A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  “So, Bella, like I was telling you”—my dad pulls out my chair and then sits down—“the show won’t air until next year, but it’s going to be huge.” Huge like his smile. Huge like the hole in my heart every time I’m here, seeing my dad drifting further and further away from me.

  Christina, the live-in girlfriend, opens her menu. “Your father is so excited. Our whole family is.” She pats her sister’s hand.

  Ick. A family. After my dad left us, he went on this dating frenzy.

  At first that bothered me. Then he decided to keep one, and now I long for the rotating door of bimbos. Christina is a talent agent, and currently represents my dad and his dream to bring his plastic surgery skills and advice to the small screen. All he talks about lately—besides their approaching wedding—is his upcoming gig in Brazil. But after his accountant ran off with a ton of his money last year, at least he’s not still harping on that.

  “So are you going to have to move there?” I take a sip of water and crunch down on a piece of ice.

  “Just for six months during filming.” Dad surveys me over the top of his menu. “But don’t worry, Bel. We don’t start shooting until August. And we’ll fly you in for some long visits.”

  “And you and Marisol can play on the beaches of Rio de Janeiro, my homeland.” Christina gives her order to the waiter. “Won’t that be fun?”

  Marisol bats her little eyelashes toward my dad. “I can’t wait to get to know Bella better.”

  “Isn’t she precious?” he asks.

  Preciously nauseating.

  “Bella, I will be running some errands tomorrow.” Christina pulls her long, dark hair until it drapes over the other shoulder. “Wedding details, you know. I was wondering if you would be a dear and keep an eye on Marisol.”

  Beside me Marisol makes little gagging noises. My thoughts exactly. “I guess—”

  “I know,” Dad says. “Why don’t Marisol and I go to the park, and you two girls can do wedding stuff together?” He beams like he just invented a new wrinkle filler. “Christina, you’ve been talking about how you need some help with the planning.”

  Her smile is tight. “I meant like an assistant.”

  “My Isabella is amazing at anything involving style, fashion, and decorating.” Dad pats me on the back. It’s been so long since I’ve had a compliment from him, I just run it over and over in my mind, savoring his words.

  “I think Bella would be bored and—”

  “I can’t wait.” Anything to get out of monster-sitting. “It will be a fun time.” Okay, that was probably too much. But if Christina gets to shop, I know Dad will let me charge a thing or two as well. And there is a new BCBG skirt I’m dying to hang in my closet.

  Later I silently eat my lobster salad as the family becomes consumed with wedding chatter.

  “Roses or calla lilies?”

  “Seven bridesmaids or nine?”

  “But I don’t want Josh Groban to sing for us.”

  “Don’t forget our ballroom lesson next Tuesday.”

  “Yes, Marisol, I think flowers in your hair.”

  I push my nearly empty bowl away. “How ’bout those Yankees?”

  They keep talking amongst themselves. “Anybody seen any plays lately?”

  They don’t even hear me.

  “I found a dead body.”

  Christina’s fork clanks to the floor.

  My dad chokes on his water. “What did you say?”

  “I, um, found a murdered woman last weekend.”

  Dad says something that would make my mom flinch. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You didn’t call me this week.”

  He sits up straighter. “Yes, I did.”

  “Leaving a message on my phone doesn’t count.” The words are out before I can pull them back in. I try to soften my tone as I quickly fill him in. Christina holds her hands like muffs over Marisol’s ears.

  Probably a good idea. We don’t need any more evil inclinations in that kid’s head.

  “I had no idea.” Dad shakes his head. “I can’t imagine.”

  “That must have been so traumatic for you, Bella. Probably still is.” Christina’s accent rolls off her tongue. “You should stay at home tomorrow and rest.”

  “Actually, I’ve been looking forward to shopping for quite a while.” Is she just trying to ditch me so I’ll stay at the house and bond with her sister?

  “Just what she needs.” Dad hands me the dessert menu. “You two will have a great time.” He winks. “Just go easy on my friend MasterCard.”

