by McKay, Faith
“Wanna bet on it?”
“I'm going to look it up...” Dee said, but she was squinting at her screen. She'd clearly had too much to drink. Gerri wouldn't have pegged her for such a light-weight. She was very small, though. “Wait,” Dee said. “Why'd you call her Queen Bee? Her name is Willa. With a W.”
“Queen Bitch,” Gerri said.
Dee giggled. “Oh.”
“That's not very nice.” Carrie pouted.
“Sure it is. Bitches can take care of themselves. And Willa, however awful she might turn out to be, is our manager. Our queen. Our queen who is going to make us famous.” Gerri paused, distracted by the beauty of her fame. “Still, none of what she is going to do for us will ever make up for those shoes.”
"What was wrong with her shoes?" Jo asked.
"Are you kidding?" Gerri laughed. "I mean, wow."
"Look at my shoes," Dee said, and climbed onto the table, knocking over wrappers and empty bottles while pointing at her feet. "See? See these? Remember hers?"
Jo shook her head. The girl was a helpless little thing.
"They were brown!" Gerri yelled.
Dee pointed at her. "This is what I'm saying! They were brown! Fake leather! BROWN! FAKE! LEATHER!" Dee looked to the ceiling and shook her fists. She lost her balance with the effort and nearly fell off the table.
"Watch yourself there," Gerri said, and stood up and grabbed Dee by the hips to help her down.
"Brown. Fake. Leather."
"Okay," Jo said. "Brown fake leather. Bad."
"This is what I'm saying," Dee said. "I'll help you." She darted around the table, faster than Gerri or anyone else could grab her, and threw her arms around Jo. "I'll help you, Jo Jo."
Jo tensed, but then patted the girl lightly on her shoulder. "Just Jo."
"Just Jo," Dee agreed. "Maybe that could be your stage name! J J."
"No. Jo."
"Or No Jo," Sadie said, and they all burst out laughing, except Jo, who reminded them again that it was just Jo. Not even alcohol would lighten the girl up. Gerri wasn't sure what she was going to do with that one, but she was up for the challenge.
Carrie leaned forward and brushed the hair from her face, her posing and reposing of herself thankfully forgotten a few drinks ago. She said, "Why do you think the only good word for a fierce, in control, tough woman is 'bitch'?” She whispered the last word, like even drunk she could barely stand to say it. “It's a bad word.”
“You have a problem with bad words, hon?”
“No.” Her face turned red again, but not as bright as before. “Yes. But that's not what I'm saying! What I'm saying is...wait a minute.”
“I get it,” Sadie said. She'd only had a little to drink, but the girl was hogging the ice cream like she thought she'd never get it again. Gerri'd only had it twice before today, but still, they were famous now. They could pace themselves. They could share. “She's saying it's not fair that the only word for a take-charge lady is also an insult. I agree. I'm not a 'bitch'. Positive or not.”
“Yeah,” Carrie said.
“We need a new word then,” Gerri said. “We're famous now. We can make one up.”
“It's like, so obvious. Isn't it?” Dee had undone Jo's braid and was raking her fingers through it. “Divas.”
“Oh, that name,” Carrie groaned.
“What's wrong with it?” Dee asked, defensive.
“It's just, I don't know, silly.”
Jo nodded, and Dee gave a light tug on her hair. “Hmph. I like it.”
“Of course you do,” Carrie said.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Dee, Diva. It's like the band was named for you.”
Dee grinned mischievously—the thought had obviously occurred to her.
“Even so,” Gerri said, “I like it. Popstars making it happen. Deadly Divas. I'm not taking your shit; I'm a diva.” Gerri flipped her hair to the side. It always made her feel like a star. It used to rock her head off balance when she had long hair.
“You know,” Sadie said, “I watched this old movie where diva kind of meant bitch. In the world before, you know.”
“Well welcome to the new and improved world, divas!”
