California
12STPR
CHAPTER 24
LOTTIE STOOD AT THE PODIUM. HER HEART POUNDED. HER HANDS shook. Everyone loved her stories. She knew what they were thinking: Would she tell the one about the time she smashed her car into Mann’s Chinese Theater just as Sean Connery strode down the red carpet? Or when she threw up in Cher’s pia colada at Spago? They smiled at her, clasping their hands together. They wiggled toward the edge of their seats.
Lottie Love cleared her throat. She exhaled. She squeezed her eyes shut.
“Hey, everyone.”
“Hey, Lottie!”
“As you guys know, my name’s Lottie Love.” She smiled too hard and gulped air. “What you guys don’t know is that. . . is that. . .” Her heart caught in her throat. “Is that. . . well, I’mnotanalcoholic.”
She opened her eyes and stared at her audience. She exhaled for what seemed like the first time in hours—a whole day’s worth of oxygen. There was silence. A horrible, interminable silence.
Then they grinned. Lottie relaxed. There were some giggles. The room burst into applause.
The applause died down. Lottie wondered if she should walk back to her seat. They wiggled toward the edge of their seats again. They rested their chins in their hands. They smiled. Lottie’s heart beat furiously. She realized they were waiting for more. They were expecting a punch line.
“I’m sorry, but it’s true. I couldn’t be less of an alcoholic.”
“Exactly,” someone said. “That means you are one.”
“Huh?”
“I thought your name was Lottie—not Cleopatra, the queen of da Nile,” someone yelled from the back.
“Listen,” she pleaded. “I barely even like liquor. Okay, every now and then there’s nothing better than a daiquiri blended with fresh strawberries or a pia colada with little shavings of coconut and a little too much rum. And sometimes, there’s nothing better than a buzz, especially when you wanna flirt with the cute guy at the other end of the bar. I so couldn’t imagine how you guys can live life without that.”
There was more laughter. Then applause followed by silence.
LOTTIE LOVE REVEALS ALL! TONIGHT!
“I’m serious. You wanna know the truth? Okay? I’ll tell you.” She took another deep, deep breath. Again, a smattering of giggles. She shut her eyes tight.
“The truth is, I did this for work.” She clawed the sides of the podium.
Silence. Lottie struggled to swallow.
“I’m a, I’m a. . .” She huffed and squeezed her eyes shut. “I was a. . . reporterforPersonalitymagazine.” She paused. Her heart’s thumping filled her ears. “I didn’t know anything. I spent my whole life in Tarzana. My father is Hank Love, We’ll Make Your Pipes Sing. And then I got the greatest, most perfect job in the world. But I needed tons of contacts. I knew nothing. And then. . . and then I came here one night because. . . well, because I heard Chris Mercer came here. And I saw him and all of you guys. And I thought, why not? What’s the harm? I can get to know them. I can become friends with them. It’s not like I was hurting anyone. And soon I realized I liked coming here. You guys had become my friends. I need this as much as any of you do.”
Lottie had never heard such silence in her life. It actually buzzed, flew across the room, hit walls, and landed with a thud in her ears. Her eyes skittered around the audience. She watched the smiles collapse, the faces scrunch in anger. Heads shook angrily. Then someone booed. Another boo. And finally the room was filled with a thunderous, appalling, all-encompassing boo.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
She was pelted with Styrofoam coffee cups, wooden stirrers, packets of Equal and Sugar in the Raw.
THE OTHER DAY when she drove Lem home in her father’s van, she realized she had to do this.
Lem sat in the passenger seat. He stared out the window without speaking. After a few minutes, he fell asleep, his head resting on the window. She didn’t know where he lived, so she just drove to Malibu. She parked in front of the ocean and watched the waves tumble and carbonate. She watched butterflies dart in and out of yellow and purple wildflowers. She also watched Lem. She envied his sleep. It seemed deep and peaceful. Occasionally she checked his breath.
While he slept, a school of seals—or was it sea lions? She could never tell the difference—swam by. She was so excited, she felt like a kid. She wanted to wake him and tell him, but she let him sleep. He needed to sleep. Finally, after nearly two hours, he started to stir. She drove to the Starbucks at Trancas. He woke up then.
“I’ll be back. I’ll get us coffees,” Lottie said. “How do you like yours?”
