by Sarah Kuhn
“We’ll be ready whenever Maisy gets here,” I said, giving Evie’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “Now why don’t you go greet your other guests? Kevin will bring the food out shortly.”
“Oooh!” Evie said, her eyes lighting up. “The unholy combo of spam musubi and nachos will soon be mine!”
“Er, not exactly,” I said. “I asked him to make a few adjustments to his usual menu. To make it more engagement-party friendly.”
“Like the adjustments you made to the décor?” Lucy said, her eyes flitting around disapprovingly.
“Yeah, they kind of make it more boring-people friendly,” Bea chimed in. I gave her a look. She was supposed to be helping me. She shrugged as if to say, Well, they do, though?
“Hey!” Evie said, elbowing Bea in the ribs. She gave me one of her game smiles. “Annie’s just being creative, playing up the contrast between the supposed classiness of all this bridal stuff and the trashiness of all the karaoke we’re going to sing later.”
“No karaoke,” I said. “I think we all know how quickly that can devolve. You definitely do not want to hear Scott’s take on the divas of yesteryear.” I tried to crack a game smile of my own, but they all stared back at me, puzzled.
“So,” Evie said slowly, “we’re at The Gutter and we’re not doing karaoke—”
“—or eating the delicious garbage food,” Lucy chimed in. “In other words, we are in no way using this fine location for any of its true and intended purposes.”
“We might as well go to some sterile downtown hotel ballroom with three-hundred-dollar steaks,” Bea said. Then quickly added, “Sorry” when I gave her another look.
“I’m sure it will be great,” Evie said, but her game smile was starting to waver. “Annie’s obviously put a lot of work into—”
“Into completely ignoring what you actually wanted and would enjoy,” Lucy muttered.
“Excuse me,” I said, bristling. “But I don’t recall her asking for a dildo sampler platter either.”
“Okay, okay,” Evie said, putting a hand on Lucy’s arm. “Let’s not turn this into some kind of roller derby girl brawl.”
“That would actually be cool,” Bea said.
I forced my shoulders to relax. “Why don’t you all go find your seats?” I said. “And try the antelope skewers, they’re delicious. I’ll go put this”—I gestured to the dildo bag—“out of sight.”
Evie nodded. “Come on,” she said, steering Lucy and Bea toward the tables. I tried to smile at her, but she had already turned away.
Well. I couldn’t worry about that right now. I had several missions to accomplish, and I had to keep multitasking like a mofo. And hopefully she’d warm up to the party once she realized how preferable a beautiful—and beautifully presented—meal was to fake cheese and drunken singing.
I could do this. I could do everything, dammit.
I hustled over to The Gutter’s stage and dumped the dildo bag behind a speaker and underneath a particularly voluminous drape of linen. When I turned back around, I took a moment to survey the room. Guests were trickling in and mingling, but no one seemed interested in finding their assigned seats. Or eating the antelope skewers Kevin was grudgingly shuttling around on a silver platter. And it looked like only about half of them had paid attention to my semi-formal edict. Nate and Rose were standing off to one side, talking. Lucy and Bea were clustered around a table. Lucy plucked an antelope skewer off of Kevin’s platter, took a bite, and turned a little green. She tried to set it down delicately, but the sauce smeared all over the cream linen of the tablecloth. Bea draped a napkin over it and they made a face at each other. Clearly, antelope was not to their taste. Scott was still valiantly entertaining my parents, paying rapt attention to something my mother was saying. And Evie . . .
I frowned, scanning the room again. Where was Evie?
I finally spotted her standing near the entrance, locked in conversation. With Maisy. My stomach dropped. Argh. Evie wasn’t even supposed to see Maisy. I should have kept an eagle eye on the door instead of dealing with those stupid dildos.
Okay. Fine. I could improvise. The night was still young, the party was still fresh, and there was still time to serve my beautiful meal, give some beautiful speeches, and capture the rogue puppy demon before it turned this whole evening into a big, fat, flaming disaster. I squared my shoulders and marched over to them.