“New and improved.” Carrie snorted. “We have munchers.”
“Ah, dead ones, shmead ones,” Gerri scoffed. “I'm a diva!” Gerri stood, and quickly stomped her feet. She put out her hands, and pulled Carrie to her feet. Shoulders jerking, arms up, feet stomping—it was time to see if these girls could dance without music.
Apparently, they could. Carrie laughed, copied Gerri's moves, and added twenty seconds of her own. It was actually really impressive, if Gerri was being honest, but why would she do that?
Sadie clapped. “I like it.” She stood up and twirled around the comfy chair, and then repeated the moves they'd already done. She nailed that tricky stuff Carrie had thrown out, and added some of her own.
“Wow,” Gerri said. “You can, like, really do that.”
“Hey!” Carrie yelled between hiccups. “Watch it!”
Sadie stomped her prosthetic leg and said, “Yeah I can, bitch.”
“I thought we'd decided that wasn't a nice word?” Gerri countered.
“Yeah,” Sadie said with a grin, “we did.”
Gerri smiled and hugged Sadie with one arm. “I think I'm going to like you.”
“I get the impression you like everyone.”
Gerri shrugged. It was better if everyone thought so. She went to sit back down, between a tired Jo and a funny looking Dee. Gerri suspected the world was looking awfully blurry to Dee right about then.
Sadie lightly punched Carrie on the arm and said, “Sorry. You know.”
“Huh?”
“I'm sorry, okay? Maybe we can start over?”
“Sorry for saying I got in the band by stabbing people, or for insin—you—ate—” She rubbed her jaw like it would help her form words, and tried again. “Insinuating I had sex with somebody? Or something?”
“All that,” Sadie said, clearly embarrassed. “You don't know me, but I-I'm not somebody who says things that messed up.”
“Sure you are,” Carrie said. “But you said sorry.” She slapped Sadie's arm, in what Gerri was sure she thought was a gentle pat. “It's okay.”
“I don't usually say sorry,” Sadie mumbled.
“You should work on that,” Carrie said. “Hey! Who wants more bubbly drink?”
“Ha!” Gerri said. “She likes it.”
“No more,” Sadie said.
“Joy killer,” Gerri said. “Killer of the joy!”
“It's midnight,” Sadie said.
“And we've had our first make up! We've gotta celebrate!”
“In an alcohol free manner,” Sadie allowed.
“I know!” Dee sat up straight, eyes wide and alert. Gerri almost jumped out of her skin. “Selfie time!”
“Celebration selfie?” Sadie asked.
“Perfect!” Gerri yelled. They squished together on the three person sofa, Gerri in the center with Dee basically on her lap, and snapped three quick shots: one with Jo's eyes closed, another where Carrie loudly hiccuped and almost everyone closed their eyes when they jumped, and another where everyone was still laughing about that.
“You guys... you're so...” Carrie started.
“What?” Gerri asked.
"You guys are so strange."
The room filled with laughter again.
DEADLY DIVAS FORUM
They told me not to tell, but I can't keep quiet any longer. I made the band! What do you think my stage name should be? Sorry pictures are a little fuzzy. Bad lighting. <3 Jenna, Your New Deadly Diva
Liar.
Freak.
So cute!
Quack, quack! Duck face!
I'm a real Deadly Diva and this is fake. - Kelsey
Ignore that other girl, I'M the real deal. Wanna be in our concert? Go here.
Chapter Seven
CARRIE
"What did you girls do? Did you not read your schedules? You can read, can't you?" She was clapping again. Always with the clapping.
Carrie walked out of her room, bleary-eyed and still taking stock of the many types of awful she felt, when a man with measuring tape came at her, followed by his much taller assistant, also carrying measuring tape. "They certainly did procure a variety, didn't they?"
"Mmm," said the shorter one. They were holding Carrie's arms out at her sides.
"Would you mind informing me why you are measuring my arm at four in the morning, in my home?"