  The New York sky is dark by the time we finally leave the restaurant. My dad hails a cab, and Marisol and Christina climb in.

  “You sit in the back with the girls,” he says. “I’ll sit up front.” A breeze blows his brown hair, and I remember how handsome I thought he was when I was a little girl. I wanted to grow up and marry a man just like my daddy. He’s still as cute as any Brad Pitt or George Clooney, but I don’t want to end up hurt like my mom.

  “Bella?” He holds the door.

  I blink and pull myself out of my gloomy thoughts. “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry I haven’t called lately.”

  I lift a shoulder. “It’s okay.” But really . . . it’s not. It’s just not. I want him to want to call me. I want him to wonder what his daughter is doing, how the math test went, what bands I’m listening to this week. Know the names of my friends. Know that I broke up with my boyfriend last week, and I’m still a jumbled mess.

  On Saturday morning I wake up to the smell of pancakes and sausage. I follow the scent downstairs to the kitchen, where Luisa, my old nanny, stands at the stove.

  I throw my hands around her voluminous waist and smack a big kiss on her cheek.

  She chuckles and kisses me back. “Hello to you too, niña. I hear you are going shopping with Christina today, so I make you big breakfast.” She jabs her thumb toward the living room. “That one only eats grapefruit and spinach drinks. That’s no way to start a day.”

  “It’s probably how they do it in the homeland.” We share a laugh as I grab some orange juice.

  “I heard that.” The little munchkin lurks in the doorway.

  “Good morning, Marisol.” Her outfit is clearly high-end, and I think about the Target clothes I’ve been reduced to. I will not be jealous. I will not be jealous. God, help me handle this girl—without showing her the new wrestling move Jake taught me.

  “Luisa, fix me some eggs,” the little girl barks. “And hurry up.”

  My mouth forms an O. “You do not talk to Luisa that way. She’s not a servant to be bossed around. She’s family.” Real family.

  Marisol curls her pink lip. “You don’t tell me what to do. I live here. You don’t.”

  I charge toward her, gaining some good momentum, until Luisa steps between us. “Girls, stop.” Luisa looks over Marisol’s head, her brown eyes pleading with mine. “Please just drop it.”

  “No! She can’t talk to you like that.”

  Luisa awkwardly pats Marisol on her black head. “Why don’t you go in the living room and watch TV, eh? I will call when it is done. Will be ready soon.”

  “Hmph!” Marisol sticks her nose in the air, throws me one of those looks, and sashays out of the kitchen.

  I just stare at my nanny. “What was—”

  “Leave it alone, mi corazón. Is none of your business. Your Luisa is fine.”

  “I’m going to talk to Dad, and he’ll—”

  “No!” She blocks my exit. “You must not,” she whispers.

  “Things are different here now, Bella. There is a new woman in the house, and things change. I will roll with it.” A small smile spreads.

  “I will—how do you kids say it—be cool?”

  “But if you’d just let me talk to Dad.”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “Promise me you will not. Not now.”

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath, and my pulse still beats a wild staccato. “But just for now. I
don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not putting up with anyone treating you like that.”

  Her nod is brief. Then she waddles back to the stove and fixes my plate.

  “Whoa, I can’t eat that much,” I say as she piles on a mound of food.

  “Trust me.” Luisa hands me my breakfast. “You’re going to need it to keep up your strength.”

  I’ve been shopping for four hours, and not only have I not had a chance to buy anything, but Christina hasn’t stopped once for food, drink, or tinkles. And I’m in desperate need of all three.

  I stand in the third wedding boutique as my dad’s girlfriend schmoozes with the designer. She tries to impress Enrique with my dad’s history on the E! Channel and his famous clientele, and I have to turn away and get the eye roll out of my system.

  “Bella, I have two bridesmaid dress possibilities here. Perhaps you should try on the floor samples, and Enrique and I will decide if they work.” She pats the little man’s bicep.

