Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me - Chelsea's Family, Friends [52]
“I can do it,” I said. “Just take your shower.”
“Okay, but hurry. There’s only fifteen minutes until the race starts.”
Perfect.
So while she was in the shower I sat there, watched TV, and right when I heard the water stop, yelled, “What is going on?” and took the battery out of the computer.
Beth came out of the bathroom in a towel. “What’s wrong?”
I told her that the computer had just stopped working. She came over, tried to turn it on, and said, “I knew I should have done it myself.”
And with that, she went into the other room to get ready for the show and watch the race. She didn’t yell and she didn’t make any snide comments, but I knew she was angry. That’s how nice she is. I figured she’d be angry right up until the race ended, and when her horse lost she would thank me for being too stupid to work a computer and realize that gambling just wasn’t for her.
And then the race started.
And then her horse won.
Big time.
And then she came storming out of the room.
And then my phone rang.
It was Chelsea. “Can I talk to Beth?”
“No.”
“Is that Chelsea?” Beth said. “Let me talk to her. Give me the phone! Hello? I know. I can’t believe it! No, I didn’t because Josh broke the computer… We did call but nobody answered… How much? You won $200,000?” Beth’s face dropped, but she managed to muster a “That’s unbelievable! I can’t believe I missed out on it either!” she said, glaring at me again. “Okay, see you tonight.”
I apologized profusely to my wife, but she just stared into space for a few minutes. “I would’ve won five thousand dollars, Josh. Dammit.”
Not only did I feel awful, but I was starting to feel a little Black Swan-y. My mind was racing back and forth trying to distinguish fact from fiction. I couldn’t grasp if my wife would truly have won the money or if Chelsea was rigging sporting events all across the globe. I kept reminding myself of what was real and what wasn’t, but eventually I had to sit down. When we were both able to pull ourselves together, we met Chelsea at a Belvedere event she had to go to that night.
She and Beth made plans to bet on an upcoming horse race, and I had no credibility to stop it because if I had actually set up the account, Beth would have won. The thing is, I knew I had to stop her, because I am a gambler. I lose money every weekend during football season, and the one thing I know is, no matter how “prepared” you think you are, no matter how much you research the games, you’re gonna lose. Problem with that? The more knowledgeable you are about the sport, the more you chase your money. Don’t believe me? Ask my bookie or the Las Vegas casinos that seem to spring up quicker than herpes at a Chelsea Lately staff off site.
The only way to stop it was to tell Beth the truth, which was gonna suck nuts for me. I was completely at fault. I hadn’t stopped the joke because I’d figured it would stop itself, but, no, it had just kept spiraling and spiraling. She was gonna be pissed, and rightly so. I had allowed her to be led astray for weeks and had never said anything. I had betrayed her trust. But what was I supposed to do? Wait until she lost money and then tell her about the joke? There was gonna be a fight. A big one. The worst kind of fight, mind you; the kind I couldn’t win.
I decided to wait until the end of the week and then take her on a nice weekend to Santa Barbara. I figured that sometime on the drive up there, she would forgive me because I’m a dumbass and the weekend together would just put a bow on it. I told Chelsea that I was going to tell Beth about the joke and maybe to expect a tiny little shit storm, but nothing too bad.
When Friday came, I told Beth I needed to talk to her, but she said she really needed to tell me something first.