Deadly Housewives (v5) (epub)

by Marcia Muller

  “Jessica must have been totally insane,” Lettice said. “How could she imagine she’d get away with it all?”

  “Poor Jessica: she’s going to have a hard time in prison. I didn’t do well, with all my years of training, but unless she starts wanting to find a place of balance, she’s going to have an angry hard time of it.”

  “Poor Jessica!” Temple said. “Can’t it ever be ‘Poor Temple,’ or even ‘Poor Karin’? Don’t you care as much about me as you do about her? She was a murdering bully, and I saved your life!”

  Karin knelt next to the bed and put her arms around her daughter. “Darling, I love you. You’re the moon and the sun goddess in my life, but you’re never ‘Poor Temple.’ You’d never be so weak and so scared you’d have to kill someone to make yourself feel better. How could I insult you by feeling sorry for you?”

  “See?” Lettice said. “My mom would never say something like that to me. It’d be, ‘Lettice, get out of your hospital bed to bring me a glass of water.’ Your mom is the coolest, Temple, get used to it!”

  Trailer Trashed

  Barbara Collins

  Tanya—nineteen, blond, petite, and pretty—sat at a gray Formica table in the tiny kitchen of her mobile home and poured whiskey into a Wile E. Coyote glass. She took a swig, then almost choked on an involuntary sob. So far, the Southern Comfort hadn’t given her much comfort.

  Jake, her husband of two years, padded in from the single back bedroom, wearing faded NASCAR boxer shorts, his brown hair flattened where his head had hit the pillow. He was fairly handsome when cleaned up, but had gotten too thin for Tanya’s liking, unloading heavy boxes at his Wal-Mart job.

  He took one look at her and groaned. “Ahhh, hon, you’re not cryin’ again…”

  That only made the tears flow harder.

  “It’s that stupid MTV program, ain’t it?”

  Tanya, sniffing snot, managed to snap, “It ain’t stupid!” Then she added in a pitiful voice, “You know bein’ on that show meant the world to me.” And Tanya broke down again.

  He said indifferently, “Well, get over it. Them guys didn’t want us. Move on.”

  But she couldn’t. “I don’t know why Sheila and Rick got picked for the Trailer Marvelous Make over Show,” she sobbed. “I’m way prettier than her, and you’re better-lookin’ than that doofus.” Tanya slammed a small fist on the table. “She’s fat, and he’s a drunk!”

  “Darlin’, it ain’t the people they was after…it’s the trailer. Sheila and Rick got a double-wide. Besides, those Hollywood types probably thought by them pictures you sent that our place looks just fine. We didn’t need no damn make over.”

  “Didn’t need no make over?” she shouted. “Just look at this place!”

  He spread both hands defensively. “What?”

  She jumped from her chair, hands fluttering. “This stuff ain’t even ours! We didn’t pick it out, some stupid strangers did! It come with the repossessed trailer.”

  “So? It’s ours now.”

  “So I want nice things, Jake…things that don’t have pee stains from somebody else’s pitbull, not ours.”

  He sighed. “I don’t have time for this…I gotta go to work. Where’s my lunch?”

  She gestured dismissively toward the Dale Earnhardt lunch box on the counter, where a stale peanut-butter sandwich and an overripe banana languished inside.

  “Okay. Thanks, sugar.” He lingered, wearing a goofy smile.

  Tanya thought, If he’s waitin’ for a good-bye kiss, he can forget it. She went over to the sink and pretended to be busy.

  After a moment, the flimsy aluminum screen door banged shut.

  Tanya, fresh tears welling in her eyes, watched out the dirty kitchen window as her husband climbed into his pickup truck, then left in a cloud of dust.

  She crossed over to the other small kitchen window and peered out. At the end of the gravel road of Happy Trails Trailer Court she could see the Trailer Marvelous film crew’s long, shiny, old-school Airstream camper parked near Sheila and Rick’s large mobile home; the camper had arrived a few hours ago, and people wearing T-shirts with the show’s logo were scurrying back and forth between the two, getting ready for tomorrow’s shoot.

  Tanya felt sick to her stomach, like she had to throw up a bad fast-food meal.

