Killer Blonde

by Laura Levine

  “If you’re ever thrown into the trunk of a car, kick out a back tail light and stick your arm out the hole and wave like crazy.”

  “The next time I’m thrown into the trunk of a car, I’ll do just that,” I said, digging into my beef burrito.

  “It could happen,” she warned.

  “I know. And if it does, I’ll do it. I promise.”

  Her eyes lit up with the fervor of the recently converted.

  “I can’t tell you how much I’m learning from this class.”

  “I think you already have. Thanks to you, I now know twelve different ways to maim a guy.” I took a chip and dipped it into my refried beans. “So what’s happening with your instructor?”

  “Matt,” she sighed, her chin resting in her hand. “Darling Matt.”

  “Has Darling Matt asked you out yet?”

  “Yep,” she grinned. “Dinner at the beach. This Saturday.”

  “That’s great,” I said, trying to sound like I meant it. Somehow I couldn’t picture Kandi hooking up with a guy who chopped wood with his fist.

  “And what about you?” she asked. “Have you heard from Ted Lawson?”

  “Tommy the Termite? He called the other night and asked me out to dinner.”

  “I assume you were a fool and turned him down.”

  “No, as a matter of fact, I was a fool and said yes.”

  “Oh, honey. That’s wonderful!” Kandi beamed.

  Then her perfectly plucked brows furrowed.

  “What are you going to wear?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “I’m not seeing him until the end of the week. I haven’t even thought about it.”

  “That’s just your trouble, Jaine. You should be thinking about it. You’ve got to make a good first impression.”

  “How about I kick him in the groin? That ought to impress him.”

  “Whatever you do,” she said, ignoring my feeble attempt at sarcasm, “don’t wear elastic waist pants. It’s so Trailer Park.”

  “But they’re comfortable,” I whined.

  “Tough,” she said, checking out her reflection in her knife. “You’ve got to suffer for beauty.”

  “I don’t want to suffer for beauty. The only thing I’m willing to suffer for is a hot fudge sundae.”

  “Which reminds me, do you really think you should be eating that burrito? It has at least a gazillion calories.”

  “Hey,” I said, clutching my plate, “if I wanted to be nagged to death, I’d move to Florida and live with my parents.”

  “Sorry. I only want to see you happy.”

  “If you really want to see me happy, you’ll order me another margarita. And a change of subject might be nice.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll change the subject. Did you know you’re seven times more likely to be attacked in a stairwell than in an elevator?”

  And so it went, a litany of warnings that didn’t stop, not even when we went to get our cars in the parking lot.

  “Remember. If you’re parked next to a van, always enter your car from the passenger door. Most serial killers attack their victim by pulling the woman into their van while she’s trying to get into her car.”

  “Thanks for a fun evening,” I said, escaping into my car.

  The last thing I heard as I drove out the lot was Kandi shouting: “If someone is following you, drive straight to the nearest police station!”

  I don’t mind admitting I was a tad nervous driving back to Beverly Hills. After an evening of Kandi’s lurid self-defense tips, I imagined I saw homicidal maniacs at every stop light.

  Finally, I made it home. Just my luck, there were no parking spots outside my duplex so I had to park down at the end of the street and walk back. I was halfway home when I started hearing footsteps behind me. Too frightened to turn around, I quickened my pace. By the time I got to my duplex I was practically sprinting. I turned up the path to my apartment. The footsteps were right behind me.

  Omigod. Kandi was right. Homicidal maniacs were lurking at every corner. I’d been a fool not to take her seriously.

  “Jaine?”

  I whirled around to face my assailant.

  Thank heavens, it was only Lance.

  “I thought it was you, Jaine, but I wasn’t sure.”

  “Lance! I thought you were a sex pervert about to attack me.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, hon. But I’m saving all my sexual perversions for Jim. Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be fine as soon as my heart starts beating again.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  After assuring Lance I wasn’t on the verge of a coronary, we said goodnight and I let myself into my apartment. I fed Prozac her midnight snack of minced mackerel guts, then brushed and flossed my teeth and climbed into bed. (Okay, so I didn’t floss, but I promise I will tomorrow.)

