Cecil the Betrayer stood behind her and my fantasy boyfriend Jack leaned against the wall on the other side of the room.
“Oh my sweet darling,” Evangeline cooed, “Are you all right?”
“Um, I think so,” I muttered, confused and wary of her loving manner.
“You should have told me you had a restraining order against you! I never would have sent you to the news station had I known, you silly girl,” she purred.
“Oh, okay.”
“Aren’t you going to say thank you?” Santa demanded, leering at Evangeline.
“Oh, Gerald darling, aren’t you just ever the gentleman,” she tittered, leaning forward to give Santa-Gerald a better view of her knockers.
“Thank you,” I mumbled contritely, still trying to figure out what was going on. “How did you know about this and how did you get the charges dropped?”
“That is no way to show your gratitude,” Sergeant Santa-Gerald growled, clearly affronted that I wasn’t on my knees before her majesty. “By the way, little missy, if she changes her mind, your ass is going to jail.”
Something felt so wrong about this. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but my stomach churned with anxiety.
“Gerald, my sweet,” Evangeline coyly crooned, sounding a little like a wounded cow, “you’re such an alpha male. Let’s go to your office and finish the paperwork.”
Santa blushed furiously and quickly grasped Evangeline as she almost took a tumble off the table. Moving in general seemed to come with a whole set of issues for her.
“Stay with the perp,” he snapped at Jack.
“Yes, sir.”
Santa and Evangeline led the entourage from the room. Herbie held the door and Cecil brought up the rear. Before he left the room, he turned back.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“For what?” I asked, wanting him to admit his guilt in front of Jack. Why? I don’t know. It didn’t make any difference now . . .
“For you,” he replied and left the room quickly.
What in the hell did that mean?
The silence in the room was loaded. I wandered over to the table and sat down, careful to avoid the area where Evangeline had been seated. Knowing Bionic Boobs, I’m fairly sure she wasn’t wearing panties. I swallowed back the bile that had risen in my throat. I was still unsure whether Jack had called Evangeline. Again, it really didn’t make any difference. I’d never see him after today anyway. Why did that make me feel queasy? I stared at everything except for the beautiful man leaning against the wall. I was so embarrassed and ashamed . . . and embarrassed. I struggled to find my voice. I could feel his eyes boring into me. I wanted to say something witty and sexy and self-deprecating . . . something he’d always remember.
“Do you realize your Sergeant looks like Santa and his sidekick looks like Herbie the Dentist?” Oh fuck, did I just say that? It would have been an opportune time to shut up, but knowing when to stop had never been my forte . . . so I kept talking. “Do you see why I couldn’t touch her boobies? They’re ginormous and disgusting. I would have been scarred for life. I suppose some guys like huge knockers, but those suckers are rock hard. She could kill someone with those things. But like I said, some guys like ’em big. Do you like big ones?” I slapped my hand over my mouth before I uttered something more awful than what I’d already said. I couldn’t for the life of me imagine what that would be, but I was taking no chances.
I stared at the floor wishing I could melt like the Wicked Witch of the West. I was so mortified I started getting mad at him. Reasonable? No. Legit? In my mind, yes. If he would just speak, I might not continue to make such a gaping ass of myself.
“Please say something or I’m going to jump off the conversation cliff, never to be heard from again,” I whispered, still staring at the floor.
“Rena, I want . . .” Jack started only to be cut off by the ungodly, horrifically timed reentrance of Herbie the Dentist.
What did Jack want? Did he want me? Did he never want to see me again? Did he want to bump uglies and father my children? Maybe fathering my children was moving too fast . . . maybe a weekend of sweaty screaming sex would be a good place to start. Damn it, now I’d never know because of the reappearance of a three-foot animated cartoon character in a police uniform. My fingers itched to pull Herbie’s little dentist head off.
“You’re needed in Interrogation Room Four. Now,” Herbie informed Jack smugly. He definitely had a Napoleon complex.
