Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang Part 7

"I mean, really. He is astonis.h.i.+ng."

"His name is t.i.to, and he's Caucasian."

Once t.i.to p.r.o.nounced them man and wife, I knew we were in the clear, except for the face rape Lydia applied to Joey's face.

Kisses swapping DNA should be saved for the bedroom, living room, or media lounge. "Ew," Ted and I both said in unison.

We finally got up and headed toward Ivory. "How's your hair?" she asked Ted.

"Not great. Not optimal conditions."

Ivory explained to us that there had been some confusion about which room the reception was being held in and that the room they had promised her was not the room she was getting.

"What kind of operation is this?" I asked.

"Let's go get c.o.c.ktails!" Ted exploded, with his fists pumped.

Ivory loves Ted and Ted loves Ivory, and there were plenty of times I thought they should just go off and marry each other. The three of us said our casual h.e.l.los to everyone as we pa.s.sed them on foot doing about thirty miles an hour toward the elevators. I had heard Rooster out of the corner of one of my ears and mentioned to Ivory that we might as well get the introduction between him and Ted over with, but she thought it would be more of a s.h.i.+tstorm if everyone was properly liquored up.

"You're right," I said, and grabbed her shoulder. "You're an amazing friend."

We grabbed the closest table to the bar that was available and were joined by Lionel and Sharona, a couple Ivory and I both knew, but who were much closer with Lydia. Two hot messes who had one baby and one on the way. It took a few minutes for Sharona to lower herself down into the chair, with Lionel and Ted a.s.sisting.

"Is there table service, or do we have to go up to the bar?" Lionel asked, before Sharona had completely lodged her a.s.s into the seat. Then he looked over, smiled at her, and punched her in the shoulder. "Look at ya, ya fat monster!"

The five us were now apparently sitting together. After Sharona told us her due date was the next day and we deduced that there was no table service, Ted volunteered to go up to the bar and get everyone a drink. When Sharona ordered a vodka with cranberry while resting both hands on her belly, Ted nodded, looked at her belly, then looked back at me.

"I'll take the same," I told him.

Ted came back saying he had a found a waiter who would be by momentarily to take our drink orders. After Lionel and Ivory both made mention of a helicopter almost flying over the wedding, Ted and I looked up at the sky in confusion and said we hadn't even noticed.

Lionel was telling us a story about how he and Sharona had gotten into a pretty serious accident on a drive to Santa Barbara the weekend before. "The guy in front of us slammed on his brakes in the middle of the freeway, and we were able to stop, but when I looked in my rearview mirror, the woman behind us was texting and didn't see that we had stopped in time for her to stop. She tried at the last minute, but it was too late, and she slid right underneath our car, and the car was airborne for what felt like a minute. Nothing scarier than looking at your child in the rearview mirror screaming and not being able to protect him." At this exact moment, Ted spotted a waiter walking by and ordered a c.o.c.ktail.

"I'll take a Belvedere rocks, splash of cran, splash of orange. Great. Thanks."

When he looked back at us and saw that all our mouths were open, he seemed surprised. "Oh, I'm sorry, did anyone else want anything?"

I waited until we were alone with Ivory walking to the reception before I confronted him. "Listen up, s.h.i.+tstain. Under no circ.u.mstances are you allowed to order a c.o.c.ktail in the middle of someone telling a story about a car accident that he and his child he and his child were involved in." were involved in."

"I didn't want to risk having the waiter go away!"

"I understand how important drinks are, but if someone is telling a story about a car being airborne with him and his child in it, the sensitive thing to do is at least pretend you care and avoid interrupting the story with a c.o.c.ktail order."

"How about an appetizer?"

Ivory was no help, because she found this exchange hilarious and thinks Ted is the funniest person in the world. I disagree with that a.s.sessment and am strongly opposed to anyone suggesting it.

We were greeted at the reception by three industrial-strength box fans outside each of the three entrances to the mini-ballroom. When I asked one of the waiters what the fans were for, he said that the air-conditioning in that room had broken.

