by Elise Sax
“How many of these do you own?” I ask Rock. “Do you have a dealership?”
“No. I just bought it. I love the matte color.” A man hands him a key fob and he opens the passenger door for me. The inside of the car smells delicious. It’s over-the-top luxurious. Rock gets in and starts the motor.
“Hear that?” he asks. “It’s purring like a pussy. And you know how much I love a purring pussy.”
He kisses me on the lips and puts the car into gear. We speed away and over the Coronado bridge. “I’m going to be late for work,” I say.
“Don’t worry. I’m your boss, and I’m giving you the day off.”
“Maybe I should look for a new job,” I say.
“Why?”
“Because it’s going to get awkward when this is finished,” I say. I’m very proud of myself that I don’t cry.
“Do we have to discuss this now? Can’t we just enjoy the moment?” he asks.
The problem with enjoying a moment is that another moment is just behind it. And that second moment brings all kinds of new things with it that are good or bad, and before you have a chance to acclimate to that moment, Boom! another moment rears its ugly—or pretty—head. So, it’s dangerous to “just enjoy the moment.” It’s better to figure out all the moments that will ever happen and weigh them against each other, and then—and only then—figure out if you should enjoy any moment or not.
And here’s the thing about me and moments. In the past, my moments added up to my husband leaving me for a younger woman with no stretch marks and disappearing off the face of the earth. So, I’m very suspicious of moments.
Moments don’t last.
Moments are momentary.
“I probably can’t just enjoy the moment,” I tell him, honestly. “But it’s a really nice moment.”
And that’s why I need to get a new job. My children will have to leave the perfect, wonderful preschool, and I’ll be back where I started. Damn it.
We get back to Los Angeles in record time. I figure that Rock wants to get there extra fast so that I don’t talk about the future. When we arrive at his house, he drops me off at the guest house with a kiss that nearly blows my head off.
“I’ve got business to attend to, but I’ll be back for dinner,” he tells me.
I get out of the car, and he speeds away, his motor purring. The front door to the guest house bursts open, and my mother, Bessie, and Rosalind run out. They’re all jumping, and when they jump to me, they grab on to me and jump all around me.
“You did it! You did it!” Bessie sings.
“You snagged him! You snagged him!” Rosalind sings.
“I’m going to have the world’s biggest TV!” my mother sings.
“Well…” I start and extricate myself from their embrace. I walk inside the guest house and find my daughter playing with a doll. I pick her up and kiss her. My Operation Billionaire team returns inside and sits down.
“That bastard,” my mother says. “I knew he couldn’t be trusted. Nobody that good-looking can be trusted. They’re mutants, people that good-looking. All the good DNA goes toward perfect bone structure and the ability to eat Cheetos without getting fat. Then, the rest of the DNA, which is the bad DNA, pools into their personalities, and that’s how come they’re bastards.”
It’s as good a theory as any.
“What happened?” Rosalind asks. “I couldn’t have planned it better. A night alone. A storm. It was perfect.”
I nod, and a tear rolls down my cheek. “It was perfect. It was romantic. I’ve never been so happy and miserable.”
Rosalind nods, as if she understands everything. “I think we need Beatrice on this one.”
“I’m going to have to find a new job. The children love the preschool,” I moan.
“And they’re taking Bianca, too,” my mother informs me. “They’ve got a special program for young toddlers. It was designed by Jonas Salk or Stephen Hawking. I don’t know which. I get the two mixed up.”
“That sounds so good,” I say and break down in sobs.
“Why are we giving up?” Bessie asks. “I’m so confused. I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Rock and Olivia had sex, but Rock would rather have genital warts than fall in love,” Rosalind says, as she digs her cellphone out of her purse. “So, while Olivia wants a ring and a lifetime of happily ever after, Rock is running scared in his sports car at zero to sixty in eight seconds, terrified that Olivia is after his bucks, will trap him for life, and will squeeze out the last of his testosterone with demands that he take out the trash every Friday morning. Am I on the right track, Olivia?”
“That’s pretty much it,” I say.
