Brenda Janowitz - Based On A True Story

But, more importantly, it’s because he’s writing a movie about my life. And not about the good parts, either. I’m sure he doesn’t have a scene about all of the charity work I do here in the city. Well, okay, fine, I don’t have a ton of time for charity since I work fourteen hour days regularly, but I do attend my fair share of black-tie charity events, so that should count. Or, say, he could write a scene about the time I helped that blind lady cross Lexington that day at lunch. That would be nice.

But I just know that that’s not the kind of movie he’ll be writing. No, he’s going to be writing a movie about a sad single girl in New York City. Instead of scenes that showcase her fabulousness, he’ll be writing scenes where she obsesses endlessly about going to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding. Instead of scenes that show how hard she works at her big-time law firm, there will be scenes where she does silly thing after silly thing in a fruitless attempt to keep her dignity ever-so-slightly intact, and instead ends up looking like a fool. No, thank you!

And, also, when I think about what I spent this evening on hair and make-up alone, I just cannot afford having to see Trip on a day-to-day basis. Case closed.

I don’t really know what’s said for the rest of the dinner. It barely registers who paid the bill or if we even paid the bill at all. I’m in a daze for the rest of the time and all I can think is: my ex-boyfriend is making a movie about me.

Jack shuttles me into a cab and I open the window to get a gust of cool air as we head uptown.

“So,” Jack says, turning to face me, “do you think they’ll offer me a part?”

“Wow,” my best friend Vanessa says.

“I know.”

“Wow.”

“I know,” I repeat.

“Wow.”

“Okay, you’re going to need to say something other than ‘wow.’”

“I can’t think of anything else to say,” she says, and sinks into her chair. We’re at Bernard’s Gourmet on Third Avenue for lunch. I needed to convene a special counsel to discuss the fact that my ex-boyfriend is making a movie about my life. And that it’s starring his gorgeous movie-star wife. You’d really think that a big-time Hollywood agent and his movie-star wife would have better things to do with their time than to ruin my life.

But, no.

“Maybe I should be flattered,” I say, taking a bite of my Cobb salad. “I mean, clearly, my life is so interesting that Trip thinks the entire movie-going public of America wants to know about it.”

“Don’t forget Europe,” Vanessa says. “American movies play overseas, too.” She takes a bite out of her hamburger and I silently curse her for the fact that she can eat whatever she wants and I gain weight if I even look at a hamburger. Maybe this is owing to the fact that she’s five-foot eight and a marathon runner who religiously runs six miles a day-but still. And more important than the fact that she’s thin, she’s so gorgeous that if her ex-boyfriend made a movie about her life, they’d probably be asking her if she’d consider playing herself.

Yes, Vanessa is tall and gorgeous and thin. I have no idea why I’m friends with her.

“And Asia,” she adds. “Don’t forget about Asia.”

“Okay, I won’t. So, my ex-boyfriend is making a movie out of the single most humiliating moment of my life,” I say. “No big deal, right? I’m sure that this is the sort of thing that happens to lots of women out there every day.”

“I’m sure it happens all the time,” she says.

I can tell she’s lying by the way she self-consciously smoothes her hand over her short hair, but I don’t care. It still makes me feel better.

“And being friendly with an ex really isn’t that big of a deal, is it?” I ask, taking a bite of my salad, only allowing myself the tiniest bit of dressing. I mean, so what?”

“So what, indeed,” she says and dips one of her French fries into the ketchup.

“I mean, so what if my ex decides to take the most embarrassing moment of my life and turn it into a major motion picture starring his new wife?” I say, taking another bite of salad, this time abandoning the dressing altogether. “And so what if said new wife has to gain twenty pounds just to play me? I mean, so what?”

“So what!” Vanessa says, slamming her fist down on the table, and I can practically hear a choir rising up in the background.

“Just because I’m not married and I’m not royalty and I’m not an Academy Award nominated actress, I’m still fabulous anyway, right?”

Oh please. As if you wouldn’t be fishing for compliments the day after you found out that your ex-boyfriend was making a movie out of your life.

“Fabulous enough for them to make a movie all about you and your crazy adventures,” Vanessa says, motioning to the waiter for refills on our diet iced teas.

