Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me - Chelsea's Family, Friends [55]
My parents weren’t home the day I got the call, and if I went and picked Chelsea up and kept it under wraps, she would owe me big time. I drove very slowly down to the police station with a big old grin on my face. I had had a good time at college, but this would definitely be the highlight of my life since graduating from high school. I was still smiling when I got to the police station and Chelsea got in the car.
It didn’t take her long to pronounce, “I know what you’re thinking, and I’d rather tell Mom and Dad the truth than be beholden to you for anything. So if you think you’re going to pull something over on me, you’re mistaken. I would rather lose my virginity to Craig Slass than owe you a favor.” Craig Slass was our next-door neighbor, who would easily have had sex with any one of us, if we had permitted it. He spat when he talked, was always drooling, and had what Chelsea referred to as a “woman’s ass.”
Our parents had a modest second home on Martha’s Vineyard, and every summer, as soon as school let out, our mom would head up there with all of us six kids and whatever dog we had at the time, in our awful van with blue vinyl bench seats. We would spend the entire summer there each year. Our father would come up every ten days or so and stay four or five days and then return to his bustling used-car business in New Jersey.
One summer on the Vineyard, I told Chelsea we were setting up a lemonade stand at the end of our dirt road so we could make a little extra spending money. I was twelve and she was seven. Things at the stand were hopping for an hour or so, and then sales fell flat. Chelsea, clearly bored, thought we should spice things up with a big sign for a raffle to meet Carly Simon, who lived on the Vineyard, too, but whom we did not know.
“It will get things moving around here,” she said.
“But that would be a lie, Chels…”
“So what? No one is going to actually win the raffle, retard.”
“But what if the police come around? I don’t know about this.” I was always a big worrier.
She looked at me with disgust. “The Martha’s Vineyard Police are not concerned with the two of us, Shoshonna. They have bigger problems than a twelve- and a seven-year-old selling lemonade and fake raffle tickets. Why are you such a Debbie Downer?” This was what Chelsea called me, and still calls me to this day when I bring up a point she doesn’t think is necessary to discuss.
Things did pick up a little with the raffle sign prominently displayed. We found ourselves fielding a lot of questions about Carly Simon, but Chelsea was always fast on her feet and had an answer for everything. I let her handle it. Of course, some of her answers were ridiculous, but who was going to challenge a seven-year-old?
At one point, a lady on a bike stopped and bought a lemonade and a raffle ticket and asked us if we thought Carly might sing for her if she won the raffle. Chelsea replied, “Not too many people know this, but Carly has very bad stage fright. You have to catch her on the right day. Some days she’ll sing and some days she won’t. It depends which way the wind blows.”
Chelsea and me at our lemonade stand.
Another woman asked when she would be able to meet Carly Simon, since she was on Martha’s Vineyard for only a few weeks. “It’s not a problem,” Chelsea assured her. “Carly and I are very tight. She’s on tour right now, but I am in constant contact with her manager, and I am sure we can set something up.” The look on this woman’s face was priceless.
After another hour went by, things were dead again. It was then that Chelsea “accidentally” knocked over the change jar, pocketed most of the money when I wasn’t looking, and said she had to go to the bathroom and would be right back. She did not return. I ended up having to cart the table, chairs, signs, and pitchers on our red wagon solo down the very long dirt road back to the house. I later found out that Chelsea had hightailed it with our money into town on her banana-seat bike and treated herself to a buttered bagel and a Coke and then blew the rest