Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me Read online

  The only way to stop it was to tell Beth the truth, which was gonna suck nuts for me. I was completely at fault. I hadn’t stopped the joke because I’d figured it would stop itself, but, no, it had just kept spiraling and spiraling. She was gonna be pissed, and rightly so. I had allowed her to be led astray for weeks and had never said anything. I had betrayed her trust. But what was I supposed to do? Wait until she lost money and then tell her about the joke? There was gonna be a fight. A big one. The worst kind of fight, mind you; the kind I couldn’t win.

  I decided to wait until the end of the week and then take her on a nice weekend to Santa Barbara. I figured that sometime on the drive up there, she would forgive me because I’m a dumbass and the weekend together would just put a bow on it. I told Chelsea that I was going to tell Beth about the joke and maybe to expect a tiny little shit storm, but nothing too bad.

  When Friday came, I told Beth I needed to talk to her, but she said she really needed to tell me something first. Knowing that I was delivering nothing she wanted to hear, I decided I should probably build up as much goodwill as I could, so I let her do the honors.

  “I lost ten thousand dollars,” she said.

  Uh… what? I’m sorry, it sounded like you said you lost ten thousand dollars, but I know there’s no way that’s possible, because we don’t have ten thousand dollars for you to lose. I know some of you are thinking, “What do you mean you don’t have ten thousand dollars to lose? That’s nothing. You’re on TV and rich.” One of those is true. Let’s just say that with a lot of my checks, after I pay The Man, my agent, lawyer, and manager, I barely have enough left over to get drunk. But make no mistake: ten thousand dollars is a lot of fucking money.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “How did you lose ten thousand dollars?”

  “Well, Chelsea and I bet on a basketball game last week and won.” What? They bet a basketball game last week? How did I not know about that? “We bet one more Monday and won.” What in the fuck is going on here? “So, I thought I would try one on my own, and I lost. I’m so sorry, baby. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was winning. It all seemed so easy, like I could never lose.”

  Oh. My. God. This was not the conversation I thought I was going to have. Ten thousand dollars?

  I called Chelsea. “Beth lost ten thousand dollars.”

  Silence.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “I heard you,” she responded. “That’s not good.”

  “No shit that’s not good. Why were you guys gambling?”

  “Well, every fake bet I made I would have won, so I thought I’d try a couple of real ones,” she explained. “Beth kept calling and calling about when we were betting, so I let her bet with me. Ten thousand dollars. Wow. That’s a lot of money. I’ll call you back.”

  Fifteen minutes later I got this text: It’s not $10K. It’s $15K. His name is Trent. 310-xxx-xxxx. I’m really sorry about this.”

  Great. Fifteen thousand I didn’t have that I needed to shell over to a bookie. So I called him. I figured I could explain the situation and tell him that I’d pay it off in two installments. Now, I’ve been around enough bookies to know that normally there’s no way they would let that happen, but I figured I would drop Chelsea’s name and the guy would cut me some slack. I’ll cut right to the only quote you need to know from that conversation.

  “I don’t care if you’re friends with the Pope. It’s fifteen K all at the same time.”

  There was no getting out of this. Fifteen thousand dollars basically would wipe out my little cushion. But as much as we couldn’t afford to pay this guy, we had to pay this guy. Trent didn’t strike me as a dude who was going to let $15K just walk away. The next day, I set up a time to go over to his house and then went to the bank to get the money.

  You ever write a check big enough for you not to want to let go of it? Imagine that… but with cash. I had fifteen thousand dollars in cash in my hand. I’d be lying if I told you the idea of driving to Mexico and seeing how long I could be drunk off $15K didn’t at least flash through my mind. And by flash, I mean I thought about it for about twenty-five minutes.

  I drove up to Trent’s house in the Hollywood Hills; he buzzed me in at the gate and told me that he was in the back by the pool. As I was walking around the house all I could think was how I’d dug my own grave on this one. I never spoke up and because of that I was out $15K. I also decided that, to save my own ass, I would never tell Beth about the joke. Ever. That was the one good thing. She felt she had to make it up to me because she was the one who’d fucked up.

  Nothing in the world could’ve prepared me for what I saw when I turned the corner and entered Trent’s backyard. It was Chelsea and Beth. Sitting on chairs by the pool.

  “What’s up, asshole?” Chelsea said.

  I was too stunned to speak.

  They had set me up from the beginning. As soon as I had told Beth that Chelsea was a big-time gambler, Chelsea pulled the ol’ switcheroo. That tricky bitch.

  Who knows? Maybe I am adopted.

  Josh should be ashamed of himself. His wife is the sweetest person I have ever met, and it’s unfortunate he found himself in such a jam. I believe I am singlehandedly responsible for saving their marriage. Godspeed.

  —Chelsea

  This is Josh with my sisters. Everyone has a crush on Josh except for me—because we almost went down that road ten years ago until both of us made sharp turns in opposite directions.

  Chapter Eight

  Sisterly Love

  SHOSHONNA HANDLER

  Chelsea and me on our front lawn in New Jersey. This was before our relationship went south.

  My name is Shoshonna and I am Chelsea’s older sister. My parents told me that before Chelsea was born I was a cute, good-natured, happy-go-lucky kid. Then came 1975 and my blissful little five-year-old world was turned upside down. I had been the baby of our large and dysfunctional family for five years and had loved every minute of it. I didn’t know what to make of the new addition to our family, or why they would have named her Chelsea. Every time I heard her name, it reminded me of seafood stew. I cried all the time.

  Chelsea had an all-consuming presence. It felt like being hit by a train. My father has told us all many times over that when she was born, she came out with such a strong cry that the nurse said to him, “You’d better watch out for this one.” Over the years, I became more quiet and pensive as Chelsea’s boisterous personality took center stage. She was full of piss and vinegar from day one, and could throw a tantrum that would put any toddler to shame. This kid was a force to be reckoned with, and my parents were already exhausted with their other five kids. They were in no way prepared to handle raising this particular child, and their feeble efforts were of little consequence. Besides, our mom was always napping, knitting, or cooking, and was too soft-spoken to really stand up to Chelsea.

  By the time Chelsea was three, she had the street smarts of a nine-year-old, and I may as well have been born yesterday. We were complete opposites, like oil and water, and never agreed on anything. If I was watching a TV show she didn’t like, she would say something like “A package just came for you at the door, Shana,” or “Mom just took some brownies out of the oven,” and then take over the television. I fell for it every time. I would come back in the room and wage war in the form of a wrestling match. Ultimately I would be the one to get yelled at or sent to my room because I was “older” and “should know better.” We fought constantly and wanted to rip each other’s throats out for most of our childhood. Physically I had the upper hand, but verbally I was no match for her. By the time she was eight, she had the debating skills of a seasoned politician, and I am being completely serious.

  For many years we shared a bedroom, and we agreed to place masking tape down the middle and not cross territories. This was pretty much a joke, unless we were both in the room. Raids occurred when the other person was not there. Chelsea would regularly steal my clothes when I was in high s