Rotten Apple Read online

  “Yes, Happy has to tell me about her new lifeguard boyfriend!” added Apple.

  “Oooh, a lifeguard!” said Natalie. “That’s my greatest fantasy. Too bad I have another client in the back waiting for me. I’ll have to hear all about this the next time you guys are here, which I hope will be soon. And, yes, Happy, Jessica can do your nails next to Apple while she gets her brows done. Be nice to Jessica—she’s new here. See you guys soon,” said Natalie, heading off to attend to her client, who looked like a Paris Hilton wannabe and who was bragging to the receptionist about her new nose.

  “Man, Paris-ites,” Happy moaned. “Can’t live with them, can’t live without them. I blame that awful show on them multiplying like fleas.”

  “The Queen of Hearts?” Apple asked, only half joking.

  “No, that one you loved that was canceled after, like, two shows,” Happy responded.

  Apple knew Happy was talking about a docu-soap that had recently put their city on the map, but not in a good way. The show had featured seven upper-class women who lived in the area and who had discussed their marriages, cheating, and what it was like to be “trophy wives.” All the women dressed—and acted—twenty years younger than they actually were. It was the worst of reality shows, but in a fascinating way.

  “Why did you hate that show and not my mother’s show?” Apple asked. “I mean, they basically discussed relationship issues too, just not in the same way.”

  “Because at least your mother’s show is real! And your mother helps them at the end,” Happy said. “And she doesn’t let anything get by her. She knows when someone is lying to her, and she gets it out of them. Now that is fascinating to watch!”

  “Well, I guess it’s more real than that girl’s chest and nose, anyway,” laughed Apple, nodding toward the girl at the reception desk. “How old do you think she is? Seventeen?”

  “If even,” Happy answered. “Come on, Oscar. Let’s get your brows done.”

  Dear ED

  What a day! First I ran into Zen. He’s back! And, oh my God, was I a bumbling idiot. I don’t think there has ever been a more flustered human in the world. I swear, and I would only admit this to you, ED, I’m going to start taking pointers from my mother’s book, because I cannot be like that in front of Zen again. Ever! I’m going on a mission, I tell you. I’m going to call it Plan Z. (Short for Plan Zen, if you didn’t get it.) I also went to Gossip and was so happy to see Brooklyn and Happy. Happy had a fling with a lifeguard! He was seventeen years old and she didn’t even ask for his phone number or e-mail address when she left. She didn’t even know his last name! And she would only tell me the details of her fling if I gave her something in return. And you’re not going to believe what she has asked me to do! And because I was still so flustered from running into Zen, I actually agreed to do it! But I’ll get into that soon enough. At least my mother is starting work again tomorrow. The show has been in reruns, so now she can go back to meddling in other people’s lives. Anyway, back to my promise to Happy in order for Happy to give me the details of her fling. Happy is so addicted to Queen of Hearts with Dr. Bee Bee Berg (even more addicted than I am to Minors in Malibu!), so not only does Happy want me to find out what my mother’s upcoming shows are, so she can be in the know before everyone else—which is painful enough—but she also wants to know how she can get on the show! Happy wants to be a guest on my mother’s show! I mean, I know Happy has always wanted to be an actress and she thinks that getting on my mother’s show as a guest will be the place she gets “discovered.” I told her just to go to my mother’s website, where people write in for advice, but Happy actually wants to be on the show, in front of the audience and everything! What could I do? I mean, she is my best friend and I promised. I wasn’t thinking clearly! But she also promised me this fabulous pair of jeans that she has that I’ve always adored. So I guess I have to do it—at least for the jeans! (Once I get my Plan Z into action, and he sees me in them, they’ll be an added bonus!) I really, really need those jeans. And now I have to get downstairs for “family dinner.” Which is such a joke. I mean, my parents don’t really seem to spend any time together at all. And to top it off, Crazy Aunt Hazel is here. All I’ll say about her is that she is a walking, talking memo reminding me how I DO NOT want my life to end up. Once again, welcome to my life, ED.

