Story of My Life Read Free

been a big help.
    I get Skip at his office. He doesn’t sound too thrilled to hear from me. He says he’s in a meeting, can he call me back?
    I say no, I have to talk now.
    What’s up? he says.
    I go, I’m pregnant.
    Total silence.
    Before he can ask I tell him I haven’t slept with anybody else in six weeks. Which is totally true, almost. Close off that little escape hatch in his mind. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am.
    He goes, you’re sure? He sounds like he’s just swallowed a bunch of sand.
    I’m sure, I say.
    He’s like, what do you want to do?
    The thing about Skip is that even though he’s an asshole, he’s also a gentleman. Actually a lot of the assholes I know are gentlemen. Or vice versa. Dickheads with a family crest and a prep-school code of honor.
    When I say I need money he asks how much.
    A thousand, I say. I can’t believe I ask him for that much, I was thinking five hundred just a minute ago, but hearing his voice pisses me off.
    He asks if I want him to go with me and I say no, definitely not. Then he tries to do this number about making out the check directly to the clinic and I say, Skip, don’t give me that shit. I need five hundred in cash to make the appointment, I tell him, and I don’t want to wait six business days for the stupid check to clear, okay? Acting my ass off. My teacher would be proud.
    Two hours later a messenger arrives with the money. Cash. I give him a ten-dollar tip.
    Saturday night Jeannie and Didi go out. Didi comes over, wearing this same horrible surfer shirt she’s had on all week and her blonde rastafarian hair. Really gross. But she’s still incredibly beautiful, even after four days without sleep, and guys make total asses of themselves trying to pick her up. Her mother was this really big model in the fifties, Swedish. Didiwas supposed to be the Revlon Girl or something but she couldn’t be bothered to wake up for the shoot.
    Jeannie’s wearing my black cashmere sweater, a couple yards of pearls, jeans and Maude Frizon pumps.
    How do I look? she goes, checking herself out in the mirror.
    Terrific, I say. You’ll be lucky if you make it through cocktails without getting raped.
    Can’t rape the willing, Jeannie says, which is what we always say.
    They try to get me to come along, but I’m doing my scene for class Monday morning. They can’t believe it. They say it won’t last. I go, this is my life. I’m like trying to do something constructive with it, you know? Jeannie and Didi think this is hilarious. They do this choirgirl thing where they both fold their hands like they’re praying and hum “Amazing Grace,” which is what we do when somebody starts to get religious on us. Then, just to be complete assholes, they sing,
Alison, we know this world is killing you . . .
et cetera, which is kind of like my theme song when I’m being a drag.
    So I go:
    They say you’re nothing but party girls
Just like a million more all over the world
     
    They crack up. We all love Costello.
    After they finally leave, I open up my script but I’m having trouble concentrating, it’s this play called
Mourning Becomes Electra
,so I call up my little sister at home. Of course the line is busy and they don’t have call waiting so I call the operator and request an emergency breakthrough on the line. I listen while the operator cuts in. I hear Carol’s voice and then the operator says there’s an emergency call from Vanna White in New York. Carol immediately says Alison, in this moaning, grown-up voice, even though she’s three years younger than me.
    What’s new? I go when she gets rid of the other call.
    Same old stuff, she says. Mom’s drunk. My car’s in the shop. Mickey’s out on bail. He’s drunk, too.
    Listen, do you know where Dad is? I go and she says, Virgin Islands last she heard, maybe St. Croix but she doesn’t have a number either. So I tell her about my school thing and then maybe because I’m feeling a little weird about it I tell her about Skip,