Ivory sat down next to me sweating and grinding her teeth. "Guess who's here?"

"Lance Ba.s.s."

"Better. Calypso."

Calypso was the drug dealer that this whole group of people relied on. When I asked Ivory if he'd been called for delivery purposes or if he was invited to the wedding as a guest, she didn't have an answer. "Maybe he came to fix the air-conditioning," she suggested.

I looked over and saw him leaving Rooster's table. Rooster was also grinding his teeth, which meant one of two things. I knew that Ted wouldn't want anything, but I was definitely interested in getting my hands on some sort of muscle relaxer or painkiller.

Ivory went to tell Calypso I would like his next stop to be my table. Steph came and sat down next to me and asked if everyone at the wedding was on drugs. I told her I doubted that Joey and Lydia were on anything other than an emotionally pa.s.sionate high, and I also didn't think either set of parents would be high, since they're all in their sixties and none of them is Keith Richards.

As soon as Calypso made his way over, Steph got up and let him take her seat. Calypso was wearing his version of a suit: light blue and a cotton/poly blend, with a black s.h.i.+rt and high-top sneakers. He was Mexican.

"Hey there, what kind of goodies you got?" I asked him.

Calypso half opened his jacket to reveal a pharmacy-like arrangement of all the different products he was peddling. "I got blow, 'shrooms, MDMA, Ecstasy, weed, Ambien-what do ya need?"

Ted tapped me on the shoulder. "Can I talk to you for a second, Chelsea?"

We got up, walked outside the reception room, and stood behind one of the fans. "What is your game plan with that guy?"

"I don't know yet. I'm trying to see if he has any Vicodin."

"I a.s.sume Calypso is a pharmacist?" Ted inquired.

"Yes, he's with Cobra. My calf hurts."

"Well, whatever you think you need, please get double, because I do not ever want to see 'Calypso' again." Ted is adamant about denouncing drugs, but I believe in my heart of hearts that if he worked as a bricklayer instead of as a CEO, our lives would be more p.r.o.ne to illegal activities and our relations.h.i.+p would benefit exponentially from the c.o.c.ktail of chemicals.

I went back to the table and asked Calypso if he had any Vicodin, which he did. I bought two and split one with myself at the table.

Three hours later my dream of seeing a bride smoking a cigarette and Ivory's dream of seeing Rooster introduce himself to Ted in the middle of the dance floor both came true. Ted came up to me drenched in his own dance sweat.

"That Poultry guy will not leave me alone. Can we go now? Seriously, Chelsea, you're lucky I came into your life when I did. You'd probably be living under a freeway somewhere."

We headed to the lobby to grab our bags. Ivory and Rooster ran up to us at the front desk, while I pretended to be looking at room rates.

Rooster leaned in and grabbed Ted's shoulder. "Where do you guys think you're going? Fred, I was just going to ask you to dance. I like that little 'Thriller' move you do."

"We're going to Laguna for the weekend," Ted told him.

"By car," I added.

Not one to take a hint, Ted immediately jumped in and asked me, "What do you mean?"

"We were just walking outside to get a taxi to take us to Laguna, Fred, Fred," I said loudly.

So instead of going up to the roof where we were expected, we were escorted outside by Ivory and Rooster, got into a taxi, rode around the block, came back to the hotel, and then ran to the elevators as fast as we could.

Once we were airborne, Ted told me that he thought Poultry still had feelings for me. "You should see if he wants to get back together, and then you'll never have to ride in a helicopter again. You can ride around in his go-cart."

"His name is Rooster."

"He actually seemed like he'd be a nice guy if he wasn't so hammered. I could barely understand a word he said. He kept moving his mouth around in circles."

"Yeah, he must have been tired."

"And by the way, Ms. Handler, he and I turned out to have more in common than you would think."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really. For your information it turns out I'm not the only one who missed a day of work when Michael Jackson died."

"I'm sorry?"

"He didn't work the next day either, because he was too upset."

"No, Ted. He didn't work the next day either because he doesn't have a job."

Ted opened up the bag of chips he had managed to have on board.

