Bad Kitty

by Michele Jaffe

  HATE HIM, I told myself. Make like the characters in a Fox show and Do It.

  I was working really hard on that when Polly and the Evil Fringed Henches returned.

  “Fingerprint?” Polly asked right away.

  Roxy was beaming. “It’s so cool!”

  I, however, was not beaming. I was barely even being. I could have modeled for a porcelain sculpture with the title “I Hate to Love Him.” I was lying on my back on my bed with an arm over my eyes, the internationally recognized position of extreme mental anguish. “The print matches,” I announced, struggling against the dark heaviness trying to engulf my soul. Which really is a lot of work, and possibly harder when you’re lying down.

  “So?” Polly asked in a voice not at all sympathetic to my suffering.18

  I moved my arm just enough so I could glare at her with one eye. “That means Jack was the one at Madame Tussauds. The one who tried to kill me.”

  “Scare you,” she corrected. “And that is all the more reason for us to go and find him. But we have a lot of work to do.”

  I propped myself up on my elbows to look with both eyes. “What are you talking about? Do you know where he is?”

  “No, but I know where he’ll be in four hours.”

  “You should have seen it, Jas,” Veronique said. “Polly told the man in the store that Alyson and I were foreign exchange students who met Jack at a casino and were supposed to go to his room but forgot where it was and did they know who he was and where he was staying and the man was so helpful.”

  “Foreign exchange students?” I asked.

  “From Belgium,” Veronique said. “Did you know french fries are really from Belgium?”

  “She wouldn’t let us talk,” Alyson said.

  “I just wanted him to focus on how great you looked,” Polly told her with a smile that frightened me.19

  Alyson nodded. “I guess it worked. I mean, he fully believed Jack would want to see us again.”

  “Of course he did! We’re bacon,” Veronique said. “That’s why he told us Jack had mentioned going to this party tonight.”

  “The Play Nice winter line private launch party,” Polly said. “Invitation only, tight guest list.”

  “And my dad is on an airplane so he can’t help,” Veronique said sadly.

  I was glad to know that Jack could take time out of his busy Reign of Terror and Kidnapping schedule for something important like an invitation-only VIP fashion show. He was a man with his priorities straight, that was clear.

  “I have an idea.” I sat up. “We could sneak in as caterers.”

  Polly looked at me pityingly. “You’ve been watching Hogan’s Heroes late at night again, haven’t you? Your television habits frighten me.”

  “Okay, then what if we wait outside and waylay him? In the parking lot?”

  “That would be one way to do it,” Polly said in a tone that implied, “if we’d all had operations where our brains had been removed and replaced with Peeps marshmallow snacks.”

  While she was mentally comparing me to a marshmallow, she’d set two full-looking Walgreen’s bags on the bed and was now digging around in her backpack. Using as little of my precious energy reserves as possible, I slithered on my stomach toward one of the Walgreen’s bags and tilted it toward me. I glimpsed something that looked alive, but before I could get a better view, Polly’s hand came down like a barrier.

  “Get back,” she hissed.

  I got back. Polly can be scary when she’s planning. And she was definitely planning.

  Any doubts about that were extinguished when she stood up from her backpack, held up not one but two BeDazzlers in different sizes, and said, “Here’s what we’re going to do.”

  Little Life Lesson 27: When picking a best friend, make sure she is not insane. One good warning sign to look for: if she says, “We have everything we need to get into that VIP party right here,” while pointing at a BeDazzler, a cell phone earpiece, six stuffed bunnies left over from Easter, two Blow Pops, and a large canister of Aqua Net.20

  Little Life Lesson 28: Actually, traveling with a BeDazzler is a good warning sign all by itself.

  Little Life Lesson 29: And/or anything having to do with remaindered stuffed animals.

  “You’re going to get us into a private party with this?” Alyson asked, sneering at the items on the bed. “No-slash-way.”

  Polly laughed. “Never underestimate the power of the BeDazzler. It’s totally American Express.”

  “American Express?” Veronique said.

