Apple's Angst Page 4

  “Your boyfriend is perfect,” Happy had told her more than once.

  No, your boyfriend is perfect, Apple would always immediately think. Of course she would never say that aloud to Happy, for fear she would get the wrong impression.

  “Is someone in love?” her mother asked Apple in a singsong. Apple breathed in and out deeply. While things with her mother had certainly improved, Apple still wasn’t willing to shell out all the details of her love life. They just didn’t have that kind of relationship.

  Apple carefully considered what to say. She wanted to at least try to treat her mother more like a friend, like Happy did.

  “Well, let’s just say I’m in deep like,” Apple said finally, blushing. She hoped that would satiate her mother’s need to know.

  “I’m happy for you, Apple,” her mother said. “Your life is all coming together. You’ve made up with Happy, you’re getting a fabulous new job, and you have a nice boy in your life who seems to be a gentleman and who seems to really adore you.”

  “God, now you’re starting to sound like Aunt Hazel,” Apple replied. “She says, ‘When it rains, it pours.’”

  “Well, she has a point. Just look at her! She and Jim seem very happy. This is the longest relationship your aunt has had in … well, ever!”

  “God, Mom, please don’t call him Jim. He’s Mr. Kelly to me. And he’ll always be Mr. Kelly. Honestly, I just want to gag whenever I think of my math teacher with Aunt Hazel. Gross!”

  While Apple was meeting Lyon at the Valentine’s Day dance, Crazy Aunt Hazel, who had driven her there, and whose relationships had previously always been disastrous, had met Apple’s math teacher, who was chaperoning.

  Crazy Aunt Hazel had danced that night with Mr. Kelly, and they’d been in a relationship ever since. On the one hand, it was good that they had hooked up that night, because everyone at her school started gossiping about her aunt and Mr. Kelly instead of about Apple’s embarrassing appearance on her mother’s show and her fight with Happy over Zen.

  Apple knew her aunt and her teacher were both smitten. Hazel hadn’t cried or thrown any temper tantrums at all since she met Mr. Kelly. And her aunt was known for her temper tantrums. She was famous in the Berg household for slamming doors and stealing their ice cream, after especially dates gone wrong, which had been a regular occurrence for years and years. And Mr. Kelly definitely seemed to be in a better mood since he met her aunt. There had been hardly any pop quizzes.

  Apple wanted her aunt to be happy—she was always so pathetic when it came to men—but the thought of her aunt and her math teacher together? Yuck.

  God, thought Apple, who would have ever thought her MATH teacher would end up with Crazy Aunt Hazel, who had been raised more like Apple’s sister than her aunt. She was definitely immature for her age, always wanting to borrow Apple’s clothes, bringing over her laundry for their housekeeper to do, eating food from their fridge, and wanting to hang out with Apple.

  Apple had to admit that she had seen a lot less of Aunt Hazel since she had started dating Mr. Kelly, and sh sort of missed her and hearing about all her crazy hijinks and dating disasters.

  “Let’s be happy for Hazel,” Dr. Berg said to Apple. “She’s happy and it’s our job to be supportive. We’re her family.”

  “‘For better or worse,’ as Dad likes to say,” responded Apple with a smirk. “And I am supportive. I just don’t want to think about her and my math teacher, okay? I have to see him every day, remember? It’s embarrassing.”

  Apple and her mother drove for the next few minutes in silence.

  “We have arrived,” her mother announced, pulling into a parking space in front of a large building.

  Apple became suddenly aware that she couldn’t feel her toes at all. And now she was also having a hard time swallowing because her mouth was so dry. She was nervous, no doubt about it.

  Her mother stopped the car, took the key out of the ignition, and looked at Apple with a hopeful glance.

  “Do you want me to come in or wait here?” Dr. Bee Bee Berg asked.

  Apple was surprised. Her mother usually wouldn’t have even bothered asking. Apple had assumed her mother would just walk in with her, not caring what Apple wanted. She was pleased, and impressed, that her mother was offering her a choice.

  “I think I should do this on my own,” Apple said, trying to sound as polite as possible. “No offense, but I think it would look really unprofessional to bring my mother in.”