  I turned on the TV and surfed for a while, but I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t stop thinking about SueEllen and how badly she treated Heidi. I thought about how she’d humiliated her at dinner, refusing to let her eat dessert, and making her sit there while she oohed and aahed about how delicious it was. I thought about her cruel nose job crack at Neiman’s. And finally, I thought about how she’d repainted Heidi’s bedroom, destroying her one last connection to her mom.

  I thought about all this, and I wanted to kill her.

  Little did I know that someone else was about to beat me to it.

  Chapter Seven

  It was the night of Heidi’s birthday party, and as I drove my Corolla up the Kingsleys’ circular driveway, I felt like Cinderella showing up at the ball in a bruised pumpkin. Mine was the only non-luxury car for miles around. In fact, the driveway bore a striking resemblance to a Mercedes dealership.

  I checked my reflection in my rearview mirror. I’d spent a good twenty minutes blowing out the curls in my hair, and I was pleased to see they were still being held at bay. I got out of the car, smoothing my silk pantsuit. Kandi would have been disappointed to know that the pants had an elastic waist, but it was hidden under a flowing jacket. Actually, it was a very flattering outfit; if I held in my stomach and stopped breathing, I could maybe pass for a size 8.

  A stunning actor/valet parker came trotting to my side.

  “You with the catering staff?” he said, eyeing my Corolla as if it were a waterbug. “If so, you’ve got to park down the street.”

  “No,” I huffed, with all the dignity I could muster. “I’m a guest.”

  At least I hoped I was. For all I knew, SueEllen would be whisking me out of my pantsuit and into a waitress’s uniform.

  I watched as the valet took my car and drove off down the driveway, no doubt to park it on another street, perhaps in another town, so as not to contaminate the Mercedes.

  An attractive blond maid greeted me at the door. Where was Conchi? Probably stuck in the kitchen, slaving over a recipe stolen from Julia Child. The blonde welcomed me to Casa Kingsley and ushered me into the cavernous living room. Even with thirty or so guests and a bunch of actor/waitpersons milling around, the room still looked huge.

  “Jaine, sweetie!”

  SueEllen came sashaying over in skintight black leather slacks and matching bustier. The Marquis de Sade meets Auntie Mame. Thankfully, she made no mention of my being needed in the kitchen. It looked like I wasn’t assigned to KP duty, after all.

  “How nice you could come!” she cooed. “And what a super outfit. It hides your monster thighs.”

  Okay, so she didn’t make the thigh crack, but that’s what she was thinking.

  “Come say hello to the birthday girl,” she said, grabbing my elbow and steering me over to where Heidi stood in her unflattering blue dress, eating a stuffed mushroom. I glanced around the room, looking for kids Heidi’s age, but I didn’t see any. Clearly, my job was to be Heidi’s friend for the night. A job I was more than happy to accept.

&
nbsp; “I wouldn’t eat any more of those if I were you,” SueEllen said, eyeing the hors d’oeuvre in Heidi’s hand. “You’re practically splitting your seams as it is.”

  And with that, she took off to chat up some people far more important than us. Heidi made a face behind her back, and popped the rest of the mushroom in her mouth.

  “These are great,” she said. “They’re stuffed with crab. Want one?”

  “Sure.”

  Heidi flagged down Conchi who was circulating a platter of mushrooms, the only Hispanic among the perky caterer’s assistants.

  “Hey, Conchi,” I said. “How’s it going?”

  “Muy bueno, Miss Jaine,” she said shyly, handing me a linen cocktail napkin. How impressive. My guests are lucky to get paper napkins left over from my last McDonald’s order. Heidi and I each plucked a mushroom from the platter, and Conchi headed off to make the rounds of the room.

  “These are fabulous,” I said, the crab literally melting in my mouth.

  “SueEllen claims it’s an old family recipe, but she got it from Emeril Lagasse’s cookbook. Oh, rats. She’s giving me the evil eye.”

  SueEllen had momentarily diverted attention from her A-List guests and was glaring at Heidi. Heidi popped the mushroom in her mouth defiantly.

