Part 29 (2/2)

The seventeen-year-old Jen would have been crushed if she'd received a condescending note from Cal the Magnificent, even if it was just meant to tease her.

But what about the thirty-five-year-old Jen? The one with the big b.u.t.t? Who lives in the 'hood and has a pit bull and actually LIKES polo s.h.i.+rts from Target? Who doesn't have a job and is married to a regular guy from Indiana?

She just laughed and laughed.

To: Cal Canter From: [email protected] Date: September 14, 2003 Subject: Re: Little Blaster Hi Cal, I saw your name as the return address and a.s.sumed that my brother was playing some sort of trick on me. But as I read, I realized that Todd doesn't have the skills needed to fake your level of arrogance and that this email was indeed the real thing.

Aren't I a lucky girl?

I remain aware of your existence as Todd still starts the occasional sentence with the phrase ”Calvin says...” You'll be pleased-although probably not surprised-to know that this phrase precedes his lectures on things I'm doing wrong in my life, so I hear your name a lot.

Thank you for your sage guidance on my job search. Sadly, I can't get a fast food job because I'm not bilingual, necessary in my West Si-ee-de neighborhood. We also own a pit bull, so I DO meet all the qualifications to begin rollin' with the Latin Kings. However, I'm keeping my gang-joining options open for now as a gal needs to choose her homies carefully, you know.

I have to disagree with you on a couple of points on my potential writing career. As for financial gain, I currently make NO money, so any money earned would be considered a success. And I can't see that anyone could find dirt or embarra.s.sing stories about me that I wouldn't first exploit myself, case in point, my Big Lebowski Night story on the web site. In it, I detail losing my s.h.i.+rt and vomiting on my neighbors.

Hey, doesn't it seem like just yesterday I was shouting at you to ”shut the f.u.c.k up” at Todd's wedding?

By the way, have you completely morphed into Judge Smails from Caddyshack yet? You were well on your way the last time I saw you. Hope all is well at Bushwood.

f.e.c.klessly yours, Jen (Todd's sister)

I'm outside pouring water on the newly laid sod in front of my building. As I finish dumping my eighty-sixth bucketful on the fledgling lawn to make sure the roots take hold, I realize I'm being watched. I look up to see two shadowy figures, although I can't discern who they are because I'm temporarily blinded by the setting sun and the sweat pouring into my eyes. Then one of the figures barks, ”HEY, JEN!” and I jump about four feet in the air, sending my bucket flying.

There's only one person I know who speaks with the kind of volume that makes people mentally construct storm shutters and tape up windows. ”Joel! Fletch says you've been away for National Guard training. Did you just get back? And, Irene, how are you? What are you guys doing here? We haven't seen you guys for ages! Please come in!”

After hugs and a few more cheerful exclamations from all parties, I give them the tour. Fletch is equally delighted, and we gather on our deck. I'm so pleased to see them that I don't realize I'm clad in cutoff sweatpants and a ratty T-s.h.i.+rt until I notice the odd looks I'm getting from the child millionaires next door.

Before Joel arrived and I tossed my bucket, I caught a glimpse of the millionaires hosting their first dinner party alfresco. Their table was covered with an expensive spray of lilies so fragrant that I could smell them from our deck ten feet away. On their immaculately set Bloomingdale's for the Home outdoor dining suite, pricey red wine twinkled in their giant crystal goblets. Their purebred c.o.c.ker spaniel sat patiently at their feet, confident in the knowledge that a delectable sc.r.a.p of proscuitto had her name on it. And I'm pretty sure I noticed sorbet being served in frozen objets d'art between the pasta and grilled rainbow trout courses.

Their guests fit the scene perfectly, too. The women had glossy, swinging bobbed coiffures and Just the Right Amount of makeup, dressed like an Ann Taylor catalog brought to life, their small, tasteful gold-hoop earrings and blindingly large engagement rings flashed in the late-afternoon sun. The men were hale and hearty in their Brooks Brothers casual wear and Rockports. They t.i.ttered about their healthy portfolios while lame jazz lightly wafted through the air on the outdoor speakers. Small lanterns and little candles provided a warming glow while the sun set.

The scene is truly breathtaking.

Until we come outside to mess it all up.

Honestly, I try to keep Joel's voice a decibel or two below ear-splitting, but to no avail. Joel cannot be contained. That's why we went onto the deck in the first place. Had Joel been inside our house, the hippies downstairs would have blasted their Sgt. Pepper alb.u.m over and over.194 The evening continues and Joel's topics of conversation grow louder and more inappropriate.

”THE CALIBER OF STRIPPERS IN TIJUANA ARE...”

”YOU CAN FAs.h.i.+ON ALMOST ANYTHING INTO A WEAPON. SPRAY STARCH CAN BE DEADLY WHEN YOU...”

”SINCE MOST FIREFIGHTS TAKE PLACE IN AN AREA OF LESS THAN FOUR HUNDRED YARDS, I FIND THE a.s.sAULT RIFLE...”

The glances from the other side of the fence are coming fast and furious now, and through narrowed eyes, they survey our soiree. ”Wait a minute. Do they have a PIT BULL? That spastic dog is gnawing on the big black wolf-looking mutt and they're both demanding sips of beer! And what IS that girl thinking, wearing sweaty gardening clothes and a ponytail to entertain? Are they drinking beer? That isn't IMPORTED? Oh, my G.o.d, they're drinking directly from the bottle! Don't those savages own any pilsner gla.s.ses, for Christ's sake? How come the fat one is sitting on the AC unit? Why don't they just BUY more chairs if they don't have proper seating? And what is the loud psychopath shouting about now? Gah! How much longer until THOSE PEOPLE leave this neighborhood and we can have some peace?”

I guess it's official now. We're the white trash neighbors.

Why am I oddly delighted by this fact?

To: [email protected] From: NYHS Publisher Date: September 16, 2003 Subject: Rat Pack Jen, I ran across the Do We Need a New Ratpack? rant you posted on Craig's List and I went crazy for it. Everyone here read it and they peed their pants. With your permission, I'd like to reprint it in the new magazine I'm starting. Please contact me at the address or number below.

Thanks, Loren

To: From: Kate, DeFiore Literary Agency Date: September 18, 2003 Subject: Craig's List Postings Hi, Jen, I saw your To Every Company essay on Craig's List and I followed the link to your website, which I then perused for an hour or so. You have a strong voice and a great way with words.

I think you have a story to tell, and, as a literary agent, I may be able to help.

If you're interested, I've included my contact information.

All the best, Kate

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