  “Don’t leave home without it,” Polly explained.

  Score one for the Braille-speaking crowd. “That,” I told my insane friend, “was way MasterCard.”

  “We do our best,” Polly said humbly. Then she reached for the hem of the dress I was wearing and started cutting. “This is about two years out of date and three inches too long. But we’ll have it fixed in no time.”

  Little Life Lesson 30: Insane people should not have scissors.

  (Little Life Lesson 30!!! Halfway there!)

  By eleven thirty that night, we were all ready to go. The Henches were still in their Little Big Boobs outfits, but the rest of us had been restyled. Roxy was wearing the purple cat collar, a fur vest made out of the Easter bunnies, and an astonishingly short version of one of my skirts which now had INTEL INSIDE BeDazzled across the butt. Tom had on a pair of dark pants and a white T-shirt that made it really clear that he’d spent a lot of time at the gym this summer working out his love for Polly. Polly herself was wearing a pink fringed bustier that made her ta-tas very TA, jeans, and a dragonfly-shaped choker that I think was made from bunny innards. I couldn’t even see what I was wearing, partially because Polly had made my emerald green Betsey Johnson dress so short it was nearly invisible, and partially because she’d made my hair so large it was impossible to see through. It was like a hair nest, with a green flower over my ear courtesy of the former hem of my dress and the BeDazzler.

  Nor was my vision helped by the fact that it was night and I was wearing sunglasses. We all were. It was part of the plan.

  As we got out of the elevators and walked through the lobby of the hotel, people stopped to stare at us in what I sincerely hoped was a good way. Most people anyway. Polly had been in front, leading us, but she turned around to see how we looked as a group and did a double take when she got to me.

  “I swear you’re not wearing Ray-Ban Wayfarers, Jas. You aren’t, are you? And don’t say they’re so out they’re in.”

  Ha! I had her. “These sunglasses? They’re the beef.” I looked over the top of the glasses to wink at her. “They’re what’s for dinner.”

  “Oh, no no no,” she said. “They are not the beef.”

  I nodded. “Prime rib.”

  “Not even Grade-D ground chuck.”

  “Beef stroganoff. Man-size.”

  “Precious, they couldn’t get near Lean Cuisine Salisbury steak. In fact—what’s that I hear?—they just failed their audition for the other white meat.”

  I decided to try reason. “Look, fashion tyrant, a famous person would wear them. Famous people like taking fashion risks.”

  “There’s a difference between a fashion risk and a toxic fashion disaster,” she said as we reached the door to the valet area. “But I guess unique taste is in your DNA. Speaking of which, where are Pocahontas’s Muggers? Oh, there you two are. Coming?”

  Veronique and Alyson came up behind us, looking confused. “What are we doing here in the parking lot? Aren’t we going in the limo again?” Veronique asked.

  Had she had a lobotomy? I looked at the Henches over the top of my 2-kool-4-school Wayfarers. “Uh, no. I don’t think that would be advisable.”

  Alyson put her hands on her hips. “Then how are we getting there?”

  It got sort of quiet then in the valet area like it always did when the Pink Pearl pulled up.

  The Pink Pearl is Polly’s van and it makes quite an impression. The exterior is painted in
hot-pink glitter paint and the windows are framed with big fake diamonds. Inside, it’s like what I Dream of Jeannie’s van would have been like if she’d had one. The dashboard is pink metallic leather, and the whole rest of the interior except the floor is done in pink satin with big cushions and cool lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The floor has a puffy white carpet, and off to one side is a table that is made of Lucite and filled with Barbie shoes. Polly did the entire interior herself, except the table, which Roxy, Tom, and I made and gave her for her birthday. I still had the scars from the glue gun to prove it.

  No one has ever seen a car like the Pink Pearl.

  “I am so not riding in that thing,” Alyson declared. “No-slash-way.”

  “Bye-slash-bye!” Polly said, climbing into the driver’s seat and waving happily.