“Maisy!” I exclaimed. “You’re here!”
“She’s here,” Evie agreed, giving me a conspiratorial look and nodding subtly at the elaborately wrapped package tucked under Maisy’s arm.
“Engagement party selfie!” shrieked Maisy. She whipped out her phone and held it up, leaning into us. “Ooh, so cute,” she cried, looking at the screen, then thumb-typing on the keyboard to post it. “Totally uploading. Hashtag NATEVIE!”
“There’s a hashtag for my wedding?” Evie said.
“Naturally,” Maisy said, thumb-typing away. “Let’s see what the fans are saying. Awww, they love your outfit of course—so unique, so you,” she said gesturing to Evie’s jeans. “They think Aveda’s a little overdressed, though. It’s cool, Aveda, I’m totally down with wearing a good ballgown for any and all occasions.”
“This isn’t even a ballgown,” I muttered.
“Some fans would dispute you on that,” Maisy said, scrolling through her feed. “It does seem a bit odd that you’re so dressed up. Way more than the actual bride. Like this is an occasion to celebrate you rather than—”
“What a lovely gift!” Evie said, a little too loudly. She gave me a meaningful look, trying to steer us back to the task at hand. “Maisy, let me take that to the gift pile in the back room—”
“No!” I blurted out. They both gave me a quizzical look. “I mean, you shouldn’t leave your own party. Not even for a second.”
“I shouldn’t?” Evie said, her brow knitting in confusion.
“I can take it back,” I said, reaching for the package. “And then, uh, you can come meet me in a bit if you want to check out the whole pile of, uh, gifts, and . . .” I sounded ridiculous. Was one little hitch really enough to disrupt my entire freaking plan?
“No need to take anything back, ladies,” Maisy trilled. “As you know, Aveda, this one is very special. And I’d really very much prefer if the bride opened it right now.”
I’ll bet you would, I thought grimly.
“It’s not really about what you prefer, though, is it?” I said, holding out my hand insistently. “You can’t force her to open it if she doesn’t want to.”
“Well, maybe she does want to,” Maisy said, bristling a bit. “Maybe you should stop speaking for her and let her decide for herself.”
“As maid of honor, part of my job is to—”
“—is to help the bride have the best experience for her. Not for you.” Maisy narrowed her eyes at me and pulled the package further out of reach. “So why don’t you stop trying to make this all about Aveda Jupiter and—”
“—and I really just want everyone to enjoy the party!” I said, plastering a big, fake smile on my face. I lunged and snatched the gift from Maisy. “Especially Evie. The gift opening should be a big production near the end of the night, don’t you think? For maximum fabulousness?”
They both stared at me, confused. But for completely different reasons. I decided to keep barreling on.
“Evie,” I said. “Why don’t you go mingle? I need to talk to Maisy about something.”
“Well . . . okay,” she said. She was still staring at me, like, what are you doing?
I tried to make my features reassuring. I’ve got it under control. Just trust me.
“What was that all about, Aveda Jupiter?” Maisy said, planting her hands on her hips as Evie moved back to the crowd of party guests. “I know you are unaccustomed to playing sidekick, but really, this is getting to be a bit muc
h—”
“I have an exclusive scoop for you,” I blurted out. “I mean, if you can keep a lid on it until after the party.”
That got her attention. Maisy pressed her flaky gray lips together and frowned at me. “I’m listening.”
“I’m engaged.” I twisted my plastic ring back around so the fake ruby was visible.
Maisy looked at me curiously, her eyes narrowing. Not quite the reaction I’d been hoping for. “You are? At the same time as Evie? And you’re telling me at . . . Evie’s engagement party?”
“I . . .” I realized then that I was basically playing into the spotlight-stealing narrative all the bride-to-be commenters were setting out for me. The one Maisy seemed to be buying into.
