by Kylie Adams
"So what do you say?"
Tiffany Lynn wavered. "Maybe. I can't decide right now."
"You know, it would be so much easier if you'd just admit that you want me," Kirby said.
Kiki was thisdose to driving her heel into the idiot's foot.
"Actually, that would make it harder," Tiffany Lynn said. "Because I don't." She went through the motions. But it was all mock defiance.
There seemed to be an invisible parrot on Kirby's shoulder, giving him guff for playing big brother all these months. He stopped walking.
Kiki read the smirk on his face. It said the bartender had a new game plan. Platonic Kirby had left the building.
"If I kissed you right now," he said in a low voice, "you'd come up for air and run downstairs to get us a room. That's how much you want me."
Kiki had to give Kirby bonus points for all-or-nothing courage. If lost, this was precisely the kind of challenge that could fuck up a man's confidence for life.
Tiffany Lynn watched him watch her. The movie-star gorgeous face was burning, but it was doing so under pressure of the good kind of embarrassment.
"You're blushing," Kirby said. The observation was first-grade simple. But saying it out loud was an advanced fail-safe for upping the ante on the blush in question.
Tiffany Lynn's cheeks were already red. They got more red. "If this kiss is going to be so amazing, then why would I waste all that time running downstairs? Kiki's about to pass out any minute. We could just use her room."
Wait a minute. Her room? Suddenly, Kiki felt a little less drunk. She willed herself to sober up and fight for her right to crash properly. But before she could pull a midnight Norma Rae, Kirby steadied her against the wall and left her there to do her own balancing act.
Then he went charging into battle. Call it the Secret Crush War. All hail Kirby the Conqueror, cupping Tiffany Lynn's face in his hands and moving his lips to hers. She opened her mouth a fraction halfway all the way. Her body was hard against him, his body harder against hers. And the first kiss thundered on.
Kiki's heart soared as she watched the new lovers embracing like stars in a big-screen clinch at the end of a romantic movie. She always cried at those moments. Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson got her every time in How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days . Kirby and Tiffany Lynn were pushing her emotional buttons, toobut in a different "way. The realization had just hit her: Kiki would be spending the next few hours sitting outside the Mistress Hideaway.
At least they had the manners and self-control to furnish her with pillows and blankets from the room. Better accouterments than most girls got from their college dorm roommates when this sort of thing went on.
Kiki was just getting comfortable when a shirtless Kirby flung open the door to toss a note and a bag of candy at her feet. "This was on your pillow." And then he was gone.
The candy triggered Kiki's initial smile: Haribo brand gummi bearsimported from Spain. She read the note:
Dinner was delightful. How about tomorrow night? A woman like you should never eat alone F
She was practically swooning as she ran a finger over the raised lettering on his personal correspondence card, then over his handwriting. His penmanship was neat and sophisticated, not the chicken scratch you got from most guys who only seemed able to scribble buy beer on a piece of scrap paper and tack it to the refrigerator.
Kiki had a certain weakness for men who wrote little notes. Excluding buy beer reminders, of course. E-mail had basically ruined the art of the letter. Hmm. This would be good fodder for her book. How e-mail and Post-its had rung the death knell of written communication between men and women.
No matter the alcohol haze, Kiki's excitement over the gesture was tempered by the warnings put forth by Tiffany Lynn and Kirby. But then she read the note. Again. And found herself completely won over. Again. Oh, God, she loved the closing. Simply F. Not Sincerely, Fabrizio Tomba . Not All the best, Fab . Just F . Actually, it was rather intimate, as if they were already lovers. She began to slowly drift away with that thought in mind.
And then Tiffany Lynn emerged from the suite, a crestfallen Kirby close behind her. "I may be a stripper, but I'm not a tramp! What was I thinking? I can't have sex with you in Kiki's room! That's moving way too fast. You'll just have to wait until we get back to my apartment."
Kirby brightened. "I can do that. Actually, that's what I wanted in the first place. This was actually a test to prove that you're a true lady with dignity."
Kiki addressed Tiffany Lynn. "Actually, a true lady with"
"We better go," Kirby said quickly, taking Tiffany Lynn by the arm and rushing toward the elevator. "Kiki's exhausted. And drunk, I might add. She needs her rest."
