by Sarah Kuhn
“Oh my goodness! That dress!” Maisy Kane sang out. She trotted toward me, champagne flute in one hand, phone in the other. Shasta trailed behind her, looking decidedly less peppy.
“You always have the best fashions, Aveda,” exclaimed Maisy. “The steampunk getup last night was to die for. But this little number takes the gosh-dang cake.”
“Where did you get it?” Shasta asked, curving her bright-red-lipsticked mouth into something that was probably supposed to resemble a smile. A suppressed challenge flickered through her eyes: this was a test.
I scoured my brain. Had Aveda come up with a backstory for this dress? She definitely wouldn’t want me telling people it had once graced the body of a pack-ratty old lady.
Aveda Jupiter does not shop secondhand.
I stood there blankly, trying to put together a piquant tale of the dress’s origin, something befitting a fashionable superheroine.
Shit, shit, shit. My brain was a big, blank thing, a vast field of nothingness. I couldn’t conjure a simple sentence. I was too afraid it would be the wrong sentence, which would then be plastered in accusatory all-caps on Maisy’s blog. A hummingbird-like buzz of panic thrummed through me and I anticipated the sweat that was about to bloom on my palms.
Less than twenty-four hours had passed, and here I was, on the verge of fucking up our stupid plan. And not because of the whole destructive fire power thing. Because when confronted with the prospect of socializing while wearing an uncomfortable dress and impossible shoes, I apparently couldn’t deal.
My eyes darted to Lucy, who was mouthing something at me, but the too-bright lights made my vision blur. My fingers flexed instinctively against Nate’s arm, trying to maintain my grip as my palms started to sweat.
No. No sweat. Stop that. Stop it.
Maybe I should pretend to pass out. Swoon. Faint. Ugh, no. Aveda would hate that.
Aveda Jupiter does not show weakness. Aveda Jupiter lives a healthy lifestyle, which does not include something so pedestrian as fainting. Aveda Jupiter thinks you are being an idiot right now.
Suddenly a hand covered mine, big and warm and solid. My head jerked up to meet Nate’s gaze, his dark eyes boring into me. He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow as if to say, “Well? You’re not gonna sink us on a fashion question, right?”
“Local designer,” I heard myself blurt out, the words haphazardly stringing themselves together. “Don’t recall the name. She’s new to the scene and specializes in organic fibers.”
Maisy beamed and even Shasta looked moderately impressed. I guess I passed?
Almost imperceptibly Nate’s fingers squeezed mine. Yup. I passed. Sweet relief flooded through me, knocking my anxiety-inducing chest hummingbird on its ass.
“Aveda,” Maisy sang out. “We are so dang thrilled to nab you for our little do. How does one take a night off from superheroing? Do you have a wee sidekick type who fills in for you?”
If only she knew.
“I’m ready to bust out of here and fight demons at any moment,” I improvised. “This dress . . . breaks away. If you know what I’m saying.”
Lucy clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes dancing with merriment. Nate suddenly had to clear his throat.
“Scandalous!” Maisy roared with laughter. “Aveda, babe, you have got to save some of these witty nuggets for our exclusive interview. About your new power. Which you are definitely giving to me, right?”
“Oh, well . . . I . . .”
“I’ll have my assistant call your assistant and set a time for us,” Maisy said, bulldozing right over me. “What’s the name of yours again? Ava? Eva? Ellie?”
“Evie,” muttered Nate.
“Right.” Maisy snapped her fingers. “The mousy little thing with all the hair. You should do something about that whole . . . situation.” She waved a hand around her head to indicate my unruly curls. “Our assistants are visual representations of our brands, are they not? I can recommend a good blow-out person.”
I bit my lip to keep from giggling. Really, this was all just too weird. I glanced up at Nate, trying to catch his eye to share my amusement. But his eyes were fixed on Maisy, a scowl brewing on his face. I elbowed him in the ribs. Scowly was not a good look for Aveda Jupiter’s escort.
“In the meantime you simply must try the gouda-stuffed date,” Maisy said. “It’s to die for.”
