“Oh! Are we going to pretend you don’t know that Larissa is my boyfriend’s mom?”
“What? Of course I knew — know. And we totally talked about that.”
“Excuse me?”
“We totally did.”
“As in you and me talked about it? Jeremy and Allegra?”
“That’s right.”
“Bullshit we did!”
“Did we not totally discuss how weird that is?”
“Uhm, no-o-o-o. What’s weird is that we didn’t. Because you never even mentioned it.”
“I’m sorry. There’s just been so much… shit—”
“I’ve been, like, ‘Of course Larissa would have told her. Why hasn’t Allegra said anything?’”
“It wasn’t deliberate, Jeremy. Why would I withhold that?”
“I don’t know,” he said, with a sly twist of the mouth. “Why would you?”
“Well, fuck me, I’m sorry. It wasn’t like it was this big topic of conversation. It just kind of came up, she said her kid’s boyfriend bought him a car and we just kind of figured it out from there. What is the problem, Jeremy?”
“No problem at all. I just assumed that since you and Larissa share so much, she’d probably already have mentioned her ex being at death’s door. You know — pillow talk with the mistress.”
“Fuck you!”
“Thank you, sir, I’ll have another.”
“Why are you being such a queen?” She teared up but he wasn’t having it. “I mean, why are you being so weird and mean about this? Anyway, I did what you said and broke it off, so I don’t even talk to her anymore. And I’m sorry I didn’t have a big discussion with you about the bizarre genealogy of our twink family tree. Because I can see how fucked up you are over it, for whatever reason.”
“Whatever.”
“You know, I’ve got a lot on my plate right now! It’s not like I wake up every morning thinking, ‘Oh! Larissa is Jeremy’s boyfriend’s fucking mother! Oh my God, that is so, so interesting! That is, like, the most interesting and amazing thing that’s ever happened in the world! I need to go write a fucking book about it!’”
“Let’s drop it, Allegra.”
“It’s Hollywood, Jeremy! It’s a tiny little town, shit like that happens. It just happens, what is your fucking problem?”
“You’re the one who’s acting like the one with a problem, darling.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, with a measure of sincerity. She dabbed at her eye. “Okay?”
“Sure.”
“Can we please start over?”
“Love to.” They took a moment and manned up; they’d lost the energy to brawl. “So what’s going on with you and Dusty?”
“I haven’t talked to her—at all. She doesn’t return my emails. You?”
“Same,” he said. “Incommunicado.”
Jeremy was used to movie stars and their impetuous vanishing acts — the royal prerogative. When confronted by close friends and dependents about the havoc created by their absence (cf. romantic intrigue, drugging, wanderlust, or a combination thereof), they tended to offer the flimsiest of excuses or the most solemnly earnest; in the end, none of it mattered because the injured parties always forgave. But the situation was far more serious than he’d suspected.
“It’s kind of become obvious what’s happening,” she said. “I feel like such a clown, Jeremy. I tried turning the other butt cheek or whatever, like you said. And I’m not blaming you, I actually thought it was really good advice, still do. But I mean, like, fuck her to treat me like this! Right? Right? It’s so disrespectful. Man, if you’re seeing someone or you’ve fallen out of love or in love or what-ever, just, like, have the fucking decency and courage to tell me to my face. It’s so fucked up, Jeremy! Right?”
“And you definitely think it’s Larissa,” he said flatly, like an IT tech assessing a software issue. The familiar rhythm of gossip comforted, because he wasn’t looking forward to what he was going to tell her.
“Probably—I don’t know. Larissa never really came out and said it. But she sure didn’t deny it. And there’s no fucking other way to explain that earring in her bed. I don’t know… maybe Dusty’s been into that all along — seeing other people. Maybe she’s some kind of secret psycho sex addict. I mean, her demented mother was a sick fucking cheater and how far can you fall from the whatever? Maybe she’s — maybe she’s been fucking Michelle Rodriguez, for all I know. Strapping it on for Maria Bello and Tatum fucking O’Neal. She could be out there sleeping with men, with whatever. Dogs and horses! And you know what?”
Her rage slammed into a wall of tears and the words wouldn’t form. He put his hand on hers, drawing sweet little circles over her knuckles. Then Selma Blair appeared, gushing hellos. Allegra quickly recovered; if the actress noticed anything amiss, she didn’t let on. When she asked after Dusty, Allegra said, “She’s great! We’re great!” Selma girl-pleaded, “I want to come see you guys, we need to see each other, when can we hang?” and was gone.
“It’s so surreal,” said Allegra, sadly pensive. “I never thought this would happen. Not like this. I thought we’d be together forever.”
“Maybe you will… it isn’t over, Leggy. Maybe—”
“It is, Jeremy! It’s over for me. It can’t just be over when it’s over for her—she can’t just say, ‘It’s over! It’s not over! It’s over! It’s not over!’ She can’t expect me to sit here waiting for whatever she wants. It’s not fair, Jeremy, I’m too fucking vulnerable!” She cut herself off and went dead — disgusted and resolute. “I guess I really don’t want to talk about it anymore. But thank you. Thank you for listening to my endless bullshit.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“I’ve made some plans.”
“Can you stay at the beach for a while?”
“I’m making plans,” she said noncommittally.
“Listen,” he said, with a small adjustment in posture. “I know this isn’t a great time but there’s something I wanted to tell you.”
“Are we getting a divorce too, Jeremy? You can’t divorce me!”
At least she was laughing. “Nope. Not gonna happen. Never gonna happen.”
“Well, good. Because that would definitely send me over the edge. I’d refuse to sign the papers.”