Home For the Holidays

by Lisa Plumley

  A shrug. “Haven’t seen it, son. Maybe it came while I was filling out my Match.com profile this afternoon.”

  Great. Now his dad was trolling for online dates.

  Gritting his teeth for patience, Reno reviewed the paper again. Yep. There ought to be a rule book here someplace. They’d been delivered—oh hell. A week ago!

  “I’ve been waiting for this,” Reno said. “The rule book for the Glenrosen holiday lights competition. It changes every year, and it’s not delivered until December so nobody can get a jump on the competition.”

  “Hmmph. Sounds pretty fussy to me.”

  “Dad—” About to impress upon his father the seriousness of this yuletide tradition, Reno took another look at the man in the plastic pants and gave up. “If you see it, let me know, okay? I’ve got to go.”

  “Okeydokey.”

  Hauling in a deep breath, Reno snatched his coat, then stepped onto his frosty front porch. He dug out his keys. No sooner had he fisted them than he caught sight of his neighbor, Mrs. Kowalczyk, standing in the light on her front porch, waving. Damn it. He was probably late to shovel her driveway.

  Well, he’d just have to get to it later. Waving back, Reno headed for his truck. Halfway down the drive, he caught a glimpse of Mrs. Bender, who lived next door to Mrs. Kowalczyk. She was also waving. He usually kept her driveway clear, too, but this year he’d been particularly swamped at The Wright Stuff.

  He hated letting people down. He did his best never to do it. But right now, he had a date to keep. And a pair of parents to reconcile. And a shop to run. Torn between his myriad obligations, Reno smiled and waved back to Mrs. Bender.

  He also kept moving. But the moment he touched his truck’s driver’s side door handle, his phone rang. Now what?

  His dad stuck his head out the door, holding a video game controller. “If that’s your mother, tell her I’m not here!”

  With a sigh, Reno waved him off. The front door slammed.

  “Reno? It’s Angela.”

  “Hey, Sis.” Getting into his truck, Reno cradled the phone. His breath puffed into the dusky evening as he cranked the engine, letting his headlights illuminate the snowdrifts piled against his cottage-style house. Hoping Sheila wasn’t the type of woman to expect five-star dining and a fancy wine list, he backed out of the drive. “How’s it going? I’m on my way to a—”

  “It’s Kayla.” His younger sister’s voice sounded wobbly. “She had a bad day at school yesterday, and I’m not sure what to do.” Angela sucked in a huge breath. “Do you think you could—”

  “Come over and talk to her?” Peering down the curved residential street, Reno made a sliding U-turn beside a slushy snowbank. “Hang tight. I’m already on my way.”

  “Thanks. I’m sorry to bug you like this.”

  “No problem.” Hey, it’s what he did. For as long as he could remember, Reno had swung in to save the day—for the peewee soccer team he and Nate had once played on, for the Scorpions, and especially for his family. “I’ll be there soon.”

  In the meantime, he had some bad news to break to Sheila. Ending his connection with Angela, Reno dialed up his date.

  Getting together with her probably hadn’t been meant to happen anyway, he consoled himself as he waited for Sheila to answer. She was nice. She was smart, too—exactly the kind of woman he liked. Unfortunately, for a woman like that, twice-worn socks were probably a deal-breaker no matter how you sliced it.

  Chapter Five

  “Ooh! Hang on. Here it is.”

  Rachel’s closest friend, Mimi, smacked her arm to get her attention. The two of them were snuggled with a ridiculously calorific bowl of microwave popcorn on Mimi’s sofa in her West Hollywood apartment, mainlining E! Entertainment television.

  There weren’t any signs of Christmas here either. Mimi was Jewish, so she was Rachel’s go-to friend for the holiday season (thanks to Alayna’s Grinchy no-Christmas ban). At Mimi’s place, Rachel wouldn’t feel tempted to, say, burst into a rousing chorus of Ricky Martin’s “Ay, Ay, Ay, It’s Christmas.” Or dive headfirst into a batch of gingerbread cookies. Or chug delicious spicy eggnog straight from the carton.

  Drowning your boyfriend sorrows at Christmastime, it occurred to her, could become a really yummy experience.

  “Look!” With the remote, Mimi pointed at the TV.

  Onscreen, one of E!’s on-air personalities posed at the end of a long driveway with a cordless mic pinned to a borrowed dress. Rachel recognized it as a creation from one of L.A.’s most up-and-coming designers. The color didn’t exactly flatter her skin tone though.

  “That shape is totally wrong for her body type,” Rachel pointed out to Mimi. “Maybe I should set up a meeting. I could do a lot for her image.”

  “Would you quit thinking about work for two seconds?” Impatiently, Mimi punched the volume button. “Listen.”

  The E! correspondent worked her way through a bunch of gushy scripted patter, punctuated with video of celebrities arriving at Alayna’s birthday party. Actors, models, and music artists all flashed by onscreen. It was almost here….

  Helplessly, Rachel felt her stomach clench. The popcorn she’d already scarfed felt as leaden as the silver stuff they put on the top of MTV Movie Awards statuettes. Yesterday, this had felt like an amazing idea. Today—in the harsh light of an ordinary Sunday afternoon—it felt considerably riskier.

  “Birthday girl Alayna stunned onlookers last night with her…fashion forward style.” The E! correspondent paused almost imperceptibly but indisputably cattily. “With a new mystery man by her side, Alayna arrived at her gala birthday event—”

  “Ohmigod!” Mimi choked on a mouthful of popcorn. Her eyes bugged. “Look at them! You styled Tyson, too?”

  Transfixed, Rachel nodded.

