Lies That Chelsea Handler Told Me - Chelsea's Family, Friends [74]
Chelsea asked me what pants she needed to wear with the top I handed her. My reply: “What do you feel like, slacks or jeans?” She looked at me like I was crazy.
“Really, Amy? Slacks? Is this an episode of Mad Men?”
There are three words Chelsea never likes to hear: moist, hose, and slacks.
Linda, who is an angel, handed me a pair of slacks and said, “These are the pants you picked out to go with that top, and here are the red heels you wanted.”
Handy was reading her show notes while we put the finishing touches on her, so she did not notice that I was melting down in my own personal universe.
Linda and I went back to the wardrobe room, and I told her I would not be able to leave. Paccy would have to be on set. Something really bad was happening to me. Possibly death. This was not the time to discuss the budget with Gary, the line producer, and there was no way I was going to have a conversation with Chelsea. She may not be a genius, but she was too fucking smart to talk to my retarded ass at that point. Let’s just say that I was barely holding it together.
By the grace of God, and the comedy of Chelsea, we got her through the first episode, then the post-tape interview, and then she was off to her meeting. By now a few other people in the office had noticed that something was wrong with me. Turkey, an intern Chelsea had nicknamed due to her body type, turned to the makeup girl and said, “Amy is acting like she is on mushrooms.”
While I was racing to put out all the jewelry, shoes, and clothes for the last fitting, I was totally freaking out. Linda was getting really annoyed with me at this point, but I didn’t care. This was life and death. My only hope was that this fitting would go well so I could get to the hospital before going into a diabetic coma. Linda and I went over our top-five dress choices and which shoes would go with which bags.
Chelsea breezed into her office, looked through the rack of dresses, and picked her favorite. My mouth was shut as I, holding my breath, zipped her in. It fit like a glove. She loved it. The shoes Linda placed on her feet were met with approval. She checked herself out in the mirror and told us, “Well, for once, I don’t look ridiculous,” and then turned on her heel and ran to the editing bay to watch a field piece before heading out the door.
I left Linda in Handy’s room to clean up while I retreated to the bathroom in an attempt to collect myself and calm down. As I was splashing my face with cold water, I looked in the mirror and noticed that my pupils were the size of saucers. Proof! Something was really fucked up with me. My chemical balance was off. All day, fucking Linda had been treating me like I was a nut, BUT I WAS NOT! I really might die. Yet I had been able to stay and dress Chelsea three different times. Best employee ever.
Turkey and a coworker were outside the bathroom as I rushed out. “You guys, something is totally wrong with me. Look at my pupils. I think I’m about to sink into a coma.”
They both looked at me as if I were a madwoman. Turkey responded, “Walk me through your day.”
“Okay. I shopped this morning, and dropped off some clothes at Chelsea’s house. I had a horrible headache so I took two Excedrin.” My coworker stopped me and asked where I’d gotten the bottle of Excedrin. I told them, “In Chelsea’s bedroom.”
Long pause. With huge smiles, they informed me that I was rolling my fucking face off. Ecstasy was in that bottle.
You have got to be shitting me. How could I have been so stupid? All the signs were there. Oh yeah, it was noon on a Monday. I didn’t think Ecstasy was in the game plan.
Armed with the knowledge that I would be dancing for the next eight hours, I retreated to the couch in Chelsea’s room, where I started trying on her shoes. She and I share the same shoe size, which comes in handy about twice a week. Linda walked in, looked at me, and rolled her eyes.
“Um, listen up, little snooty assistant,” I told her. “I’m not crazy. I accidentally took two