Lala Pettibone's Act Two Read online

  “Would you like a glass of champagne?” the air host asked.

  Lala hoisted her chair to a sitting position.

  “Yes, thank you. A glass of champagne sounds like a lovely idea,” Lala said.

  Lala sipped her champagne and stared out the window at the sun-drenched tarmac.

  “Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today,” she silently crooned.

  Lala tried to flip through a gossip magazine, but most of the pictures were of celebrities frolicking in Los Angeles, so she slammed the pages shut.

  Lala placed her glass on her tray table. She put her face in her hands and sighed.

  “These little town blues, are melting away; I’ll make a brand new start of it, in old New York,” she very quietly sang into her palms.

  Lala shook her head and sighed again. As she stayed in that slightly sinking forward position, she began to feel someone’s eyes on her. Lala looked across the aisle. The window seat opposite hers was occupied by a handsome older man with a very kind and charming smile. Had she been feeling even a little less broken-beyond-repair, she could have imagined spending the entire continent-spanning flight flirting outrageously with him. The best she could muster at that moment was a weak smile in return.

  “If we can make it there, we’re gonna make it anywhere,” the gentleman said. “I can’t carry a tune, so I’ll spare you.”

  “That song is about coming to New York. Not about leaving,” Lala sighed.

  “I know,” the gentleman said. “Are you alright, my dear?”

  “I’m fine. Really. Doin’ great. Off on a new adventure. California, here I come.”

  California, Here She Is

  Lala grabbed the tiny, clear plastic sword out of her very dirty vodka martini and used her tongue to slide all three olives off and into her mouth.

  “I started crying very loudly just as the plane was crossing the Rockies. Very loudly. Needless to say, I was cut off from that point on. Which was a shame because they serve very lovely champagne in first class. Very lovely.”

  The two people next to her and the bartender at the small, cozy bar at LAX were looking at Lala with a mixture of empathy and great relief that their lives weren’t as stinky as Lala’s had been recently.

  “Yeah, it’s funny now, but trust me, it wasn’t then. The way I’m describing it is that I’ve had a demi-nervous breakdown. I’m not sure if that’s technically true. I’m not even really sure what I mean when I say that. But that’s what I’m saying. My whole shtick from this moment forward is, unless I’m havin’ fun, I’m not gonna do it. Because life is too barfing short.”

  “Good plan,” the bartender said. “Another round?”

  “Omigoodness, yes, please, maybe with—” Lala’s cell phone rang.

  “Yuh huh? They are? They have! I’ll be right there!”

  Lala searched her purse for her credit card.

  “My babies have landed! I’m going to need to settle up. Please put their drinks on my tab. You’re a love, thank you.”

  The bartender took her card and the two other customers began to demur.

  “Hush, please,” Lala said. “You think I don’t appreciate how nice it was of you both to listen to the soused ravings of a complete stranger?”

  Lala signed the credit card receipt with a flourish.

  “That is a ridiculously high tip,” the bartender said.

  “Because you are ridiculously cute. And you have no idea how ridiculously much people will pay to live in Manhattan. I’m feeling oddly loaded at the moment, and I have always felt that loaded people should share the wealth. Hey! Loaded means rich, and it also means drunk! Okay, don’t anyone ever again try to tell me we live in a random universe.”

  Lala ran past three other terminals to get to the one that was home to the Los Angeles headquarters of Precious Pets on Planes. She paced in front of their office until an attendant brought Petunia, Yootza, and Chester out.

  “Ohhhhh,” Lala said. She sank to the ground in front of the dogs and hugged them until the hugs morphed into her basically lying on top of the three hounds.

  “They look so happy,” Lala whispered. She gazed up at the attendant, who was smiling. “Thank you. Thank you so much for taking such good care of my babies.”

  “It’s a pleasure, ma’am,” the young man said. “They’re really nice dogs.”

  “Did you hear that?” Lala cooed. “The nice man likes you! You’re popular!”

  Lala skipped out of the terminal clutching their leashes with her carry-on bag slung over her shoulder. And almost immediately smacked directly into Tom Hanks.