  Apple thought she had been nice allowing her to drive her to the meeting. Lyon had wanted to take her, but she knew it would mean a lot more to her mother.

  “Okay, then,” her mother said. “I love you, Apple. Good luck. Stay strong. Be yourself. I’ll wait for you right here.”

  “Love you too, Mom,” Apple said.

  Apple opened the car door but tripped getting out, almost falling on her face.

  “Apple! Are you okay?” her mother yelped, jumping out and racing around the car to her.

  “Mom?” Apple asked meekly as she straightened her dress, her heart pounding. “Can you come in with me?”

  “Oh, honey! I’m so glad you asked,” her mother gushed excitedly. “I’d like nothing more than to see where my daughter is going to get her first job! I want to be there for you every step of the way.”

  Apple tried not to roll her eyes. “Actually, Mom, I need you to come in with me because I can’t walk in these boots. I need you to lean on,” she said. “Literally.”

  “Physically, emotionally,” Dr. Berg said, pulling Apple into a hug. “Whatever. I’m here for you. Now, is there anything else I can help you out with? Do you need any advice on how to—”

  “Mom, please!” Apple snapped. “Just hold on to my arm and let’s get this over with.”

  The offices of Angst magazine were beautifully styled, like a feature in an architecture magazine or a condo showroom. Everything was modern, and white and hot pink. Even the receptionist looked like she could be a model for a Victoria’s Secret catalog.

  Apple wondered how a model had ended up being a receptionist, and if she should call the local modeling agencies to ask if one of their clients had gone missing.

  Apple held on to her mother’s arm, not out of fear of her forthcoming meeting with the editor of Angst, Nancy—who, Apple knew from Happy, the gossip rags called “Fancy Nancy” because she was always dressed in the latest fashions from Paris and Milan—but out of fear she would topple over.

  According to Happy, Fancy Nancy was as much photographed at events and galas as Apple’s mother. But her mother and Fancy Nancy had never met. Apple thought this was because, although they were both famous, they traveled in different circles. Apple’s mother’s fans were mostly housewives and students who were home by 5 p.m., when the show aired. Fancy Nancy, Apple guessed, was the fashion guru, out at fabulously fashionable events late into the night, hanging out on the red carpet at events with younger celebrities.

  Her mother walked up to the reception desk and spoke to the woman who looked like a model. “This is Apple Berg.” Apple shot her mother a mortified look. “She has an appointment with Nancy,” her mother continued, not noticing Apple’s this-can’t-be-happening-to-me expression.

  Apple was fifteen—nearly sixteen—and her mother was speaking for her! It was almost as bad as having your mother in the doctor’s office while the doctor asked if you were sexually active.

  Apple regretted not having had Lyon drive her here.

  “Yes, I am Apple Berg. I have a meeting with Nancy,” Apple interrupted, trying to act composed, letting go of her mother’s arm, attempting to butt in front of her. She could feel her face had turned a deep shade of red. Apple hated how easily she blushed.

  “Hi, I’m Morgan. And … oh, my God,” Morgan said, looking at Apple’s mother with an intense stare. “You’re the Queen of Hearts! I Tivo your show every day! My friends are going to be so, so jealous when they hear that I met you in person. I’ll call Nancy and let her k
now you’re both here. You can take a seat over there,” she said, pointing at pink couches near a white coffee table. “Would you like anything to drink, Dr. Berg? A Perrier? Flat water? Coffee? Tea? Juice?”

  “I’m fine, thank you, sweetie,” her mother answered calmly and, Apple thought, overly politely, like she was a politician trying to charm voters.

  Apple grudgingly had to give credit to her mother. She was always nice to fawning fans. Apple couldn’t imagine always having to be nice to strangers who acted like they knew her.

  Apple was always amazed, too, at how much better people on television were treated, as if celebrities were somehow more worthy than anyone else.

  I’m okay, too, thought Apple. Thanks for asking me if I want anything!

  She was more than a little annoyed. But what did she expect? Whenever she went out with her mother in public, which wasn’t often, Apple was invisible. This meet-and-greet was supposed to be about her, and the receptionist seemed to care only about her mother!

