Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me - Chelsea's Family, Friends [11]
When the blessed day arrived, the ceremony was long but lovely, and included several references to Chelsea’s friend Jesus.
“Who’s Jes—”
I elbowed Chelsea in the ribs, while trying not to laugh in front of two hundred spectators.
By the time the reception was in full swing and the moment of the performance upon me, I felt prepared. I’d spent every spare moment learning the lyrics and making sure I’d gotten the melody right. Chelsea had even taken me to a karaoke bar to practice, so I felt confident I was going to be an asset to the team—until Rose began singing and I walked out onto the floor behind her, belting out the song. I couldn’t tell which one of us sounded like a dying hyena, but I was starting to suspect it was me.
That’s when I saw Chelsea, Shannon, and Theresa lose their shit. They separated from each other and split off into opposite corners of the room. I locked eyes on Chelsea, who was beet red and laughing so hard she was shaking the ficus she was attempting to use as cover. Was this a setup? Was I even supposed to be out there? I got my answer when Rose turned to me with a confused, deer-in-the-headlights look.
Leaving the floor at that moment would have embarrassed everyone, so I kept singing, trying as hard as I could to make it look like this was all part of the plan, and so did Rose, who wasn’t about to let anyone think things had gone awry on her big day.
Later, after Rose saw her wedding video and realized what an awful singer she was, she thanked Chelsea for having me take one for the team. Chelsea told her she should probably thank Jesus instead, because she didn’t intend to save Rose from anything. Her sole purpose was to get back at me for the whole dress/punctuation mark fiasco, which she did, because I couldn’t hit the high notes either.
Chelsea, Shannon, and me at the ceremony, moments before I sang onstage.
Several years later, Chelsea had successfully climbed to the top of her career. I was still doing the old climb and slide, did not have my shit together, and was kind of depressed. Chelsea suggested a night on the town to shake things up.
We were at a bar and she had just gone to the restroom when some ancillary friend of a friend, Chuck (a drug dealer), announced that he had Ecstasy. I had never done it, but when I saw how excited some other people got about this news, I knew I wanted to.
“What does it do? What does it feel like?” I asked.
“You lose your inhibitions and are just happy,” Chuck suggested.
“I’m in!” I exclaimed. Chuck handed me a little blue pill, which I immediately popped in my mouth.
“You should probably take a couple more, since it’s your first time,” Chuck said, grinning lasciviously. So I did. Why wouldn’t I trust a drug dealer?
Chelsea returned to the group just as the happy pills were starting to kick in. I began smiling and petting her like Lenny from Of Mice and Men, so she immediately knew something was amiss.
“You did what?!” she asked in a tone more protective than pissed, illustrated by the smack in the forehead she gave Chuck for giving me a tab of E. “Stephanie, you can’t handle Ecstasy.”
“I need this, Chelsea. I need to, you know, be happy for a minute. I’m not like you. I wasn’t raised a Jew in a big city in New Jersey with things actually happening for her. I’m a guilty Catholic from a freak-ass small town in Wisconsin who needs something to happen for her. Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad,” she replied, then smacked me in the forehead when I told her I’d taken three. “Just stay with me,” she commanded. “Do not leave my side, and do not kiss me on the mouth.”
“You got it,” I promised, then kissed her cheek, told her how much I loved her, and danced off into the middle of the crowd.
I was transported into a world where I didn’t care about anything other than smiling, laughing, dancing, drinking orange juice, and telling my friends and random strangers how much I loved them. The happy pills were like