  “I just can’t believe he broke up with me,” Apple heard her aunt Hazel moan loudly as she walked into the large open kitchen. “Everything seemed to be going fine. And then, poof, out of the blue he decides he needs ‘space.’ Space! Can you believe that? Why would he want space from me? I was the ideal girlfriend. I did everything for him! I was always there for him. Always. I worked my entire schedule around him!”

  Apple knew that Crazy Aunt Hazel was grousing about her latest dating disaster. She was always having a major crisis about a man, and Apple’s mother was always giving her advice, which Aunt Hazel always ignored.

  “Maybe that was the problem,” her mother responded, in full Dr. Bee Bee Berg mode.

  Apple sat down at the kitchen table, across from her aunt, resting her feet on another chair. Her mother was putting out dinner plates on the table, which was already full of cartons of takeout Chinese food. Dr. Bee Bee Berg could solve all matters of the heart, but she couldn’t even manage to make scrambled eggs or to microwave frozen peas.

  “So Rupert broke up with you?” Apple asked her aunt, who had started, literally, to pound her head on the table. Her hair was a disaster, as if she had just been caught in a tornado. Her shirt was even on inside out.

  “His name was Roger,” Crazy Aunt Hazel huffed, hiding her face in her hands. It looked like she still had on her makeup from the night before.

  Roger, that’s it! Apple thought. I knew it started with an R.

  It was hard for Apple to keep track of all the men who moved in and out of Aunt Hazel’s life like it had a revolving door. The taste in a piece of chewing gum lasted longer than Aunt Hazel’s relationships. And all Aunt Hazel wanted was to fall in love, get married, and have babies.

  “I didn’t even hear you come in, sweetie,” Apple’s mother said. “So did you have fun with the girls?”

  “Yes,” Apple answered, crossing her legs on the chair.

  “What’s up with your friends?”

  “Not much,” Apple answered, trying to sound friendly but not so friendly as to invite more questions.

  “Come on. What did you guys talk about?” her mother pressed.

  There was no way Apple was going to tell her mother about Happy’s lifeguard. That was Happy’s life and Happy’s business. And Apple didn’t think Crazy Aunt Hazel would want to hear about the fling either, given that a fifteen-year-old was probably getting more action than she was.

  “I don’t remember,” Apple said.

  “Well, you look good. Your eyebrows look all cleaned up,” her mother said. “They’re perfect!”

  “Hello? We were talking about me” Crazy Aunt Hazel interrupted, throwing up her arms. Apple noticed there was a hole in her shirt under her armpit. She really was a mess. “Apple,” she said, “one day you will learn that it’s impossible to find a good man. They all disguise their real personalities. They seem really nice and kind at first, and they treat you like a goddess. Then, after three weeks of bliss, the mask comes off. The mask always comes off. And you realize that they are commitment-phobic and that they’ll never say ‘I love you,’ and then they’ll tell you that they never promised you anything and that they need space,” Crazy Aunt Hazel ranted. She tilted her head back in despair. “He was probably cheating on me.”

  Apple knew what was coming. One did not complain to Dr. Bee Bee Berg about a relationship gone sour without getting a rant in return. It amazed Apple that, after all these years, her aunt still hadn’t learned this.

  “Hazel! That’s just not true,” her mother responded, just as Apple knew she would. “You can’t make sweeping generalizations like that about men. Not every man cheats. Many men
do say ‘I love you.’ Not every man needs space. You just haven’t met the right man for you—your time will come. Patience is a virtue. Men are like dogs: they smell desperation. If you act positive, then positive things will come your way.”

  It annoyed Apple that her mother was always optimistic about love. She did kind of have to be, though. After all, it was her job. Although Apple couldn’t help but think that it would be kind of cool if one day her mother just went postal on The Queen of Hearts and shouted out to one of her guests, “Just give up on love, you pathetic loser!” Now that would be a show worth watching, Apple thought. She grabbed an egg roll and filled her plate with beef and broccoli.

  “That’s easy for you to say,” moaned Aunt Hazel, reaching into a carton of fried rice and taking it out with her hands.

  “Hazel! Can you at least use a fork?” her mother reprimanded her younger sister.

