by Jana DeLeon
I waited the ten seconds for the glue to dry, then flipped the good piece of hair back over and assessed my handiwork.
“It’s not bad,” Gertie said, clearly impressed. “The color is a perfect match. The only problem is that top piece is untangled and straight and the other never will be.”
“I’m going to can the straight hair idea. I’m going to make it big.”
“Are you sure…I thought we were going for the royal look.”
“I saw a ton of pictures on the Internet of this giant hairdo a royal was wearing. Don’t worry. I got this. What about her?” I pointed to Gertie’s victim. “Can you cover the damage?”
Gertie rolled her eyes. “It was an improvement.”
“Good, then get back to work before Pansy gets back. Maybe you can pull the whole wad back in a ponytail and hide it with bows?”
“That’s a great idea and shouldn’t take very long.”
“Good. My idea for this one will only take a couple of minutes, then I can get on makeup. Where the heck is Ida Belle?”
“You called?” Ida Belle’s voice sounded behind me.
I turned around to see Ida Belle still clutching the shirt collar of a now completely soaked girl. “You were supposed to clean her face,” I said, “not hose her down like she’s going upstate for ten years.”
“She wouldn’t stand still and I don’t have a lot of patience. That’s what happens when you ask a bunch of old maids to get involved with children. You get potluck.”
She had a point. Most of the Sinful Ladies Society had never been married, therefore, did not have kids. In fact, the more I thought about it all, the more I realized just how far Celia had carried her plan to make them look bad at the festival. She knew they weren’t qualified to host a child’s beauty pageant. Celia probably thought the only misstep in her calculations was not taking me into account, but then, if she knew the truth about me, she’d probably be celebrating from now until Christmas.
“Fine,” I said. “Then dry her and her hair and make it quick. Pansy has already done hair and makeup for all her girls.” I pointed to the other side of the room.
“Why is she teaching them to walk like strippers?” Ida Belle asked.
I sighed. Sometimes I swore she and Gertie shared a single train of thought. “Just get on the hair.”
I grabbed a wad of hair on my girl and combed it backward at the root, lifting it away from her scalp in a haphazard manner. Then grabbed the next and did it again. Gertie looked over and raised her eyebrows.
“Are you sure about that?” she asked.
“I saw it online. Trust me.”
She didn’t look convinced, but went back to wrestling her girl’s hair into a ponytail. I made quick work of my girl’s hair, which now blossomed out from her head in giant puffy waves. It needed color, but I didn’t have time to dye it, so I grabbed colored ribbons and attached it with barrettes so that a rainbow of colored ribbons wove around the tangled waves. It would have to do.
Her skin didn’t have the pasty white tone I’d seen in the photos, but black eyeliner would still show up on tanned skin. So I grabbed the pencil and went to work. Her eyebrows were already dark, but not big enough or dark enough. I drew a thicker box around them and started coloring. Then a dash of red for the checks, thick red for the lips, and dark gray for the eyes and I was done.
Ida Belle sat down the blow-dryer and frowned at her girl’s hair, which now resembled a black haystack. I swear the woman was creating more work. She reached for a brush and I cleared my throat.
“Ida Belle,” I interrupted her before she could do more damage. “I saw some party trays when we came in with pepperoni on them. Can you bring one over, please?”
“You want to eat? Now?” She looked over at Gertie, who shrugged.
“Just do it,” I said. I didn’t have time to explain my genius. Ida Belle would just have to see it along with everyone else. She whirled around and stalked across the room to grab a party tray, then stalked back, grumbling all the way, and shoved it at me, over the girls’ heads. I put the tray on the table, grabbed a stack of pepperoni and a stapler and went to work.
Ida Belle’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. For the first time since I’d known her, she was speechless. I smiled. All that worry they’d had over me and a beauty pageant and I was so good I’d scared the words right out of her.
“Oh my God! Stop! What are you doing?” Pansy’s frantic, shrill voice sounded behind me.
“I’m making her costume,” I said. “Flank steak would be better, but the pepperoni was all I had available.”
I looked over at Pansy, whose expression was a mixture of shock and horror. “You’re stapling food to her shirt.” She put her hand over her mouth. “I’m going to be sick.”
The dramatics lasted only a split second, then she shifted from fainting delicacy to flushed and angry. “Are you trying to make a fool of me?”
The entire room went dead silent and turned to look at us. I frowned. I’d expected jealousy and a bit of anger as I’d upstaged her, but I hadn’t expected rage. And no doubt about it, Pansy was ready to blow.
“I’m sure you do a fine job of making a fool of yourself,” I answered. “I’m just following your instructions. You said it was a royal theme.”
Ida Belle and Gertie left their posts at the back of the heads and walked around to see the object of Pansy’s rage. Gertie yelped and started fanning herself with a paper plate. Ida Belle covered her mouth with her hand. I couldn’t tell if she was horrified, like Pansy, or trying not to laugh, but knowing Ida Belle, I was guessing the latter.
“No one in the royal family,” Pansy stammered, bits of spittle flying out at me, “would ever look that way. Not even in private.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I argued, refusing to give up my ground. “The woman I’m imitating is all over the Internet. Google ‘Lady’ and she’s the first thousand images that pop up.”
