Death by Tiara

by Laura Levine

  “It is a big deal. Your mom hates me. She hated me even before I spilled the wine.”

  “She doesn’t hate you, Jaine. She’s tough with everybody. You should’ve seen her when she first met Chloe. She gave her the same frozen treatment she was giving you tonight. That’s just her way. She’ll warm up to you, just like she warmed up to Chloe.”

  “About Chloe,” I said. “Are you sure it’s really over between you two?”

  “Never been surer. And by the way,” he added, “I had no idea she was coming to dinner tonight. That was all Mom’s idea.”

  “Does Chloe know it’s over? She seemed awfully chummy.”

  “I don’t know what’s in Chloe’s head, but I know what’s in mine. There’s only one woman in my life right now,” he said, his big brown eyes gazing into mine. “And that woman is you.”

  With that, he took me in his arms, and leaned in for a kiss. At last. Something fun was about to happen.

  But just as our lips were about to meet, floodlights snapped on all around us.

  I whirled around to see Ma Willis standing at the front door, arms crossed over her chest, Chloe at her side.

  “It’s dark out there, Jaine,” she said, with her patented icy smile. “We didn’t want you to have another accident.”

  She hated me, all right.

  Chapter 7

  I drove home in a deep funk. I could not have made a worse impression on Scott’s parents if I’d showed up with an AK-47 strapped to my elastic-waist pants.

  Damn those kimono sleeves. They should come with a safety warning.

  By the time I got back to the hotel, it was after eleven and I couldn’t wait to climb into bed.

  I let myself into my broom closet and was just about to get undressed when there was a knock on my door.

  I opened to it to find Taylor standing there in her pajamas.

  “You got the M&M’s?” she whispered, like a spy in a John le Carre novel.

  “Of course,” I said, stifling a yawn as I ushered her inside.

  “I thought my mom would never fall asleep,” she groaned, flopping onto my bed. “She’s been watching me like a hawk all day. She made me order the broiled fish at dinner and wouldn’t even let me have a roll. I’m positively famished!”

  “Here you go,” I said, tossing her a bag of M&M’s with peanuts.

  She ripped into it eagerly and popped one in her mouth.

  That’s the difference between naturally skinny girls and the rest of us.

  Never in a zillion years would it occur to me or you to eat M&M’s one at a time. Would it?

  “Want some?” she asked, holding out the bag.

  “I really shouldn’t,” I said, grabbing a few. All of which went sailing into my mouth simultaneously.

  “Say,” she said, “would you mind awfully getting me a Coke from the vending machine? Regular, not diet.”

  “Sure,” I replied, feeling a bit peppier after my dose of chocolate.

  Grabbing my wallet, I headed down the hallway till I came to an alcove where the vending machines were located.

  I was standing there, trying to iron out the creases in my dollar bill so it would fit in the vending machine slot, when I heard voices along the corridor.

  At first they were muffled, but then I heard a man say, “But Candace. I don’t have that kind of money. I’m just a high school principal.”

  It was Dr. Fletcher, he of the bow tie and grim lips. And apparently he was talking to Candace, our esteemed pageant director.

  Who, by the way, seemed totally unmoved by his plea.

  “Better find the money quick,” she said. “I want ten grand, or I’ll tell everybody the truth about you.”

  By now I’d plastered myself against the far wall of the alcove, so as not to be caught eavesdropping on this little drama, and continued to listen to Dr. Fletcher throw himself on Candace’s mercy as they headed down the hallway.

  What was that all about? I wondered once their voices had faded away.

  Clearly Candace was blackmailing Dr. Fletcher. But about what? It seemed hard to believe that the mild-mannered academic had any skeletons in his closet. On the other hand, I wasn’t the least bit surprised to learn that Candace was doing a spot of blackmailing.

  Somehow I sensed that behind her pageant smile beat the heart of a street thug.

  Back in my room, Taylor was stretched out on my bed, gratefully chomping down on M&M’s.