"The sheets are fine!" Tiffany Lynn called out. "There was only a bit of groping before I came to my senses! But new linens are being sent up anyway!"
Hours later, the shrill ring of the cellular blasted Kiki awake with a start. Almost instantly, the party damage made itself known. Her head was throbbing. Her mouth was desert dry. And she was very confused.
Kiki reached out for the mobileif only to silence the goddamn thing. That's when she saw the note on the nightstand written in big, girlish cursive. She read that first.
Don't worrythe sheets are fine! Not that you ever would've noticed. You were completely gone. Who knows? Maybe you WILL be in my wedding. Last night was fabulous. I can't believe this guy has been under my nose all this time. It's totally like that Vanessa Williams song, "Save the Best for Last." Thank you! Please call soon. We want to stay in touch. Love, Tiffany Lynn
Okay. Kiki felt more up to speed now. The last twelve hours were beginning to download. The kiss with Fab Danni at the hospital Camisole
Five hundred shots of tequila Tiffany Lynn and Kirby The kiss with Fab. Hmm. That seemed to be a recurring theme as far as matters of importance.
Meanwhile, the cellular screamed on and on.
Finally, Kiki just answered, not even bothering to look at the ID screen. "Hello?"
"Oh, thank God you're there!" It was Suzi-Suzi. "Whatever you do, don't read today's Post . Just stay away. It'll only upset you."
Kiki plopped down against the mattress. It was exhaustion. It was defeat, too. "Why even tell me that? You know I'm just going to run out and find a copy anyway." She sighed wearily. "So what are they saying now? Am I having Tom Brock's baby yet?"
"Nothing that serious," Suzi-Suzi murmured. "It's pretty much a rehash of yesterday's garbage. They did put the bit in about you saying their baby looked like a monkey."
"I never said that!" Kiki screamed. As frustration began to mount, she could practically feel her blood pressure tick up, up, up. Out of sheer self-preservation, Kiki made an instant decision. "Suzi-Suzi, I don't want to hear any more. You're right. This is upsetting. But I can't control it, so why allow it to make me crazy?"
"You mean you're not going to read it?" Suzi-Suzi asked. Her tone was incredulity to the nth degree.
"Well, of course, I'll read it. In fact, I'll probably go find a paper as soon as we hang up. But for now, let's talk about something else. Anything else."
A few beats of silence went back and forth.
Suzi-Suzi was the first to break it. "Well, I'm finished with Chad. Completely. We are so over."
Kiki stifled a groan. Why did the subject have to be that particular anything? No matter how grim the talk, at the end of the day, Suzi-Suzi always ended up staying with him.
"Okay, so I'm trying to be a decent wife and make him a nice breakfast this morning," Suzi-Suzi began.
"Uhhe has a wife for that," Kiki said. "You're the mistress. I hope you were at least doing this naked and in high heels."
" Anyway ." Suzi-Suzi pressed on. "I'm making scrambled eggs and end up burning my hand on the skillet."
Kiki winced. "Okay, Chad is so not worth a burn. He's not worth scrambled eggs, either. Didn't you have any cereal?"
"Would you please let me finish!" Suzi-Suzi demanded. She paused a beat. "S
o, of course, I stop what I'm doing to put ice on it, take a Vicodin, and call the plastic surgeon because you never know about scarring. What if somebody wants me to do hand modeling for jewelry or dish soap or something like that?"
"Yeah, that would be anybody's first concern," Kiki said.
Suzi-Suzi charged on. Well, here I am, injured and dealing with a potential career crisis. Meanwhile, Chad is freaking out because I stopped making his breakfast. Can you believe that?"
"Yes," Kiki answered simply. "After everything you've told me about this man, I can definitely believe that."
"Okay, so I'm like, 'Well, I guess I should just get back to slaving over the stove and you can drop me off at the burn center after you've had a- chance to digest your precious little meal.' And he's like, 'Yeah, that sounds like a plan.' Ugh! I just wanted to scream. Actually, I did scream. Then he said he'd grab a bite on his way to the train station. And he just left. You know what? I don't even care."