“Yes,” I say. “That’s right. I’m fabulous.” I smile at Vanessa. Sometimes I forget just how truly fabulous I am.

“Did you convince yourself on that one?” she asks.

“No,” I say, looking down at my Cobb salad and then scooping up a forkful of bacon. I silently decide that you don’t have to stay on your diet on the day after you find out your ex-boyfriend is making a movie out of how pathetic your life is. “Did I convince you?”

“Nope,” she says, and goes back to her fries. “But one good thing to come out of this is the fact that Trip knows everything about you going to his wedding. It’s all out in the open, so you don’t have to hide any secrets anymore.”

The secret. I’d nearly forgotten about that. You’d think that once your ex is making a movie about your life, it can’t get worse. But you’d be wrong.

“Right,” I say, grabbing at a stray napkin that’s on the table. I tear it into two pieces and then into four. Vanessa regards me.

“Oh, no,” she says.

“What?” I ask, tearing the napkin in my hand into eight pieces.

“So, he doesn’t know?” she asks and I keep my eyes firmly planted on the floor. “You haven’t told him that you actually brought a fake date to his wedding?”

“About that…”

“That Douglas broke up with you on the eve of his wedding so you brought Jack instead and made him wear a kilt and speak with a Scottish accent?”

“I was there,” I say, “you don’t have to remind me what happened.”

“But Trip doesn’t know any of that?” she asks, staring at me with such intensity that I can feel her eyes burning into my head.

“No idea,” I say, without bringing my eyes up to meet Vanessa’s.

“Then what the hell is the movie about?”

“A girl who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding,” I say, taking a sip of my iced tea. “Apparently, that’s interesting enough in of itself to turn into a movie. You don’t even need the fake kilt part.”

“Brooke,” she says, employing the same tone she’d use in speaking to a small child.

“Well, I don’t see why I should have to say anything,” I say, scooping more bacon onto my fork and dipping it into the dressing. Then I take another bite and pile bacon onto blue cheese and dipthat into the dressing.

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t tell Trip,” she says, shrugging her shoulders.

Um, is she kidding me?! “You don’t see why I wouldn’t?” I cry out, my voice an octave higher than I intend it to be. “Well, for starters, it makes me look like a huge loser-”

“But you have Jack now,” Vanessa says, cutting me off. “Nothing matters anymore now that you have Jack. He’s what’s important. Not some silly semblance of your pride that you’re trying to protect.”

She’s right. When I think about Jack and how lucky I am to have finally found love, I can’t help but feel silly that I’m still obsessing over the fact that my ex got married before me.

The first thing that I’m going to do tomorrow is to call Trip and tell him everything. That Douglas broke up with me right before his wedding so I brought Jack instead. And that in order to keep my dignity ever-so-slightly intact, I made Jack pretend to be Douglas, which meant that he had to don a kilt and a fake Scottish accent and I had to wear a fake engagement ring. But none of that matters anymore since Jack and I are together for real and it’s wonderful and it’s everything I always wanted but never realized was right in front of me because I was too busy thinking that all the wrong things were important. But now I’ve got my head screwed on straight, and I’m engaged to an amazing guy. I will call Trip immediately and tell him all of these things.

But first, I’m going to steal some of Vanessa’s French fries and order myself a hamburger.

«Well, this is unexpected,» I say, as Trip saunters into my office. I think, but don't say: and unwelcome. First, I silently curse Trip for showing up unannounced. Then I silently curse my assistant for not announcing that he'd arrived.

You see, today's the day I'm supposed to be coming clean to Trip about the fact that I brought a fake date to his wedding-the wedding that he's making a major motion picture about-but he's shown up unexpectedly and I'm not really mentally prepared to tell him the truth just yet.

Maybe I should ask him to come back on a day where I've had time to go to the spa to get a massage, manicure and pedicure? Maybe even a facial. Or even a scrub. Yes, I'm sure a scrub would do the trick. Surely then I'd be more relaxed and prepared to admit the fact that I was too embarrassed to tell him that Douglas broke up with me on the eve of his wedding, so I made Jack dress up as a Scotsman and pretend to be Douglas? But I ask you: is there ever a good time to tell your ex-boyfriend that your man broke up with you on the eve of his wedding so you made your best friend dress up as him and come with you?