Art and Artifice: Sneak Peak No. 1

[Below is Chapter 1, titled “September 2003,” from my soon-to-be released memoir, Art and Artifice: A Memoir.  Stay tuned for more excerpts and news of the actual book launch, which is planned for September 2025! You can read Chapter 2 here, and Chapter 3 here, and Chapter 7 here.]

“That chick can’t swim!”

Megan’s voice shrieked above the noise of the party as she ran to the swimming pool and jumped in toward me, where I lay floating on my back in the middle, oblivious. I was wasted, very drunk, and only half-aware of what went on around me. The water felt lovely, floating felt lovely, transporting me to somewhere else where I could barely hear the music and the partygoers. With my ears under water, everything was muffled and I could tune it all out.

It was the first Saturday in September and my friends Megan and Mike were hosting their annual birthday bash for Mike—yet another of their raging, must-attend parties.

Megan grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the pool’s edge. “What the hell are you doing, girl? Give me a heart attack, seeing you out here! And why on earth are you drinking so much today? Now stay by the side or get out of the pool, would you please?!” Her words had an edge but she was grinning at me; all was well.

It was a valid question, that one about the drinking. This crowd knew me as an almost-teetotaler; smirks all around when they saw me with a wine cooler. Not because I don’t like a buzz as much as the next person. I’d just learned the hard way that alcohol and migraines don’t mix, so I’d reluctantly given it up, other than a few glasses of champagne on New Year’s Eve.

But I was exceptionally happy this particular weekend and in the mood to celebrate. You know that euphoric, almost giddy state of mind you reach early in a relationship, when you feel like you might be falling in love? When all you can anticipate are the good things, a sparkling future with a perfectly matched soul mate? That was me, that day. And even my best friend Megan didn’t know about it yet.

This relationship had developed on the heels of a big disappointment earlier in the summer—a man who showed an intense interest in me that flamed out almost as fast as it flared up. Megan didn’t know about him either. All she knew was that I had separated from my husband of 9 years and we were headed for divorce. I had been on an emotional roller coaster all year long and was now on the steep incline again.

So I continued to dance and drink, and two or three more times that day, float off into the deep end. The sounds of more than 100+ friends talking and laughing, shouting hello and goodbye, beer bottles and wine glasses clinking, music shifting from rock to reggae to R&B to salsa, kids splashing in the shallow end, and the smells of barbecue wafting through the air—to me, it was all background noise as I drifted off in my own private reverie.

And poor Megan. As if she didn’t have enough to do with hosting that epic party, now she realized she had to keep a wary eye on me, someone who was never a concern for her in the past. She rescued me in the pool a few more times that day, before eventually driving me home.

My blissful state carried me through Sunday. But when I arrived at work on Monday morning, I was jolted back into the real world.

[To read Chapter 2, click here]