had sent me the agency account update (depressing), my mother had sent me a picture of my nephew (cute) and Jerome had compiled a newsy e-mail about his times in the great north, which I enjoyed thoroughly. Well, at least somebody cares enough to send e-mails that are interesting, I thought, reminding myself to e-mail Jerome and tell him his garden gnome had saved my life. I shut down the computer, checked my cell phone again (nada) and headed for the bathroom.
I ran a hot bath and poured in every aromatherapy oil I had, then added some baking soda and sea salt for good measure. I am a great believer in the therapeutic qualities of the bath, whether it is a utilitarian plunge and soak for one minute and leap out, or the more decadent lounge with books and candlelight. Forget the magazine and the candles tonight, I thought, just hit me with the herbs and the smelly stuff.
But this bath extravaganza was nothing like the glowing violet visions in lifestyle magazines. No. Not at all. Lu, the beloved shill of Bow Wow Dog Food, revered by dog lovers across the continent, sat in her bath and wept. The tears rolled down my face and into the tastefully perfumed water, as I lamented death, betrayal, violence, lack of sleep, lack of dog, and most of all, the money that was owed me that I might never see again, which would leadâinevitably, I felt, in my weakened stateâ to a career as a bag lady.
Oh God , I thought, wiping the tears from my eyes with a discount washcloth. Maybe I should have gone to law school after all . I also took a few moments to wonder if it was too late to look up Mitch Dupree, the ex-boyfriend I hadnât laid eyes on in ten years, and accept his proposal. I wisely decided against that. Impractical, undignified and sort of idiotic.
And then I embarked on a review of my lousy business decisions, sometimes aided and abetted by Mitziâs advice, which tended to be more cash-register than soul-appropriate. I wouldnât even be blubbering over these kitsch dilemmas, I decided, if I had more of a business brain.
After a fully satisfying bout of weeping along this line (which every woman knows and few men can appreciate), I finally found my way back to sanity.
Yes, Lulu, you are in a mess, but you are an independent soul and you can find your way through this. You are strong. Hang in there, gal. You have managed your life just fine for some time now, and you can keep doing it. You are still in possession of your condo. And you arenât in jail yet. Or dead. What more can a girl ask for?
I climbed out of the tub, pulled on my favorite Mickey Mouse sleep shirt and crawled under the covers, even though they still had two days of wardrobe spread on top. Just before I dozed off, I moaned to my exhausted self: Where is Horatio?
Another Day
When I awakened seven hours later, I smiled at the afternoon sun slanting through the shades. What a horrible dream, I thought. I am so glad to be awake.
Reality check. No dream. I pulled the covers back over my head and decided never to come out again.
This plan was ruined by my phone ringing. Of course I had forgotten to turn on the answering machine.
âLu! Are you all right?â Mitziâs voice vibrated into my ear.
She couldnât know about Stanâs body or my midnight visitor. Dear Mitzi had picked up on my panic last night and cared enough to ask. I turned over and cradled the phone on my pillow, as far from my ear as possible, given Mitziâs decibel level.
âFine,â I said. âJust shaken. Literally.â
âIt was awful!â she wailed.
âI know,â I said. âI was there.â
Pause.
âYou were not,â she said.
What were we talking about?
âI lost the reservation. You never showed. And La Mer wouldnât seat me. It was humiliating.â
Lunch with Mitzi, my long-time agent. I knew there was something on my exciting agenda today. Along with my half-shift at McDonaldâs, which I
I ran a hot bath and poured in every aromatherapy oil I had, then added some baking soda and sea salt for good measure. I am a great believer in the therapeutic qualities of the bath, whether it is a utilitarian plunge and soak for one minute and leap out, or the more decadent lounge with books and candlelight. Forget the magazine and the candles tonight, I thought, just hit me with the herbs and the smelly stuff.
But this bath extravaganza was nothing like the glowing violet visions in lifestyle magazines. No. Not at all. Lu, the beloved shill of Bow Wow Dog Food, revered by dog lovers across the continent, sat in her bath and wept. The tears rolled down my face and into the tastefully perfumed water, as I lamented death, betrayal, violence, lack of sleep, lack of dog, and most of all, the money that was owed me that I might never see again, which would leadâinevitably, I felt, in my weakened stateâ to a career as a bag lady.
Oh God , I thought, wiping the tears from my eyes with a discount washcloth. Maybe I should have gone to law school after all . I also took a few moments to wonder if it was too late to look up Mitch Dupree, the ex-boyfriend I hadnât laid eyes on in ten years, and accept his proposal. I wisely decided against that. Impractical, undignified and sort of idiotic.
And then I embarked on a review of my lousy business decisions, sometimes aided and abetted by Mitziâs advice, which tended to be more cash-register than soul-appropriate. I wouldnât even be blubbering over these kitsch dilemmas, I decided, if I had more of a business brain.
After a fully satisfying bout of weeping along this line (which every woman knows and few men can appreciate), I finally found my way back to sanity.
Yes, Lulu, you are in a mess, but you are an independent soul and you can find your way through this. You are strong. Hang in there, gal. You have managed your life just fine for some time now, and you can keep doing it. You are still in possession of your condo. And you arenât in jail yet. Or dead. What more can a girl ask for?
I climbed out of the tub, pulled on my favorite Mickey Mouse sleep shirt and crawled under the covers, even though they still had two days of wardrobe spread on top. Just before I dozed off, I moaned to my exhausted self: Where is Horatio?
Another Day
When I awakened seven hours later, I smiled at the afternoon sun slanting through the shades. What a horrible dream, I thought. I am so glad to be awake.
Reality check. No dream. I pulled the covers back over my head and decided never to come out again.
This plan was ruined by my phone ringing. Of course I had forgotten to turn on the answering machine.
âLu! Are you all right?â Mitziâs voice vibrated into my ear.
She couldnât know about Stanâs body or my midnight visitor. Dear Mitzi had picked up on my panic last night and cared enough to ask. I turned over and cradled the phone on my pillow, as far from my ear as possible, given Mitziâs decibel level.
âFine,â I said. âJust shaken. Literally.â
âIt was awful!â she wailed.
âI know,â I said. âI was there.â
Pause.
âYou were not,â she said.
What were we talking about?
âI lost the reservation. You never showed. And La Mer wouldnât seat me. It was humiliating.â
Lunch with Mitzi, my long-time agent. I knew there was something on my exciting agenda today. Along with my half-shift at McDonaldâs, which I
Similar Books
