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  "Is there table service, or do we have to go up to the bar?" Lionel asked, before Sharona had completely lodged her ass into the seat. Then he looked over, smiled at her, and punched her in the shoulder. "Look at ya, ya fat monster!"

  The five us were now apparently sitting together. After Sharona told us her due date was the next day and we deduced that there was no table service, Ted volunteered to go up to the bar and get everyone a drink. When Sharona ordered a vodka with cranberry while resting both hands on her belly, Ted nodded, looked at her belly, then looked back at me.

  "I'll take the same," I told him.

  Ted came back saying he had a found a waiter who would be by momentarily to take our drink orders. After Lionel and Ivory both made mention of a helicopter almost flying over the wedding, Ted and I looked up at the sky in confusion and said we hadn't even noticed.

  Lionel was telling us a story about how he and Sharona had gotten into a pretty serious accident on a drive to Santa Barbara the weekend before. "The guy in front of us slammed on his brakes in the middle of the freeway, and we were able to stop, but when I looked in my rearview mirror, the woman behind us was texting and didn't see that we had stopped in time for her to stop. She tried at the last minute, but it was too late, and she slid right underneath our car, and the car was airborne for what felt like a minute. Nothing scarier than looking at your child in the rearview mirror screaming and not being able to protect him." At this exact moment, Ted spotted a waiter walking by and ordered a cocktail.

  "I'll take a Belvedere rocks, splash of cran, splash of orange. Great. Thanks."

  When he looked back at us and saw that all our mouths were open, he seemed surprised. "Oh, I'm sorry, did anyone else want anything?"

  I waited until we were alone with Ivory walking to the reception before I confronted him. "Listen up, shitstain. Under no circumstances are you allowed to order a cocktail in the middle of someone telling a story about a car accident that he and his child were involved in."

  "I didn't want to risk having the waiter go away!"

  "I understand how important drinks are, but if someone is telling a story about a car being airborne with him and his child in it, the sensitive thing to do is at least pretend you care and avoid interrupting the story with a cocktail order."

  "How about an appetizer?"

  Ivory was no help, because she found this exchange hilarious and thinks Ted is the funniest person in the world. I disagree with that assessment and am strongly opposed to anyone suggesting it.

  We were greeted at the reception by three industrial-strength box fans outside each of the three entrances to the mini-ballroom. When I asked one of the waiters what the fans were for, he said that the air-conditioning in that room had broken.

  Ivory sat down next to me sweating and grinding her teeth. "Guess who's here?"

  "Lance Bass."

  "Better. Calypso."

  Calypso was the drug dealer that this whole group of people relied on. When I asked Ivory if he'd been called for delivery purposes or if he was invited to the wedding as a guest, she didn't have an answer. "Maybe he came to fix the air-conditioning," she suggested.

  I looked over and saw him leaving Rooster's table. Rooster was also grinding his teeth, which meant one of two things. I knew that Ted wouldn't want anything, but I was definitely interested in getting my hands on some sort of muscle relaxer or painkiller.

  Ivory went to tell Calypso I would like his next stop to be my table. Steph came and sat down next to me and asked if everyone at the wedding was on drugs. I told her I doubted that Joey and Lydia were on anything other than an emotionally passionate high, and I also didn't think either set of parents would be high, since they're all in their sixties and none of them is Keith Richards.

  As soon as Calypso made his way over, Steph got up and let him take her seat. Calypso was wearing his version of a suit: light blue and a cotton/poly blend, with a black shirt and high-top sneakers. He was Mexican.

  "Hey there, what kind of goodies you got?" I asked him.

  Calypso half opened his jacket to reveal a pharmacy-like arrangement of all the different products he was peddling. "I got blow, 'shrooms, MDMA, Ecstasy, weed, Ambien--what do ya need?"

  Ted tapped me on the shoulder. "Can I talk to you for a second, Chelsea?"

  We got up, walked outside the reception room, and stood behind one of the fans. "What is your game plan with that guy?"

  "I don't know yet. I'm trying to see if he has any Vicodin."

  "I assume Calypso is a pharmacist?" Ted inquired.

  "Yes, he's with Cobra. My calf hurts."

  "Well, whatever you think you need, please get double, because I do not ever want to see 'Calypso' again." Ted is adamant about denouncing drugs, but I believe in my heart of hearts that if he worked as a bricklayer instead of as a CEO, our lives would be more prone to illegal activities and our relationship would benefit exponentially from the cocktail of chemicals.

  I went back to the table and asked Calypso if he had any Vicodin, which he did. I bought two and split one with myself at the table.

  Three hours later my dream of seeing a bride smoking a cigarette and Ivory's dream of seeing Rooster introduce himself to Ted in the middle of the dance floor both came true. Ted came up to me drenched in his own dance sweat.

  "That Poultry guy will not leave me alone. Can we go now? Seriously, Chelsea, you're lucky I came into your life when I did. You'd probably be living under a freeway somewhere."

  We headed to the lobby to grab our bags. Ivory and Rooster ran up to us at the front desk, while I pretended to be looking at room rates.

  Rooster leaned in and grabbed Ted's shoulder. "Where do you guys think you're going? Fred, I was just going to ask you to dance. I like that little 'Thriller' move you do."

  "We're going to Laguna for the weekend," Ted told him.

  "By car," I added.

  Not one to take a hint, Ted immediately jumped in and asked me, "What do you mean?"

  "We were just walking outside to get a taxi to take us to Laguna, Fred," I said loudly.

  So instead of going up to the roof where we were expected, we were escorted outside by Ivory and Rooster, got into a taxi, rode around the block, came back to the hotel, and then ran to the elevators as fast as we could.

  Once we were airborne, Ted told me that he thought Poultry still had feelings for me. "You should see if he wants to get back together, and then you'll never have to ride in a helicopter again. You can ride around in his go-cart."

  "His name is Rooster."

  "He actually seemed like he'd be a nice guy if he wasn't so hammered. I could barely understand a word he said. He kept moving his mouth around in circles."

  "Yeah, he must have been tired."

  "And by the way, Ms. Handler, he and I turned out to have more in common than you would think."

  "Oh, really?"

  "Yes, really. For your information it turns out I'm not the only one who missed a day of work when Michael Jackson died."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "He didn't work the next day either, because he was too upset."

  "No, Ted. He didn't work the next day either because he doesn't have a job."

  Ted opened up the bag of chips he had managed to have on board.

  "Now, let's focus on us. We have a choice for dancing tonight. We can either go to a dance club I found online or just dance in our room if you want. I brought my iPod dock and just downloaded all of Earth, Wind & Fire's greatest hits."

  "Let's stay in tonight," I said, envisioning all the twenty and thirty-something stares I would have to endure while Ted slid across the dance floor, crying if a Michael Jackson song came on. "Although you are already warmed up. Maybe we should go out."

  "Nah, let's save it," he said in complete seriousness. "We don't want to spoil people."

  I looked down at the coastline and at the waves crashing on the shore and said something I never thought I'd say. "I miss Tito."

  Chapter Six