  The icon’s icon calmly caught Lala by the shoulders so that the force of their impact wouldn’t send her falling backward on her ass.

  “Gotcha,” he said.

  “Omigosh, I’m so sorry.”

  “No harm done.” Tom leaned over to pet the dogs. “Nice pups you got there.”

  Lala watched him walk away, paying special attention to what was, she noted, an exceptionally firm tuchus.

  “Did you see that?” she asked Petunia, Yootza, and Chester. “Wow. I guess I forgot there are some things about LA that are kinda cool.”

  Lala immediately felt disloyal.

  “Not that one can’t bump into a major superstar in New York. Often. Regularly. Tom Hanks. Big deal. There are a dozen Tom Hankses on any block in Manhattan. I could also bump into the real Tom Hanks in Manhattan. If he were there. Visiting or working. Or something.”

  Lala shielded her eyes against the glare and scanned the horizon.

  “Jesus, it is bright here. Okay, babies, let’s find our ride and get this new home, new beginning shit over with.”

  _______________

  Is that Salman Rushdie? Lala thought.

  She had just exited the car in Manhattan Beach a half block away from her aunt’s house. Lala crept up to the fence that surrounded the lovely Spanish fourplex and whisperingly admonished her dogs to stay quiet.

  “I want to surprise Aunt Geraldine. So don’t make any noise, ‘kay?”

  Lala peeked over the white stucco and wrought iron fence and glimpsed Geraldine just as her aunt was in the process of hugging a man who looked very much like the celebrated author.

  “So, Salman, how’s that nasty fatwa?” Lala heard Geraldine ask.

  Geraldine pronounced the man’s name like the fish.

  Before Mr. Rushdie could answer, Geraldine glimpsed Lala’s head poking over the fence. She came barreling out of the gate.

  “You’re here!”

  “I saw Tom Hanks at LAX!” Lala said. Lala and Geraldine danced around in a hug that resembled a freestyle form of competitive clog dancing. “I collided with Tom Hanks! He put his hands on my shoulders! He likes my dogs!”

  Geraldine was not Lala’s aunt by birth or by marriage, but rather by friendship. Geraldine and her husband, Hugh, were close friends of Lala’s parents for decades. They never had children. Geraldine and Hugh loved to fuss over their niece and also over her best friend, Brenda, who was rapidly absorbed into the greater family unit after she met Lala in school.

  Hugh had passed away almost three years ago. Geraldine would neither confirm nor deny the rumor that went around their circle that he had died peacefully in his sleep while they were having sex.

  “I miss him like crazy,” she often said. “But if you gotta go, which you gotta, I think he made a very nice exit. We should all be so lucky.”

  Geraldine was of an aggressively indeterminate age. She looked great. Her statuesque frame remained lithe and fit, and her hair was a closely cropped shade of luminous white. Though her face was covered with wrinkles, Geraldine had ice-blue eyes that conveyed more than enough wicked liveliness to erase the impact of the crow’s feet surrounding them.

  Lala and Geraldine released each other, and Geraldine immediate
ly swooped down on the dogs.

  “The babies are here!” she crowed. “This is the new one! I like the new one! A greyhound! Nice!”

  Salman Rushdie had exited the gate as well and was standing next to them. Geraldine stood and swept her arm in his direction. She whispered to Lala.

  “Don’t tell anyone he’s here. He goes by the name Thomas. As far as we’re concerned, his name is Thomas.”

  “Of course,” Lala whispered. She offered her hand. “Lala Pettibone.”

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” Salman said. He took her hand and kissed it quite charmingly. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  When he spoke, his accent was clearly West Coast by way of a long stint in Maine or maybe New Hampshire. Lala didn’t know what the hell was going on.

  A decoy, she thought?

  “I’ll take the dogs inside,” Geraldine announced. She marched through the gate with Petunia, Yootza, and Chester behind her.

  Lala and Salman followed them in. Lala whispered to him.

  “You’re not Salman Rushdie, are you?”