  “I got you something for your birthday,” I said, reaching into my purse for the present I’d picked up for her earlier that day.

  “Gee, thanks, Jaine.”

  She ripped open the package eagerly.

  “A book! By P.G. Wodehouse. How did you know I love P.G. Wodehouse?”

  “I saw you reading one of his books the day we met.”

  “Oh, Jaine. Thank you so much!”

  Then I reached out and hugged her. I had a feeling she didn’t get many hugs at Casa Kingsley.

  “Happy birthday, kiddo.”

  “It is, now that you’re here,” she said, melting my heart.

  “Oh, look,” she whispered. “There’s Eduardo, SueEllen’s lover.”

  “Where?”

  “Over there. By the fireplace.”

  Hubba hubba. The guy was a stunner. With his tight bod, smoldering eyes, and slicked-back hair, he looked like he just stepped out of a Calvin Klein underwear ad. He stood leaning against the fireplace, in a Hawaiian print shirt and pleated linen trousers, talking to a young blonde with yet another perfect body. Good heavens, wasn’t there anybody at this party aside from Heidi and me with a waist bigger than Barbie’s?

  “Who’s the girl he’s talking to?”

  “That’s Amber. Brad’s girlfriend.”

  I remembered what Brad said the other night about having sex on the den carpet. I had no trouble whatsoever picturing this tootsie getting carpet burns on her fanny.

  “Where’s Brad?”

  “At the bar.”

  I looked over to where Brad was standing at a makeshift bar set up in the corner of the room, tapping his foot impatiently while the bartender fixed him a drink.

  “He sure doesn’t look like a happy camper,” I said.

  “Oh, Brad’s pissed because SueEllen convinced Daddy not to buy him a Ferrari. He’s getting a Beemer instead.”

  Poor darling. My heart bled for him.

  “I told Brad she’d never let Daddy buy the Ferrari, but he didn’t believe me. And now he’s furious.”

  And indeed, Brad looked like he was barely containing himself as he glowered at the slow moving bartender.

  “Heidi, sweetheart. Come say hello to the Millers.”

  Hal was standing at our side, craggy and casual in a turtleneck and jeans. He looked me straight in the eye, not the least bit uncomfortable. Not like a man who’d recently been caught zipping his fly after sex. Which meant he probably hadn’t seen me spying on him.

  But wouldn’t Larkspur have told him about our encounter in the hallway? And if so, shouldn’t he have been worried that I might suspect something and spill the beans to SueEllen? Oh, well. Maybe he just didn’t care. He was a surgeon, after all. After years of sucking fat out of women’s thighs, the guy probably had nerves of steel.

  “You don’t mind my borrowing Heidi, do you, Jaine?”

  “No, of course not.”

  I was happy that somebody at Heidi’s birthday party actually wanted to talk to her.

  Hal led her over to a middle-aged couple eating baby lamb chops.

  God, they were gorgeous. Not the couple—the lamb chops. I decided to circulate and see if I could find some. I made the rounds of the room, past the social string beans sipping their chardonnay and nibbling their hors d’oeuvres. And when I say nibbling I mean nibbling. It took some of those anorexics five bites to finish a one-inch shrimp puff.

  At last I tracked down the lamb chops. The attractive blonde who’d greeted me at the front door was carrying a platter full of the little darlings.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’ve been looking all over for these. May I?”

  “Of course,” she said, handing me a napkin.

  I plucked one off the tray, and took a bite.

  “Hmmm. Divine.”

  “Want another?” she grinned. “For the road?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  I took one more (okay, two more) and headed over to the bar to get myself some wine.

  Brad was still at the bar, slugging down his drink, his hot young girlfriend at his side. The lovely Amber looked bored. She’d seemed a lot more animated when she was talking to Eduardo.

  “Hi, Brad.” I flashed him a smile, but he just stared at me blankly. The guy clearly had no idea who I was. Or if he did know, he didn’t care.

  “I’m Jaine Austen, SueEllen’s writer.”

  “Whatever.”