Jack eyed him silently and Herbie fidgeted under the scrutiny. Mr. Hunky Pants slowly pushed himself off the wall and approached the table I was sitting behind. My pulse raced as I caught a whiff of his sexy scent. He stood in front of me, bent down, placed both of his big hands on the table between mine, and stared straight into my eyes. I thought I would faint.
“Rena, you need to be a good girl. Can you do that?”
My eyes were glued to his lips, watching them move. I knew he’d just asked me something, but I had no idea what. I felt tingly all over, and I flexed all the muscles in my arms to keep from reaching out to touch his beautiful mouth. God, what in the hell was it with this guy? He made me feel like an animal in heat. I looked down at his hands. They were huge. I wondered if that meant his . . .
“Rena?” he chuckled, cutting off my pornographic train of thought. He was totally aware of what he was doing to me. “Look at me.”
“I can’t,” I muttered. “I’m afraid I’ll jump you and get rearrested for accosting an officer.”
He threw his head back and laughed, sending delightful little chills all through my body and right down to my panties.
“What’s going on here? You’re supposed to go to room . . .” Herbie babbled, crossing the room toward us and fucking up my chi.
“Stay!” Jack barked at the little man like he was a dog. Herbie did. I heard him shuffle back to the door. Damn, Jack definitely had some authority here. Lordy, that’s hot. He shifted his attention back to me and leaned in closer. “I told you to behave. I don’t want to have to arrest you ever again.”
“Um . . . okay.”
I felt him slide something under my hand. He leaned in even closer, his mouth by my ear, and whispered, “Although I wouldn’t mind handcuffing you.”
Oh. My. God.
If I hadn’t been sitting in a chair, I’d have been in a puddle on the ground. I have never ever, ever wanted to straddle and ride someone so badly in my entire life. If Herbie the Dentist hadn’t been in the room I might have stripped naked and let my inner slut loose. That would have looked really bad on the six o’clock news.
Jack stood up, grinning at me. He winked, turned, and sauntered out of the room. I peeked under my hand and realized he’d slipped me his card. Ilovehim, Ilovehim, Ilovehim. I briskly shoved it into my pocket.
Herbie ran to my table on his tiny little dentist legs. “He’s gay,” Herbie informed me triumphantly.
“Really?”
“Yep”—he sucked in his gut and stood up taller—“but I’m not.” He waggled his eyebrows and grabbed his package.
It was all I could do not to gag-laugh. I closed my eyes and sucked in an enormous breath. “That’s wonderful . . . that you’re not gay. I’m sure you’ll make some unsuspecting girl very unsettled someday, but here’s the thing . . . I’m a lesbian. So while I’m flattered by your outstanding posture, your acrobatic eyebrows, and your crotch handling, I prefer vaginas.”
“Really?” Herbie asked dejectedly.
“Really,” I assured him.
Chapter 7
Much to my great embarrassment, twenty minutes later I found myself sitting in the backseat of a garish hot pink sedan with painted caricatures of Evangeline and her boobs on the hood and the doors. Cecil had donned a chauffeur’s cap and aviators. He drove silently. Unfortunately the evil hag didn’t pick up on his cue.
“So Ruth, it looks like we have a little situation here,” she purred, massaging her bosom.
“What situation?” I stared
out the window, wondering if thirty thousand dollars was enough money to watch an old woman fondle herself. I reminded myself I needed a car. Thirty thousand could buy a brand-new car . . . I’d never had a new car before. I supposed as long as she was wearing clothes, I could tough out the boob handling.
“Well, according to the police, if I decide to press charges, you’ll go to jail.”
“For what? What do you have to do with my restraining order?” I shook my head and began demolishing my cuticles again. At this rate, the confusion I was feeling would cause me to chew my fingers off in the next five minutes.
“Dahalling, I have nothing to do with your restraining order. That’s all on you.” She smiled . . . kind of. Her lips didn’t allow for much give.
“What are you talking about?”
“Rhoda, surely you know,” she offered mildly.
