“No,” Barry says. “I mean, last night was a different guy. I mean... We had fun, didn’t we...” Barry falters.
“Vince!” the young man yells. “My name is Vince! I’m outta here!”
“Not before I take a picture,” Teddy says, lifting his phone to snap a photo of Vince’s perfect body clad only in a pair of skimpy Andrew Christian briefs.
Vince storms out of the kitchen and down the hallway. He reappears seconds later, carrying his clothes from last night.
“Now that’s a real walk of shame,” Teddy mutters.
The door slams.
“Stop it!” I say. “All of you. It’s always aboutyou. I’m always taking care of you. And I’m tired of it.”
I lean against the counter and sigh. “I signed up for all of this because I love you. I thought we were a team, friends who would always help and support one another no matter what, but we’ve become total narcissists who only care about our own place in this house and this world, and I’m sick of it.”
I open the fridge and place the sirloin inside.
“To celebrate Modernism Week, I was going to make beefstroganoff with scalloped potatoes and creamed peas and onions along with a pineapple upside-down cake,” I continue. “Manhattans and champagne, just like the Rat Pack used to have.”
“The Rat Pack fought sometimes, too, Ron,” Sid says.
“So did the Golden Girls,” Barry adds.
“They did,” I say with a small smile. “All friends do sometimes. But they don’t take each other for granted. They value one another’s strengths and faults.” I look at Teddy. “They don’t put you down, and they don’t lie.” I look at Barry. “They don’t leave you alone.” I look at Sid. “And they know when you need them most.”
I walk out of the kitchen.
“Come back, Ron,” Sid says. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to Spencer’s for brunch, where someone will finally wait on me for once,” I say, continuing to walk toward the door. “And then I’m going to be a docent at the Frey House, where people will appreciate the effort it takes to make a home beautiful.”
I stop at the door and turn off my cell. “Don’t call me,” I add. “Right now, I feel like crawling under the covers and eating a box of Velveeta.”
It’s a Rose Nylund quote fromThe Golden Girls. I’ve said it a million times, but I have never understood its deeper meaning until this very moment.
I open the door to leave.
Two women, one old, one young, are standing in the doorway. The older one, sporting the worst wash-and-set I’ve ever seen—and believe me, I saw some bad hair growing up—has her hand in mid-air about to ring the doorbell. The girl is yawning.
“Does Teddy Copeland live here?” she asks.
“He does,” I say. “May I ask your name?”
“Trudy,” she says. “I’m his sister.”
Could this morning get any moreDynasty?
How did she find us? How many calls and texts did Trudy make that Teddy avoided? I saw his phone light up more theselast few days than Barry’s Grindr account. Why would she suddenly show up on our doorstep? I mean, she could be selling Avon based on the amount of makeup she’s wearing, but she’d certainly look a bit more polished, right? Who does she remind me of? Oh, yes: Mimi fromThe Drew Carey Show.
Or, could it be revenge—served cold, unlike my pineapple upside-down cake—for Teddy’s dismissal of her existence all these years. Who knows? But it feels fabulous to turn the tables on the others for once and make them do some dirty work.
I rub my hands together in delight and happily escort them into the kitchen.
Teddy’s eyes pop from his head when he sees his sister.
“I’ve changed my mind,” I say with a big smile. “I think I’m staying for brunch.”
Act Two