She plucked a brown blob from a waiter’s passing tray and thrust it into my hands. I hesitated, studying it. I was unused to non-Lucky-Charm foodstuffs.
But that sweet relief was still coursing through my veins, making me borderline giddy. And Maisy and Shasta were staring at me again, their eyes wide with expectation. And at this point, I’d leapt so far out of my comfort zone, what was one more thing?
I popped the date in my mouth.
“Wow . . . wow. That really is to die for,” I exclaimed, as the bright, earthy flavors exploded on my tongue.
As Maisy might say, hot dang. That was good. That was actually delicious.
My relief morphed into something purer, something downright enthusiastic. Huh. Not a feeling I was accustomed to. But as I had to keep reminding myself, I wasn’t me. I was Aveda Jupiter. And Aveda Jupiter could totally get enthusiastic about fucking delicious dates, right? I dropped my hand from Nate’s arm and reached for the tray again.
“Yes, have another, have another!” squealed Maisy, clapping her hands. “Have the whole dang tray. Your escort will be happy to hold it for you.”
Maisy snatched the date-laden tray from the waiter and shoved it at Nate. He pinched it between his fingers like it was covered in dead things.
“Listen, Aveda,” Lucy said, muffling a giggle. “I’m gonna scope the perimeter. You enjoy those to-die-for dates.”
“Mrph!” I agreed, my mouth full of delicious blobs.
“Make sure you grab one of the VIP gift bags,” Maisy said, linking her arm through mine. “I did up something special for you guests of honor.”
She leaned in and gestured to the wax model on the other side of the room. “There’s a mini-replica of that statue over there in each bag. I commissioned them from a local props guy. The other League ladies have no idea it’s from this old Hong Kong movie called The Heroic Trio.”
“The Heroic Trio?” I blurted through my mouthful of dates. “You know The Heroic Trio?”
“Of course I do!” she said. “I watch it all the time over at the Yamato Theater.”
“They still play it at the Yamato? I haven’t been there in . . . well, it’s been ages!”
Actually Aveda went to the Yamato every Friday for the early matinee. She always wore a glamorous “disguise” in the hope that someone would recognize her and tweet some kind of “celebrities: they’re just like us!” nonsense. She hadn’t told me the Yamato had resurrected The Heroic Trio, though.
“Every other Monday night!” said Maisy. “They just don’t make movies like that anymore, do they?”
“No!” I agreed, shoveling more dates into my mouth. “They most certainly do not.”
Nate looked at me like I’d sprouted another head. I ignored him. The giddy feeling was surging through me now, emboldened by the intoxicating taste of gouda-stuffed dates. And the fact that I was getting my own replica of The Evil Master.
“That’s actually the movie that inspired me to be a superhero,” I said impulsively. “Maybe we could go see it at the Yamato one of these Mondays. We could do the interview then?”
“I’d love to,” she said, squeezing my arm. “And for the photo shoot, we simply must style you as Invisible Girl—a skintight red jumpsuit capped by a gorgeous mane of Michelle Yeoh-esque hair!”
“Want to let the rest of us in on whatever it is you two are whispering about?” Shasta said.
“Nothing important, Shast,” Maisy said, giving me a wink. “Just asking Aveda to divulge
all her superheroine secrets. Which she’ll never give up, I’m sure.”
“Never!” I agreed, letting loose with a tinkling laugh. On me, that laugh would sound strange. But as rendered in Aveda’s voice, it was just right.
“Aveda,” Nate said. “We’ve been standing in this same spot for a while. Perhaps you’d like to see more of the party?”
I suppressed my eye-roll. Couldn’t he see I’d finally just gotten comfortable in my Aveda-esque skin? That this spot was actually working out pretty well? Why did he always have to be so annoying?
“I’m fine right here!” I snagged a flute of champagne from a passing tray and used it to wash down my last mouthful of dates.
An all-new feeling blossomed in my stomach, as light and fizzy as the champagne bubbles.
I was Aveda Jupiter. I was not mousy. My hair looked amazing.
Could it be? No. No way.
And yet, as a smile spread slowly over my face, I had to acknowledge that this was actually happening.
For the first time in years, I was enjoying myself.