“I’m . . . keeping it a secret for now!” I improvised. “You know, so as not to take any attention away from Evie. You’re the first person I’m telling. And if you can keep it quiet until after the party, I’ll let you announce it on your blog. Exclusively.”
“Hmm,” she said, her ghoulish eyes glowing. “I suppose I can do that. For Evie.”
“For Evie,” I agreed. “Now let me put this with the other presents and—”
“—and she’ll still model it for an exclusive photo shoot at the end of the night?” Maisy said.
“Of course. I didn’t want her to do it now because, uh, not everyone’s here yet. You should have the biggest audience possible for your custom lingerie debut.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Maisy said, but she was still studying me with narrowed eyes, as if trying to work something out.
“Why don’t you go find a seat? I’ll take this back . . .” I made vague motions toward The Gutter’s back hallway.
As Maisy wandered off, I took care to saunter toward the back hallway that led to the bathroom. No sudden movements, and I didn’t let the glee show in my face too much. But I held the package tightly as anticipation bubbled in my chest, my blood fizzing with the promise of battle.
This was it. I was about to capture that damn puppy once and for all.
I made it down the hall and eased open the door to The Gutter’s tiny, single stall bathroom.
“You made it,” Scott said, ushering me inside and locking the door behind us. He was holding the scanner and already had the trap set up, perched precariously on the toilet tank. There was nowhere else for it to perch. The bathroom was about the size of a somewhat generous closet and contained only the essentials: toilet, sink. The water-damaged walls looked like they were covered in some kind of intricate pattern—actually years of patrons carving their initials and messages of varying vulgarity into the wood until its original texture was completely changed. There was enough room for me, Scott, and the trap. But not much room for anything else.
I swallowed hard, trying to contain the nerves dancing double-time through my stomach. I suddenly realized my brilliant plan involved cramming both of us into a very tight space with me in nothing but my underwear. And then asking him to rip off my underwear.
Not very friend-like, for sure.
But this was important. This was part of my mission, my duty, my way of ultimately defeating evil. And it had to work. Surely I could handle a few minutes of an uncomfortable situation for the greater good.
“Set up the trap,” I said, making my tone brisk and business-like. “With your back turned to me, so I can change.”
He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t argue. “Yes, ma’am.”
I tore open the package and pulled the bundle of white lace free. It had the telltale crimson fabric sewn into the bust, I noted. I changed as efficiently as possible, shimmying out of my dress and underwear and hoping that Kevin wouldn’t suddenly decide he needed to come back here to, say, flush those damn antelope skewers down the toilet. I rearranged all necessary body parts into the bra, panties, and garters.
“You can turn back around,” I said.
He swiveled back to face me, then froze, his eyes going wide. I could tell he was trying to avoid looking anywhere below my neck. And failing miserably.
“I, um . . .” he stuttered.
“Keep it together, Cameron,” I said, snapping my fingers at him. “Have you never seen a scantily clad woman before?”
“I-I have,” he managed. “But not . . .” He forced his gaze upward, to the ceiling, and I tried not to let that sentence auto-complete in my head.
But not you.
“Is the trap ready?” I asked, hoping to get us back on track.
“It is,” he said to the ceiling. “Locked and loaded. Are you feeling anything?”
I bit back all the extremely inappropriate thoughts dancing through my head and focused on the places where the lingerie was touching my skin. It just felt . . . nice. Light, soft, lacy. A bit on the flimsy side, even. No evil vibes, no stabbing sensation.
“Maybe we need to give it a few minutes,” I said. “Evie was wearing her dress for a bit before it officially attacked.”
“Do you need to do something to activate it?” he said.
“I don’t know. What was Evie doing right before it attacked?” I called up the memory, trying to replay it step by step.
“Giving a speech, right? Of sorts.”
“Oh, yes. She was so nervous. She started reciting my catchphrase. San Francisco is my duty, my love, and—”
“My life,” Scott chorused with me. He finally met my eyes again and gave me a lopsided grin. “I always liked that one.”