  Christina delicately rests two outrageous frocks on my arms, and I clutch them to me.

  “No, no, no.” Her head shakes like a bobble. She unlocks the dresses from my grip. “Gently. These are not mere dresses. Enrique’s designs are works of art. You would never hold a fine oil painting so tightly.”

  I chew on my gum to keep from saying something I’ll regret, but at this rate, there’s not enough Juicy Fruit in the whole state of New York to last me the entire day.

  A few minutes later I stare in horror at my reflection in the mirror. I can’t seem to make myself open the dressing room door.

  “Bella, do you have a dress on yet?” Christina calls from the other side.

  “Um . . . I can’t seem to find the arm holes.”

  “There are not any,” she says. “You wrap those two boas around your arms and neck. Isn’t that genius?”

  Genius? It looks like Enrique raided a six-year-old’s dress-up stash and hot-glued a bunch of feathers together. I can’t be seen in public in this.

  “Come on out. We don’t have all day.” Christina is getting testier the longer we shop.

  “If you say so.” I ease open the door and step out.

  Christina gasps and covers her mouth with both hands.

  I see myself in the three-way mirror. “I know, right? It’s—”

  “Amazing!” She closes her eyes like she just bit into a truffle. “I think my bridesmaids will look stunning in this.”

  Enrique sniffs, his chest puffing. “It was all the rage at my show in Milan.”

  It’s about to put me in a rage. “I think you should keep looking.”

  Christina’s perfectly shaped brow lifts. “You don’t like it?”

  A feather piece slips off my shoulder, and I scramble to hold the dress together. “I couldn’t even tell which end was up when I was putting it on.”

  Enrique sputters. “This is art! Who are you to tell me my dress is not anything but superior? I had Madonna contact me just yesterday for a gown fitting.” He turns on Christina. “I told Taylor Swift to call back just so I could make this appointment with you. And this is how I’m treated?”

  “No, Enrique. She didn’t mean it.” Christina sears me with her eyes.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry. The dress is fine.” Oh no. Feathers up my nose.

  “Ah-ah-achoo!” Tiny plumes go floating all around the three of us.

  “Leave my shop!” Enrique yells. “You have two minutes to get her out of that dress and out of my store!” Remnants of the dress land on his bald head.

  Christina pushes me toward the dressing room, hissing hurried instructions.

  Ninety seconds later we stand on the corner in front of Enrique’s House of Design.

  “And stay out! You are forever banned from wearing my creations!” Enrique slams the door and locks it behind us.

  “Achoo!” I hold a tissue to my nose and a giggle escapes.

  “You’re laughing?” Christina asks, her hands curled into fists. “I was just publicly humiliated and you’re laughing?”

  I can’t help it. I turn my head as the laughter pushes tears out of my eyes.

  “I am blacklisted, Bella.”

  “By a man who decorates with things I could find on the floor of a chicken house?”

  Her chin inches higher. “Well, I guess it didn’t take long before Oklahoma seeped into your blood. But in upper Manhattan, we care about style and cutting-edge fashion.”

  I need another piece of gum. “In Oklahoma they don’t believe in wearing things that require health code inspections and a tetanus shot.”

  Christina opens her mouth, and I prepare for the verbal thrashing. “You little—” Her phone sings, startling both of us. She takes a deep breath and answers it. “Yes. Uh-huh.” Her voice is low, controlled. The opposite of what it was seconds ago. “I see.” She glances at me, then back to the ground. “Yes, Mr. Smith. I will check my calendar and get back with you immediately. Give me a few moments.”

  “Business?” I ask, as she slips her phone back into her purse.

  “Yes.” She pulls out a ten-dollar bill and presses it into my hand. “Why don’t you run over to that coffee shop and get yourself something while I make a few calls. I think you and I need a little cool-down time anyway.”

  Though I’m mad at Christina, I could weep with relief for the break.

  She points to another boutique down the street. “Meet me at that shop in ten minutes.”

  I all but run to the coffee shop.

