Chore Whore Read online

  “So, Lucy, who’s the new honey?”

  She leans closer. “How could you tell there’s a new man?”

  I scrunch my nose and giggle. “Oh, an assistant just knows these things!”

  “Corki, I’m going to tell you, but you need to take this to the grave,” she says, suddenly serious.

  “Lucy, unless I’m hit by a car as I leave here, the news is going to leak out way before I make it to the grave.”

  “Granted, but I want to keep it private and special as long as I can. I don’t want the rags getting hold of it and making it out to be just a fling for front-page fodder. I’m convinced he’s my soul mate. You know how long I’ve been waiting for him. He’s arrived.”

  I look around the room pretending he’s walked in. Lucy pinches my arm.

  “Not here, silly.”

  “Lucy, how long have you known this guy?”

  She has a reputation for “falling in love” within a week and for knowing he’s “the one” within two.

  Lucy stares at dark thunderclouds out the window. “Oh, five, ten thousand years.”

  Oh God, here we go.

  “We did a past-life regression with this guy Laura Dern knew of and we identified at least three lifetimes we shared before. The strongest one was in Atlantis, where I was a slave and he was the master. God, it was so tragic and so romantic.”

  My watch reads 5:10 P.M. “How long ago did you meet him in the present life?”

  “About two weeks. We did Live with Regis and Kelly together . . . as separate guests but on the same show.”

  Two weeks. One week longer than she knew Roger before they tied the knot in Vegas. And about one year less than I knew my husband, Basil, before he was gone.

  I suddenly remember Daisy Colette suggesting that Lucy wait a year before she and Roger got married. After that, Daisy’s calls went unreturned and she lost her confidante-of-the-week status. Only recently has Lucy begun speaking to her again. I should keep my mouth shut since I need the income she provides, but I can’t help worrying about her.

  “Lucy, you’re gonna take this slowly, right? I mean, you went straight from Jock to Roger and never took time to heal in between. I don’t want to see you get hurt again. You want to bounce back slowly.”

  Lucy looks at me incredulously.

  “Cornelia Wren Brown, how can you say that? It’s been the most intense two weeks of my entire life. I’m trusting that the Universe has brought me my soul mate and I really need you to trust me and the Universe, too. You can do that, can’t you? I need you to believe in me. My mama’s worried, my dad has practically given up on me, and my friends are beside themselves. Please help me with this one, ’cause I’m telling you, Cork, this one is special. He’s brilliant and beautiful and sexy all in one package.”

  I look down, almost wanting to believe that he will be Lucy’s knight in shining armor, but I’ve read Dr. Laura’s books about all the stupid things women do to mess up their lives and I know it takes more than two weeks to tell if he’s “the one.”

  “So, Corki,” she says, “do I have your blessing?”

  “Come on, does it really matter if I give my blessing or not?”

  “Yes, it does. It does because I’m going to need your help.”

  “I’ll help you. I need the work. Daisy let me go and Jock’s off to France for six months. I’ll definitely help you. Just tell me who he is.”

  “Do I have your blessing?”

  I put my hand on her forehead and lightly push her head back.

  “Child, you have my blessing.”

  “It’s Tommy Ray Woods,” Lucy whispers.

  Oh no.

  I try not to recoil too dramatically. Tommy Ray Woods has graced more tabloid pages than I can remember for his forays into womanizing, cheating, beating and feeling up women in public, some of whom he knew, some of whom he didn’t. To date, I am aware of two court cases pending against him—one for sexual harassment and the other for unlawful bigamy. I scramble to try to act happy for her, but it ain’t working for me.

  “The Tommy Ray Woods?” It’s dumb, but gives me some reaction time.

  “The one and only,” Lucy says, placated.

  “Lucy, I . . . I don’t really know what to say except that his reputation precedes him.”

  “Listen, Corki, I need you to be fine with this and I need your help. Tommy Ray and I are going on a road trip. He wants to take me to Memphis to meet his daddy, and he wants me to see Graceland. You know, his daddy is one of the last men in Tennessee who still uses a divining rod to find water on his property. How cool is that? And Cork, you’ll be happy to know, Tommy wants to take it slow. He doesn’t want to rush into marriage. He’s a bit more traditional than all the Left Coast types, being from the South and all.”

  Is getting married five times within a ten-year period “traditional”? He has five children ranging in age from six to twenty-six with four of his five wives—what tradition is that? Then, of course, there’s the charge that he got married to wife number five while he was still legally married to wife number four.

  “I told Tommy Ray that I really like picnics, so we’re planning to stop on the first day and have one. I also told him that I really appreciate home-style cooking. So I need you to make us lunch for six. . . .”

  “Six? I thought it was just the two of you.”

  “Well, it was just gonna be the two of us, but Tommy Ray needs his office assistant, Dave, with him, and he promised the first assistant director from his last movie that he’d give him a ride back to Little Rock on the way home.”

  “Okay, that’s four.”

  “Well, there are only four of us going, but Bubba, that’s his first assistant director, eats for three. He’ll take up the entire third row of the SUV we’re going to rent.”

  “Bubba? That’s not his real name, is it? Bubba?”