“No, Ester, surely I don’t know or I wouldn’t be asking,” I shot back, casually trying to hide the dread threatening to consume me. I shoved my hands under my butt. I would not give her the satisfaction of watching me amputate my fingers. Something was so wrong; I just had no idea what it was. I could have sworn Cecil snorted. I was sure he enjoyed the Ester thing, considering she called him something different every time she spoke to him. I wondered if his name was even Cecil.
Evangeline’s bulbous lips thinned and her nostrils flared. She didn’t like the name game being played on her. Tough shit, I’d had about enough. In a moment of utter clarity, I decided being a greedy whore was a stupid move. Thirty thousand dollars wasn’t enough to sell my soul. I’d take the fucking bus to work for a year while I saved up for a car. Or maybe Aunt Phyllis would loan me a down payment if I offered to babysit the aliens and Martians inhabiting her abode.
God, I felt so much better. My need for self-mutilation all but disappeared. I put my raggedy hands back in my lap and felt a hundred pounds lighter. I turned to the evil queen to quit and was struck dumb. She had her hands down her shirt and was massaging for all she was worth. There were no words . . . I decided to wait and quit when we got back to her house. Two reasons: I was a little afraid she might put me out on the highway, and I was scared if I opened my mouth I would vomit. I noted that Cecil didn’t use his rearview mirror much; I guessed using the side mirrors offered less chance of witnessing unspeakable behavior from his boss.
Still clueless in the pressing charges department, I tried again. I knew in my gut this was important. Staring at the back of Cecil’s head, I broached the subject, praying she was done with her deep-tissue massage.
“So Evelyn,” I taunted. What did I have to lose? I was quitting. Cecil’s shoulders shook and a frisson of joy buzzed through me. His life seemed just awful; it felt good to make him laugh. “What exactly are the charges you could press?”
“Why, stealing, of course.” Her eyes pinned me to my seat.
WTF? “Stealing what?” I gasped. “I didn’t steal from you.” The blood left my face as it dawned on me that this was very likely the missing puzzle piece I couldn’t put my finger on.
“Of course you did, my pet,” she leered. “Three hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry was in that box you stole from me. Thank God you had a restraining order against you or you might have gotten away with it.”
Shock didn’t even begin to cover the feelings that overwhelmed me. Rage and nausea consumed me and my brain worked in overdrive. I shook like a leaf and my mouth was filling with saliva, making chewing on my cuticles impossible. Throwing up on her right now seemed like a fine idea. Why in the hell would she frame me for stealing? What did she have to gain? Fuck, did Jack think I was a thief? He’d never marry me now. This was by far the worst day of my entire life. Who knew karma for being greedy would kick me in the ass so hard and so quickly? I should have quit while she was kneading her rack, but somehow I didn’t think that would have made any difference. Fuck, shit, fuck, fuck.
“Cat got your tongue, dear?”
I looked away from her. I would not let her see me cry. Everything was careening out of control and I had no idea why. My chest tightened and the ringing in my head was making me dizzy. I’d been set up. She knew about the restraining order, and she’d loaded me down with jewels. She had to have been the one who’d tipped off the police, or maybe it had been Cecil . . . They were clearly in on it together, but what did they hope to achieve?
“So here’s how I see it, Ruba, you owe me. You owe me your life, so I don’t owe you anything.” She readjusted her repulsive bosom, grabbed my chin, and made me face her. “You will work for me for free. There will be no thirty-thousand-dollar payment. You will give me all of your ideas for the rest of your natural life, and you will tell no one about our little arrangement or your pretty little blonde self will spend the next three to five in the slammer. Are we clear, Rita?”
“You’re a bitch,” I hissed.
“That’s already been established, my sweet,” Evangeline trilled joyously. “Cecil, drive through the Dairy King. I want a Chocolate Doozy Parfait to celebrate. Ramona, would you like an ice cream?”
I turned away, refusing to answer her. I wanted to kill her, but Cecil was in the car and I figured a witness was a bad idea.
“Fine, be that way.” Evangeline pouted. “Cecil, you may get yourself a little something as long as it doesn’t cost more than ninety-nine cents.”