“Maybe you could ask him to take the trash out on Thursday evening,” Bessie suggests.
Rosalind calls Beatrice on FaceTime. She finally answers, half-naked with her hair standing on end. “Thank you for coming up for air,” Rosalind tells her.
“Are you pregnant yet?” Bessie calls out. “I really need some grandbabies.”
“We’re working on it,” Beatrice says but shakes her head when Bessie has her head turned. Poor Bessie. She wants to be a grandma so badly, and here I am with four kids, and I’m probably pregnant again since I have super ovaries.
Oh my God. I could be pregnant.
No, no, no, no. I don’t need another father for my children who wants nothing to do with me or them.
“Quick. I need hot sauce,” I say.
“You want the rest of my breakfast burrito?” Bessie asks me. “I ate half, but it was already backing up on me something awful. I thought I would try a few more bites, but I’ve got a battle going on in my esophagus. If I eat the rest, I know I’ll get the alien dream again tonight, and the last one turned my arm hairs white.”
“Did you call for a reason or just to say, hello?” Beatrice asks.
“We need to do a strategy session,” Rosalind says. “Rock is running scared.”
“I know all about that,” Beatrice says. “Cole ran from me like I had leprosy and if he put a ring on my finger, his nose was going to fall off.”
“Sure,” I say. “I wouldn’t mind the other half of your breakfast burrito, Bessie.”
I follow her into the kitchen, and I get the hot sauce out of the cabinet. Bessie and I sit at the kitchen table, and I douse the remains of the burrito with the hot sauce.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about Rock,” Bessie says as I chew. The hot sauce burns all the way down my throat, calming me. “Cole was a lot like him. It passes. Kind of like food poisoning.”
“How long does food poisoning last?” I ask with my mouth full.
“Twelve hours, usually, but you can stay gassy for a good ten days.”
I wonder if Rock will change in twelve hours to ten days. I’m doubtful.
“I think we have to back off him,” I say. “I don’t want him to think that Operation Billionaire is going to make his nose fall off.”
“In my experience, we have to put the pressure on, not back off,” Bessie says. “I mean, men don’t know what they want. If left to their own devices, their balls would smell like wet socks.”
“They sort of do smell like wet socks, come to think of it.”
Bessie points at me. “Exactly! Do we have anything that smells of wet socks? If we did, we would wash it, spray it with all kinds of stuff, and it wouldn’t smell of wet socks anymore. You know why?”
“Because the smell of wet socks is gross?” I ask.
“No, because we’re not animals. Men are animals. And you know what we are? We’re animal tamers. Like the guy in the circus with the whip. Well, not anymore. They took the animals out of the circuses because the circus people weren’t nice to the animals. I heard a story about an elephant in a circus that makes me cry every time I think about it.” Bessie wipes a tear from her eye. “But we’re still in the circuses, Olivia. You know what I mean?”
I shake my head no.
“Good. We’re the tamer
s. We snap our whips, put our heads in their mouths, and feed them raw meat. They don’t think they want us, but they never turn their noses up at raw meat. Am I right?”
“Yes?” I say like a question.
“Exactly. So, we’re going to whip him a little, and it’ll all work out. You feel better, baby?”
“The burrito is backing up on me a little.”
“Perfect.”
When I put my daughter down for her nap, I fall asleep next to her, and I don’t wake for three hours, and then only when my mother nudges me awake. “You were snoring like a buzz saw,” she tells me. “You should get that checked out.”
I sit up in bed. “I don’t snore, Mom.”
“If you snored any louder, they would have evacuated L.A. for fear of an earthquake.”
I touch my nose. “Maybe all of those pregnancies deviated my septum.”
“Rosalind says to get you up and dressed. Rock’s on his way, and she says we need to tweeze your eyebrows or there’s no way he’s going to love you.”
I touch my eyebrows. “What’s wrong with my eyebrows?”
My mother shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never plucked my eyebrows, and they look perfectly fine.” Technically, my mother doesn’t have eyebrows. She has one eyebrow. It goes straight from eye to eye.
