Kenny decided to ignore Colby for the rest of the night and polish off the bottle of wine. Then proceeded to engage in a very deep conversation with herself, dissecting the lyrics of “Vienna” and how each line correlated to her life.
“Maybe Pelican Pointe ismy‘Vienna’?” she mused aloud.
She took a few more gulps from her goblet and went back to the ad on her computer. But instead of scrolling through the photos, yet again, Kenny waved her cursor back and forth across the screen and eventually clicked on Hailey’s hyperlinked name.
From: Kennedy Sloane
Subject: Pelican Pointe Villa #5
Hi Hailey!
I recently came across the ad for Pelican Pointe Villa #5 and am VERY interested in renting the unit for a month. I’d like to check in immediately.It’s been quite the night, so I’m leaving a voicemail on your office line, too! Please let me know a convenient time to connect.
With urgency,
Kennedy Sloane
Nine
Colby rolled over in his bed and was relieved to find he was there alone. Wednesday evenings that start with strong cocktails at any one of the Hole in the Wall joints and end with a drag show at Industry Bar often make for awkward Thursday mornings.
He popped a few Advil, chugged a Gatorade, and debated whether he should Door Dash a sausage, egg, and cheese on an everything bagel to Kenny’s apartment. When his best friend went to bed angry, hurt, upset, or depressed, waking up to an H&H bagel sandwich and diner-style coffee usually helped her start the new day with a clean slate.
This situation was extra delicate though. It was unchartered territory and Colby had to proceed with caution. He wasn’t exactly surewhyKenny left Hole in the Wall Mexican so abruptly and then ignored his calls and texts after that. A small piece of him questioned if he could have been the reason behind her Irish Exit and subsequent radio silence.
Was she angry that he’d suggested she spend more time on her personal life? Did she think he was trying to life coach her? If so, that wasn’t his intention. He needed a life coach just as much as the next New Yorker. Maybe she overheard people talking about Clinton White and that threw her back into a tailspin. It’s possible those hormones were still going haywire in her head.
If she’s like this after a round of in vitro, what will she be like for nine months when she’s pregnant?he thought. Maybe she saw a guy from Bumble she ghosted and wanted to dodge him.
Regardless of which scenario caused Kenny to bolt before the bill came, she’d get over it with time and space. He just hoped she’d bounce back before the next shoe dropped. He had every intention of telling Kenny over margaritas that Border Books wasn’t going to publishArmchair Detective,but he couldn’t bring himself to do it the same day she lost the Clinton White interview. Luckily, he now had a whole week to break the crushing news to his best friend. When he was leaving the office for Margarita Wednesday, his boss, Muffin Evans, informed him that she was jetting to her home in Bora Bora for a few days and any rejection letters in the que would be held until her return.
Thank goodness for poor cell service in the South Pacific.
Ten
Kenny squinted her eyes and pushed the red comforter down to her waist where she was then able to kick it off the bed with her legs and feet. The Dollhouse was like an oven. She forgot to close the blackout shades, which were nothing more than two black waffle-weave shower curtains that hung from a tension rod. When she started working at WBS, her first assignment was on the overnight shift, so she needed to sleep during the day. Expensive blinds for oversized windows were not in the budget for an entry level television producer. The sunlight that beamed through the window was baking her like a potato—which sounded quite appetizing since she didn’t eat anything the day prior except a bland scrambled egg and few bites of guac. Whether she wanted to or not, she was literally seeing yellow.
She struggled to push herself up to a seated position while she tried to ignore her pounding head. She caught a glimpse of the wine glass and stared at it with disgust. It was on the floor next to her open laptop in front of the couch where she sat comatose for hours. She was still reeling from the events that happened the day prior and knew, at the very least, there would be a steady, dull, constant reminder in her head for a few hours.
Losing the Clinton White interview to NBC, learning thatArmchair Detectivewasn’t going to be published by Border Books, and being betrayed by the only guy—the only person—she implicitly trusted, stirred up a lethal cocktail that gave Kenny the most severe emotional hangover she ever had. Marilyn told Kenny emotional hangovers were what she experienced when she was overwhelmed, overstimulated, or drowning in her own emotions. Kenny knew all the signs. She could see them coming from the Financial District. Sometimes they were manageable, but when she nursed an emotional hangover with a margarita and bottle of wine, the following twenty-four hours proved brutal.
She popped the Advil and chugged the Gatorade she left on her nightstand before bed and reached for her phone so she could turn off her five alarms before the piercingringjoined the drum beating in her head.
“Oof, too fast,” she grunted as she grabbed her meditation book from under the bed and returned to a vertical position. Her pounding head was now also spinning in circles. She sat completely still for a few seconds and then began the Marilyn-mandated rise and shine ritual.
“Today, I am seeing yellow and feeling hungover,” she sarcastically professed, rolling her closed eyes to the back of her head. “I wonder ifthat’son the Wheel of Feelings?”
“Day fifty-one: ‘The mark of a moderate woman is freedom from her own ideas’ by Lao-tzu.”
Kenny burst out laughing. She was anything but moderate. Since she was a kid, it was all in or all out. The current state of her love life and the empty bottle of Clos du Bois were just two glaringly obvious examples of hundreds that she could rattle off.
The notion of being free from one’s own ideas also seemed like a ludicrous concept. Marilyn would encourage her to do things like “get out of her own head.” Whose head Marilyn thought Kenny should be in, she didn’t know. In stark contrast, Muffin Evans told her she didn’thaveany of her own ideas. That she reacted tootherpeople’s ideas.
So, which is it? No wonder I’m crazy!she thought.
The one thing making the day’s meditation slightly tolerable was that Kenny would be able to dazzle Marilyn with her knowledge of Lao-tzu. In other words, try to veer the venerable therapist off her course and avoid another lecture about how Kenny should try to live by this quote.
