kitchen, I had a moment of clarity. I was being pathetic. Like, attending-a-social-event-thrown-by-my-agent pathetic. Baz wasn’t reaching out to me in any way. In fact, she probably wanted nothing to do with me. I needed to be done.
* * *
The next day, I woke up with an air of “I’m married and Baz is dying alone” confidence. I told myself I’d wasted enough energy trying to gain the affections of my husband’s ex and it was time to move on with my life. I kissed my husband extra hard, took in my amazing life, and tried to put all things ex-girlfriend out of my head. I agreed to meet my sister for lunch. Driving down Sunset, I had two options: turn down La Cienega to avoid Baz’s apartment or take Crescent Heights. I took Crescent Heights. But only because La Cienega looked congested and Baz lived on Crescent Heights.
I drove with purpose, not expecting to see anything. At this point, cruising past her apartment was more ritual than obligation, and since I’d recently gotten off Zoloft, I allowed myself small compulsions. I must have stopped for a pedestrian or small child (they’re not pedestrians yet), I don’t really remember, because when I looked left, I was staring at Baz. She was finally outside her place, walking the dog I’d started to believe must just shit in a colostomy bag because it never left the building.
Without hesitating, I did a huge U-turn in the middle of the road and drove down the block after her. Knowing this could be my only chance, I rolled down my window, honked my horn, and called out to her.
“Baz!”
She spun around and instantly her face went white.
“I’m Jenny!” I called out, as if she’d just won the lottery.
She looked both ways, no doubt trying to decide which direction to run. But it was too late. I’d trapped her. She was going to have to interact with me whether she wanted to or not. I threw my car into park in the middle of the road and hopped out.
“Hiiiii!” I said as I went in for a hug.
Baz looked like a disaster. She pulled the hood of her jacket over her calico head as she explained that she’d just gotten back from a wild night in Vegas. I wasn’t really listening, though, because I was too busy making a mental note of all her flaws in case I ever needed to draw a picture of her.
“I saw your photo in a pile of old stuff Jason and I were burning.… I was just driving through the neighborhood, looking another house for us to buy. You know, for our rental portfolio. I didn’t realize you lived up here!”
“Oh.”
“Well, I’d love to grab coffee sometime. I feel like we have so much to discuss. I don’t know why I’m crying, sorry.” I was tearing up the way I do after sex.
“Sure,” she said, completely weirded out by the mascara dripping down my face.
“Well, what are you up to in like an hour?” I smiled and wiped snot on my sleeve.
“Ummm. Not sure. Can I … text you?”
“Of course!” I gave her my number as she backed away.
Two hours went by and I still hadn’t heard from her. After lunch, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to check in.
“Hey you, it’s Jenny,” I texted like we were best girlfriends. “Just wondering if coffee is still happening? I’m avail. Let me know.”
“How do you have this number?” she texted back. “I didn’t give you mine, just got yours.”
Fuck. I’d forgotten the reason I had her number was because she’d given it to me when I was impersonating Sarah.
“Jason gave it to me,” I lied.
“That’s unexpected and cool, I guess,” she wrote back. “Can you meet at Hugo’s on Santa Monica around four?”
Could I ever! I’d have traveled to fucking Anaheim to sit face-to-face with Baz and her fake nose. This was turning into the best day ever.
Four P.M . rolled around, and Baz walked into Hugo’s in a sundress and Doc Martens with so many leopard scarves wrapped around her neck, I thought she might be hiding a tracheotomy. She reminded me of a Betsey Johnson
* * *
The next day, I woke up with an air of “I’m married and Baz is dying alone” confidence. I told myself I’d wasted enough energy trying to gain the affections of my husband’s ex and it was time to move on with my life. I kissed my husband extra hard, took in my amazing life, and tried to put all things ex-girlfriend out of my head. I agreed to meet my sister for lunch. Driving down Sunset, I had two options: turn down La Cienega to avoid Baz’s apartment or take Crescent Heights. I took Crescent Heights. But only because La Cienega looked congested and Baz lived on Crescent Heights.
I drove with purpose, not expecting to see anything. At this point, cruising past her apartment was more ritual than obligation, and since I’d recently gotten off Zoloft, I allowed myself small compulsions. I must have stopped for a pedestrian or small child (they’re not pedestrians yet), I don’t really remember, because when I looked left, I was staring at Baz. She was finally outside her place, walking the dog I’d started to believe must just shit in a colostomy bag because it never left the building.
Without hesitating, I did a huge U-turn in the middle of the road and drove down the block after her. Knowing this could be my only chance, I rolled down my window, honked my horn, and called out to her.
“Baz!”
She spun around and instantly her face went white.
“I’m Jenny!” I called out, as if she’d just won the lottery.
She looked both ways, no doubt trying to decide which direction to run. But it was too late. I’d trapped her. She was going to have to interact with me whether she wanted to or not. I threw my car into park in the middle of the road and hopped out.
“Hiiiii!” I said as I went in for a hug.
Baz looked like a disaster. She pulled the hood of her jacket over her calico head as she explained that she’d just gotten back from a wild night in Vegas. I wasn’t really listening, though, because I was too busy making a mental note of all her flaws in case I ever needed to draw a picture of her.
“I saw your photo in a pile of old stuff Jason and I were burning.… I was just driving through the neighborhood, looking another house for us to buy. You know, for our rental portfolio. I didn’t realize you lived up here!”
“Oh.”
“Well, I’d love to grab coffee sometime. I feel like we have so much to discuss. I don’t know why I’m crying, sorry.” I was tearing up the way I do after sex.
“Sure,” she said, completely weirded out by the mascara dripping down my face.
“Well, what are you up to in like an hour?” I smiled and wiped snot on my sleeve.
“Ummm. Not sure. Can I … text you?”
“Of course!” I gave her my number as she backed away.
Two hours went by and I still hadn’t heard from her. After lunch, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to check in.
“Hey you, it’s Jenny,” I texted like we were best girlfriends. “Just wondering if coffee is still happening? I’m avail. Let me know.”
“How do you have this number?” she texted back. “I didn’t give you mine, just got yours.”
Fuck. I’d forgotten the reason I had her number was because she’d given it to me when I was impersonating Sarah.
“Jason gave it to me,” I lied.
“That’s unexpected and cool, I guess,” she wrote back. “Can you meet at Hugo’s on Santa Monica around four?”
Could I ever! I’d have traveled to fucking Anaheim to sit face-to-face with Baz and her fake nose. This was turning into the best day ever.
Four P.M . rolled around, and Baz walked into Hugo’s in a sundress and Doc Martens with so many leopard scarves wrapped around her neck, I thought she might be hiding a tracheotomy. She reminded me of a Betsey Johnson
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