Gertie emitted a strangled cry and bent over, clutching her stomach. Ida Belle lowered her hand just a bit, and I could see her lower lip trembling.
“Not…,” Ida Belle began, “um…not Lady Gaga?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. I’ve never heard of that family name, but then, I don’t exactly run with titled Europeans.”
“I’m going to pass out,” Gertie said and slumped over in a chair, dropping her head between her knees. I could see her shoulders shaking.
I didn’t think it possible, but Pansy’s face flushed a deeper shade of red. “You…you philistine! I will not work with someone as stupid as you.”
I froze, hoping the forced immobility would prevent me from taking her out right where she stood. That one simple word—stupid—thrust me right back to my childhood. I could still hear my father’s voice echoing through my head.
If you were a boy, you wouldn’t be so stupid.
That was it for me. I’d already taken more than my share of crap over this and it stopped right here.
I leaned over and looked her straight in the eyes. “Call me stupid one more time and you’ll be talking with no teeth from here on.”
Something in my expression must have gotten to her because she took a step back from me as her mother, Celia, ran up to stand beside her.
“Are you threatening me?” Pansy asked.
“I don’t make threats. I make plans.”
Apparently, having Celia next to her propped up Pansy’s backbone because she lifted her hand and attempted to slap me. Her attempt ended when I grabbed her wrist only centimeters from my face, then twisted it backward until she screamed and doubled over. Celia grabbed my arm, trying to wrestle it off her daughter, but she was no match for my death grip.
“If you ever even think of touching me again,” I said, “I’ll kill you. In fact, maybe I’ll just do it now and save the world the hassle of dealing with you.”
I felt something cold, hard, and round press into the small of my back, and Ida Belle leaned over to whisper, “Don�
�t do it.”
I was ninety-nine percent sure she was holding me up with a curling iron, but with Ida Belle, there would always be that one percent doubt. I could easily disarm her, but that would draw even more unwanted attention as well as highlight skills I didn’t want the rest of Sinful to know I possessed.
I released Pansy and spun around in time to see Ida Belle tossing the curling iron back on the table. She gave me an apologetic look and grabbed her purse.
“I take it we’re done here?” Ida Belle asked.
“Oh, you’re done here,” Celia said, smugly. “You’re all done permanently. When Herbert hears about this, he’ll remove the SLS from the festival permanently. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Promise?”
“Thank God!”
Ida Belle and Gertie sounded off at once and I had to grin. “Let’s go find something worthwhile to do,” I said.
Ida Belle gave Celia and Pansy a big grin. “Already a step ahead of you,” she said as she strolled off. Gertie and I hurried after her, none of us saying a word until we climbed into Gertie’s ancient Cadillac. Then Gertie and Ida Belle burst into laughter so hard they were crying.
“Is someone going to let me in on the joke?” I asked, two seconds away from walking home.
Ida Belle let out a gasp and formed some semblance of control. “You really thought Lady Gaga was royalty?”
“I’m guessing she’s not?”
Gertie started on round forty-six of laughter as Ida Belle wiped her eyes with her hands and shook her head. “She’s a pop star—a huge pop star—with a reputation for outlandish looks. Has a good voice, too.”
Gertie nodded. “‘Bad Romance’ is my jam,” she managed to gasp out.
“I have no idea what that means,” I said. “So let me get this straight—this Gaga took it upon herself to take on a title even though she’s not royalty. And I suppose her look wouldn’t be on Pansy’s approved list of people to mimic?”
“Probably last on her list ever.”
I threw my hands up. “Well, how the hell was I supposed to know people were assigning themselves titles? I was in the Middle East. I don’t know what a bunch of Europeans are up to.”
Gertie started giggling again, then covered her mouth with her hands when Ida Belle shot her a dirty look.
“Actually,” Ida Belle said, “Gaga is American.” She tilted her head and stared at me for a couple of seconds. “You really don’t know anything about this. I thought for a while you were pulling our leg, but you’re not. Don’t you own a television…listen to the radio?”
“No and no. The agency has a television in the break room. Thirty minutes is all you need to know what’s going on everywhere.”
Gertie stopped giggling and lowered her hands. “Then what do you do when you’re not working?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Learn a new martial art or weapon skill. Go to the gun range. My partner, Harrison, owns a lot of farmland upstate. Sometimes we go up there and blow stuff up—see who can come up with the best explosive…”
I frowned, suddenly realizing just how empty my real life was, especially compared with life here in Sinful. Which was really odd when you thought about it. I’d left a city with over half a million people where I had no life and come to a city of less than three hundred where I’d acquired one in a matter of hours.
Interesting and sad.
Ida Belle and Gertie had gone silent and were both looking at me with something that might be sympathy. It was an expression I rarely saw, so I couldn’t be certain. It was also something I didn’t want to see again.
“Look, I love my life,” I said. “I can’t wait to get back to it. It may not seem like much to you, but it’s what I know and what I want.”