  Roxy is always the navigator and gets to sit in the passenger seat, so Tom and I got into the back through the sliding door. “Catch you later, squaws,” I said, but before the valet parker could put away the zebra carpet–covered retractable steps and slam the door shut, Alyson was climbing in with Veronique behind her.

  “Fine,” she pouted. “But drop us off a block before the party entrance.”

  I’m pretty sure it wasn’t just because she was talking to some of her good buddies on the CB—her handle is Princess P—that Polly acted like she hadn’t heard what Alyson said. Instead, Polly not only pulled up right in front of the place but came in so fast the brakes screeched in order to ensure we’d get the most attention possible. She looked at Roxy and said, “How are we on time?”

  “Thirty seconds and counting.”

  “Are you ready, cupcakes?” Polly called into the back of the van. “Costumes in place? Sunglasses on?”

  “Ten-four,” Tom answered.

  “Let’s go. Places, everyone.”

  We’d worked out the choreography at the hotel, but I was still really ambivalent.

  I crawled toward the front of the van and tapped Polly on the shoulder. “There is no way this is going to work. I think we should drop it. No one is going to believe I’m a famous person.”

  “Want to bet?”

  “Yes.”

  “If they do, if it works, I can drive over those sunglasses, and you will never replace them.”

  “And if I win?”

  “You won’t.”

  Ha ha ha. Funny.

  What happened after that was kind of a blur. Polly got out of the driver’s seat and pushed open the van door all sexy-girl chauffeur, and I saw that the sidewalk was jammed with people. There had to be at least a hundred of them there, all facing the van expectantly.

  I decided my job should be to concentrate on not letting my stomach come out of my body. It was harder than it looked.

  Tom got out and stood next to the van with one hand on his telephone earpiece, legs apart, like he was a bodyguard. Roxy came around the other side and, clutching her cell phone, marched through the line to the three doormen standing by the velvet rope. Alyson and Veronique walked out next, holding hands and sucking on the Blow Pops, and paused to do what I swear was a move from a Sweatin’ to the Oldies video. Then Roxy waved at me, which was my cue.

  All I could think about as I stepped to the ground was I must not trip and fall because then Polly will say it was because of my sunglasses.

  Suddenly there were shouts and cheering and flashbulbs flashing like I was a real celebrity and we were being moved through the crowd and boom! like that! we were inside the party with the chic and beautiful of Las Vegas.

  At least, I assumed we were.

  Little Life Lesson 31: Ray-Bans are not the best glasses to wear when you’re doing the sunglasses-at-night thing. Not if you want to be able to see where you’re going.21

  Nineteen

  “How did you get all those people there doing that?” I asked Roxy as we were walked in.

  “Flash mob. I just told everyone to be at this address at eleven thirty-eight and cheer when they got a happy-face text message. It worked great, didn’t it?” She’d been smiling, but as we got farther into the place her face changed. “Oh. Oh, no. Polly didn’t tell us this was at a roller rink.”

  “She probably figured we would back out,” I said. And she might have been right. There were tables all around the edge and platforms for go-go dancers, but there was no disguising the essential fact that we were at a roller rink. For example, the women modeling the clothes were rolling through the crowds on skates.

  Tom, Polly, Alyson, and Veronique joined us at the side of the rink. Tom looked at Roxy and laughed. “You’re all pale. What is it, still a little gun-shy after your last time on skates? When you and Jas and Polly did that—”

  “Thanks, Tom,” I said, cutting him off. “That will be all.”

  “What?” Alyson demanded. “What did they do? I bet it was stupid.”

  “No way. It was great. What was it, in, like, eighth grade?”

  “Sixth,” I said through clenched teeth. “The beginning of sixth. A VERY long time ago.”

  “Ancient history,” Polly said, giving Tom a warning glance.

  Tom ignored that, addressing himself to the rapt Evil Henches. “Roxy, Jas, and Polly decided they were going to be roller skate queens. So they put together this routine to some really cheesy song. What was the song?”

  “Do you hear something?” Polly asked.