The man laughed. "Stranger things than this will be happening soon, I assure you."
"This is far from the strangest thing that has ever happened to me," Carrie said. "It doesn't make it polite."
"Oh, she bites," the taller man said.
"Who are you?"
"Stylist," the shorter man said.
"And assistant?" she asked. The tall one nodded. "Names are very old school, I suppose."
They both laughed, but didn't bother responding. Carrie's stomach curdled.
Dee stomped loudly out of her room, like her stomach wasn't bothering her at all. "There he is!" She came up to Carrie. "This creep was measuring me in bed just a few minutes ago. And when I kicked him out, someone came in with a camera, taking pictures! With yesterday's makeup still on!" She stomped her foot again, though she was standing still.
"We need clean slate photos," the assistant told Carrie, as though Dee weren't there. "See what the raw material looks like."
"Well then perhaps someone should have given Dee the opportunity to wash her face," Carrie said. "Where's the camera now?"
No one needed to answer that, because a second later a man with a shattered camera came running out of Sadie's room.
"That one's crazy!" the man yelled.
Meghan was following after Gerri, having clapped her awake. Gerri stalked across the main space toward Sadie's room. "You okay in there?" Gerri asked from the doorway.
"Just fine," Sadie said, appearing at Gerri's side. She wore a slinky silk robe, unfairly elegant for having just woken, and carried a small knife in her hand. "I took care of the pervert's camera."
"Good girl," Gerri said.
"No, bad girl!" Meghan snipped. "You are all in serious need of an attitude adjustment. There is too much to be done today. If you are not up for it, I assure you, we saved the alternate's phone numbers."
"Oh, really?" Carrie asked. "Is that a decision you get to make in your high-powered position, Meghan?”
Meghan clapped her hands. "Gather around ladies." They didn't. “Places everyone!” They shuffled closer. "Since none of you have read your schedules, we have to go over them. Now, Marcus and his team are here to get your measurements and such together so that he can work on your looks. Once he's finished, we have you moving on to your voice trainer, and once you're through there, it's on to meet your fight and dance choreographers in the afternoon. You will meet your personal fitness trainers tomorrow. No time to waste." She clapped. "If you don't wish to go through your day mistaken for the undead, I suggest hurrying."
Dee clapped in Meghan's face, proving to Carrie she was much more clever than she seemed, and bellowed, "CLOOOOOOTHES. We haven't been given any. STILL."
"What do you think Marcus is working on?"
"His tan? I don't care. I need clothes now."
"You were told to bring clothes with you, to get you by for now," Meghan said. "You'll be given your new clothes when Willa has consulted with Marcus on how to market each of you. In the meantime, you will not be seen by the public."
Dee asked, "And where the hell is Queen B?"
WILLA
The debate on their first single was much worse than the debate on which girls to use, or whether to make a band at all. Suddenly, every one knew just how to market to teenagers and how to introduce a band of this kind to this demographic.
The dull drones thought the first song should basically say, sign up for the military. Like you could just tell teenagers what to do. She explained to her peers again and again that you couldn't do that; they had to give them an image, an example, without saying straight out, "Do this." They needed to make them envious, make the kids want to be the girls in the band. And that meant they needed an image of the band that managed to say, this is us, and we're better than other people, don't you want to see yourself in this picture? You need to model yourself after us, you need to do these things with your life.
The kids needed to think it was their own idea.
And that's how she dealt with her peers in the end, too. Adults like to think they're insusceptible to such manipulation, that they've always been much more clever than your average teen. They were wrong.
The song writer, Sonya, had been easier to lead. Song writing, as it turned out, was a lot like marketing copy, and it might have been easier to do it herself than to walk Sonya through it. In the end, Willa had exactly the song she needed. It was almost too easy, not that anyone else could have done it. Not this fast, not this well.