“I guess I could use some plucking,” I say.
I get up, and Rosalind corners me, pushing me into the bathroom. Something’s happened while I was asleep, but I don’t know what. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with Operation Billionaire and a new strategy, but nobody’s filling me in. It’s probably better that way, but it’s got the hair on the back of my neck standing up, and I’m afraid that Rosalind is going to pluck that, too.
“What am I wearing today?” I ask.
“The black slacks we had tailored for you. It shows off your ass. I’m going to pluck your eyebrows, now. I’m prepared to wax whatever other hair you need removed, too. This is how far I’ve fallen. I’m waxing other women’s lady parts. But it’s better than trying to sleep in the living room on an air mattress while your mother watches Judge Judy reruns on TV. Last night there was also a whistling noise all night. I thought maybe Judge Judy was whistling through her teeth, but my mattress sprung a leak. I’ve had six cups of coffee today to stay awake. I have three coats of makeup under my eyes to cover the bags. It’s not working. I look like a clown who’s trying to look younger.”
“I don’t need any other hair removed,” I say and pat her back. “I’m sorry you have to go through this. It seems like a big waste.”
Rosalind plucks a hair between my eyebrows. “Don’t give up so fast. And have some confidence in your backup crew. We’re a well-oiled machine where billionaires are concerned.”
She’s helping me get dolled up for Rock just as he rings the doorbell. Rosalind grips my shoulders. “He’s here,” she tells me. “Think glamorous. Think sophisticated. Think that you don’t need him. You don’t care if you ever see him, again. He’s nothing. He’s trash. He’s totally inconsequential. He wants you. He can’t live without you. If you let him take you out for dinner, he’s damned lucky. You get me?”
I nod. “Yes. I need to lie to myself.”
“Just think sophisticated. Just think: What would Jackie Kennedy do?”
“Jackie Kennedy? I got a D in history class. Can’t you be a little more topical?”
“I’m sorry. I panicked,” Rosalind says. “I thought sophisticated, and a pillbox hat popped into my mind.”
“I don’t know what a pillbox hat is, Rosalind.”
“Never mind. Just think cool and standoffish. You don’t care a thing about Rock.”
“Okay,” I say. “Cool and standoffish. I can do that.”
I step out of the bathroom to see Rock standing in the living room, wearing jeans and a white button-down. He sees me, and his eyes grow big and dark. In a flash, I can feel his hands on my body, even though he’s standing across the room from me. Muscle memory. Orgasm memory. It’s a real thing.
I begin to giggle. It starts out slow but builds until I’m giggling like a little girl, who’s being tickled ruthlessly. I catch Rosalind rolling her eyes, and Bessie winks at me.
“We won’t wait up,” Rosalind tells Rock. “Take all the time you want.”
Rock grabs my hand and makes a beeline for the door. “Have fun!” Bessie calls and shuts the door behind us.
The moment we’re outside and alone, Rock pulls me into his arms and kisses me like he’s a starving man. I get dizzy, as he crushes my body toward him and our tongues meet. I want to get naked so bad. But we stop kissing, finally, probably because we’re developing a hell of a case of chapped lips.
“I like your ass in those pants,” Rock says.
“Really? I like your ass in those pants, too.”
Rock smiles wide. “You do?”
“Maybe we should stay home and admire our asses,” I suggest.
“I’d feel like a heel to sleep with you two nights in a row and not even offer you a decent meal out. Besides, I rented out an entire restaurant because I know how much you enjoyed that with Declan.”
“Oh, God, please tell me you’re joking.”
We arrive at the second hottest restaurant in Los Angeles. Rock and I are treated like royalty, and he’s tipping like mad. I’m tempted to put my hand out so he’ll slap a fifty on it, like he’s doing with everyone else. We sit in a corner table, and the chef comes out to tell us he’s planned a special evening just for us. I send a prayer out to the universe that he hasn’t planned an evening of billionaire food.
Billionaire food has a sad lack of French fries.
