Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang Read online

  Chapter Four

  Dudley

  Every once in a while, I like to send out an all-staff e-mail to find out who the dumbest people working on my show are. The e-mail below is something I asked my assistant to devise based on the fact that we still had a doctor's table for a skit we did on the show called "Dr. Lately." Since production had paid to rent the table and we still had it for a few days, I thought it made perfect sense to get our money's worth and see how many people would believe that a gynecologist was coming in to perform a couple of Pap smears. Here is what Eva sent out to the staff:

  Hi there,

  Dr. Clara, MD, will be here on Tuesday, April 14th from 4:30-6:30pm. She is available for individual concentration and will be setting up 20-30 minute appointments on stage 2. Dr. Clara is dedicated to providing outstanding care for patients needing pap smears, adolescent medicine, gynecology, infertility, high-risk obstetrics, STD testing and questions relating to male/female health overall. Space is limited so please email me if you would like to schedule an appointment. She will also be providing the appropriate garments for any examinations. Prices and co-pay vary depending on insurance and for more information on Dr. Clara, MD, and her practice, visit: West Los Angeles Women's Care.com.

  Thanks!!

  I had Eva CC my boyfriend, Ted, on the e-mail so that he could be aware of how I was spending my day, especially since he also happens to be the CEO of the network that my show is on. Ted's office is in a different building from ours, so we are essentially unsupervised and generally unproductive. Ted, instead of realizing that this was obviously a joke, responded with this e-mail to Eva:

  Don't say anything yet to CH but having outside Dr in is a problem as outlined below. I'm going to try to help here but at the very least, the dr is going to have to sign a letter indemnifying us.

  Generally speaking, this is something we would suggest we avoid and not do on our premises... but it also seems as if the wheels have already been put in motion so we need to consider how to handle that as well...

  Below is the e-mail Ted received from his legal team later that day, which he forwarded to Eva:

  Here are two preliminary concerns. There may be an expressed or implied endorsement of this particular physician by us taking such an active role in setting her appointments and allowing her to conduct those appointments on premises, most specifically, pap smears. If the company is perceived as endorsing this physician, do we take on the liability for anything this physician does (including a misdiagnosis?). Second concern is that if there is any medical treatment actually taking place on our premises, are we covered for that from an insurance perspective.

  I am checking on these specifically with outside counsel and will get back to you soon. I can tell you most definitely, that any fertility treatments raise a red flag.

  As soon as I finished reading the e-mail, I picked up the phone and called Ted. "Do you really think that I'm going to have girls in our office go down to Stage 2 on their lunch break for a quick vagina assessment?"

  "Chelsea."

  "Ted."

  "Chelsea."

  "Ted."

  "Jesus, Chelsea."

  He put his phone down and yelled, "It's a joke. There's no gynecologist. It's Chelsea being an asshole. Again."

  "Ted," I said, "did you even read that e-mail that Eva sent? It said the doctor would be available for male/female health-related questions. What gynecologist services men? Either you're a gynecologist or you aren't. You're not a man doctor for women."

  "How would I know that?"

  "Because you're a man! Have you ever been to a gynecologist?"

  "I can't believe I fall for this shit."

  "I thought I was being nice by including you in the joke, and now the joke is on you. Not the two girls on staff who have already booked their appointments."

  "Oh, my God."

  "I know."

  "Are you going to film it?"

  "I hadn't gotten that far, because there was a little bump in the road named Ted."

  "Chelsea, I don't have time for this shit. Now I have to go clear this up."

  "Ted, the e-mail also said 'individual concentration.' It's 'consultation.' What the hell is an individual concentration?"

  "Well, I don't know what you girls do in your appointments, Chelsea. That cost us money. You're paying the legal fees. We had to hire outside counsel."

  "Yes, I know. That's why I'm calling. I assumed you would know that I wouldn't be doling out fertility treatments on a fake doctor's table at the studio."

  "That is something you would do!"

  "Really?"

  "Yes, you're fucking crazy, and you would do something like that, and you're paying the legal bills."

  "I'll be happy to."

  "Good, we'll send you the bill."

  "Good. I'd like to frame it and put it in my office."

  In true Ted form, he was not in on the joke, which is basically the foundation of our relationship. No matter how much time goes by, I am still able to make him believe stories that no one who has completed high school would believe. On separate occasions I've convinced him that I paid sixteen thousand dollars for a pair of sunglasses, that I donated ten thousand dollars to a charity that helps prevent pit bulls from being forced to wear rhinestone collars, and that a pair of my shoes came with two Swiss Army knives under the soles. The jokes are never well-thought-out plans, more like happy accidents that just pop into my head when I look out the window. That is exactly what happened a few weeks later when Dudley came into our life.

  My agents at the time wanted to throw a little congratulatory party celebrating a new deal I had signed. One of them was named John, and he was a rather unusually muscular gay man who lived with an even more unusually muscular gayer man and shared with him an English bulldog named Dudley.

  Their house was in the Hollywood Hills and was decorated the exact way you would expect a couple of gay bear millionaires living in the Hollywood Hills to decorate: very masculine, very expensive, and a lot of lubrication.

  The house was filled with beautiful art and had a very modern but luxuriously comfy feel. Like a resort. A resort with a prison shower the size of a mosh pit and enough waterfalls for a stranger to slip into another stranger's asshole without a moment's notice. In other words, the kind of spa two gay bears from the Hollywood Hills would like to run.

  There were only about nine of us at the little soiree: Ted, two of my agents (John, Claire), my attorney (Jake), my partner (Tom) and his wife (Beth), and Eva, my assistant. I planted myself on the sofa and was talking to Beth and Eva when Dudley sauntered over with his ass in the air, the way only an English bulldog can do.

  Dudley was a dick from the word go. He was sniffing around the hors d'oeuvres while simultaneously licking my uncovered leg, so I immediately gave him a fried ravioli. The setback occurred when Dudley thought the fried ravioli was accompanied by the black cocktail napkin it was on, both of which he demolished with little or no struggle from me.

  I did make a moderate attempt to save the napkin, but after one overly aggressive tug from Dudley I decided it would make less of a scene if I just gave the napkin to him rather than get down on my knees and wrestle a bulldog. I felt I had maybe made the wrong decision when I looked at Eva, who was staring at the dog, horrified, as the last corner of the napkin disappeared.

  "I think we should tell them that their dog just swallowed a napkin," she said, getting up.

  I pulled her down to her seat. "No. It's fine. I give napkins to dogs all the time."

  Ted walked over to us just as Dudley was ready for more, and I told him what happened. "Oh, he'll be fine," he said. "It's just a napkin."

  "It was a four-ply napkin," Eva told him.

  "Okay, cool it," I told her, glaring. "It's fine. I didn't know I had hired a vet," I mumbled loudly enough for her to hear.

  "Those dogs can eat anything," Ted said, dragging me by my arm. "Come on, Chelsea. I found another waterfall."

  Dudl