Fabulous or Bust

It was August of 2004, one year after the infamous "Cake Incident" at Martine's party (the start of when things began to fall apart). Over the past year my relationship with my mother had gone from loving and close to completely non-existent. And during that time "denial" turned into mourning.

I understand denial. It's not painful. Logically you know something bad has happened, or is happening, but you don't allow yourself to feel it. You hide it. You push it beneath the surface. You pretend it's not there.

But it can't stay under forever. When it comes up for air, whenever that may be, is when the emotional pain sets in. The mourning.

When the mourning phase hit I cried a lot. I cried for the pain of the loss of my mother. She hadn't died, but my heart ached for her as if she had. In a way, she did.

I had no strength. I felt emotionally weak, beaten down. Anything, no matter how benign, could start me crying in an instant. Like this one time, when I sat across from a mother and daughter on a city bus. Observing their simplest of interactions caused tears to well up in my eyes. I thought how lucky they were to be able to spend time together, ride the bus, go shopping, talk, whatever. I'm sure they took their relationship for granted -- it's an easy thing to do. When I had a relationship with my mom I took it for granted, too.

Another time, I was walking down the street thinking about this or that (but not thinking about my mother), when I heard a girl say two simple words into her cell phone as she passed me. Two words brought me to tears. You know what they were? "Hi Mom." Sadness consumed me. It consumed my life.

In May I began seeing my therapist in NYC again, to help me cope. I had seen her in the beginning of the mess but then I had stopped, thinking I didn't need her anymore. Well, I still did.

I wanted to be fabulous for Tim's party. So very, very much. But more than just "want," it was a need. I needed to be fabulous. My spirit was so sad. It longed for the lift that feeling fabulous gives. If I could just find a way to pull out that fun, fabulous side of "Laura" that I knew was in there, somewhere.

Tim invited me to a weekend-long bash in celebration of his 50th birthday, to be held at his brother's lakefront property in South Carolina. Being invited to Tim's party meant a lot to me. Not only would I meet many of his close friends, it meant I had become one as well, and I found that notion to be just peachy.

For Tim's summer shindig down south, sitting in my closet amongst my vast collection of vintage dresses, I had the perfect one to wear: mint green, sleeveless, from the 70s, with a form-fitting bodice, swingy A-line skirt and matching sash that tied at the waist.

And I already had these crazy-fun shoes to wear with the dress: slide-on wedges with a wide, clear strap. The wedges made the shoes crazy-fun: they were covered in a profusion of fluffy red feathers, making it look like I had tromped through a chicken coop on Mars. Paired with my flirty, understated mint green dress, the outfit was quite -- fabulous.

There was one problem, however, with wearing my "perfect" dress: emotionally down in the dumps for the past many months, I had packed on some undesired extra pounds, and the dress showcased every last bit of them. For a long time I had let my weight slide, lacking the will and incentive to keep it where I wanted it to be. But for Tim's mega-party I had to get it together. Rule #1 of "Being Fabulous" is you can't feel fat in your dress.

It was a battle of willpower down to the very last day. I don't know how I did it, but I did. When I boarded that plane for South Carolina, it was with the decree that yes, I was going to wear my mint green 70s dress and it was going to look great. I was on the road to being fabulous.

Friday night was a casual meet-and-greet dinner for the guests who had already arrived. (The main event was Saturday evening.) I met Tim's brother, Brad, for the first time and we hit it off immediately.

Saturday morning brought mingling with the many guests on Brad's gorgeous property, at one time featured in Architectural Digest. After lunch Brad took his speedboat out on the lake so a group of us could go water-skiing. It was such a blast. On my first attempt the bar you're supposed to hold on to flew right out of my hands, and Brad playfully reprimanded, "Laura, you have to hold on tight!" Ah, yes, I forgot about that. On my next try I had an impressive run. I had so much fun that for a while I actually forgot about my troubles.

Late Saturday afternoon, excitement all around, I returned to the cottage on the property where I was staying to get ready for the party. After I was all showered and done up, I sauntered over to veranda of the house where everyone was gathering for drinks. My outfit was a smash hit. Brad's friend Sandy, a big, raucous personality, let out a thunderous scream when he saw my shoes. "Where in the world did you get those? I want a pair!" I said they probably didn't come in his size, but I could help him glue some feathers on a pair of shoes that fit.

My fun continued as I flitted around, chatting with nearly everyone and taking lots of pictures throughout the evening -- I was the official party photographer. After drinks we migrated to an area outside where three long tables had been set up in a U-shape, where we all sat for dinner. The weather that night was perfect.

After dinner, Tim stood up to gather everyone's attention before giving a speech. But instead of talking about himself, he took the opportunity to individually extol the virtues of each guest in attendance. When Tim talked about me, his quirky ex-assistant, I was so embarrassed -- but I also felt honored to be an important person in his life.

Next the party moved inside for after-dinner drinks accompanied by a pianist. When the pianist finished his set around ten, I asked Warren if we could put on my disco CDs? The after-dinner cocktail hour was soon transformed into a rollicking, foot-stomping disco dance party. Off went my feathered shoes, and barefoot in my swingy 70s dress I danced up a storm, and didn't stop until the party wound down to a close after midnight.

