dental chair was gone. “You didn’t lose a man, Marcy,” she commented, “you lost an eyesore.”
“Apple?” I said, offering her an impressively polished McIntosh from Oprah’s basket of goodies. “It’s organic. Oprah sent it.”
“Right, your friend Oprah.”
I handed her the card. “See for yourself.”
“This is crazy,” she said.
“You don’t know the half of it,” I said. “Barbara Walters, Diane Sawyer, and Brokaw also sent stuff. And please, let’s not forget Geraldo’s boxing glove.”
“It’s a nice color for the room,” Lois commented, fingering the glove’s soft red leather and then returning it to the center of the coffee table by the sofa, where I’d previously placed it as a conversation piece. “Very thoughtful.”
“And Charlie Rose sent this tote,” I said, lifting his canvas offering from its nearby resting place on the rug, and taking its full measure. “It looks cheap,” I told Lois, “but in fairness, it’s Public Television. After last night, suddenly everyone wants me to be on their show. In show-biz lingo, I’m hot. You know Mrs. Schwartz downstairs? The one whose dog has a bad bladder problem? She caught me coming in last night and asked for my autograph.”
“Impressive. I guess that means Norma and I will have to stop claiming Neil never gave you anything—apart from that cheap ring and those tacky spritzers, I mean,” Lois said before turning serious. “It’s your due, Marcy, after all your time with that schmuck. Enjoy the ride. Which will it be, Diane or Barbara?”
“Neither,” I said, matter-of-factly.
“Geraldo would be a gas,” Norma continued, ignoring my response. “I hear he may be dating again. Maybe you could introduce us. I bet he’d love to go out with a gorgeous, independently wealthy Mediterranean with a fabulous body. Also a fabulous mind, of course.”
“Stop showing off, Lois,” I kidded back, and then pointed at her slinky black dress. “It’s a Lawrence Steele, right? I saw it in Vogue and thought for two thousand dollars, he should throw in a little more fabric on top. It’s so low-cut your boobs could fall out. Then again, I suppose nothing’s too good for the Democrats.”
“Very funny, Marcy. Now I’ll be self-conscious.”
“And, Lois, who did your hair? It looks great.”
“Your Giovanni, of course. Adding the subtle blond streaks was his idea. Also putting it up. He said it would make me look in my twenties.”
“Maybe even younger,” I replied, still bitter over his broken promise to accentuate my cheekbones. “What did you have to do to get him to stop yapping on the cell phone and pay attention, sleep with him?”
“Well, you’re in some great mood I see,” Lois replied. “Idon’t take it personally. But you know in your heart I’m right about the TV offers. You’d be a fool to blow them off. I’m sure Norma will tell you the same thing.”
Lois picked out a large green grape from Oprah’s fruit basket and placed it in her mouth, careful not to touch her meticulously applied red lip gloss. As she slowly chewed it, she looked me over. “I can’t believe the hideous getup you’re in,” she said after a swallow. “I’ll be in charge of your wardrobe and makeup.”
“I’m not doing any shows,” I announced. “This may come as a shock, Lois, but I don’t want to make a career of being America’s most famous and pathetic dumpee, even if it’s only a short career, which I’m sure it would be. And for your information, Rosie sent this outfit. I like it.”
“Don’t get all insulted, sweetie,” Lois said, reclaiming the elegant black beaded evening bag she’d nonchalantly tossed on a chair while checking out my loot. “I have nothing against Rosie. All I’m saying is, you should do her show, and some of the others, too. Live it up. Find yourself an agent who can pocket you some endorsement money before this all disappears. Neil would die seeing you on TV being treated like
“Apple?” I said, offering her an impressively polished McIntosh from Oprah’s basket of goodies. “It’s organic. Oprah sent it.”
“Right, your friend Oprah.”
I handed her the card. “See for yourself.”
“This is crazy,” she said.
“You don’t know the half of it,” I said. “Barbara Walters, Diane Sawyer, and Brokaw also sent stuff. And please, let’s not forget Geraldo’s boxing glove.”
“It’s a nice color for the room,” Lois commented, fingering the glove’s soft red leather and then returning it to the center of the coffee table by the sofa, where I’d previously placed it as a conversation piece. “Very thoughtful.”
“And Charlie Rose sent this tote,” I said, lifting his canvas offering from its nearby resting place on the rug, and taking its full measure. “It looks cheap,” I told Lois, “but in fairness, it’s Public Television. After last night, suddenly everyone wants me to be on their show. In show-biz lingo, I’m hot. You know Mrs. Schwartz downstairs? The one whose dog has a bad bladder problem? She caught me coming in last night and asked for my autograph.”
“Impressive. I guess that means Norma and I will have to stop claiming Neil never gave you anything—apart from that cheap ring and those tacky spritzers, I mean,” Lois said before turning serious. “It’s your due, Marcy, after all your time with that schmuck. Enjoy the ride. Which will it be, Diane or Barbara?”
“Neither,” I said, matter-of-factly.
“Geraldo would be a gas,” Norma continued, ignoring my response. “I hear he may be dating again. Maybe you could introduce us. I bet he’d love to go out with a gorgeous, independently wealthy Mediterranean with a fabulous body. Also a fabulous mind, of course.”
“Stop showing off, Lois,” I kidded back, and then pointed at her slinky black dress. “It’s a Lawrence Steele, right? I saw it in Vogue and thought for two thousand dollars, he should throw in a little more fabric on top. It’s so low-cut your boobs could fall out. Then again, I suppose nothing’s too good for the Democrats.”
“Very funny, Marcy. Now I’ll be self-conscious.”
“And, Lois, who did your hair? It looks great.”
“Your Giovanni, of course. Adding the subtle blond streaks was his idea. Also putting it up. He said it would make me look in my twenties.”
“Maybe even younger,” I replied, still bitter over his broken promise to accentuate my cheekbones. “What did you have to do to get him to stop yapping on the cell phone and pay attention, sleep with him?”
“Well, you’re in some great mood I see,” Lois replied. “Idon’t take it personally. But you know in your heart I’m right about the TV offers. You’d be a fool to blow them off. I’m sure Norma will tell you the same thing.”
Lois picked out a large green grape from Oprah’s fruit basket and placed it in her mouth, careful not to touch her meticulously applied red lip gloss. As she slowly chewed it, she looked me over. “I can’t believe the hideous getup you’re in,” she said after a swallow. “I’ll be in charge of your wardrobe and makeup.”
“I’m not doing any shows,” I announced. “This may come as a shock, Lois, but I don’t want to make a career of being America’s most famous and pathetic dumpee, even if it’s only a short career, which I’m sure it would be. And for your information, Rosie sent this outfit. I like it.”
“Don’t get all insulted, sweetie,” Lois said, reclaiming the elegant black beaded evening bag she’d nonchalantly tossed on a chair while checking out my loot. “I have nothing against Rosie. All I’m saying is, you should do her show, and some of the others, too. Live it up. Find yourself an agent who can pocket you some endorsement money before this all disappears. Neil would die seeing you on TV being treated like
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