  “No,” he whispered back. “I’m Thomas Gallagher. I keep telling Geraldine, but I think she thinks I’m just saying it to ensure her safety.”

  “The resemblance is amazing,” Lala said. “Except for the full head of wavy blonde hair and no beard and no glasses.”

  “Yeah. Geraldine thinks it’s part of the disguise. I think she likes the intrigue.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Lala said.

  “Come up here,” Geraldine yelled from the balcony surrounding the second floor of her home. “I’m putting you in this apartment right above mine!”

  Lala and Thomas walked up a short flight of beautifully tiled steps and followed Geraldine through the open front door. The dogs had already gotten themselves deliciously settled in the three large doggie beds that occupied a fair amount of the living room floor.

  Lala let her carry-on bag drop to the floor in the entryway of the apartment. All around her were stucco walls and arched doorways and clean, cozy furniture and rugs covering tiled floors. The walls had perfectly placed, bold paintings. The room smelled vaguely and welcomingly of fresh-baked rolls.

  “Can you believe they bottle that bread odor thing?” Geraldine asked. “And it doesn’t even feel fake or anything. Is life amazing or what?”

  “Omigod, this is so gorgeous,” Lala whispered, her voice shaking. “You are spoiling all of us.”

  “Of course I’m spoiling you all because I love you, and I love the dogs and don’t cry.”

  “I swear, Aunt Geraldine, I will make this up to you. You will never be alone. I promise. I’ll always take care of you. I promise I’ll—”

  “That’s nice, but let’s not start crying because this is a happy day, and, knowing me, I start with happy tears, and then I get crazy and suddenly I’m sobbing. And I know you’re the same way, so here’s what we do. You go take a little nap because you’ve been traveling all day, and then we go shopping for some clothes, and then you and I and Thomas, because that’s his name as far as we’re concerned, and the lovely young couple who live below him all go into town and go crazy with fun. Okay?”

  “You want to go clothes shopping first?” Lala asked.

  “I like the all black, darling,” Geraldine said. “Head to toe black? It’s very New York, it’s very dramatic, it’s very sexy. I would just like you to alternate it with something that’s got a little more pop. You know, something a little less ‘I’m a character in a Chekhov play who’s always yapping about being in mourning for life.’ Which you never have been even when Terrence died, God rest, and you never will be in mourning for your life if I have anything to say about it, which I do because I love you like my own daughter, which as far as I’m concerned, now that your wonderful mom is gone, God rest, you are.”

  Geraldine gave Lala another big hug, then held her at arm’s length to take in her niece with an eye that was equal parts admiring and assessing.

  “And cleavage. More cleavage as we get older. I take my cues exclusively from Oprah and Dame Helen Mirren now. And you should be doing the same.”

  _______________

  “Omigod,” Lala yelped. “They have ‘Yesterday When I Was Young!’ In the original French!”

  Lala, and what she had been referring to as her Fabulous New Entourage since the evening began, had recently entered a bar in downtown Manhattan Beach that was having Karaoke Night.

  “Karaoke is a terrible idea,” Geraldine fretted when Lala started pulling her toward the entrance of the bar.

  Once inside, Geraldine whispered to Stephanie who, along with her husband Chuck, lived in the final apartment that made up the fourplex.

  “Lala has a terrible singing voice,” Geraldine confided.

  “I heard that!” Lala yelled, not looking up as she scanned the thick notebook that catalogued the songs available to be belted to a captive audience.

  “I say that with love,” Geraldine added. “And with deep concern for your public humiliation.”

  “I must have very good hearing,” Lala said. “Because I can hear people when they whisper, but apparently no one can hear me when I whisper. God or the universe can. I think.”

  Lala scribbled the title to the Aznavour classic on a slip of paper and handed it to the chubby young man who was on a break from running the karaoke machine. The young man’s lack of any facial expression of any kind gave new depth to the concept of a poker face. Thankfully, Lala was grinning enough for both of them, so his seeming absence of excitement about the prospect of hearing her share a chanson didn’t squash Lala’s joy.

