Free The Big Nap by Ayelet Waldman Page B

his closet. I sighed. It’s so much easier to be a man.
    Angelika, the baby-sitter, showed up at the house with a bag full of colored paper, kid’s scissors, glue, markers, and glitter. “I thought we could make our own greeting cards,” she said. Ruby looked like she’d died and gone to heaven.
    Peter and I left them engrossed in their project, with Isaac happily bouncing in his Johnny-Jump-Up.
    “So what kind of party is this?” I asked as we drove down Beverly Boulevard toward Mysterious Mindy’s Benedict Canyon house.
    “What do you mean what kind of party?” Peter asked.
    “You know, is this a normal people’s party with, like, sour-cream-and-onion dip and a bunch of friends, or is this a Hollywood, catered kind of party with valet parking?”
    “I dunno. It’s dinner. It’s a dinner party.”
    “Okay, well is it a ‘come on over and I’ll hand you a big bowl of chili and my grandmother’s cornbread’ kind of dinner party or is it a ‘Suzette is serving our first course, Maryland crab cakes in a delicate saffron remoulade roux’ kind of dinner party?”
    “Look, Juliet.” Peter turned to me. “Mindy is a friend of mine. And a colleague. My relationship with her means a lot to me. I’d really appreciate it if you’d lose the attitude.”
    “Professional or personal?”
    “What?”
    “Which means a lot to you, your professional relationship or your personal relationship?”
    He looked at me for a minute and then back at the road. Neither of us said anything for a little while. Then I spoke. “Sorry.”
    “It’s okay. I’m sorry, too.” But it didn’t really seem to be okay, and I didn’t believe that he actually knew what he was apologizing for. Nor did I, in all honesty.
    We pulled into the driveway of a 1940s bungalow that had obviously had a major face-lift sometime in the past few years. A line of young women in black vests emblazoned with the logo “Valet Girls” stood ready at the doorway. Peter handed the car keys to one and she leaped into the driver’s seat and zipped off. So, it was that kind of a party.
    The house was larger than it looked from the outside and decorated within an inch of its life. The style was a sort of eclectic Arts & Crafts with a few gorgeous old pieces that probably had the name Gustav Stickley carefully stamped under a drawer or behind a back panel. Each brightly colored kilim pillow and artful knickknack was in just the right spot. On the walls were a number of large black-and-white photographs in beautiful wooden frames. One, a photo of a pair of lovely young girls bathing in the ocean, looked to my untrained eye like a Sally Mann.
    “This place is amazing!” I whispered to Peter.
    “I know,” he whispered back. “You should see the kitchen. It’s gorgeous.”
    What the heck? How did he know what the kitchen looked like? I was getting ready to ask him, or punch him in the stomach, when the impeccably decorated owner of the impeccably decorated house glided up.
    Magical Mindy was wearing a sleek black pantsuit and a white blouse with French cuffs that protruded from her coat sleeves and dangled over her fingers. She had on black stiletto heels that, in case we missed it, had the name Pradaembroidered on the side. Her toenails were painted electric blue and her carefully tousled and highlighted hair fell in luxurious curls down her back. I hated her.
    “Hello! Juliet! It’s so wonderful to see you again. You look fabulous!”
    I smiled, perhaps a bit grimly. “So do you, Mindy. Absolutely.”
    We stood there awkwardly for a moment, trying to think of something to say, and then Mindy turned to Peter. “Pete, listen, there’s a kid here that I want you to meet. He’s a hot new actor and I think we should consider him for one of the mid-season roles. He’s hip-pocketed at CAA and I think he’s about to shoot through the stratosphere.”
    “Terrific,” Peter said. He turned to me. “I’ll be right back, okay?”
    “Sure, no problem.”