  The kitchen wall phone rang. She wiped her eyes with her fingertips, then answered it.

  “Tanya!” The voice on the other end was breathless with excitement. “Do ya see ’em?”

  “Yes, I see ’em,” Tanya said flatly.

  “I wish me and Rick didn’t have to go bowlin’ to night so I could stay round and watch…but I guess they’re gonna be leaving here soon, anyways—just checkin’ the place out today, before comin’ back first thing in the morning to shoot.”

  Wish they would shoot you, Tanya thought.

  “Tanya?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re comin’ to the Big Expose when they’re done decoratin’, aren’t ya? They want all the neighbors to see the unveiling, right along with us. It’ll be a riot!”

  Tanya said sullenly, “I dunno.”

  “You’ll get to be on TV!”

  Yeah, in the background, she thought, but said, “Maybe I’ll be there.”

  “Okay. Well…I’ll let ya go,” Sheila said, sounding hurt, and hung up.

  With a dejected sigh, Tanya took a few steps into her narrow living quarters and plopped down on the sagging sofa. All of the crying and turmoil had made her exhausted.

  She’d closed her eyes for only a minute when there came a sharp knock at the door.

  “Jesus Christ,” Tanya muttered, getting up. “Why don’t people just leave me the hell alone?”

  “What?” she snarled, flinging the screen door wide. Then both hands flew to her mouth, covering a gasp.

  Standing on her very own portable steps were Bart Brooks, host of Trailer Marvelous, and the show’s star designer, Johnny Hardy!

  “Oh ma God!” Tanya squealed. “I don’t believe it!”

  Had they come personally to ask her to attend the Big Expose? If so, she’d swallow her pride and attend.

  “Is this the home of Tanya and Jake?” Bart asked politely.

  The former country-western star was tall, clean-shaven, and cute as a hound dog…but his clothes were weird: striped yellow golf shirt, plaid hat, wingtip brown shoes. Like that old geezer her grandmother (bless her soul) used to be so crazy about—the one who smoked a pipe and sang “Ba-ba-ba-ba-boo” (but younger, of course!).

  “Yes…yes!” Tanya sputtered. “This is them…I mean, we is us.”

  Johnny asked, “May we come in?”

  The show’s designer, decked out in torn blue jeans and a heavy-metal T-shirt, was a hunk, with streaked blond hair and cool dragon tatoos on both arms. Johnny was the kind of guy she would just love to pick her up at the Lonely Bull Tavern some night Jake was working late shift.

  Barely able to contain her excitement, Tanya stepped aside.

  “The kitchen is best,” she suggested as the TV stars hesitated just inside. “The couch ain’t so hot, as you might notice.”

  Spotting the whiskey bottle left on the table, Tanya dashed ahead of them, grabbed it, and stashed the booze in one of the lower cupboard drawers that worked. She didn’t want them thinking she was a damn lush, like Rick.

  The men pulled out worn vinyl chairs.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” she offered. “We got Sam’s Cola.”

  Bart grinned easily and said, “Some of that Southern Comfort would be nice.”

  “Ditto.” Johnny smiled.

  Tanya smiled back shyly and retrieved the bottle, along with three glasses. Then she joined them at the table.

  Bart began slowly. “As you know, we’re supposed to film up the road tomorrow at Sheila and Rick’s…”

  Tanya, pouring the drinks, nodded.

  “…and I have, say, between you and me and the lamp-post…” He paused while Tanya ha
nded him a glass.

  “Lamppost?” she asked. “We don’t got none. Wish we did ’cause it gets awful dark out here at night.”

  The two men exchanged glances and laughed. And Tanya laughed. It always amazed her how funny she could be sometimes, like she was some kind of comedy-club genius.

  Bart looked down at his glass, swirled the whiskey. “What I’m trying to say is we’re beginning to think we made a mistake in picking those two for the show.”

  “Really!” It came out too happy, so Tanya tried again. “Really?”

  Johnny belted back his drink and set the glass down with a clank. “Yeah, big mistake. I mean, what audience is gonna care if some jerk with a porky wife gets a shelf made to put his beer-can collection on?”

  Bart leaned forward, interjecting, “But a sexy little gal like you could help ratings.”