"Now, let's focus on us. We have a choice for dancing tonight. We can either go to a dance club I found online or just dance in our room if you want. I brought my iPod dock and just downloaded all of Earth, Wind & Fire's greatest hits."

"Let's stay in tonight," I said, envisioning all the twenty and thirty-something stares I would have to endure while Ted slid across the dance floor, crying if a Michael Jackson song came on. "Although you are are already warmed up. Maybe we should go out." already warmed up. Maybe we should go out."

"Nah, let's save it," he said in complete seriousness. "We don't want to spoil people."

I looked down at the coastline and at the waves cras.h.i.+ng on the sh.o.r.e and said something I never thought I'd say. "I miss t.i.to."

Chapter Six

Water Olympics

Like any self-respecting brother-and-sister combo, Greg and I decided to eat some mushrooms. We were out to dinner in Martha's Vineyard with my sister the Mormon and her fiance, Mike.

When the server came over, Mike ordered a Heineken, I ordered my standard vodka with lemon, and Greg decided to go with a double-gay Bay Breeze.

"When do you think you'll be starting your first period?" I asked my brother.

"Chelsea, I think we both know I've been getting my period since the third grade."

Greg is not a gay man, but he has some very gay qualities, which he is not only quick to admit to but even quicker to embrace. Today he is married to a Russian woman and has three small Russian sons who live in New Jersey and speak with thick Russian accents. This dinner took place long before we lost him to Communism and room-temperature orange juice.

"Can you two please not talk about periods?" Sloane piped up, looking sideways at Mike.

I didn't know Mike very well at the time, but what I did know was that trying to get a conversation started with him was like trying to go sleigh-riding in a straitjacket. He was extremely quiet.

Greg and I are not quiet and have never pretended to be. We both have extremely unfortunate personalities and thrive on embarra.s.sing anyone we're in a room with. Somehow we have both managed to carve out lives for ourselves and yet maintain an att.i.tude of utter disrepair. He is a certified public accountant, and I have a real life.

"When do you think you'll get our sister knocked up?" Greg asked Mike, taking a bite out of the cherry that came in his drink. Sloane was five years older than Mike and was interested in getting married, penetrated, and knocked up. In that order. The best news about Mike was that, unlike Sloane, he had not been captured by Mormons.

From what I could gather by his facial expression, Mike didn't seem to have any problem with the topics of penetration or menstruation.

"I have mushrooms," I announced.

"Oh, that's nice," Sloane said.

"Where did you get them?" Greg inquired.

"From a drug dealer."

He put his hand out. "Please give me some."

I pulled a Ziploc bag from of my purse. "Would you like some mushrooms, Mike?"

Mike looked at Sloane, who looked back at him like he was four years old.

"Nah," he said, "that's okay."

Greg pointed his finger in Mike's face, sternly. "Mike, if you want some mushrooms, my suggestion is that you have some mushrooms. These are your last months as a free man."

"Mike is not doing mushrooms," announced Sloane.

"Fine," I said, making two small piles on the table. I then proceeded to eat my portion of the mushrooms as I perused the menu, trying to decide how much food would prevent me from getting a good high.

"That's really nice, you guys. You're just gonna get high at the table and then what?"

"We'll probably end up robbing a liquor store, Sloane. Mushrooms can be very violent," Greg told her with no inflection, grimacing at the flavor of the drugs. "These taste like a moose's a.s.shole."

"Uh, I wouldn't bring up anyone's a.s.shole at the same time you're holding a Bay Breeze with your pinky pointed toward the sun. It's better to mix it with some food. Wanna split the seafood tower?"

Greg nodded in agreement and then leaned in. "Do you know that in five states it is legal to mail your dump to another person, but if you do it more than once, you can get arrested?"

Sloane lifted her elbow to the table, resting her chin on her fist, and looked in any direction but ours. "This is just great. This is lovely dinner conversation, by the way. I'm so glad we did this."

I for one couldn't have been more fascinated. "You can mail a shadoobie to another person?"

"That's correct."