“Oh, really?” I arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you liked anything about Aveda Jupiter.”
“It’s not that.” He hesitated, his eyes roaming my face. The silence stretched between us and I squirmed uncomfortably. I suddenly wished he’d go back to ogling my breasts. “I liked—like—quite a bit,” he said, his gaze earnest, unguarded. “How brave she is, how bold. How once she decides to do something, that motherfucker is as good as done. How willing and single-minded she is about throwing herself in the path of danger if it means saving others. Like that day back in sixth grade, when she threw herself in front of a certain wimpy little nerd with delusions of grandeur.” He gave me a rueful grin.
“A wimpy little nerd trying to stick up for his mom who was raising a kid by herself and training to be a totally badass lawyer,” I corrected.
“Whatever the case, he was forever grateful. That was some bona fide superhero shit. And at such a young age.”
I shrugged. “Even Annie Chang had her Aveda Jupiter moments back in the day.”
He gave me an amused look. “Of course she did. They’re the same person.” Before I could correct him, he continued. “In any case. I think over the years, things got . . . tangled. I know there was some unhealthy co-dependence on both sides of the equation with her and Evie—yet I only seemed to blame her for that.” He raked a hand through his hair, looked up at the ceiling again, then back at me. “And I think some of that came from the fact that I was upset she pushed me away that time we kissed,” he finally said. “My fragile male ego took a definite beating over that. And that’s not really fair, to hold a massive grudge against someone when all she did was . . . not feel a certain way. If she didn’t feel the way I did . . . well, I can’t change that. She has every right to feel—or not feel—the way she does.”
My face was on fire. “She didn’t have the right to say the awful things she said to you afterward, though,” I said, my voice small. I was fully aware of how ridiculous we sounded, talking about me in the third person like I was some kind of fictional character we’d read about in a comic book. But it seemed to be the only way either of us could talk about this.
He gave me a weary smile, a look that seemed to contain every regret either of us had ever experienced. It made my heart ache. And it should have made me want to put up that wall between us again—the one that kept me from being Annie Chang and kept him from showing me all that buried intensity—
to ensure that both of us were safe. But I suddenly, really, thoroughly did not want to. I wanted to hold on to this moment forever, this moment where it felt like we were both, for once, being fully ourselves. With all the weird angles and broken bits and little pieces we usually kept hidden.
“I said some things, too,” he said. “And in the spirit of this friendship we’re trying to build, I propose we start letting that shit go.”
I matched his half-smile. “Proposal accepted. For real this time.”
“The fake one doesn’t seem to be getting us anywhere,” he said, nodding at my plastic ring. “Are you feeling anything weird? From the lingerie?”
“No,” I said, frustration nipping at me again. “I don’t understand. I know Maisy was up to something with all this, I know it—”
“AVEDA JUPITER IS A MENACE.”
The words cut through the air, blasting in from the main room. We’d been able to hear the general buzz of crowd noise and Stu’s piano playing through the bathroom door. But this was loud, distinct. Like the person was bellowing into a megaphone. And with a sick, sinking feeling, I realized I recognized the voice doing the bellowing.
“Shit,” I growled, throwing the bathroom door open.
I sprinted down the hall toward the main room, my heart rate ratcheting up with every step.
“Wait . . . Annie!” Scott called out.
“Stay there!” I yelled back at him. “I’ll handle this!”
I made it to the main room, already at least half-aware of what I was going to see. Still, the reality of it was a bit of a shock.
There, onstage, microphone clutched in hand, was Maisy Kane. Her glowing eyes looked especially malevolent as they landed on me and she raised a flaky gray finger to point in my direction.
“As a journalist,” she spat out, “it is my duty to expose her!”
What the hell? Was she foregoing the lingerie attack plan to do something else evil?
“Maisy,” Lucy growled, moving to the side of the stage, “you said you were going to make a toast. This hardly seems like—”
“I am making a toast! A toast to justice!” Maisy bellowed.
