Love at 11 - By Mari Mancusi Page 0,13
never take me up on the offer. Mom would come back from shopping. (Shopping!) And she would convince Lulu that the two of them would get along just fine here in the Normal Heights house. Dad was the betrayer so he’d have to move. That was how it worked: I’d seen it with all my friends’ parents.
Lulu went upstairs, and I was left alone. Out the window, I saw my dad getting up from the swing and heading into the house. I had no desire to talk to him anymore. In fact, all I wanted to do was be sick again. My stomach had knotted like I had severe indigestion. Not surprising since “Dad’s got a pregnant twenty-three-year-old girlfriend and is leaving Mom” news is a bit tough to digest in one sitting.
So I did the cowardly thing. I left. I opened the front door, sucked in a huge breath of fresh air, and headed to my car. There was only one thing left to do.
I was going out drinking.
Chapter Four
FROM: “Terrance Toller”
TO: “Madeline Madison”
SUBJECT: ME!!!!!
Dear Madeline,
I am writing to say how delighted I am that we will be working together on my new investigative feature, “Terrance Tells All.” I just wanted to go over a few teensy weensy things that I need, to make sure our time together is productive. After all, as the anchor most San Diegans trust to bring them all the day’s events, I have a certain image to project. I’m SURE you understand.
1) I require three hours advance notice before any shoot that will involve my participation. I need to put on my makeup and get my hair professionally set and dried and, as you know, beauty takes time! Also, I am not available for shoots on Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday so please plan accordingly.
2) I would prefer not to go on location—I have better things to do than spend my day driving to some viewer’s dog hair–infested, beanie baby–decorated house and make idle chitchat while the photographer takes forever setting up the lights. Besides, I might get mobbed by the paparazzi on the way over and this could mess up my hair. Therefore, I’d like to be shot in the studio (give my lighting director approximately two hours to set up—after all, I must look good!) and ask the questions there. Then you can intercut my questions with the interview subject’s answers. Don’t worry if the background doesn’t look the same. Or if my questions don’t exactly match up with his answers. The ignorant Wal-Mart shoppers who watch our news will never know the difference.
3) I enjoy triple venti nonfat sugar-free vanilla dry soy lattes from Starbucks. Please insist the lazy employees HAND GRIND my espresso beans. (They may grumble a bit, but they will do it if you insist, take my word for it.) My last producer brought me lattes every morning and I found this quite a lovely gesture. Of course, if you are “too busy” you can feel free to let me succumb to caffeine depravation, but don’t expect a stellar performance. Personally, I wouldn’t want to be the one to let the whole show sink because I was “too busy” to run to the coffee shop, which happens to be only four blocks from the station, but that’s completely up to you.
Great to be working with you, Madeline! Terrance
Back from the parents’ fiasco, I showered, changed, and checked my e-mail. Deleted the lovely note Terrance had sent me, detailing exactly how he was going to make my life miserable. As if I needed any help in that department. It was definitely going to be a pleasure working for him, I could tell already.
But work problems were the last thing on my mind that night. My biggest challenge? How to get as drunk as humanly possible in the least amount of time.
After shutting down my computer, I called Jodi. She was always good for a night of sorrow drowning. Unfortunately, she wasn’t home. Probably off with her husband as people with husbands (who weren’t cheating on them with people half their age) tended to do. The thought made me even more depressed.
I called a few other friends, but for some reason, no one was around. Since when did everyone have important Thursday-night plans? I was evidently destined to spend my night alone.
Being alone, however, did not preclude me from wanting a drink. But I decided against the alcoholic wallowing-in-my-misery-home-alone route. I would go out. There was no shame