  Tanya felt herself blush.

  Johnny smirked. “Which are in the toilet right now.”

  Tanya frowned, said, “But I thought the show was popular. All my friends watch it.”

  Bart sighed. “We’re up against Extreme Full Body Tattoo Bikers’ Mud Wrestling this season, and our slice of the pie just got smaller.”

  She wasn’t sure what pie had to do with it, but Tanya wanted to help if she could. If the program got dropped, she’d lose a lot of good decorating tips, like making a picture frame out of macaroni (but she wished they would have had the common sense to say not to cook it!).

  She dared to ask, “If you don’t want Sheila and Rick, why don’t you come here to our place?”

  Bart sighed. “Darlin’ we’d sure love to…but unfortunately, the producers have already signed a contract with them.”

  “So?” she said. “Why can’t you sign another one with me?”

  Johnny said, “Because Sheila and Rick would sue us.”

  Tanya asked, “Can they do that?”

  Bart replied, “Oh, yeah. And that kind of publicity we don’t need.”

  Tanya thought hard but couldn’t come up with a solution. Finally, she asked despairingly, “Then what can we do?”

  The men, drinks finished, stood. Bart said, “Pray for a miracle, I guess.”

  “What kind of miracle?” asked Tanya.

  Bart laughed humorously. “Like maybe a tornado or earthquake hits…Or a fire breaks out over there and we can cancel with them and film over here.”

  Johnny had stepped into the living area and was surveying it, hands on hips. “Ya know,” he said, “this place really has possibilities.”

  Tanya was at his side. “Like what?”

  The designer spread an arm out, fingers splayed. “Like maybe a leopard-covered contour chair over there…”

  Tanya squealed, “Could it have heat and vibrate?”

  “…and in that corner? One of those hanging cages with cherubs…You know what I’m talking about? Where liquid beads slide down the wires while it plays ‘You Light Up My Life.’”

  “I’ve always wanted one of those!” She stuck out her lower lip. “But we could never afford it. Jake won’t let me work ’cause men keep hittin’ on me. He just wants a damn house wife.”

  Bart said, “Well, you’d have fifteen thousand dollars to play with.”

  Tanya smiled. That’s what each featured trailer owner got to spend on redecorating. Practically a fortune! Her mind began to whirl.

  Then she frowned. But the kind of “miracle” Bart mentioned didn’t seem likely to happen between now and tomorrow morning. She’d never even heard of an earthquake around these parts…and it wasn’t tornado season yet. As far as a fire breaking out at Sheila and Rick’s trailer, what were the chances of that?

  At the dented screen door, Bart said, “Well, thanks for the drink. You should know that you and Jake were our second choice, but you should’ve been our first.”

  Tanya managed a weak smile. “I guess second just ain’t good enough.”

  Johnny, at the bottom of the steps, turned to Tanya, framed in the doorway, “I don’t know…look at what happens if Miss America gets dethroned…”

  “What?”

  He shrugged. “The runner-up steps in.”

  The two men climbed into a black Mercedes and, with gravel crunching under its wheels, drove off.

  Tanya watched until the dust dissipated, then went to find the gas can.

  A cool night breeze flapped the American flag that hung on a short pole attached to Tanya’s mobile home as she slipped outside and down the steps, gas can in hand.

  She had seen Sheila and Rick drive by her trailer earlier in their rusted-out Camry, happy grins on their faces—which would soon be wiped off, she had thought. Jake’s shift at Wal-Mart had already ended, but Tanya could always count on him going out for beers with his low-life friends and not coming home for hours.

  Dressed in black sweats, Tanya crept confidently along the back sides of the trailer homes, making her way slowly toward Sheila and Rick’s. Occasionally, a mangy cat hissed or a penned-up dog growled, stopping Tanya in her tracks; but that was nothing out of the ordinary, so no one looked out.

  With only a distant yard light to guide her, Tanya searched quickly among the short weeds by the steps of the double-wide for the spare key Sheila kept hidden in a piece of fake rubber dog poop Tanya had once given her friend for a Christmas present.

  Finally, Tanya spotted it, reached down, and picked up the brown swirled thingie, which looked real in the dark. It squished in her hand. Yuck! It was real! Disgusted, she wiped her gooey hand on the weeds and tried again…this time with results.