Lem rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “Actually, I’ll have a grande decaf caramel macchiato with extra whip,” he said. Then he smiled and mumbled to himself. “Seven.”
Lottie squinted in disbelief. “Huh?”
When she returned, they drank in silence. Lem studied the blood caked on his palm.
“I thought I could do this on my own, but I can’t. I can’t,” he said. “I need help. This booze thing, it’s too much. I’ve lost control of everything. Everything.”
She told him about her AA meetings. “They’re the nicest people ever. Everyone’s really supportive. Please go. They’ll help you.”
Lem looked hard at her. “I’ll go, Lottie. But on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
He swallowed more coffee. He stared out the window. She thought he’d forgotten her question. After a few moments, he said, “That you stop.”
“Stop? Stop what?”
“Going.”
“Going? Going where?”
“To AA.”
“What?”
“That you tell the truth.”
“I can’t do that. I could never do that.”
“How do you feel, Lottie?”
“Oh my God, you couldn’t sound more like Lipless.”
“Lipless?”
“Never mind. What do you mean, how do I feel?”
Lem studied her. He touched her cheek. She felt like a puppy being petted for the first time.
“You don’t feel very well, do you? You haven’t felt well in a long time. You wake up sad. You go to sleep sad. You cry a lot, don’t you?”
Lottie winced. “That’s not. . . that’s not true.”
She couldn’t stop the tears from rushing out.
“It’s okay. It’s okay. If you only have truth in your life, if there are no lies, you’ll be happy, I promise. You won’t have to worry about being caught, even if it’s only by yourself.”
Lottie wiped tears with the back of her hand. She sniffled. “What happened in there?”
Lem shook his head. “Maybe it was the carousel ride.”
“What?”
“I suppose all along I had known the truth. Some part of me had always known that I’d been used by both of them, but I wouldn’t admit it to myself. I didn’t want to get caught in my own lie.” He sipped his drink. “I thought if I built it up, I could justify all the mistakes I made because of it. I thought maybe part of it had been real. I was silently begging for it from the moment she walked into the room. Then Franny told me she never forgot our carousel ride. How often she thought about it. I knew it was a lie. She was acting. She had no recollection of it.”
Lem took a long breath. He turned to Lottie. “In your innocence, you tried to refresh her memory, right? You told her the story I told you.”
“I so didn’t mean anything by it. I just couldn’t believe she could forget something that was so important to you. It made me wonder about myself and my memories. Maybe the ones I thought were so significant meant nothing to, well, whoever it was I was with.”
“I know. But she represented everything that was wrong in my life. I was married to a woman who loved me more than she should have. I let her get away for nothing. We had a good life.” He shook his head. “We could have had a great life. And I looked at that photograph and I couldn’t help myself.”
They sat in silence watching the children climb monkey bars in the playground next to Starbucks.
“Always remember, they’re not your friends,” he said.
“How could they be friends? They’re not even human. They’re all so fake.”
Lem nodded as he studied the playground. A little girl fell off the swings and ran into the arms of her mom. Or was it her nanny? Her personal assistant?
“You know what else is fake?” Lottie asked. She looked down at her chest. “These. I tell everyone they’re real. But they’re not. I was young. I was completely flat. Now I feel clich. Another Valley chick with a fake nose and fake boobs. So I lie about it. You’re the only person I’ve ever told that to, and I have no idea why.”
“Well, I’m flattered, I guess,” Lem said. He coughed into his hand. “You know, I was writing a book. I thought maybe you could finish it. You know, figure out an ending for me.”
“Me? I couldn’t finish your book.”
“You’re the only one, and I’m well—”
Then someone banged on the side of the truck.
“Help. My toilet’s overflowing!”
“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!”
There were more and more boos. Stomping of feet. Banging of hands on desks, on books, whatever. These people were irate. They glared at her. Someone threw another Styrofoam cup.
“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t be more sorry.”
Lottie’s legs quivered as she raced through a row of chairs. She tripped on someone’s knapsack but managed to stumble on toward the exit.
“Everyone calm down, please. Leave Lottie alone. Please leave Lottie alone. It was very brave of her to admit her lie.”
The room was silent. Lottie could hear tears in Catherine’s voice.
“What led Lottie to do what she did shows us that she’s battling her own demons. Demons as ugly to her as booze and drugs are to us.”