  After Hazel swallowed, she placed her head on the table as if she was going to take a nap. But she continued to speak. “You are already married. You have a job you love. You have a child. You have a home. You’re famous. Your life is just peachy keen. It’s the same way as it’s easy for rich people to say that money doesn’t buy happiness, because they have money. It’s easy for people who are married to say, ‘You’ll find someone.’”

  “You want to know what I think?” Apple’s mother asked. “I think you need to keep up your energy. Here, have some spare ribs.”

  “NO!” Aunt Hazel said forcefully. “I don’t want your advice. I don’t want spare ribs. I just want to moan. Can you just listen to me? Can’t I just moan?”

  “No, you can’t. And I’m going to give my advice to you anyway. It’s what I wrote in my book Advice: It’s Easier to Give Than to Take,” her mother began.

  “Yes, we know all about your best-selling book,” Aunt Hazel said, rolling her eyes at Apple. “Remember, Bee Bee? You gave me one when it was published, another for my birthday, another for Valentine’s Day, another for Christmas, and another when it went into reprints. I must own five copies of each of your books!”

  “And have you read any of them?” Apple’s mother demanded, hands on her hips.

  “No,” said Aunt Hazel, somewhat sheepishly. “I don’t like to read.”

  Apple couldn’t help but laugh. Dr. Bee Bee Berg, along with being the host of her popular talk show, had also written six best-selling self-help books. Apple was amazed that so many people bought them. If that were me, Apple thought, you’d bet I’d order them online. There would be no way I’d walk up to someone at a bookstore and let them see that I was buying a book by the Queen of Hearts, even if it was on every bestseller list.

  “Well, you will find someone when you stop looking so hard,” Apple’s mother told Hazel.

  “Here we go again,” Aunt Hazel said. She sounded remarkably like Apple had earlier that day. Apple realized that, at this moment, she sympathized with her aunt. They both knew what it was like to get unwanted advice all the time, yet it seemed as if Aunt Hazel, unlike Apple, could not stop herself from moaning to Apple’s mother all the time about her personal problems. Crazy Aunt Hazel constantly complained about her sister’s unwanted advice, but she still called her a thousand times a day telling her about her pathetic love life. What did she expect?

  “Do you really think you’re the only one out there having a hard time meeting someone special or being in a healthy relationship?” Apple’s mother continued. “You should watch my show more often.”

  “Do not compare me to those nut jobs on your show,” Aunt Hazel demanded.

  “Amen to that,” Apple added quietly.

  “I can’t believe I’m related to you two,” Dr. Bee Bee Berg said. “Do you know that, right now, I have about eight hundred e-mails from my viewers asking me for my advice on love problems? Are you telling me that they are all nut jobs? I don’t think they are.”

  “Can we just eat without all the drama?” Apple asked. She was sick of talking and hearing about relationships and about all the people in the world who had relationship problems and needed advice. If her mother and Crazy Aunt Hazel kept talking like this, it wouldn’t be long before one of them asked her if she had a love interest or any issues with a guy.

  “Doug! Doug! Dinner is on the table! We’re all here and waiting for you! In fact, we’ve already started without you,” Apple’s mother yelled out to her father, who was somewhere in the house. She turned back to her sister.

  “Relationships are about compromise,” Bee said.

  “Oh, please, let this stop! Leave me alone,” moaned Aunt Hazel.

  “Fine then, I will,” said Bee Bee. “But you know I’m right.”

  “Do you really believe that anyway, Apple? Is that what you do with your boyfriends? Do you compromise?” her aunt asked, saying the word “compromise” as if it was a dirty word.

  Dr. Bee Bee Berg turned to Apple, suddenly looking very interested.

  “Apple, tell me, is there any boy in your school that I should know about?” her mother said. “Is Hazel right? Is there someone? I know there must be some guy you’re interested in. When I was fifteen, I had a whole bunch of boyfriends—it was such an exciting time. Now is the time, Apple, to enjoy male relationships, because they’re not nearly as complicated as they will be when you get older. Look at what Hazel goes through.”

  “Thanks, Bee Bee!” Hazel said, sarcastically.