  If only Happy hadn’t forced her to wear her boots, she’d have been able to walk in alone. She looked at her mother, who was beaming as she always did when strangers recognized her. Apple scowled as she grabbed her mother’s arm and held on for dear life as they walked to the white leather couch to wait for Fancy Nancy.

  “She’ll be right out,” announced Morgan, this time giving Apple a friendly smile. “She’s just finishing up a conference call right now. There’s reading material for you. If you don’t mind, Dr. Berg, can I grab your autograph? I usually wouldn’t do this, but my mother and friends would kill me if I didn’t.”

  Apple wanted to gag. She wondered why people collected autographs. What was this Morgan going to do with her mother’s autograph? Seriously. Sell it on eBay? She wondered how much her mother’s autograph would be worth anyway.

  Apple sat beside her mother on one of the couches and picked up a magazine off the table. Of course, all the reading materials were past issues of Angst. She picked up an issue with a photo of a huge twenty-year-old celebrity named Kenneth, whom Happy was obsessed with. Kenneth, an actor on a hit television show, had recently become so famous that his face was plastered everywhere—even on her cereal box.

  “Happy is in love with this guy,” Apple said to her mother, pointing to the cover. “It’s too bad he’s such a jerk. I can’t believe he cheated on his wife of, like, four months.” The gossip on America’s young, hot rising star, marrying so young and then cheating on his new wife, had made headlines everywhere, even on CNN, as if it were real news.

  “I can’t believe he got married in the first place! What is he? Twenty? Oh, young celebrities these days,” her mother said, in full-on Dr. Bee Bee Berg mode. “They grow up too fast and then, because they’re acting like adults way before their time, they think that marriage is the next step. It’s no wonder their marriages never last. No one should get married that young. Marriage is not just about love. It takes work, responsibility, and commitment.”

  To Apple, the stream of words coming from her mother’s mouth sounded like a lecture, and one she had heard too many times. Apple hoped no one could overhear her mother’s rant. She didn’t seem to grasp the concept of using an “indoor voice.”

  “I should do a show featuring young people getting married,” her mother continued. “Remind me to tell Guy about the idea. Because people these days don’t know how much work goes into good marriages. They get into one fight and they’re out like lightning. And yet they still seem unable to stop themselves.”

  Yeah, you should know, Apple thought. She kept that not-so-nice thought to herself, though it was true. For months and months, around her Zen Crush time, Apple had noticed there was trouble in her own parents’ marriage.

  Even Crazy Aunt Hazel, who rarely noticed anything if it didn’t have to do with her, had noticed. Her dad had slept in a different room for weeks, and he and her mother never spent any time together. Her dad spent all his spare time on the golf course and got angry with her mother for constantly talking about work. And her mother never stopped talking about work. To Apple, her parents seemed like strangers sharing the same house.

  It was clear to Apple that her mother’s work had come before her marriage. It was clear to everyone but Dr. Berg. It was ironic, thought Apple, that the person who told people how to have successful relationships hadn’t even noticed her own marriage falling apart.

  That was, until Apple screamed at her mother that she didn’t practice what she preached, that she didn’t even realize her own marriage was a sham. Thanks to Apple’s outburst, her parents were once again acting like newlyweds. Her mother made sure to spend at least one night a week going out with her dad, and they were sleeping in the same room again. In fact, it was like they had fallen in love all over again. Every Monday for weeks now, her dad had sent her mother flowers at the studio, and her mother had made more of an effort to be home earlier and talk about things other than work. And Guy now had to leave the house by 9 p.m. so her parents could spend “quality time” together.

  Guy was hurt when he heard about this new rule, but he understood. Apple thought that he shouldn’t be hanging around so much at their house anyway. Sure, he was amazing at his job, booking guests and keeping Dr. Berg’s life organized. But Apple thought he should have more of a social life. She thought he could for sure find someone if he spent as much time on his personal life as he did on his job. If her crazy aunt could find someone, then anyone could.

  “You know, he really kind of looks like Lyon,” Dr. Berg said, looking at the photograph of Kenneth on the magazine cover.

  “You think?” Apple asked.