Ida Belle nodded. “We understand. In order to do your job, you almost have to live in a different world than the rest of us. We did it once, and assimilating back here once the war was over was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
Gertie rolled her eyes. “You still haven’t assimilated,” she said to Ida Belle, then looked back at me. “I know this has been difficult for you, trying to fit into this town. Sinful is a strange place by even regular southern standards. It’s a whole different universe from what you’re used to.”
“But you’ve been doing a fine job, considering,” Ida Belle said.
“Hmm.” I was pretty sure they were trying to make me feel better, but it had the opposite effect. I had finally realized just how narrow my focus was. How much life was going on in the world that I had zero knowledge of or exposure to.
Maybe that needed to change.
Not that I was going to run out and buy hair products or anything—nothing drastic. But it wouldn’t hurt me to read something besides books on weaponry, and I could probably turn on the television in Marge’s living room to something besides CNN.
“Ladies,” I said, before I could change my mind, “I think it’s time I figured out what’s going on in the rest of the world outside of politics and war.”
Gertie smiled and clapped her hands. “This will be fun.”
Ida Belle shook her head and grumbled, “This will take a lifetime, and I’m no spring chicken.”
“Do you have to complain about everything?” Gertie asked.
“Only if I’m awake.”
“I’ll try to make it painless,” I said. “I’ll only do the fun and interesting stuff.”
Ida Belle perked up. “Well, in that case, there’s a drag race in Mudbug this Saturday.”
Gertie waved a hand in dismissal. “You and your obsession with cars.”
“What’s a mudbug and why do people drag-race in it?” I asked.
Ida Belle looked over at Gertie and grinned. “Dinner? Francine has boiled crawfish tonight. It can be lesson number one.”
“This involves food, right—Francine’s food?” I needed to be sure because I was fairly certain the only thing I was up to at the moment was eating or killing something. Eating seemed like the safer option, although this crawfish stuff sounded sketchy.
They both laughed and Gertie put the car in gear and tore out of the parking lot. I took that to mean “yes” and slumped back in my seat, the tension leaving my neck for the first time in the last forty-eight hours.
It seemed my incompetence in the field of beauty had yielded a reprieve on the pageant front. With any luck, I’d be stricken completely from participation and could go back to my seemingly futile attempt to lie low.
One could only hope.
Chapter Five
The next morning, I woke up to a pounding sound and for a minute, I thought it was all in my head—literally. Sinful was dry, but Gertie’s enormous purse always contained a couple bottles of Sinful Ladies Society cough syrup, aka their own moonshine brew, and she’d spiked our colas while we plowed through stack after stack of crawfish. Crawfish, as it turned out, didn’t look anything like fish, but more like an odd crab. To my surprise, they tasted fantastic, and I’m fairly sure I made a glutton of myself—with the crawfish and the moonshine cola.
After we staggered out of Francine’s, I spent the next half of the night drinking beer and watching random television, the only interruption being when some drunk called Roscoe called me begging for a ride home from the Swamp Bar. Apparently, his girlfriend, Peggy Gail, had caught him asking a “smokin’ hot broad” for her phone number and told him to find another way home. I finally hung up, unable to convince him that I was not his buddy Catfish.
Between the cough syrup and the beer, I’d put back more alcohol in a single night than I usually did in a month—although I still wasn’t as drunk as Roscoe—hence the initial belief that the pounding was the awakening of a world-class hangover. But when I saw the pictures on the exterior wall rattling, I realized it was someone pounding on the front door.
I glanced at the clock, which read six a.m. Seriously? Was I never going to get a good night’s sleep in this town?
I threw the covers back and stalked downsta
irs in my boxers and tank, not even bothering with a robe or shoes. People bang on your door before the chickens are awake, what they see is their own fault. Besides, the only people rude enough to bang that loudly and this early were Celia and Pansy. If I had to kill them, this way I’d have fewer bloody garments to dispose of.
I flung open the door, already hacked and ready for war, but neither Celia nor Pansy was responsible for interrupting my sleep. Instead, Deputy Carter LeBlanc—former Marine—stood on my front porch, looking aggravated as only a gorgeous man could.
On my first day in Sinful, my inherited hound dog, Bones, dug up a human bone in my backyard and put me smack on the good deputy’s radar. Ida Belle and Gertie had dragged me into an investigation in the hopes of clearing their friend, Marie, which made Deputy LeBlanc take an even closer look at me. Unfortunately, several of his closer looks involved my being in various states of undress or thin-wet-clothing exposure.
Like now.
He gave my sleepwear one look, then sighed and shook his head. I wondered briefly if it was illegal in Sinful for women to wear boxers, but then, waking me up to see what I was wearing was entrapment. No matter the law, I could work my way out of that one.
The only illegal thing I’d done, that I was aware of, was drink moonshine at Francine’s Café, and it was decidedly overkill to harass me about it at six a.m., but I figured I’d just confess, agree to pay some fine, and then get back to bed.
“You caught me,” I said. “Can you just give me a fine so that I can go back to bed?”
His eyes widened. “I’m afraid a fine isn’t possible in this case.”
I threw my hands up. “Then what the heck is the fine for drinking moonshine in a public place—marrying a resident, attending church seven days a week, lynching in the town square?”