  “Well, if it isn’t his real name, he’s been called it for so many years he’s not telling anybody anything different. So, I’d like a menu of fried chicken, potato salad, black-eyed peas, coleslaw and a buttermilk icebox pie. Also, get some other food to snack on. You know, road trip food. And maybe for me, on the side, a braised tofu with sesame seed kale . . . but don’t pack that in the main cooler. I can just eat mine in private.”

  I try to envision where she’s going to have enough privacy to pee, let alone eat her tofu and kale. She’ll be road tripping with three men, one of whom takes up the entire backseat.

  “Do I have to make this by hand or can I order it and pack it as if you slaved in the kitchen making it yourself?”

  “Oh no, I want you to make it. I bet you can whip up some good Southern-style food. I know you aren’t from the South, but you can cook anything, Corki.”

  “Maybe I could throw in some chitlins and home-fried pork rinds,” I joke.

  “You know Bubba and Tommy Ray would probably love that, but I’m trying to steer him clear of pork right now,” Lucy says seriously. “I’m trying to clean up his diet.”

  Two weeks and she’s already trying to convert him. Good luck.

  “We’re leaving tomorrow night, so if you could just whip this up in the morning, we’ll be out of your hair for the holidays. Oh, and buy some Bud Light for Bubba, Diet Coke for Tommy and Dave and mineral water for me.”

  I quickly jot down these notes and get ready to leave.

  “Lucy, I have to pick up Blaise. Anything else?”

  “I know you’ve heard a lot about Tommy Ray, but most of it’s not true. He’s the love of my life and I really want you to feel good about him.”

  “I’ll try,” I say.

  We hug goodbye.

  The windshield wipers beat frantically back and forth in rhythm with the Gypsy Kings coming from Betty’s stereo speakers. I sing loudly, off key, making up Spanish lyrics as I go along. I pull up in front of the Baldwin Hills house Shelly inherited from her grandmother.

  I dash from my truck and knock on the front door.

  Shelly
opens it looking frayed. Before I can say hello, she pulls me in and guides me to the front bedroom, then pushes the door closed behind us.

  “Shell, what’s wrong?”

  “Corki, you know I love Blaise to death. Like one of my own.”

  “Oh God, what’s he done?” I ask, my heart sinking.

  “I was cooking lunch, the kids were playing, and I started smelling the most horrific burning stench coming from the backyard.”

  “Oh, no!” I gasp.

  “Girl, he was back there burning shit up.”

  “Like what? The wood behind your shed?” I ask.

  “No. Shit. Dried-up dog shit.”

  “Did anything catch on fire?”

  “Thank God, no. It started to rain just in time. But living in the hills with all the brush and old wood roofs, we’re a brush fire waiting to happen.”

  “Shelly, I am so sorry. I beg you to forgive him.”

  “Corki, you know I love that rogue, but this is all I have. I just can’t risk it. If I lost this house I wouldn’t know what to do.”

  “I understand. I really feel terrible.”

  “I know, girl. Look, it’s all over, don’t worry.”

  I take a deep breath and walk from the room behind Shelly. Under the scent of Jamaican Love incense, I can smell the odor of burned feces. Every window we pass is open, letting the rain and fresh air blow in.

  I turn the stereo off as soon as I twist the key and the engine turns over. I start driving down the road, fuming silently until I can’t hold it anymore.

  “Blaise! Just what the heck did you think you were doing?”

  “I was just playing,” he says calmly.

  “No, honey, ‘playing’ is throwing a ball. Lighting fires is seriously bad news. Do you realize the damage you could have done?”

  “But I didn’t do any damage.”

  “Thank God!”

  We drive home in silence. I pull up into the driveway and start to get out to unlock my gate.

  “Sorry I’m such an ‘inconvenience,’ ” Blaise mutters.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, still perturbed.

  “That’s what you said to Mama Shelly—that it was an ‘inconvenience’ having me around.”

  “Honey, I said no such thing,” I say, heartbroken. “Is that what you thought? Because it’s not true. I said that school getting out midweek is an inconvenience.”

  “Same difference, Mom.”

  I pause before getting out to open the gate.

  “Are you hating your school?”

  “No, school’s fine. Why?”

  “Well, there may be this other opportunity—”

  Just then, my cell rings.

  “Hello. This is Corki.”

  “Hey, it’s Dwayne, handyman extraordinaire! I just called to let you know I’m done with boarding up Liam and Esther’s master bedroom. In fact, I finished just before the rain started. What’s going on up there, anyway? The doors ripped from the frame, the toilet tank’s lid has gone a-missin’. That place is becoming a wreck and they’re a good ways from finishing the remodel.”

  I unlock the gate and pull Betty into my backyard.

  “I need to replace that toilet lid before her party this weekend. That means I have tomorrow to find a lid and get it up there. And I just got a request to cook for six tomorrow. Where can I find a lid like that?”

  “Well, Corki,” he says in his Louisiana drawl, “you’re in a bit of a pinch, huh? I reckon the best thing you can do is get yourself a piece of cardboard and draw an outline of the toilet tank that the lid sits on. Then take it over to that plumbing place over on Pico and Bundy and go through their spare porcelain lids out back.”