She'd watched through the recordings of the girls the night before. They'd bonded over their dislike of Willa, right on schedule. She'd have preferred they'd used Meghan as their villain—the woman was incessant—but whatever worked, especially since they still seemed to respect her. Things should work out just fine, as long as they did as they were told, and appeared to like each other on stage. That kind of thing could be faked, to some extent, but it was much better if they considered each other family; that kind of genuine love crap could be read in body language. It'd make for good press. For a while.
The voice trainer had called when they were through, just to complain about how hard his job was. She assured him that she appreciated his stupendous skills and efforts on this particular project. The man loved to complain. But didn't everyone?
Before going to check on the girls at their afternoon appointment, Willa stopped in her office to change back into those same brown, fake-leather shoes. She hoped it would bother them all the more with her black and pink ill-fitting pant suit. She smirked at her own reflection. There was a special place in hell for the zombies that ate all of her favorite shoe designers at the beginning of the end. Couldn't just one of them have survived?
FENNEC NEWS
“They haven't given us a picture, or names, or a date where we'll get any of those things. You know what that means.”
“What's that?”
“Really, Tracy. Can't you figure it out for yourself? They aren't confident! They know this is a mistake!”
“Of course, John. When they do release this information, how do you think they'll do it?”
“IF they release this information, well, I still don't see them doing it, to tell you the full truth, Tracy.”
Chapter Eight
SADIE
It was even worse than Sadie had imagined. It was just so... basic. This wasn't music. This was a nightmare.
She kept telling herself that they hadn't even seen anything about what their songs would be, but she had a sinking feeling it was only going to get worse. Even Dee knew it was garbage, which she let the voice trainer know straight away.
"The quality of the song is neither your concern, nor an issue here," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I need to evaluate your voices and your ability to sing as a group so parts can be assigned at a later date. Now, can you please shut up so I can hear your s
ister."
"Sister? What are you even talking about?" Dee said.
"Someone!" He turned to the black glass wall behind him. "Remind me to bring a muzzle tomorrow."
Sadie stepped up next to Dee, and gave the bastard a cool glare. She couldn't believe it had only been a day and she was ready to hit someone in defense of one of these girls, but she reasoned that there was just something about Dee. What it was Sadie wasn't sure, but she wasn't going to stand by and let anyone threaten her. "Then I suppose it's good I always have my knives on me," she said.
He took a step back and muttered something about preferring being thrown over the wall to this horror show.
The day ended with him making them sing some song about spaghetti, and Gerri yelling that she'd had enough of this whacky nightmare. "Did you write this stuff? I mean, what is happening? Who sneezes on their food anyway? And gets so upset they write a whole song about it? This better be a prank." She pulled a chair up to the corner of the room, where they definitely had a camera, and yelled into the corner, "You can come out now. Joke's over."
The man, whose name they never learned, told them it was a classic, like that meant something, and left the room with both hands holding the bridge of his nose.
"Woooooo!" Dee yelled.
"I think that means we win," Sadie said.
"Do you think we'll have to see him again?" Carrie asked.
"If they do send him back again, we now know the path to victory," Sadie said.
"Victory!" Dee agreed. "Drinks?"
Gerri ruffled Dee's hair, earning her a glare. "I think I've had a bad influence on you, hon."
JO
Meghan came in, clapped her hands, and said, "No more drinks," which Jo was grateful for. She couldn't tell if the other girls were serious about drinks again, in the middle of the day, right before fight and dance training, but certainly thought it was a miserable idea. Her head still hurt from the night before. And she wasn't exactly in the celebratory mood, even if they had bested the man with the spaghetti song. She'd had spaghetti a few times as a child, it was delicious, but the idea of food was revolting today. She'd thought she had a strong enough history of drinking liquor with her family that she wouldn't become ill. She suspected it was the different types of liquor, since she'd only ever had the one. Who knew what all the different foods and drinks would do to her. Her whole world was new. She was a city dweller now. Even her stomach was having a hard time adjusting to that.