  Lala joined Geraldine, Stephanie, Chuck, and Thomas at the bar. Stephanie and Chuck, Lala had established the moment she met them, were definitely young enough to be her children. They were both compact and pale and shared the fashion esthetic of dedicated followers of Chairman Mao. They were newlyweds, and they were constantly holding hands, as Lala had discovered earlier that evening.

  I remember when Terrence and I had to be in constant physical contact with each other, Lala thought. God, do I miss him. Also, I need to have sex again. Soon.

  Stephanie and Chuck were recent graduates of veterinary school. Lala immediately loved them and was immediately determined to adopt them and raise them as her own.

  “My parents are both still alive,” Stephanie responded to Lala’s query about her and Chuck’s general familial availability.

  “Ditto,” Chuck said. “Sorry about that.”

  “No, no, I’m happy,” Lala said. “They should only live a long and joyous life, all four of them. Then it’s settled. I’ll be your aunt. And you’ll take care of me when I get old.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Chuck said.

  “Yup,” Stephanie agreed.

  At the bar in the karaoke joint, Stephanie handed Lala a Happy Hour menu.

  “They have Happy Hour until midnight,” Stephanie said.

  “Wow,” Lala said, scanning the drink offerings. “This is my new favorite hangout.”

  Lala looked around at the large, cozy booths, the gleaming wood floors, and the flattering lighting.

  “But for the large, cozy booths, the gleaming wood floors, and the flattering lighting, this place reminds me of one of my favorite bars at school. My favorite bar at school was not clean. Or charming. And the lighting was for shit. I mean, a bare overhead bulb was forgiving by comparison, but I didn’t care back then because I was only just out of my teens. We didn’t have karaoke back then. I only drank beer back then. Or grain alcohol punch. Quite possibly the worst hangover in the world from that swill, but it sure can make a frat party more palatable.”

  “Don’t drink more, please,” Geraldine begged.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “If you drink more, you’ll sing. I just know it. Salman, I’m sorry,
Thomas, tell her not to drink more.”

  Lala closed the menu.

  “I haven’t had a Long Island Iced Tea in decades,” Lala said. She retrieved a credit card from her cleavage.

  Lala was wearing a shirt in a vivid shade of evergreen that had patterns of lighter green waves weaved throughout. The fabric hugged her breasts and then cascaded over the waist of her new, tight black jeans.

  “Please don’t drink more,” Geraldine said. “And by the way, that top looks fabulous on you.”

  “Thanks. And who knew not wearing all black could feel so sexy? Where’s the bartender?”

  “Is that Doctor McLellan?” Stephanie said.

  Chuck turned in the direction Stephanie was looking, and so did the rest of the gang. Lala watched as a man in his early fifties approached the bar. He was smiling at Stephanie and Chuck. The man was tall and fit, and he had wavy salt-and-pepper hair that was unfortunately cut in what looked like a misguided attempt to bring back the mullet.

  Oh, hellooooo, Lala thought. Very cute. The ‘do not withstanding.

  “He’s too young for me,” Geraldine whispered to Lala, “so I’m giving you carte blanche. What is with that hair?”

  “Thank yoooooou,” Lala whispered back.

  “Hey,” the man said.

  “Doctor McLellan! You guys, this is Doctor McLellan. We met him at this veterinary conference last weekend, and he’s amazing,” Stephanie gushed.

  “Amazing,” Chuck echoed. “You haven’t seen anyone calm a terrified stray cat like Doctor McLellan.”

  Am I hearing this correctly? Lala thought. This gorgeous man is a veterinarian? A veterinarian with special powers? I bet I’ve got that shit-eating grin all over my face again. Damn.

  “Am I blushing?” Doctor McLellan asked.

  It took Lala a few moments before she realized that everyone was staring at her. Which lead her to the startled conclusion that Doctor Devastatingly Handsome had addressed his question to her.

  Is he flirting with me? she thought.

  “Yes, you are,” Lala said. “And it’s a very good look for you.”