your office,” she says.

  Fuck. Kevin and Max are the heads of the studio that produces the show. It’s never a good sign when they come to the stage or production offices. Most of their communication with anyone on our staff is through the lower-level executives who report to them. The fact that they are waiting for me is a really bad sign. I peek at my watch. It’s 9:07 a.m. I am on time 99 percent of the time—why did traffic have to be so exceptionally bad today of all days?

  “Kevin, Max,” I say, trying to sound both competent and confident as I walk into my office, where the suited men are sitting on the couch that wasn’t good enough for Renee. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you would be here this morning.”

  “That’s alright, Elizabeth,” Max says, “Why don’t you close the door.”

  My heart sinks into my stomach, creating an uncomfortable digestion issue on contact.

  “Do you need a moment to get settled?” Kevin asks.

  They are known for playing “good cop/bad cop,” but nobody ever knows which will be which on any given day—apparently today Kevin is the good cop.

  “No, I’m always ready to go,” I answer, shoving my belongings under my desk as I take a seat behind it. “What’s going on?”

  I brace myself for what they are about to say. I have never been fired from a job in my entire life. I have never failed at anything…there isn’t room for failure in the plan. (Do not think that I have failed to get back together with Dan, because it’s not a failure until I give up and I have absolutely no intention of giving up.) What should I do? Should I fight for my job? My eyes dart to the other side of the room, where I still have my respectably sized pile of fan mail. I should show it to them.

  “We want to make some changes on the show,” Max says coldly.

  Before he says it, I know that they are cutting out the “fact girl” segment. I know it’s a stupid segment, but it’s those sixty seconds of air time each day that ke
ep me here. Without that, this is a pathetic job as a fact checker.

  “The fact girl segment is out,” he continues.

  Just like that. I knew he was going to say it, but the weight of actually hearing the words hits me hard.

  “People really like me,” I manage to get out. “I have a pile of fan mail from when I filled in for Renee,” I add weakly. In my head it sounded like an argument on my behalf, but coming out of my mouth it sounds more like a plea for my life.

  “We agree,” Kevin says, pushing his small metal-framed glasses up his nose. “That’s why we want you to cohost the show with Renee,” he says.

  “Excuse me?” I couldn’t possibly have heard him right.

  “No more ‘fact girl.’ You’re on the couch with Renee—it’s like The View but cut in half, like Regis and Kelly,” Max barks. He is keeping up his bad cop persona, but it’s really not as powerful when delivering good news.

  “What does Renee think?” I ask timidly.

  “Do I look like I care?” Max asks.

  I can’t help smiling. “Sounds fantastic,” I tell him. It’s hard to stay in my chair, I’m so excited. It’s actually happening—at long last my career is taking off.

  “Figure out who on your staff can assume your role as the head of this department and prep them. As of Monday, you’re in your new post.”

  “Thank you, I will,” is all I can muster. I am beaming from ear to ear, and then it gets better. I watch as Renee walks past my glass wall and sees Kevin and Max sitting on my couch. Without bothering to knock, she opens the door to my office.

  “Gentlemen!” she gushes. “Were you looking for me?”

  “Why would we be in here with the door closed if we were looking for you?” Max asks totally deadpan. Renee just stares at him, completely at a loss for words. Gone are the days when the studio sucked up to her.

  “We would like to have a word, though,” Kevin adds.