  “Dwayne, that sounds awfully complicated. Can’t I just get the brand and model and go pick it up at Home Depot?”

  Dwayne sucks in air. He’s obviously dealing with an incompetent in the toilet department of life. Without even seeing him, I can tell he’s lighting his pipe. Dwayne, thirty-two, with sandy blond hair and green eyes, looks a whole heap like Brad Pitt. Dwayne smacks his lips, and inhales to get the tobacco lit.

  “Listen to me. That there toilet is a good fifty years old. They don’t even make that brand anymore, so it ain’t gonna help you none to have the brand or model number. Toilet lids come in different shapes, colors and sizes, so you’re just gonna have to go down to that plumbing place. I’m not even sure how the house passed inspection with those big old toilets that take ten gallons to flush.”

  I know how those big old toilets passed inspection. Esther took them out and had them replaced, then put them right back in after escrow closed. Esther likes those big old toilets and her goal was to keep them even if they were environmentally unsound. I thank Dwayne, get out of the truck and close the gate to my backyard.

  “Pick up, Mom, it’s me,” I say into her answering machine. “I know we’re supposed to come there on Christmas Eve, but I have to bring Blaise up tonight.”

  She picks up her phone. “What did he do?”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “What did he do, Cornelia?”

  I give her a sanitized G-rated version of the day. “If I don’t get my work done, Mom, we won’t even be there on the twenty-fourth. Please, I need your help.”

  I hang up the phone and exhale. Blaise sits at our piano and bangs out the beginning notes to Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.

  “Grandma says you can spend the next week up there with the understanding that for your punishment there will be no television, no computer and no Game Boy. You’re going to help her clean out the garage, clean up the yard and put up the decorations. And if you so much as get close to a match, she’ll kill you and me. Understand?”

  Blaise nods.

  “All right, go pack some books and I’ll get your clothes. I’m taking you now.”

  “Now? Mom, it’s Thursday night! You said you desperately need sleep and that you’ve got to work in the morning.”

  “I do, but I can sleep and work a lot better knowing you’re safe with Grandma rather than lighting someone’s house on fire.”

  “God, Mom, it’s like you’re desperate to get rid of me,” Blaise says, sulking.

  “Blaise, I have to work. I don’t want to live at a bus stop. We need a roof over our heads—”

  “Blah, blah, blah,” Blaise interrupts. “That’s always your excuse. I don’t care where we live.”

  “Well, there’s a nice covered bus stop down on the corner. Want to try it out for the night?” I bite my lip and regret saying it as soon as it comes out of my mouth. “Blaise, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been very busy, but if I don’t work, we don’t have money. And living here or anywhere costs.”

  “Whatever.” He goes to his room and plops some books on his desk. “I’m ready.”

  I drive the 179 miles north to Visalia, in the heart of California’s San Joaquin Valley, drop Blaise off, then turn around and head back to Los Angeles. I usually can’t drive late at night, but being fueled with guilt and worry keeps me awake. Home at two o’clock in the morning, I fall asleep in my clothes.

  · · ·

  Six hours later, barely able to keep my eyes open, I break at least thirty traffic laws to get the twenty miles down Sunset Boulevard, toward the beach, before nine A.M. As the higher-paid working stiffs are driving toward their offices in Century City and Hollywood, I fly past them going in the opposite direction, clutching my Starbucks double espresso.

  I pull past Shelly’s old Mercedes parked on the street, into Liam and Esther’s driveway, grab my cardboard and pencil and disgorge from Betty unsteadily as I try to dance over thick lines of black ants covering the driveway.

  Esther can’t see why I would suggest an exterminator visit when ants are just a part of nature. She calls me a “human supremacist” who thinks ants have no souls. Since she won’t let there be any bug spray in her home, I get out the countertop cleaner and spray them all I want when she’s not looking. It does the same job. Shelly, wh
o believes the same way as Esther, looks the other way when I destroy my karma by spraying or stepping on bugs. However, Liam, who thinks like I do, has me call the exterminator to eradicate the swarms of ants the moment Esther goes out of town.

  I push open the two-inch-thick outer door to the huge hacienda-style covered patio, and there, staring me in the face, thirty feet away, is Lord Ganesh. I can tell Shelly has been bathing him because the stone patio flooring is wet. Terra-cotta pots, filled with orchids, surround Lord Ganesh’s feet, and all the bamboo patio furniture has been rearranged to face him. I give him a wide berth and push open the door to the house.

  “It’s Corki!” I call out.

  Shelly comes out of the kitchen. “Girl, how did you make it here so fast? It’s only a quarter to nine. You have a helicopter or something?”

  “Parked out on the helipad right now. How about you?”

  “My sister has the girls ’cause I knew I was gonna need more than a full day to have this place looking good for tomorrow’s party. I’ve been here since seven-thirty.” We both shake our heads and roll our eyes.

  “Where’s Blaise?” she asks.

  “I took him to my mom’s house last night.”

  “And you’re back already? I thought you don’t drive so well at night.”