After the chef leaves, a waiter pours wine into our glasses, and Rock’s cellphone rings with a ringtone I’ve never heard before. “I’m so sorry,” Rock tells me, digging into his pocket for his phone. “I have to get this.” He pushes a button on his phone and puts it up to his ear. “Ma? What’s wrong? What do you mean, hospital?” He stands up. “I’ll be right there. No, of course I’ll be right there. Stop that. Stop that. What do the doctors say? Huh? I’ll be right there.”
Rock hangs up. “I have to go,” he says, slightly panicked.
“Okay.” I stand up. “Let’s go.”
“I don’t want to ruin your dinner. You want to stay and eat, and I’ll send a car to take you back?”
“No. If you’re not here, I’d rather go back to the guest house and eat cold pizza.”
“Okay,” he says, distractedly. He tosses a wad of cash onto the table that would make Bill Gates blush.
He drives back to the house like a man possessed. “Is everything okay?” I ask like an idiot. “I mean, of course everything isn’t okay. Something’s wrong. What’s wrong? I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“I don’t know exactly. My mother’s in the hospital. She was freaked out on the phone. I need to get over there immediately.”
“I understand.”
When we get to the guest house, Bessie and Rosalind are waiting for us. She knocks on my window and I open it. “I’m going with you,” she tells Rock.
“I’m in a hurry. My mother…” he starts.
“I know. Lillian’s my best friend. I need to be there for her,” Bessie insists.
“Fine, Bessie. Gather your stuff, and let’s go.”
“I don’t think we’ll all fit in that dinky car of yours,” she tells him.
“Who all?” Rock asks.
“Us. Operation Billionaire,” she says.
My skin prickles, which I assume is the first symptom of a stroke. I’m getting a bad feeling about Rosalind and Beatrice and their strategy session. I’m suspicious, but I’m not totally clear about what the plan is here.
Rock turns the car off. “Is that still on?”
“Operation Billionaire?” Bessie asks. “Of course. Cole’s going to help us back in Idaho because the two billionaires you picked out for poor Olivia were total duds.”
“Cole’s doing what?” Rock asks. “But…”
“But what?” Bessie asks.
Rock runs a hand over his hair. “I don’t have time for this conversation right now.”
“He likes to enjoy the moment,” I explain.
“What moment?” Bessie asks.
Rosalind and my mother come out with the children just as a van drives up and two men step out. “The suitcases are inside,” Rosalind tells them.
We drive to the airport, and presto chango, Rock’s private plane is waiting for us. We file in, and I belt my children into the seats. Bessie sits next to me.
“For a guy with commitment issues, you see how fast he was to go to his mother’s side at the hospital? That’s a keeper,” she tells me with a twinkle in her eye.
“What did you do, Bessie? Did you hurt his mother?” I ask her.
“Of course not. I love Lillian. And she owes me twelve dollars from our last poker night.”
The kids are hopped up on private airplane excitement, but they fall asleep as soon as we take off. The flight attendant gives me blankets, and I cover them. Rock is sitting away from us in a single seat, and he’s obviously concerned about his mother. I’ve never seen him upset like this. His childlike Peter Pan attitude is long gone.
We land a few hours later in Idaho, and I’m surprised to find Cole and Beatrice waiting for us with three black SUVs. I hug Beatrice, who looks very happy. Cole winks at me when he sees me.
“You!” Rock yells when he sees Cole. “I’ll get to you after I take care of my mother.”
“Oh, I’m shaking in my boots,” Cole tells him and laughs.
“What’s that about?” Beatrice asks.
“I might be responsible for the dismemberment of his Aston Martin,” Cole says.
“Another one? Wow, you really don’t like English cars.”
The passenger door of one of the SUVs opens, and a tall, beautiful middle-aged woman steps out. “Ma? What’re you doing here?” Rock asks her.
“What are you talking about? My son comes into town. I’m going to greet him. I’ve missed you,” she says.
“But what about the hospital? The call?”
I spot her catching Bessie’s eye before she looks back at her son. “Oh, that. I overreacted.”
