Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me - Chelsea's Family, Friends [10]
“O… kay…” I mumbled in complete shock and disbelief, not knowing how to respond to this turn of events. Chelsea yanked me into a dressing room as Rose reviewed veil options, which were also part of our new budget.
“What is she talking about?!”
“I have no idea!” I shouted back as I removed her vise-like grip from my forearm.
“It’s obviously something you wrote, because I don’t recall telling her I had an extra three grand lying around to pay for her dress! We’re waitresses! What is she thinking?!”
“I don’t—”
“You need to fix this. You need to say something.”
“Me?! Why? You’re the strong one! I’ll just cave and end up paying for the honeymoon, too!”
“Well, I’m not going to do it, because I’ll make her cry, so you’re going to have to.”
Contrary to what people might think, as much as Chelsea loves fucking with people, she has a big heart, one that prevents her from wanting ever to truly hurt someone’s feelings. And this was one of those situations.
Later, after I spoke with her, Rose was hysterical as she reviewed the card for fifteen minutes. “See, right here.” She pointed to the minuscule black mark between the words dress and accessories. “There’s a comma after dress. I just don’t know how I could have misunderstood that. I’m so ashamed,” she wailed.
I couldn’t take it. “Chelsea wrote the card!” I bellowed, at that point not wanting to be the bad guy.
Chelsea was not pleased with me for selling her down the river, not so much because I was inept, but because Rose made her attend extra prayer circles to pray for better lines of communication in their relationship. I should have known it would be but a matter of time before I had to do my penance.
A few days before the wedding, Rose announced that she had a surprise.
“You’re pregnant!” Chelsea exclaimed.
“No, that’s not something Jesus would approve of,” Rose replied.
“I can assure you that if there is indeed a Jesus, he’s not up in heaven strategizing about your wedding,” Chelsea commented. I didn’t have a fry this time, so I laughed into a pillow.
Rose put in a CD, then ceremoniously stood and announced to me, Chelsea, and the other two bridesmaids, Shannon and Theresa, that she was going to perform an acoustic version of Shania Twain’s “From This Moment On” at her reception.
Three of the bridesmaids’ responses were: “That’s great,” “Good for you,” and “How romantic!” Chelsea’s response was to walk straight out of the room. Rose couldn’t sing. “Tone deaf” would have been a compliment. Nonetheless, we listened as she rehearsed, secretly wondering how she could be so oblivious to the fact that she was going to make a complete ass out of herself at her own wedding.
One night, after another of Rose’s mandated dress rehearsals, I was in the restroom trying to figure out how to balance on my head the flower wreath she’d chosen for each of us when Chelsea popped in.
“We have a situation,” she said, throwing her wreath into the sink.
“Did Rose find Jesus again?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?” I asked.
“You know how she can’t hit the high notes—or any other notes, for that matter? Well, she doesn’t want to embarrass herself, so she wants someone to perform with her.”
“Shut up!” I said, not buying it.
“It’s true,” Shannon added, her flower wreath dangling by a bobby pin. “She was in tears.”
“We took a vote, and you have the best singing voice, so you have to step up,” Chelsea explained.
“You think I can sing? I never really thought I could.”
“Yes, you can, especially in the upper registers!”
“I don’t know,” I said as I thought about it. I wanted to help out Rose, but I was terrified of speaking in public, much less singing.
“Why didn’t she ask me herself?” I asked, suspicious.
“Because it just came up and it’s almost her wedding day. She has a lot on her plate! Are you going to help out your friend or not?” she snapped, irritated.
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Good decision. As soon as she starts the song, you’re supposed to enter from the hallway,” Chelsea instructed. “She wants you to really belt it out, especially the high notes. Don’t worry, you’re going