After a few more champagnes, my bladder screamed bloody murder and it was time to refresh my glamour, so I detached myself from Maisy and Co. and set out for the bathroom. Nate gave me a dark look that indicated he didn’t like me flitting off on my own, but honestly: what punk-ass demon was gonna take me down while I peed?
As I teetered down the hall in my high heels, my thoughts wandered back to finding an unexpected Heroic Trio kindred spirit in Maisy. I wondered what her opinion was on Thief Catcher’s stylish goggles. Or Invisible Girl’s inner torment and change of heart. Maybe I could ask during our interview. My champagne-fizzy brain took a surprising amount of delight in the idea and I nearly giggled to myself.
I was so lost in my swirl of thoughts that I teetered around the corner and almost smacked into someone.
“Oh! Sorry!” I exclaimed. Then I actually did giggle.
The person grunted and lurched away from me, continuing their quest down the hall.
“Wait! Sir . . . Ma’am!” I squinted at the person’s retreating form. I couldn’t make out gender, they just looked like a multicolored blob. Was I that tipsy?
“Wait!” I called again. But they continued lurching away. Shit. I didn’t want some kind of “Drunk-ass Aveda Jupiter mowed me down at a charity event!” tweet going viral. I shuffled after them as fast as my binding skirt and wobbly shoes would allow. As I shuffled, I squinted at the person’s back again. There was something odd about the way they moved. Something familiar.
I squinted harder. Black hair. Tight red outfit that wasn’t exactly a dress, but definitely wasn’t a suit. It looked more like a spandex body covering. My sense of déjà vu intensified.
Where have I seen that before?
The realization hit me like a splash of cold water, sobering me up.
The Aveda statue demons. That . . . person looks and moves like an Aveda statue demon. That . . . person is an Aveda statue demon! But I got all of them, I’m sure of it. I saw them all burn. So how is that possible? How is it here?!
My heart sped up and I gathered the bottom of my skirt in one arm and kicked off my shoes.
“Stop!” I yelled at the figure. “Stop or I’ll . . .”
Or I’ll what? Club them to death with my stupid shoes?
I brushed that thought aside and took off after the figure. The figure’s lurching sped up and it heaved itself through a doorway and out of sight.
“Dammit,” I muttered, increasing my speed. I propelled myself down the hall and through the same door. I looked right, looked left. I was in a bathroom, surrounded by gleaming whiter-than-white surfaces.
So I had successfully arrived at my original destination, but where was that thing? “I know you’re in here!” I yelled. “Show yourself!” My voice echoed off the shiny white walls. Otherwise there was silence.
What the hell?
I stomped over to a stall, lifted my skirt higher, and kicked the door open. Nothing. I frowned, moved to the next stall, and kicked that door open, too. Also nothing. Inspection of the third, fourth, and fifth stalls all produced the same result. I was alone.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. Had I imagined the whole thing? Had my body responded to an unusual-for-me amount of alcohol and rich food by hallucinating a lurchy blob ducking into the bathroom?
Had being Aveda Jupiter already driven me completely fucking crazy?
I looked down at my bedraggled form. Well, shit. I couldn’t go back out there like this. My skirt was bunched up and there was something that looked suspiciously like a rip near the hem. Plus I had no shoes.
I heard the bathroom door creak open and hastily flung myself into the stall just as two sets of high-heeled footsteps clicked through.
“—so slut-tastic,” one of the high-heeled interlopers was in the midst of saying. “‘Local designer’ my ass. That sparkle-motion bullshit was clearly mass-produced in, like, Asia.”
As my heartbeat began to slow and I forced myself to breathe evenly, I realized I recognized those nasal tones: Shasta. Giving me a bad review. With vaguely racist undertones. She was probably jealous ’cause me and Maisy were planning on going to the movies together. She seemed like the possessive friend type.
“Sweatshop material, fo’ sho’,” snarked her companion, whose voice I couldn’t quite place. “And did you see how many dates she stuffed into that huge mouth of hers? I thought superheroes had to be fit.”