  “So how was dinner?” I asked, plopping down on the bed beside her.

  “Awful,” she replied. “Mom spent most of the meal trying to smell everybody, looking for the Vera Wang thief. I thought I’d die of embarrassment. And I had to sit there eating that icky fish, while Elvis was eating steak tidbits. Can you possibly think of a worse meal?”

  “Unfortunately I can,” I said, images of Ma Willis flitting through my brain.

  We spent the next fifteen minutes or so sucking up chocolate as Taylor shared her dreams of some day becoming a great writer.

  “Just like Isabel Allende,” she said. “Only American, of course. And taller. With a really cute husband.”

  When she’d had her fill of M&M’s, she bid me a fond farewell and headed back to her room.

  By now it was after midnight and even my sugar rush couldn’t stem the tide of my exhaustion. I quickly got undressed and brushed my teeth, counting the seconds till my head hit the Amada Inn’s rock-hard pillow.

  But just as I was about to pull back the comforter, there was a knock on my door.

  Could it be Taylor, back for some more M&M’s?

  With a sigh, I shuffled over to the door and opened it.

  Imagine my surprise when I saw Lance.

  “Lance! What are you doing here?”

  “I’m going down to Palm Springs with Gary.”

  “Who’s Gary?”

  “The UPS guy! I finally got up my courage and asked him out. We had dinner tonight at the most divine sushi place, and over California rolls we decided to spend the weekend at Gary’s condo in Palm Springs. Isn’t that the most exciting news ever?”

  At which point I heard a piercing yowl and looked down to see a cat carrier. With Prozac inside. She looked none too happy.

  Stuff a sock in it, willya, and get me out of this cage!

  “I almost forgot,” Lance said. “I came to drop off Prozac. Gary’s allergic to cats.”

  I unlatched the carrier and Prozac came charging out, taking stock of her new surroundings. Alas, she was not impressed. I could tell by the dismissive thump of her tail.

  I’ve seen bigger rooms in a Roach Motel.

  Then she scampered onto the bed and curled up on its one and only pillow. I knew from past experience it would take an atom bomb to wrench it from her.

  It looked like I’d be sleeping without a pillow that night.

  “Here’s her litter box,” Lance said, lugging it in from the hallway. “And by the way, the clerk at the front desk said they charge an extra fifty bucks a night for pets.”

  Oh, groan. What would Heather say when she heard about this?

  “Awfully close to the freeway, aren’t you, hon?” Lance said, gazing out my window. “Wow, I can almost read that guy’s speedometer! Oh, well. At least one of us will be staying someplace nice this weekend.”

  Then, checking his watch, he exclaimed, “Gotta run! Mamie’s waiting for me in the car. I don’t suppose you’d consider taking care of her while I’m at Gary’s, would you?”

  “No, I would not!”

  “Okay, okay. Just asking.”

  And off he scooted into the night, grinning the same idiotic grin he always grins when he thinks he’s in love.

  I only hoped Gary’s condo had wood rot.

  YOU’VE GOT MAIL

  To: Jausten

  From: Shoptillyoudrop

  Subject: Only a Matter of Time

  It’s just as I suspected. Daddy’s taken apart Nellybelle’s engine and has the pieces scattered all over the garage. He’ll
never in a million years be able to put it back together again! And thank heavens he wouldn’t dream of doing the sensible thing and calling a mechanic.

  It’s only a matter of time before the garbage men are carting it away.

  Meanwhile, I’m off to pick up my dress for the fashion show—

  XOXO,

  Mom

  To: Jausten

  From: DaddyO

  Subject: Only a Matter of Time

  Dearest Lambchop—

  You’ll be happy to know I’ve been hard at work tinkering with Nellybelle’s engine. It’s only a matter of time before I have her purring like a kitten!

  Love ’n’ snuggles from

  Daddy

  P.S. It’s strange. I thought for sure your mom would tell me to call in a professional to fix Nellybelle like she always does when we have trouble around the house. But oddly enough, she hasn’t said a word. In fact, she’s been encouraging me to do the job myself. I guess at long last she’s come to appreciate my skills as a handyman.