  Inside the trailer—they’d had tacos for dinner—Tanya set the gas can down and risked turning on a small table lamp made out of an armadillo. She’d never torched a place before and didn’t know where to start. The fire should look like it broke out naturally (helped along with the gas, of course). Tanya looked toward the kitchen area, remembering a late-night movie she’d caught about a woman who was going to lose her house to her husband and his mistress. The wife turned on all the kitchen appliances, which caused an electrical fire, then left.

  Tanya went over to the kitchen, where a blender sat on the counter. Sheila had once used it to make her a really wretched margarita after Tanya got her house-arrest ankle bracelet removed. Tanya made sure that the appliance was plugged in, then tried to get it going, but the thing was broken. She crossed to the microwave, punched in ninety-nine minutes, pressed start, and…nothing. Busted.

  With a determined sigh, Tanya returned to the living room. She stared at the couch. One time, her uncle Bob had fallen asleep with a cigarette in his hand while watching All-Star Wrestling and started a fire in his pants. Maybe the sofa was the best place to begin…

  Carefully—because once this guy next to her at the pump had spilled gasoline all over himself, then flicked his Bic and lighted himself—Tanya sprinkled the pungent petrol all over the couch, then did the same to the ugly recliner (maybe Sheila and Rick’s trailer did need a Marvelous Make over).

  Satisfied, Tanya stood back and surveyed her handiwork.

  Now, how to start it.

  This could be tricky, because she had to get herself out before the fire took hold. She remembered another movie about this couple who wanted to collect some insurance money, so before they flew to Tijuana, they left a candle burning that caught the curtains on fire.

  This idea seemed perfect because Sheila always had a candle or two going whenever Tanya and Jake came over, to cover the septic-tank smell.

  In a drawer in the kitchen, Tanya found a small tea light, which she took back to the living room and placed on the gas-soaked couch. It should give her plenty of time to get back to her trailer. Maybe she could even be the one to call the fire in. Sometimes the local news played the 911 call over the disaster they were covering. Wouldn’t that be cool!

  Tanya lit the tiny candle, then picked up the gas can and left, making sure the door was relocked and the poop key put back in the weeds.

  It took about a half an hour befo
re Tanya saw flames lick at the sky. Watching from her kitchen window, she was amazed how fast the blaze spread; in a matter of minutes the whole double-wide was engulfed.

  Tanya dialed 911, but was too late; somebody else had beaten her to it. Oh, well. With Sheila and Rick now out of the picture, the Trailer Marvelous show would be coming to her place, and she’d get to be seen on TV, which was way better than just her voice.

  Six months later, Tanya’s dream came true.

  Latrisha, tall, slender, dressed in a cotton denim shirt and slacks, yelled, “Hey, everybody! Tanya’s gonna be on!”

  The other women, dressed the same, stopped playing pool and cards and gathered around the single small set in the recreation room of Joliet Women’s Prison.

  Latrisha patted the seat of a plastic chair directly in front of the television. “Sit here, girl! You gonna be famous…You in the pre-mirror show.”

  Excitedly, Tanya sat, and soon the program’s title, The World’s Wackiest Criminals, filled the screen. When the host of the program, Bart Brooks, came on, all the women (except for Tanya, whose eyes were glued to the TV) whooped and hollered.

  One the inmates said, “I thought he was on a different show.”

  Someone else said, “Yeah, but that went under.”

  Bart’s face filled the screen.

  “To night, we have a tale of jealousy and greed, a betrayal by a best friend—”

  Tanya said, “She weren’t my best friend,” and got shushed by the other women.

  “—who wanted to be on Trailer Marvelous, our former series, so badly that she burned a contestant’s home to the ground, not realizing that our film crew had set up small cameras inside and a feed was already going, capturing her entire movements.”

  As Tanya watched the ten-minute footage, she heard laughs and snickers around her. And when it was over, some of the women seemed disappointed as they got up and returned to their previous activities.

  Latrisha asked, “Girl, what’s the matter? You don’t look happy.”

  Tanya, still seated, said, “They was laughin’ at me.”