  “No, Mom,” Apple said, shooting her aunt an evil look. “There is no one I’m interested in. If we must talk about relationships, let’s get back to Aunt Hazel?” Her aunt shot an evil grin back at her.

  “Oh, come on! I know you’re lying to me. A mother can tell these things. There must be someone you are interested in. What about that boy Hopper in your class? He’s nice-looking!” her mother said.

  “He’s also a bit of an ass,” Apple responded.

  “Language please, Apple,” her mother said, disapprovingly. “It’s not feminine to talk trashy.”

  “Well, you asked …,” said Apple.

  “I know you’re keeping something from me, Apple, and I know it will eventually come out. The truth always does.” Apple feared her mother really might know what was going on in her head. Her mother’s intuition when it came to matters of the heart was amazing, and quite frankly scary sometimes. She could, for example, tell exactly when one of her guests on Queen of Hearts was going to cry—she always managed to hand them a tissue moments before the waterworks began. Did her mother know Apple harbored a secret crush on Zen and that she spent hours daydreaming about him? Was it possible that her mother could see something in her eyes?

  “Mom, please,” Apple begged. “I think I ate too quickly. My stomach hurts.”

  “Or maybe your stomach hurts because you like someone,” her mother said in a singsong voice.

  “God, Bee Bee, can you ever stop interrogating anyone for even a second?” asked Aunt Hazel. “If Apple says she’s not interested in anyone, she’s not interested. Just leave her alone! And that goes for me too.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Hazel!” Apple said a bit quietly.

  Just then, Apple’s father walked into the kitchen, wearing his typical Sunday golf ensemble—a checkered pair of pants and a pink shirt.

  Apple thought the world of her father, who was a corporate lawyer, and very kind and quiet. Apple knew she took after him way more than she did her mother. Her father understood the need for privacy, which Apple figured was why he spent most of his time at home behind closed doors in his study. He rarely asked Apple about herself. And that was just fine by Apple.

  “Well, this is nice,” her father said. “Dinner for just the family. Even though you started without me. What’s the special occasion?”

  It was true that Apple’s family rarely sat down for dinner together. Her mother was always working and rarely got home before 10 p.m. She always had to prepare for the next day’s show, after the afternoon’s live show, and so she ate dinner most nights at her office at the studio, with the
staff of producers, camera people, and directors who worked on Queen of Hearts. Dr. Bee Bee Berg was also a much-sought-after public speaker, and it seemed that she was invited to at least one glittery charity event every weekend.

  “I just thought that because Apple’s winter break is over we should all have one nice meal together,” her mother said. “And, of course, Queen of Hearts starts again tomorrow, and I’ll start working late again and won’t be here to prepare dinner.”

  “You mean pick up dinner,” Apple said.

  “Apple, be nice to your mother,” said her father, bending to give Apple a kiss on the head before taking his seat at the table. “Let’s just enjoy this family time while we can. It happens so rarely. If it weren’t for the photos I have at work, and flipping to Queen of Hearts once in a while, and seeing my wife’s face plastered in newspapers and magazines, I would probably forget what you look like, Bee Bee. Please pass the egg rolls. And for this one dinner, let’s not talk about work, shall we? Just this one time, let’s not let the questions ‘How is that working for you’ or ‘Is there anything you want to talk about’ into the conversation at all. Tonight I want to have dinner with my wife, not with the Queen of Hearts, and with my perfect daughter, Apple. And, of course, with you, Hazel. You are part of our family, whether we like it or not,” he joked.

  Apple’s father was a simple, uncomplicated man. All it took for him to be happy was a meal with his family. No muss, no fuss.

  “Thanks. You are too good to me,” Aunt Hazel said sarcastically. “Pass me the hot and sour soup, please.”

  “And pass me some of those spicy noodles, honey,” Apple’s father asked her mother.

  “So what did you do today, Dad?” Apple asked, even though she knew the answer.

  “Golf, of course,” he answered.

  “Run into Alice Cooper?” she asked.

  “Not yet. But one day—I know it will happen,” he said.

  It had become a running joke between Apple and her father that some day he would run into the shock rocker, who was, apparently, an avid golfer and who owned a home nearby.