(Click or copy and paste the link for Part 1 of Love, Cocaine and Naked Cannonballs: http://hollywoodadd.com/post/12346369358/love-cocaine-and-naked-cannonballs-part-1 )
…“And I’m fucking pregnant!”
Silence. And then more silence. And then…
“Creestal? Creestal? Is everything okay? Should I call cop?”
It was Hector. He was standing outside on the patio of the restaurant with a look of terror on his face. I know what his face looked like because after the big announcement I stumbled out from my hiding place and stood next to stunned Bree. She waved Hector away and sat down at the table right inside of the front door.
“Are you telling me that you are sleeping with Mark Russo and now you’re going to have his baby?” Bree asked.
“Yeah, bitch, and today I find your fucking phone number and slutty text messages in his phone.” Sofia said, lowering her voice an octave or two.
Bree was in shock so I stepped in to explain that Bree didn’t have a clue. In the middle of explaining Bree’s voice returned.
“He told me he loved me,” she said. Then… “HE TOLD ME HE FUCKING LOVED ME!”
“There it is,” I said.
“HE FUCKING GOT ME PREGNANT!!” Sofia squawked, as if we needed to hear the words that this loser had fertilized her again.
They started talking over each other at a feverish pace. I started pacing back and forth across the room waiting for them to finish. To me they sounded like a two old, Jewish women screaming at each other in a language only they knew and I swear I heard the words “Rosh Hashanah” and “Yom Kippur” at some point.
“Let’s go,” Sofia said.
“Now?”
“Now! We can’t let him get away with this shit!” Sofia exclaimed grabbing her hand.
“Wait. What? Go where? Bree, Sofia let’s think about this for a sec…” I couldn’t believe I was the voice of reason in this situation. This had never happened to me before.
But there was no stopping them as they frantically hurried to Sofia’s Beemer. I ran after them and dove in the backseat, barely slamming the door shut before Sofia backed up off the sidewalk and into the street. After discovering we were headed over to Mark Russo’s house I tried to talk them out of whatever they were thinking of doing until Sofia slammed on the brakes and in her best Penelope Cruz impression yet, threatened to leave me on the side of the road. Seeing as how I was in my Payless high heels and didn’t have any desire to walk three miles back to the restaurant since, in my haste, I left my purse back at work and couldn’t call a cab, I decided to shut up and let them have their revenge.
We pulled up in front of a multi-million dollar home in the hills. Sofia and Bree got out of the car, strutted over to his gate and started ringing Mark’s intercom to let them in. I hopped out of the car to get a better view of the embarrassing show these two co-dependent women were about to put on for the neighborhood.
“Who is it?” Mark said through his intercom.
“You think you can fuck us both and get away with it you fucker! Open the fucking gate!” Sofia hollered.
This might just be my belief, but that might not be the best tactic to use to get a man to open his home to any woman. Apparently Mark thought so too and when the gate didn’t move Sofia seemed to get even more angry and pressed down the intercom button. “Open up Mark! We have things to say to you. I hear you told us both how much you loved us and that we were the only ones for you and showed us both your special naked cannonball acrobatics!”
What’s with this guy and naked cannonballing? This can’t be a sexy position for a woman to see a man in… curled up in a naked ball jumping into a cold pool. As I was pondering this over and trying to shake the mental image out of my head my gaze landed on Bree and I realized this was the first time I had ever seen her in the follower position. Usually she was the take charge leader but she looked like a meek little kitten. I guess all of us meet our match one day.
“I’m gonna get a fucking abortion! I’m gonna get a fucking abortion! I know you want the baby and I’m not going to let you have it!” Sofia kept repeating over and over through the intercom. In case it had escaped anyone in the nearby houses thus far, Sofia had officially confirmed her 51/50 mental state. Just as I was starting to feel bad for the coke-loving, two-timing cliche of a producer my compassionate thoughts were interrupted when I noticed Bree was searching in the grass like a madwoman. I asked her over and over what she was looking for but wouldn’t answer. She finally found it and held up a huge rock.
“What are you doing?!” I exclaimed. “You’re going to get arrested!”
She flung it over the gate with such force that she let out the guttural sound that a juicer makes after giving himself a shot in the ass. What I didn’t realize was that any rock she threw was never in any danger of hitting anything since the house was set back a good football field away from the gate. She searched in vain for another one. When she found her next rock she held it triumphantly over her head before hurling it over.
It was at that point I gave up and went back to the car to wait for Sofia and Bree to finish their tirade and prayed the cops wouldn’t be called. Mark never answered the intercom again. As I watched them, their cries of desperation silenced by the luxury windows in Sofia’s car, I felt the same embarrassment and shame for them I felt as a little girl the night I watched Justin Timberlake cover an Alan Jackson song on Star Search in a ridiculous cowboy outfit that must have doubled as his Halloween costume that year.
When they finally gave up they trotted back to the car invigorated after what, in their delusional minds, they thought was a break in the feminist movement. They spoke in excited tones the entire way back to the restaurant where they exchanged numbers and hugged like long lost sorority sisters before parting ways. I drove off with the image of them laughing and hugging over their maniacal attack of Mark sketched in my brain.
Over the next few months Sofia and Bree began to get closer and closer until they were inseparable. As Sofia’s belly grew (she didn’t get the abortion she had so eagerly threatened Mark with) so did their sisterhood of the crazy ex-girlfriends. Bree and I slowly grew apart just as most superficial, alcohol and drug induced friendships in Hollywood often do but on numerous occasions I would reminisce about that night in the Hills I wondered what ever happened with Mark…
A couple years later… On a quiet Sunday morning I was relaxing with my coffee and my basset hound when I saw an article in a pseudo-reputable entertainment magazine about the comeback of the young, Hollywood producer that burnt out so early on drugs and women. Towards the end of the article Mark raved to the reporter about his love for his young child and his “fiery” wife… Sofia.