Catherine was unbelievable. She should be leading the charge against her. Instead her words calmed the crowd. Some even applauded. What had Lottie done to deserve Catherine? She wished that by some miracle Catherine could remain in her life. She wished she hadn’t been so mean to her.
At the exit, a woman stopped Lottie and handed her a business card.
“I hate what you did,” the woman said, “but I’ve never seen such raw emotion before. You were fabulous up there. You have Drew Barrymore’s vulnerability mixed with an Angelina Jolie–like edgy toughness. I’m a casting director. Call me as soon as you, well, lose ten pounds.”
Joe smoked a cigarette by the exit. “Remember, you can do anything,” he said to her. “I’m living proof.” He laughed hysterically, almost demonically. Lottie gave him a hug as she slipped all the money from her wallet into his coat pocket.
She saw Chris Mercer. The worst was far from over. He was waiting for her outside. Just yesterday, he had professed his love for her to Cyndi Bowman. Now he probably hated her.
CHRIS SAID TO meet him at Chateau Marmont. Ask for Pierre Ventura. The desk clerk escorted her to the garden where he sat, his face obscured by overgrown bougainvilleas.
A waiter quickly arrived. She ordered a Diet Coke.
“I don’t mind if you have a drink. Really,” Chris said.
“Are you sure? ’Cause after tonight I could really use one—I so don’t mean that in the alcoholic sense, but just in the I-had-a-hell-night sense.”
“That’s fine. Order a drink.”
She asked for a vodka tonic. Chris looked at Lottie and smiled. He turned toward the waiter. “The usual, Nick.”
They sat in silence. Chris smirked at her.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
The waiter reappeared with her drink and his “usual”—a shot of Patron and a Sierra Nevada chaser.
Lottie stared at Chris.
“I thought. . . I thought. . . You shouldn’t be doing this. Please don’t do this.”
He cocked his head back and downed the shot. Then he clinked glasses with her, chugged his beer, and aahed.
“What a tangled web we weave,” Chris said.
“This is crazy. What are you doing?”
“Lottie, we’re more alike than you know.”
“Huh?”
“When I came to this town, I couldn’t even get an agent if my life depended on it. So my buddy told me I should check out the West Hollywood AA. At first I did it as a goof. It was like acting. It was like honing my craft. Before I knew it, I had an agent, who loved the way I emoted. I didn’t plan to keep going, but now I have no choice.”
“This is a joke, right?”
“Yes. . . and no. Yes, it’s a joke that this is how I live my life, but no, it’s the truth. I am not an alcoholic.” Chris bent in to kiss her. “You won’t tell anyone, right?”
“Of course I won’t.”
“That’s why I had to agree to that interview with that reporter. He caught me very drunk and extremely disorderly. No one but good friends and people paid to keep quiet ever see me drinking. Somehow he found out my alias. I have no idea how the fuck he did that. Anyway, Cyndi said he’d blow my cover. I was afraid that she’d force me to go to Promises with her. That woman won’t leave me alone for a second.”
He leaned in toward her. “But then when you had your ‘relapse’ the other night, I knew I needed to be there for you. It was more important to me than a month at Promises with Cyndi.”
“I’m sorry I lied.”
He put a finger on her lips. “That’s when I knew I was falling for you. I didn’t understand it then. I mean, really, I barely know you. But I understand it now.”
“You do?” Lottie guzzled her vodka tonic.
“You see, Lottie, we’re the same,” Chris said. “Anyway, I know I should be furious with you, but this is all such a relief. I figured if I had a relationship with you, I’d have to pretend to be sober. That would have sucked to have to act all the time.”
He kissed her. “You know, why don’t we go to my room and. . . talk some more.”
She stared at him.
He cleared his throat. “You know. . . you’re number one.” He smiled.
“I can’t.”
“What? After the other night, I thought you weren’t into the hard-to-get thing. . .” He grabbed a breast.
“I’m so sorry, Chris,” Lottie said, shifting away from him. “I just can’t.”
“What the. . . ?”
She didn’t answer, because she didn’t know how to explain. He was sexy, beautiful, famous, loaded, the most desirable man in the universe. But she felt nothing. How fucked up is that? she thought. It was like the spell had been broken.
The last thing she wanted was a celebrity.