I was so... fabulous that day that three couples invited me to visit them back home for a weekend. When I went to bed I was riding high. I felt as if a yearlong cloud of oppression had been lifted away. I reveled in the lightness of my spirit.

Rousing into consciousness the next morning, I was completely exhausted. I tried to sleep some more but I couldn't.

I dragged myself out of bed and into the sunroom, my favorite room in the cottage. Gazing out the windows, in the distance I saw a sparkling lake surrounded by lush greenery. I thought to myself that the setting of this weekend-long soiree couldn't have been more idyllic. The guests were all friendly and having a great time. I was having a great time -- the day before. But now my mood was downright dismal.

Soon guests would be gathering in the main house for Sunday brunch. Ugh, more festivities? More socializing? It seemed like a chore.

A shower and some coffee hardly perked me up. Not knowing what else to do, I headed to the house. Tim, Brad and Warren all gave me a big hello. Warren exclaimed, "Your dancing last night was a big hit! People can't stop talking about your twirling." (I spin around a lot when I dance.)

"Uh huh, that's nice," was all I could muster up.

I tried to get into the groove of the mellow morning gathering, but I didn't have anything to say to anyone. I was so lively just yesterday -- what's happened to me? Meandering around, the fancy, southern-style brunch spread looked amazing, but I wasn't the least bit hungry to partake in it.

After half an hour I had to get out of there. I needed to be alone. But where could I go? The cottage wasn't private enough. A walk in the woods? Nah. Then I remembered the Playhouse. Yeah, that cute little playhouse Brad had shown me during a tour of the property.

Up a ways from the main house, the Playhouse was a tiny, self-contained "house" about eight by six by six feet high. It was furnished with everything in miniature: a tiny bed and kitchen sink, a tiny table set with tiny plates and silverware, tiny pictures on its little walls.

I opened the Playhouse's little door, ducked my head as I stepped in, and closed the door behind me. Carefully, I sat down on child-sized bed, housed in a frame that raised it five or six inches from the floor. I wrapped my arms around my knees. And then, with my head down and my hands covering my face, I burst out into tears. I cried and cried and cried.

The outpouring was intense. I let it out, let it out, let it out. The sadness and pain that were a constant in my life. Abandoned by my mom, for a year now. Betrayed, so utterly and completely. A lawsuit against Pam, one in which she was telling shameless, outright lies. Feeling so alone. No more "Mom" to spend time with, to share my life with. Feeling so hurt inside. So terribly hurt. And for what -- money? They needed money so desperately? If that were the case, why couldn't they have talked to me about it? We could have found another way. It didn't have to turn out like this.

Although I hardly played in the Playhouse, it served me well. When I emerged I was thoroughly spent. All cried out, at least for the time being.

My flight home was scheduled for Monday evening, but I was intent upon leaving as soon as possible. I was eager to return to the solace of my apartment, away from parties and people and all this hoopla.

Back at the cottage, I called my airline and rescheduled my flight to that evening. Under normal circumstances I would be loath to incur a $125 change fee, but this time it didn't faze me one bit. I would have even paid more.

When I returned to Brad's house and Tim saw me, he said, "Oh, there you are! Where were you? You disappeared."

With a forced half-smile I replied, "I went for a walk. I guess I lost track of time."

Another couple was taking the same evening flight. When they mentioned needing a ride to the airport I said, "I'm on that flight, too."

Puzzled, Warren inquired, "I thought your flight back was on Monday?"

"Nope. It's tonight."

At the Greenville-Spartanburg airport, un-luck had it such that I got singled out for a random, thorough search. I did not react well to it. We were running late, and the delay might cause me to miss my flight, the last one to NYC that evening. Little did the woman frisking me know how tenuous my mood was. When she took away my shoes and wouldn't give them back, leaving me standing barefoot on the dirty airport floor, I nearly had another Playhouse Meltdown.

After the security woman had her fill of rubbing her metal detector up, down and around my chest, and going through every nook and cranny of my luggage, she returned my shoes and I was allowed past the security check. Hallelujah, I was no longer a threat to national security. I made a beeline for my gate. Thankfully I made my flight. I so needed to get back home. It was all I wanted.

First thing Monday morning, I called my therapist. I was relieved to hear she had time to see me that afternoon. (I had taken the day off, expecting to have still been down south.) During our session I told her about my trip: how great Friday and Saturday were, and how terrible Sunday was from when the moment I woke up in the morning.

She asked if anything had happened on Saturday that could have upset me? The only thing I could think of was not being happy with where Tim had seated me at dinner. I had seen the place setting cards well before dinner, and my seat seemed far and away from everyone I wanted to be near. When I asked Warren if it could be changed, he had said, "Tim decided where everyone is sitting and it can't be changed." Brad ended up stepping in and remedying the situation. Thanks, Brad -- it was fun sitting next to you.

My therapist deduced it was that very incident that had set me off. She said, "You regard Tim as special, and you had thought he regarded you as special, too. But when he seated you far away it didn't make you feel special. After what you've been through with your mom and Pam you're very sensitive, more so than ever, and you need to feel special." Feeling choked up, I nodded my head in agreement. She continued, "And maybe you felt a little betrayed by Tim. I'm sure he cares about you very much and had no intention of doing anything that would hurt your feelings."

I believed her.