Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me Read online

  “That is good. Start putting a beat sheet together and then let Tom and me see it.”

  “Okay,” I said as I walked out of her office. As excited as Chelsea was about my ideas, I still thought the whole movie was weird, but at least I was coming up with something. Just as I returned to my desk, my phone rang. I saw Chelsea Handler appear on the phone’s screen and my heart skipped a beat.

  “Hi,” I said as I picked it up.

  “Hey, I really like your ideas about me having multiple personalities. How soon can you get them to me?”

  “Can I have the weekend?” I asked meekly.

  “Sure.” And then I heard a click.

  When I got home I told Peter how Chelsea loved my ideas for the movie and wanted something by Monday. My son had a game on Saturday, so I planned to write on Sunday. Peter would take the boys golfing so I could have the house to myself.

  Sunday morning I got a call from my best friend, who is best friends with Kris Jenner. She told me that our whole family was invited to the Jenner/Kardashian house in Hidden Hills for swimming and a BBQ. You don’t understand what a Kris Jenner party is like. It does not mean bring your own towel and have a hot dog. First of all, a Kris Jenner pool party is the only kind of pool party you want to bring your kids to, because she hires real lifeguards, so you don’t have to worry about your kids drowning while you’re busy impersonating a Real Beverly Hills Housewife with your back to the pool. She has waiters dressed in black, white, and pink, to match her patio furniture, and they walk around with an unlimited amount of Veuve Clicquot. This means you never have to get up off your four-inch heels in your mono-kini to refill your glass yourself. Needless to say, when I got this call I was beyond bummed, knowing I would not be able to attend. Instead, Peter and the kids would go without the matriarch of their family.

  Around 4:00 PM I had made pretty good progress and actually had a loose outline for a scene where Justin Timberlake had reason to sing and moonwalk. The ingeniousness of it had me feeling I was up in the clouds, like an astronaut. I was about an hour away from polishing it up and printing it out to show Chelsea the next morning, when, being the procrastinator that I am, I decided to check my e-mail.

  The fourth e-mail down was from Eva, Chelsea’s assistant, and the subject matter read “Chelsea’s Playboy Interview.” I opened it and began reading. The interview was to be in question-and-answer format, to be featured toward the back of an upcoming Playboy issue. About halfway through, the interviewer said to Chelsea, “You do a lot of pranks in the office, I hear.” To which Chelsea answered, “Yes. Some are still going on and the person who the prank is on is totally unaware of it. For example, we told one of our writers that I was playing opposite Meryl Streep in a comedy about the Challenger blowing up. Can you imagine? She believes that this movie is actually being made.”

  I could not believe it. I read the words several times. I looked up from the computer screen and yelled out to my empty house, “MOTHERFUCKER!”

  About ten minutes later Peter opened the door with the kids. Just looking at his sunburned red face and still-wet hair infuriated me. I said, “The whole fucking Sky Is Crying is a lie. I wasted my one day off so I could work on this stupid thing while you got to frolic in a swimming pool.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I told him about the Playboy interview. “I told you I didn’t think it was a good idea, but you are so fucking cheap you made me do it because you wanted me to make the money!”

  “That’s not true. You were all excited about it when you came home on Friday. So I let you work today and took care of the kids all day.”

  “Oh, like you’re some amazing father, because you got to shoot the shit with Bruce Jenner about the 1976 Olympics while inhaling filet mignon and watching Kim Kardashian attempt to do a back flip,” I yelled. “What an amazing sacrifice. You are so selfless. You should win Father of the Year!”

  And then the thing that gets me angrier more than anything possible happened. Peter started to laugh.

  For the rest of the night I attempted to ignore him, but he kept coming into the room I was in, so then I’d leave and go into another room, and then he’d come in there. Every time he entered the room, I’d yell, “Leave me alone!”

  “Why is Mommy being so mean? Oh, are you sad you missed out on the gift bags?” he would say with a giggle.

  “What? Who has gift bags for a pool party? Kris Jenner, that’s who! You do know if we got divorced you’d never be invited again!”

  “Yes, I do. That’s why I really enjoyed today, because I never know when it’s going to end,” he answered, laughing.

  The lost afternoon and the Trina Turk tankini and matching cover-up I would have worn to the pool party haunted me into the wee hours of the night. Peter did bring up several times that the person I should be mad at was Chelsea. But being mad at Chelsea didn’t do anyone any good.

  I feel more married to Chelsea than to Peter, like Gayle and Oprah before Gayle got divorced. In the last few years, Chelsea had given me better gifts than Peter, written me more heartfelt letters than Peter, taken me on more romantic and better vacations than Peter, and given me the most important gift of all—the gift of being on television. My relationship with Chelsea was much like a marriage, only better. Yes, like a marriage, it has its ups and downs. You have to take the good with the bad. What am I going to do? Quit Chelsea Lately and go back to selling residential real estate because she lied to me about a ridiculous romantic comedy premise? Of course not. So, instead, I took my anger for Chelsea out on Peter and am proud to say I have not missed a Kardashian/Jenner event since.

  The occasional lie or bagel and cream cheese thrown in your face when you’re not looking, solely for Chelsea Joy Handler’s enjoyment, is more than worth it. Plus, cream cheese does come off pretty easily, except when it’s in your hair or in between your ass cheeks.

  Heather is retarded. Period.

  Heather and Johnny in Cape Cod. Heather has her usual cougar glass of chardonnay while Johnny looks on in disgust. It is 3:00 PM in this photo.

  Chapter Four

  A Brother’s Testimony

  ROY HANDLER

  Chelsea first approached me about writing a chapter for her book one weekday morning on her way out the door to work. It was less of a request than a threat. Chelsea has a way of asking for things in what I refer to as “Al Capone style.” The tone of her voice makes it sound like a question, but the look on her face tells you it’s in your best interest to shut your mouth and agree to whatever she’s requested, then promptly duck for cover.

  Personally, I think I’m hilarious. I’ve been writing e-mails to Chelsea and my other siblings for years, but I could not bear the thought of sitting down for days, possibly weeks, and writing a chapter. My attention span has never been and never will be at full capacity. Then she told me what the book would be about: lies that Chelsea told me.

  There has to be a minimum of five hundred lies that my sister has told just me. I grew up with her. All the chaos she is causing now was experienced by me and my brethren years ago.

  There aren’t a lot of things I do remember about my childhood because of my allegiance to marijuana. My fondest memories are of doing one-hitters in the garage, as it was the only safe place away from my father, who was also like Al Capone but worse. For hours he would sit in a chair half-asleep, then smell pot and follow the trail, which ultimately led to me. After that would come interrogation and screaming. I was always scared, but not scared enough to stop smoking the weed. One day, I was in the garage getting high next to a can of paint when I turned around and saw Chelsea sitting on a tire. I knew she wanted to get high, but in good conscience, I could never do it. Plus, she was only six.

  I do remember critical times in the initial development of my retardation and Chelsea’s ascent to the throne, such as one morning I came downstairs to get ready for middle school. My mom was on the couch with Chelsea and I sat down next to them. Chelsea and I spoke baby