  “Yes. They have the same bone structure,” Dr. Berg answered.

  Apple looked at the photo again more closely. There was some resemblance. She couldn’t believe that her boyfriend was as good-looking as this actor featured on the cover of Angst magazine.

  Apple watched the glass doors open behind the reception desk. There was no mistaking who was coming through it. Without a doubt, it was Fancy Nancy, the editor-in-chief of Angst magazine, the one who had seen her on Queen of Hearts.

  It was impossible to ignore that Fancy Nancy, along with having the face of a china doll, had presence. It was as if everyone and everything—even the fake plants in the corners—stopped breathing when she appeared. She had what Happy like to call “that It factor.” Apple told herself, for the umpteenth time, to remember not to call her “Fancy Nancy” to her face.

  Fancy Nancy was wearing a simple black sleeveless dress that clung to her body as if were painted on. She looked nothing short of elegant. Apple and Dr. Berg stood up immediately, in unison, and walked over to her. Apple inhaled a deep breath, finding it hard to swallow. Fancy Nancy may have had “that It factor,” but Apple found her terrifying.

  Fancy Nancy stuck out her hand and shook her mother’s first.

  “Dr. Bee Bee Berg! I am so thrilled to meet you in person. I can’t believe we haven’t met before. I’m pleasantly surprised that Apple brought you along. I’m sure a ton of my employees would love to meet you. In fact, we were just talking about you in our story meeting last week. We’re thinking about doing a profile on you! Photos of your home, your family, your daughter. It would be a great way to introduce Apple to the Angst readership and learn what it’s like to grow up with someone who has helped so many people on television,” Fancy Nancy said. She wasn’t exactly gushing, but she was close.

  Oh. My. God. Was Fancy Nancy sucking up to her mother too? Did she really believe that her mother actually helped people by getting them to admit on television that they cheated on their husbands or were thinking about leaving their wives for younger women? Didn’t she know that her mother’s show, like Angst magazine, was pure entertainment?

  Apple also couldn’t believe how young Fancy Nancy seemed. She had imagined someone more like her mother, but Fancy Nancy looked just a few years older than Apple.

  “That would be fantastic,” said Dr. Berg, excited
ly. “Why not? It would be fun. And I’m so proud of Apple and will do anything to help her and her career here at Angst.”

  “Great. I’ll get my people to call your people, then, and we’ll get it set up,” said Fancy Nancy.

  Hello? Apple thought. What about me? Why don’t you ask me if it’s all right to come into my home and do a story? What if I don’t want a story about me in a magazine? And what about saying hi to me? I’m the one you called in to meet with. Me!

  Finally, Fancy Nancy looked at Apple.

  “And you must be the famous Apple! We are so pleased to have you join the Angst family. Why don’t you two follow me? Morgan!” Fancy Nancy hollered, though Morgan was only two feet away.

  “Yes, Nancy?” Morgan answered, rushing over to her side. Clearly, whenever Nancy said jump, you jumped. Apple was impressed. Fancy Nancy was the only woman she had ever met, aside from her mother, who even came close to having such an effect on people.

  “Can you please show Dr. Bee Bee Berg around the office, introduce her to some people, especially Jan and Heather, who I know watch the show religiously, while I take Apple into my office for a little chat?”

  “Sure, not a problem,” said Morgan.

  It took everything in Apple’s power to try to forget the throbbing pain in her feet. She should have asked Brooklyn for meditating tips. It would have been good to know how to focus on something other than her feet at this moment. Apple needed NOT to focus on her feet right now, or rather the lack of feeling in her feet. She needed to be professional. Or at least fake it. That was what Guy always said—“Fake it until you make it.”

  Her mother reached out and gave Apple’s hand a squeeze before Morgan led her in one direction while Apple followed Fancy Nancy down a long hallway in the opposite direction.

  “Love the boots,” Nancy said to Apple, who was trailing behind. Apple hadn’t seen Fancy Nancy look below Apple’s face since they were introduced. How did she notice Apple’s boots when she was walking in front of her? It was almost as if she could smell designer shoes if they were in her presence. It somehow made wearing them—and the pain of wearing them—worth it.