  “I don’t. No one is talking,” Roxy confirmed

  Tom went on undaunted. “That’s right, it was ‘Macho Man’ by the Village People. Anyway, they choreographed the whole thing in the living room, thinking that practicing in their socks on the wood floor would be just like roller skating. It had a lot of turns and fancy jumps in it.”

  “Well, we had to show we were macho,” Roxy said defensively. “So we did macho things.”

  “Yes, and we were wrong, and it didn’t go that well,” I said, trying to wrap it up.

  Tom was having no part of it. “Jas, you’re cutting out the best part.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “Yeah. The part where Polly swan dived into the audience and knocked that man unconscious.”22

  “Who besides me hears the sound of Tom shutting up?” Roxy asked.

  “Mmmm, I do,” Polly said. “Sounds nice.”

  “What?” he said. “It was great. Everyone loved it.”

  “Not as much as they loved your break-dance show,” Roxy said. “Remember that, M.C. Hernandez?”

  “You can break dance?” Veronique squealed. “Show us!”

  “Aren’t we here to do something?” Tom asked. He sounded a little desperate. “Something important. Find someone?”

  “Don’t worry, you go show Veronique your smooth moves. I’m on it,” I said. And I was. I was scanning the crowd looking for Jack. Or trying to.

  Little Life Lesson 32: Ray-Ban Wayfarers? Also not so good for trying to spot someone across a dark roller rink so you can question him about being a kidnapper.

  Fortunately, that didn’t matter, because as I squinted into the crowd in front of me, a knee-melting voice behind me said, “I would have liked to see your skate performance. I bet you were quite macho.”

  He was standing so close to me when I turned around that I almost couldn’t breathe. He was wearing dark jeans, a T-shirt, and a lightweight caramel-colored blazer that hung on his body in a way that did things to my body and made it hard for me to swallow. Or think.23

  He’s a kidnapper and worse, I reminded myself. But he’s so…

  EVIL.

  “Hello, Jasmine,” he said in that voice. His voice. With his accent. “You look especially stunning tonight.”

  CUTE!!

  EVIL!!!

  CU—EVIL. And I was mad at him. Steaming mad.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming up to me like this,” I said. Well, look at that. The monkeys were back and channeling Noir films of the 40s. A lot of nerve? Thanks, guys.

  He looked at me with those eyes for a moment before saying, “I have to admi
t, I was surprised to see you here.”

  I moved my eyes from his eyes to regain control of my brain, but they settled on his chest, which wasn’t much better. I decided to focus on the buttons of his coat. They were square. How interesting. Not as interesting as his pecs, which—

  I pulled myself together. “I bet you were, after what you did today.”

  “What I did? Oh, the gondola. I’m sorry I left like that.”

  “That’s not what I was talking about and you know it.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Madame Tussauds? You, me, and a bunch of cheap fireworks?”

  “Fireworks,” he said, pronouncing it like I’d said, “Alien love children.”

  “Small incendiary devices,” I elaborated. “Pop pop pop?”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, but were you dropped on the head as a child?”

  “Oh, good one, Mr. I-Was-Raised-by-Wolves-to-Prey-on-the-Defenseless,” I said.

  He did a very convincing imitation of someone who was bewildered. “What? Wolves?”

  “That’s the only explanation I can think of for the kind of job you’re doing here. When you’re not taking in fashion shows, anyway.”

  “Job? What job?”

  “Trying to hurt Fred and Fiona. Working for Red Early.”

  That got him. He dropped the bewildered act. “I thought you said you weren’t involved. What do you know about that? About Red Early?”

  “That he’s a murderer and a fugitive. And that you’re his hired hand. His lackey.”

  “His lackey,” he repeated to himself. He shook his head. “I can assure you I am most definitely not being paid by Red Early. But you have no idea what you have gotten yourself involved in, Miss Callihan. I tried to warn you with my note, but you didn’t listen.”

  “So you admit you sent the notes! Finally we are getting somewhere.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Take my advice: Leave here right now and stay as far away from Fiona and Fred as you can. “

  “Okay, I will. If you tell me why.” Which I thought was a request any mature and reasonable person would honor.