  To: Jausten

  From: Shoptillyoudrop

  Subject: Gorgeous Dress!

  Hi, Sweetheart!

  I’m back from Pink Flamingo with my dress for the fashion show, and it’s absolutely gorgeous! As nice as anything I’ve ever seen on the shopping channel. A white silk top with bateau neck and peplum waist over a black pencil skirt. Unfortunately, thanks to that fudge I ate the other night, it’s a wee bit tight round the peplum waist.

  I absolutely must lose five pounds in time for the fashion show. Time to get rid of all the sweets in the house. I’ll put everything in the freezer out in the garage. We had it padlocked last year after a raccoon clawed it open and ran off with our hamburger meat. Honestly, those raccoons are brazen little critters, aren’t they?

  I’ll have Daddy change the combination on the lock so I can’t possibly open it.

  Instant weight loss guaranteed!

  Tata for now—

  Your about-to-be-much-thinner,

  Mom

  To: Jausten

  From: DaddyO

  Subject: A Guy Just Can’t Win

  Dearest Lambchop—

  It looks like Mom’s on one of her crazy diets again. She just stored all our desserts in the freezer in the garage and had me change the combination on the lock. She made me promise not to tell her the combination no matter how much she begged and pleaded. I give her less than 24 hours before she starts begging and pleading. Then she’ll get mad at me if I don’t tell her. And even madder if I do.

  A guy just can’t win around here.

  You know I adore your mom, Lambchop, but I have to confess sometimes she can go a little nuts. Luckily there’s at least one sane member in this family.

  Well, gotta go and rub baby oil on Nellybelle’s carburetor.

  Love and hugs from

  Daddy

  Chapter 8

  I slept badly that night, plagued by ghastly dreams, no doubt induced by the M&M’s I’d inhaled before climbing into bed.

  I was in the middle of a particularly harrowing nightmare where Ma Willis was chasing me around her dining room table with a giant bottle of cabernet, when I was jolted awake by what sounded like a jackhammer on my ceiling.

  Was it possible the Amada Inn was actually doing construction work directly over my room?

  When I called the front desk to complain, a weary clerk explained that it was just one of the pageant contestants practicing her tap dancing.

  “I’ve been getting complaints all morning,” he said.

  “Aren’t you going to do anything about it?”

  “Sorry, ma’am. No way am I messing with a pageant mom. Not without a stun gun.”

  I hung up with a sigh and turned to see Prozac lolling on the pillow, which she’d been hogging all night.

  “I’m glad one of us slept well,” I snapped. “In case you’re interested, my neck is stiff as a board.”

  If I expected any sympathy, I was sadly mistaken. All my tale of woe elicited was a ginormous yawn.

  Yeah, right, whatever. So when do we eat?

  Then she leaped on my chest, yowling at the top of her lungs, clawing me for her breakfast.

  It was then that I looked around and realized Lance had forgotten to bring cat food.

  Damn that man!

  I hauled myself out of bed and was just about to get dressed when my phone rang. It was the clerk down at the front desk.

  “Can you please keep your cat quiet?” he said, rather snootily. “The people in the next room are complaining.”

  Oh, great. Pageant moms with prima donna teens were off limits. But lowly writers with prima donna cats were fair game. I certainly hoped the Amada Inn didn’t expect to get five stars on Yelp from yours truly.

  After throwing on some jeans and a T-shirt, I headed down to the lobby to get Prozac some chow from the breakfast buffet.

  Between my stiff neck, my tap-dancing neighbor, and that irritating call from the front desk, I must admit I was not in the sunniest of moods. But I perked up considerably when I saw the breakfast spread: scrambled eggs, ham, bacon, Danish, and delightfully gooey sticky buns.

  I was dying to grab a fork and dive into the stuff, but first I had to get some food for my hungry princess.