"You shouldn't," Kiki said. It seemed like the appropriate responseagreeable and supportive. But Kiki knew better than to put stock in Suzi-Suzi's postfight hyperbole. First, she knew her friend very well. And second, any girl who had to state emphatically that she didn't care was right smack-dab in the middle of caring.
Suzi-Suzi talked fast. "I don't know how his wife puts up with him six nights a week. God, I'm so glad she doesn't know about us. If she did, I bet she'd call and ask for another night of freedom. Maybe more. He has a key to my apartment, you know. I should get the locks changed. What do you think?" But Suzi-Suzi didn't wait for an answer. "He's been acting weird lately, too. Did I tell you that he cries after he ejaculates now? That's his new thing. And I'm not talking about getting a little emotional and shedding a few tears. This man sobs and wails and carries on like someone just melted down his golf clubs to make a garden sculpture. It's so weird. And I don't think I'm that great in bed. I mean, I can hold my own. But make a man have an absolute breakdown? That seems like Jenna Jameson territory. Anyway, sex with him has turned into such a downer. It's not like he ever had that much stamina anyway. Chad's lucky to last through a long commercial break. And that's a marathon session. But now at the end of it, I have to run around fetching him tissues and making him hot tea. One minute he's my lover, and the next minute he's a weepy old woman who just lost her cat. This is not a sexy situation anymore."
Kiki heard a click.
"Oohthis is Chad beeping in. But who cares? He can call all day if he wants to. I'll never pick up. Well, maybe I will once. You know, just to see what he wants." One beat. "If that's the case, though, I might as well find out now. I'll call you later." And then Suzi-Suzi was gone.
Kiki's phone was ringing again before she could put it down. "Hello?"
"Kiki?" The female voice was vaguely familiar. "It's Misty Dallin. Did I catch you at a bad time?"
"No," Kiki lied. "How are you?" When it came to
Misty Dallin, there was no good time. Theirs was a friendship sealed in the crucible of growing up in the same Texas town. And even then it had been ambivalent at best. Now Kiki was stuck in her wedding. If only she had done something terrible to Misty a long time ago. Like steal her boyfriend. She would probably be free today. Hmm. Being a slut could sometimes reap positive benefits well into the future.
"I'm calling with some bad news," Misty began.
Kiki experienced instant relief. The wedding had been called off. Thank God! Actually, Kiki wasn't surprised at all. Misty had been planning to marry the producer of a girlie show at one of the big casinos in Reno. Any man (except a good plastic surgeon) who inspected boobs for a living was guaranteed to be bad news.
"I have to cut you from the bridal party," Misty said. At first, her voice seemed tentative. But there was definite ice in the tone when she haughtily added, "Your services are no longer required."
For a moment, Kiki just sat there, stunned, the cold dismissal echoing inside her head. Your services are no longer required . That's the kind of line you fed a temp who wasn't working out.
Misty wasted no time in offering the explanation Kiki was waiting for. "This Tom Brock business is all over the Internet. Everybody's talking about it. I want my wedding day to be all about me, so I just don't think it's a good idea for you to come. Certainly you understand."
Kiki was livid. "Listen, Misty, I've already bought a nonrefundable ticket to Reno, paid for my ugly bridesmaid dress, and sent a fat check for your honeymoon fund , which, I might add, is a really tacky way to rack up on cash gifts!"
Misty drew in a shocked breath. "You bitch! Those bridesmaid dresses are beautifull"
Kiki didn't regret a single word now. Screw the fact that she was out the better part of a thousand dollars for this joke of a marriage that would last two years, tops. The only words Misty picked up on were the critical ones about the dresses. How could people be so self-absorbed?
"Those dresses are an act of fashion terrorism!" Kiki hissed. "And, frankly, I feel lucky to have been spared. As for the other girls, I hope they join a good support group. Because they're going to need it!" With that, she banged down the phone.
Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. Oh, God, she was so mad! She could feel an angry fire balling up in the center of her chest. And the emotion had nothing to do with stupid Misty Dallin. No. That twit was already forgotten. The most upsetting part of all was the realization that the scandal had left the island of Manhattan.