  God, why do I let that woman get me so riled up? But you know, in my defense, today I’m seeing a totally different side of her.

  I always knew she wasn’t some cuddly, sweet thing. But now she’s like Bridezilla . . . on steroids. Maybe I should talk to my dad and suggest a nice Vegas wedding. That feathery concoction would probably fit right in.

  A bell chimes overhead as I step inside. I inhale the rich aroma . . . and breathe out the guilt.

  The least I could do is go back and ask Christina if she wants anything. Surely even size zero talent agents need food.

  I turn right back around and head in the direction I left her. She stands one door down from Enrique’s, staring at the opposite end of the street.

  I’m just about to call out to her.

  Then a yellow taxi pulls up to the curb.

  I stop in my tracks as a woman steps out, one long leg at a time.

  Her giant sunglasses cover her eyes, and a large brimmed hat sits low over her forehead.

  Christina looks around, and I duck behind a minivan.

  I will be the first to admit I was born with more than my fair share of nosiness. I mean, what’s a girl to do? I figure if God gave it to me, then I should use it.

  I step into the crowd on the sidewalk and weave my way closer to Christina and her acquaintance. The two talk, their faces intense.

  Their mannerisms rushed.

  Ten feet away from them, a group of teenage girls stands in a huddle and chat. I inch toward them and hover on the outside of their circle. My ears perk at Christina’s voice.

  “I tried to come alone today. You think I wanted to bring her?”

  Oh! How rude! I should have just let her have it and not wasted the gum.

  The other woman’s voice is so low, I can’t even hear it.

  “I said I’d work on it, and I am. These things take time. I’ll give you the account numbers later.”

  The woman with the giant shades mutters something, but it’s lost in the honking of a car.

  Christina throws up her hands. “I haven’t been blinded. I know what my job is, and I’ll do it. We’re partners.”

  She’s a one-woman agenting operation. Partners in what?

  “Nobody crosses us and gets away with it.”

  The girls beside me dissolve into loud giggles, covering up what the stranger says.

  “Do you want something?”

  I turn and one of the girls stares at me. Like I’m some sort of creepy lurker. Well, okay, I am. But wh
atever.

  “Do I know you?” she asks.

  I smile. “Well, you might’ve seen me and my family on TV recently. We were on a reality show, and—”

  “That really wasn’t a question.” She backs up, her eyes suspicious. “That was code for ‘go away.’” She pushes her friends forward. “It’s just not safe on the streets anymore. Let’s go girls.”

  “Bella?”

  I jump at my name and find Christina behind me. I look around, but the stranger is gone.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice has an edge sharper than a stiletto.

  “I—I, um, came back to see if you wanted any coffee.” I wave my hand toward the group of disappearing girls. “But then I ran into some old friends and stopped.” To eavesdrop.

  Christina studies me, her mouth in a firm line.

  “Did you run into a friend too?” I ask.

  Her eyes widen a fraction. So small you had to be looking for it—and I was. “No.” Christina licks her glossy red lips. “I did not.”

  “Oh.” Hunger has robbed me of all subtlety, so I push on. “I thought I saw you talking to someone.”

  Christina glances over her shoulder, in the direction the taxi went, before swiveling her razor eyes back to me. “You are mistaken. The only person I have a need to talk to is your father—to tell him how you’ve ruined my day.”

  chapter eight

  On Monday morning, my friends sit around me in the courtyard, and I catch them up on my weekend craziness before the first-hour bell.

  “So did you tell your dad what Christina said to you?” Lindy puts the finishing touches on an English assignment and sticks it in her bag.

  “No. My dad and I really aren’t in a good place right now. I didn’t feel like I could talk to him with nothing to go on but my suspicions. I just had this feeling like I should wait and collect more information first. But I know something is going on.”

  “I totally would’ve had to put that woman in her place.” Ruthie leans on my stepbrother Budge, her head on his shoulder, her bouffant hair covering up his smiling face.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t put her little sister in a choke hold too,” Matt says.