“If she lets out a few seams in that dress, maybe she’ll be able to avoid all the nip slips,” said Shasta. “Not that you can’t see everything already in that little number, it’s practically transparent. I don’t know if you noticed—”
“I sure gosh-dang did. I even snuck a picture.”
Oh. Now I recognized that girlish lilt. Maisy.
“You are so bad,” shrieked Shasta. “My God, she looks naked. You have to blog that shit. Your hits are gonna be off-the-chain insane!”
“I am so blogging it,” Maisy assured her. “But do you think I actually have to go to that movie with her? The Heroic Whatever? I mean, I suppose it’s an opportunity to cozy up to San Francisco’s beloved daughter. Writing about her all the time is fine, but it’s still not quite enough to further my association with her and therefore my celebrity status.” I could practically see her preening in front of the mirror.
“And you want to transcend her status, even—yes?” Shasta cooed adoringly. “You want to be celebrity royalty. Who cares about San Francisco’s beloved daughter, when you could be, like, San Francisco’s beloved princess? I mean, you already have the style and grace for it.”
Ugh, seriously? Shasta had the whole ass-kissing thing down to a science. I imagined Maisy ruling over her own blog monarchy and almost gagged, then remembered I was trying to stay silent and clapped a hand over my mouth.
“All right, all right, I’ll suffer through the movie,” Maisy groaned. “Getting close to her is the first step in transcending her or whatever. But really, who knew Aveda Jupiter had such juvenile taste?”
“Anyone who saw her in that dress!” crowed Shasta.
Their cackles bounced off the walls of the bathroom, echoing in my ears, forming a wall of banshee-like noise that threatened to smother me. My face flushed and the tulle of my ruined dress was itchy and abrasive next to my skin. My sweaty fingers grappled at those teeny pearl buttons, trying to loosen them, but I still couldn’t reach.
And as their laughter spiraled into hysterics, I felt something even more foreign than the sweet fizz of enjoyment that had overtaken me earlier.
The beginnings of tears. Pricking at my eyes, threatening to escape.
“Stop it,” I muttered to myself, blinking hard. Seriously? I was going to start crying? Over these two-faced bitches who apparently derived all their pleasure from ripping other women apart? And, okay
, it might also have something to do with the fact that I’d just hallucinated a demon and chased after it and ruined my damn dress in the process. But still.
My phone chose that moment to buzz from its sequined clutch prison.
Shasta and Maisy were clacking their way out the door, but I took extra care to keep my voice down as I answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Eviiiiiiiiiiiiie. Evvvvvvvvvie. Evelyn.”
“Aveda?” I whispered, my near-tears and demon hallucination momentarily forgotten. “Are you drunk?”
“What? No. No. Of course not.” She let out a laugh that went on too long. “We have a little sitcher—situation back at HQ.”
“Which is . . . ?”
“It’s Beatrice. She is . . . hmm. How do I put this? Completely effing wasted.”
“What?! How is that possible? You’re supposed to be watching the Barden Bellas take nationals. And other wholesome activities.”
“I know. I know. IknowIknowIknow. I thought it would be fun for us to brew some fruit punch—”
“Punch?! Aveda, Bea’s not ten—”
“Hush, youse! I’m a little behind on what the kidsh—kids like these days. Anyway, she told me she was adding a special ingredient.”
“Which she no doubt obtained from our unlocked liquor cabinet yesterday,” I muttered. “Aveda, you’re supposed to be the adult, here. You couldn’t supervise her?”
“Meeeeeeeeeeeeh,” she whined. “Now you’re all mad at me. I knew I shouldn’t have called.”
“I’m not mad,” I lied. “Sit tight. I’ll send help.”
I hung up before she could respond and punched in Scott’s number.
“Evie?” He sounded confused. “Is everything okay? I haven’t made much progress with the spell yet—”
“Not why I’m calling,” I cut in. Now that I had An Important Task, I latched on to it fiercely, determined to put the craziness of two-faced Maisy and the imaginary Aveda statue demon aside. “I need you to go over to HQ and handle an Aveda disaster.”
“A disaster,” he repeated slowly. “Evie, just because I agreed to do this spell, it doesn’t make me one of Aveda’s flunkies. I can’t be around her.”