  He took another slug of his drink and muttered: “That bitch. She screwed me out of my Ferrari. I hope she chokes on one of her own hors d’oeuvres.”

  I assumed that the bitch in question was SueEllen.

  Amber wrinkled her perfect nose in annoyance. “Brad, cool it on the booze, will you? You’re getting obnoxious.”

  Getting? I’d say he’d hit obnoxious three drinks ago.

  I scooted away as soon as I got my wine. Something told me Brad wasn’t in the mood for my company. And neither was anybody else. I wandered around with a friendly smile on my face, but aside from Heidi and the blonde waitress with the lamb chops, nobody at the party seemed the least bit interested in talking to me.

  Heidi was still busy chatting with the middle-aged couple, so I decided to head outside to the terrace and gnaw on my lamb chops without any Emily Post types giving me dirty looks. I stepped out through a pair of magnificent French doors onto a magnificent terrace, under a magnificent moon, no doubt ordered by SueEllen especially for the occasion.

  I plopped down onto a chaise lounge with a cushion as thick as a mattress, and tasted the chardonnay. Lovely. No Screw Top Specials at Casa Kingsley. Then I sat back and gnawed at my lamb chops until the bones were white. Utter heaven.

  Eventually my bliss was interrupted by the sound of laughter. A slim young Armani couple joined me on the terrace, waving their wine glasses, giggling over some private joke. They caught sight of me on the chaise and quickly looked away, saying nothing. These two were clearly not interested in making friends. They continued whispering and giggling until I felt like an unwanted chaperone at a high school prom.

  I looked inside and saw Heidi, now busily chatting with another couple. I had no real desire to go back to the party, so I grabbed the remains of my lamb chops and started strolling the grounds.

  The moon was full and the grass was like velvet under my feet. I headed towards the back of the house where, for the first time, I saw the Kingsleys’ pool. A lovely turquoise thing, it glittered in the moonlight like a Home Shopping Club aquamarine ring.

  Just beyond the pool was a charming cottage, obviously the pool house. I decided to walk over and check it out. I made my way past some designer deck chairs to the cottage door, which was partially open. I heard voices coming from i
nside.

  “For God’s sake, SueEllen,” a man was saying, panic in his voice. “It was just a one-time indiscretion.”

  For the second time in two days, I was tempted to peek in a forbidden door to see who SueEllen was talking to. But this time, Sensible Me won out. The prospect of being spotted by SueEllen was too scary to risk. I settled for eavesdropping.

  “You’re not going to tell people about it, are you?” the man pleaded.

  “Of course I am,” SueEllen said, breezily.

  “But you’ll ruin my career,” the man said, his voice rising a full octave with fear.

  “You think I care about your career now? After what I know?”

  “I swear, SueEllen. It won’t happen again.”

  “Forget it, Eduardo.” Okay, so now I knew who she was talking to. “You’re history in this town. You’ll be lucky to get a job drawing caricatures on the Santa Monica Pier.”

  Then I heard the clack of her heels on the wood floor.

  “SueEllen, wait! Don’t go.”

  Damn. She was on her way out the door, and I was standing there in full view, still clutching my lamb chop bones. I looked around for a place to hide. Nothing. Nada. Not a bush in sight. Just a few potted palms, dotted among the deck chairs. I dashed behind one of them, praying that SueEllen wouldn’t spot me. It wouldn’t have been hard to do. It was like trying to hide behind a phone pole. I would’ve given anything at that moment to be one of SueEllen’s ninety-eight-pound bulimic buddies.

  SueEllen came sailing out the door, looking a lot like a Sunset Boulevard dominatrix in her black leather ensemble. Thankfully, she didn’t even glance my way. A miserable Eduardo followed in her wake.

  “SueEllen! Please!” he called after her. “Can’t we talk this over?”

  But she kept on walking, ignoring him.

  He looked at her retreating figure, and raked his fingers through his hair so roughly I thought he’d yank it out. Then slowly he started trudging back to the party.

  I waited till he was gone and crept out from my hiding place. Then I tossed my lamb chop bones into one of the potted palms and headed back to the party, wondering exactly what kind of indiscretion Eduardo had committed.