My fingernails dug into my palms as I struggled with the impulse to slap her intounconsciousness. Was this how she got all the little old ladies to be her slaves? Was she blackmailing everyone? She had to be . . .
“Reva, I can see your brain wheels turning and I want to be very explicit. You are to tell no one about our new modus vivendi. No one, especially not the little freak waiting for you back at the mansion. No. One. If you do, I will ruin your life and the lives of all your little writing friends. Not only that, I will see to it that your roommate’s shelter is put out of business and your father’s dental practice is sued repeatedly until he is bankrupt and destitute. Are we crystal clear?” She smiled, basking in the knowledge of her power over me.
“We’re clear,” I ground out through clenched teeth, hatred lacing my words. My fingernails dug into the skin of my palms. Warm blood began seeping into the creases of my balled-up fists and the bile in my stomach reached my throat. There was very little I could do to her on purpose, but if it looked like an accident . . .
“Shall we shake on it?” I whispered, giving the viper bitch whore from hell my most innocent look.
“Of course! I knew you would see it my way. We will have such a wonderful time together, making me the most successful and richest author in the world. J. K. Rowling can kiss my ass!”
She extended her claw and I grabbed it firmly with my bloody one. I grabbed her forearm with my free hand, smearing my blood up and down her toothpick arm with glee, making sure to drip on her skanky outfit. I watched with delight as she shrieked in disgust, knowing the best was yet to come . . .
“I don’t feel very good,” I moaned, tightening my grasp on her arm. I needed her to be in good range for the thank-you I was about to bestow on her. Literally.
“Oh my God, oh my God,” Evangeline yelped, trying desperately to free herself.
“I’m so sorry,” I gasped, trying not to grin from ear to ear. “My stomach is just . . .”
I reared back and let her rip. Normally I despise throwing up, it tends to give me migraines, but sometimes you have to suffer for the good of mankind. This would definitely make the world a better place. I had a moral obligation.
I opened my mouth and projectile-vomited on her from head to toe. The more I retched, the more I had to retch. It was a disgusting self-fulfilling prophecy. Her howls and screeches were music to my indebted ears. Her hair was covered and her net top held my gift beautifully. I noticed I’d successfully filled her thigh-high boots. My aim was outstanding.
“I’m so sorry,” I choked out, wiping my mouth and my bloody hands with a clean section of her mink
coat. “I think the excitement of helping you attain mega-stardom was too much for my system.” I lowered my eyes and looked away. “Please forgive me, Your Greatness.”
She was actually confused. Her intelligence level was subpar at best, and she thought I was being honest. I filed this info away for future reference.
“Um, well . . . that’s okay,” she moaned, trying to remove my gift, but only succeeding in rubbing it in more. “You will never do this aguuun,” she gagged on her last word.
“I’ll try not to, Your Excellency, but I have a very active gag reflex and it goes off at unexpected moments.”
“Yes, well then, you need to work on your aim. Next time you will zero in on Cecil, he’s quite worthless.”
I had to agree with her on that. I would make sure I saved some of my wrath for him. I knew vomiting on people was not going to be my new weapon of defense; I wouldn’t be able to handle all the migraines that would accompany it. But Cecil . . . Cecil would soon get a taste of my evil genius.
“Forget the Chocolate Doozy Parfaaauhh,” Evangeline gagged. “Take me home, Jahhves.”
I popped a piece of gum into my icky mouth, turned back to the window, and opened it. The subzero temperatures felt good on my overheated skin, plus the smell was bad with a capital B. I knew she had me, but I also knew I had her. If I had been determined to bring her career down before, now I was obsessed. Her threats against my family and my friends raised this game to a whole new level. I would rely heavily on her stupidity and greed. Shit, my own greed was how I got here in the first place . . . She was going to get the story of a lifetime. Not only would there be conjoined twins and time-traveling vampire warlock pirates with erectile dysfunction, there would be halitosis, clubfeet, lice, pirates who preferred animals and blow-up dolls, venereal diseases, dirty fingernails, cannibalism, and flat-chested women. She was going down.
How Hard Can It Be Page 7