  I was just wrapping some ham in a paper napkin when Taylor came sidling up to me, flip-flops clopping, her hair in giant rollers.

  “Skip the ham, Jaine,” she whispered, “and get me a sticky bun. All my mom let me have for breakfast was some crummy wheat bran cereal.”

  “Actually,” I said, “the ham’s not for you. It’s for my cat.”

  “Your cat?” She blinked in surprise. “I didn’t see a cat in your room last night.”

  “She came after you left.”

  At which point Heather came sweeping over to us, clad in a body-hugging jog suit, diamond bangles dripping from her wrist. The only place she was jogging to in that getup was Van Cleef & Arpels. In her arms she held Elvis, who wore a baby blue T-shirt with the words PAGEANT DOG emblazoned across his tiny chest in rhinestones.

  “Whatever you do, Jaine,” she said, glaring at her daughter, “don’t let Taylor have a sticky bun. Can you believe she wants to eat pastry less than an hour before the swimsuit competition?”

  “It’s not fair,” Taylor pouted. “Even Elvis got to eat bacon!”

  “You’ll thank me when you’re wearing that tiara,” Heather said, oozing motherly righteousness.

  “Which reminds me, Jaine,” she added, turning to me, “when you’ve got a few minutes, would you mind tapping out an acceptance speech for Taylor to deliver when she wins the contest?”

  “But the contest hasn’t even started yet,” Taylor protested. “How can you be so sure I’ll win?”

  “Because you’re the prettiest, most talented girl in the hotel. Don’t forget,” said the former Gilroy Garlic Queen. “You’ve got pageant genes in your blood.”

  Then Heather caught sight of the ham in my napkin.

  “They’ve got plates for the food, you know. Right over there, at the end of the buffet.”

  “It’s for her cat,” Taylor said.

  “Your cat?”

  “My friend was supposed to watch her this weekend, but an emergency came up and he dropped her off at the hotel.”

  “Isn’t that nice, Elvis?” Heather cooed. “A kitty for you to play with.”

  Elvis, clearly not eager to make friends, just bared his tiny fangs.

  “And I just found out,” I said, inwardly cringing, “that the hotel charges an extra fifty dollars a night for pets.”

  “Not a problem, hon.” Heather smiled brightly.

  Thank heavens she wasn’t angry.

  “I’ll just deduct it from your paycheck.”

  Double damn that Lance!

  I headed back upstairs with Prozac’s breakfast, and as I was about to let myself into my room, I realized I’d forgotten to put out the DO NOT DISTURB sign. Major mistake. Experience has taught me
it’s always best to keep Prozac away from a maid with a cart full of freshly cleaned towels.

  I made a mental note to put the sign on when I left again.

  Back inside, Prozac was hard at work scratching the Amada Inn’s rickety chest of drawers.

  “Prozac!” I cried. “What on earth are you doing?!”

  She looked up from her endeavors with pride.

  I like to think of it as Post Abstract Impressionism.

  Snatching her up in my arms, I wondered how much extra I was going to be charged for room damages.

  Then I fed her the ham—which she gulped down in no time—and left some water in a cereal bowl I’d nabbed from the buffet line.

  Before hustling out the door, I gave her a stern talking-to, and I’m proud to say that when I left the room, she wasn’t clawing the chest of drawers anymore.

  Now she was the clawing the bedspread.

  I was standing in the hallway, hoping the Amada Inn’s only working elevator would actually show up, when I saw Bethenny, the former teen queen, tottering toward me on impossibly high heels, her curvaceous body jammed into a slinky black dress. Frankly, she looked less like a pageant queen than a call girl cruising for a john.

  I thought back to yesterday’s Mocktail Hour, when I’d seen her playing footsies with Tex Turner, the auto dealer. Something told me she and Tex were more than just fellow judges.

  “Hi, there!” she said, flashing me her Ultra Brite smile. “Are you here with the pageant?”

  “Sort of. I’m helping one of the contestants prepare for the talent show.”