Kiki's humiliation had officially gone national.
* * *
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Possibilities
Hi Kiki,
Nice ink today in the Post . You know the old sayingthere's no such thing as bad publicity. Here's proof: Had a conversation with the producers of VHl's The Surreal Life . They're casting now for a new season and think you could be a great addition. Not sure about any others you might be shacking up with. The only definite name so far is a kid from Eight Is Enough . Can't remember which one. As your agent, I advise you to move fast on this. There's only one scandal girl slot, and I've heard that they're talking to Tonya Harding's people, too.
Keith
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Possibilities
Dear Keith,
Let me be perfectly clear: I would rather go on the Fear Factor bug/entrails/indeterminate organism diet for the rest of my life than race Tonya Harding to the finish line for a stupid reality show gig. PS You're fired.
Air Kisses, Kiki
* * *
Chapter Nine
Scrubbing off the Fango mud was backbreaking work. Kiki hunched over the vanity for what seemed like an eternity. The mask exfoliated in loose flakes. Scraping old paint off a windowsill would take less effort.
As she rubbed, rubbed, and rubbed some more, it occurred to Kiki that, despite her best efforts to convince herself otherwise, money woes were still front and center.
Finally, she erased every green speck, the results better than she expected. Her face was blemish free, healthy looking, as smooth as a baby's bottom, and flushing with a pink glow. But the state of her finances? Not so rosy.
Even with the deep discount, staying at Affair was beginning to add up. The room charges alone would be a tidy sum. Extras still had to be factored in, too. And last night's whirligig ride? Hardly cheap. Cabs, strippers, and booze could drain some serious dough. The same could be said for greedy bitches. After all, paying off Sarah Ann Duckworth had cleaned out more than half of the Gucci boot box stash.
And what about the American Express bill? Hello! It was still floating around unpaid. Ditto last month's rent. Anxiety began to build as the impossible situation crystallized in Kiki's mind. Then she felt it. Right in her gut. Her stomach all of a sudden had no bottom.
The regrets began to pile up. Like that pithy e-mail she'd sent to fire Keith Bush. In a scramble, she powered her laptop and zapped a second missive to calm the waters.
/>
Keith, I can't believe you haven't called me. Wasn't that last e-mail I sent hilarious? I'm always joking like that. Find me a good comedy! Your client always and forever, Kiki
Well, she might go crawling back to Keith Bush, but he could forget about this Surreal Life business. Hmm. What about a guest spot on Law & Order ? That show needed to cast several extra speaking roles for every episode. Not exactly a dream job but the money would tide her over, and it had nothing to do with elbowing Tonya Harding out of the way for a gig. Yes! That was a fantastic idea. And Kiki was perfect for it. Of course, the casting people would take one look at her and say Dead hooker or Hooker's friend . But that's because the show had those types in every script. How hard could it be to stretch out on a sidewalk and pretend to be a corpse? Or wear a micro-mini, smack gum, and deliver lines like, "I knew that john was bad news. He gave me the creeps. I told Angel to stay away, but she needed the bling to buy her kid braces."
Until then, though, Kiki needed to find an income Band-Aid. Maybe her father could throw some extra money into her monthly care package. A million years ago, Kiki had a trust fund. Inherited at twenty-one. God, whose idea was that? Just because she could legally buy a drink didn't mean she could manage a large sum of money. She shopped, she traveled, she "invested" in a jerky boyfriend's loser business, she let another jerky boyfriend "play the market." It hadn't taken long for the inheritance to disappear altogether. Luckily, her father understood that succeeding as an actress took time. That's why he didn't mind sending out the occasional monthly check. Okay, it was pretty much a regular monthly check. But whatever.
Kiki took a deep breath and called her father. She hated to ask her family for money. Especially at her age. In a perfect world, she would be firmly established by now. But life had dealt her one crushing blow after another. The Miss America loss. That beast of a starter husband. Those All My Children producers who killed off Jeannette. And now this media debacle surrounding Tom Brock. The fact that Kiki could soldier on at all was a testament to the indomitable human spirit. So a little gift from Daddy Sonntag was hardly a handout. Really. If anything, it was a celebration of her plucky nature.