  “—sporting what style insiders are already calling the ‘Bjork swan dress’ of this year. It’s an unusual move for the Greek goddess, whose latest CD, Lipstick Anarchy, achieved multiplatinum status all over the world. Now Alayna’s star appears to be falling—and her unusual appearance is sending shock waves through Hollywood.”

  Mimi yelped, clutching Rachel’s arm. An image of Alayna appeared on TV, with Tyson temporarily shunted to the side. The pop star turned this way and that, persuaded by Rachel—whom she trusted implicitly (kind of the way Rachel had once trusted her)—that her ensemble was both chic and trendsetting. Alayna struck a variety of poses, wearing a broad, practiced smile. She didn’t even balk when the barrage of flashbulbs struck.

  “Ohmigod.” Mimi shook her head, looking awed. “I’ve never seen…I mean—wow. You did that? You really did that?”

  Rachel nodded, her stomach somersaulting with a mixture of exhilaration and alarm. “I told Alayna no one would ever forget that dress. Especially if she wore it with that headdress.”

  “No,” Mimi breathed, mesmerized as she grabbed another handful of popcorn. “You wouldn’t dare. It’s too much!”

  “I told her she’d leave J-Lo and that green Versace in the dust. I told her that when pictures of her in that dress hit the press, she’d be seen in a whole new way around the world.”

  “Well, you got that right.” Mimi grinned as Tyson stepped forward in the shot, letting the cameras capture him in all his matchy-matchy glory. “Everyone thinks Alayna’s off her rocker.”

  “Yeah, I…” A little appalled at herself, Rachel gazed unblinkingly at the TV, which still showed images of her client and her ex. “I guess I was more upset than I realized. Alayna and Tyson look even worse on camera than they did in person.”

  On the TV screen, the E! correspondent arched her brow meaningfully. “Some are even suggesting there might be a stint in rehab ahead for Alayna. But will her new man join her?”

  “That’s still unknown, Dakota.” Coverage switched to a pencil-thin blonde with a handheld mic, hair extensions, and a faux-somber expression. “But style insiders are already suggesting that this ensemble might actually be a cry for help.”

 
; To punctuate that, E! flashed a slo-mo shot of Alayna shaking out her hair, then running her hands seductively over her dress—a hideous mashup of feathers, sequins, plastic lace, and Naugahyde that had taken Rachel three hours to construct.

  She’d had to sacrifice two other outfits and a variety of items from the nearest craft store—and her fashion-school sewing skills were pretty rusty at this point, too—but it had been worth it. There was no way anyone could look anything less than ridiculous in that getup. Especially if they were a no-good, man-stealing, double—

  “Hey.” Mimi pointed at the TV. “That’s the lower half of a skirt from Loo’s spring collection, isn’t it?” She stared at Rachel. “You took apart other designers’ pieces? Oh, Rachel…”

  Mimi gazed at her as if she’d lost her mind.

  “I bought them first!” Rachel said. “Besides, the pieces are deconstructed. The designers won’t recognize them.”

  “Mmmm.” Mimi pursed her lips. “I hope you’re right.”

  Tyson, similarly outfitted in a lace-up pleather vest, culottes-style pleated man-capris, and four studded suede belts, joined Alayna onscreen again. Ultimately (and probably at Alayna’s insistence), he’d decided to allow Rachel to style him.

  At first she’d been worried he might blow her whole getting-even scheme. Tyson had spent a lot of time with her. She’d thought he might have absorbed some sense of fashion savvy; it only seemed reasonable. But looking at him now….

  Mimi hooted. “I can’t believe he agreed to that!” She gawked at Rachel. “Obviously Alayna screwed his brains out.”

  Ouch. “Obviously,” Rachel agreed.

  Because in the end, Tyson had been just as gullible as his ultrafamous new girlfriend—and twice as susceptible to flattery. He and Alayna were both selfish, self-centered, and totally convinced that the universe found them irreplaceable.

  As far as Rachel could tell, they didn’t feel the least bit sorry for what they’d done to her—for the way they’d betrayed her or the way she’d found out about it. They didn’t care that they’d hurt her. Alayna had even had the temerity to complain when Rachel had refused a piece of birthday cake last night.

  She was lucky Rachel hadn’t mashed it in her face.

  “Ordinarily, Alayna is a major trendsetter,” the E! correspondent continued, “outfitted in designer styles from Gucci, Versace, and more, all with the expert guidance of her jet-setting celebrity stylist, Rachel Porter.”

  Rachel’s picture—a blurry but flattering paparazzi shot from last year—appeared onscreen. Mimi and Rachel both squealed.

  “Porter—almost as well-known as some of her clients—has created a number of iconic looks for Alayna and other stars in the music, television, and film worlds.” A sequence of red-carpet images appeared, nearly making Rachel sigh with nostalgia and pride. She really did excellent work. “But tonight, friends and fans must be wondering…Exactly what was Rachel Porter thinking? And why didn’t she save her ailing client from this?”

  Onscreen, Alayna swiveled to show off the rear view of her ensemble. Mimi cringed. “A feather-covered bustle? Really?”

  “With butt cleavage.” Relishing her moment of revenge, Rachel nodded. “It’s a minor abuse of trust, I’ll admit. But what Alayna did to me is so much worse than feathery bubble butt. Granted, I didn’t quite count on this reaction…”

  She broke off, gazing in consternation at the TV.

  “But I’m sure this will all blow over,” Rachel finished.

  “On day one of Alayna Watch, I’m Dakota Mitchell,” the correspondent intoned somberly, “and this is E! Entertainment Television. Stay tuned for our latest special, SOS: Alayna.”

  A minor tickle of unease started in Rachel’s midsection. Probably it was due to too much popcorn. She couldn’t be sure.

  The whole world couldn’t possibly react in such an extreme way to Alayna’s one night of fugliness…could it?

  “She’ll fire you after this,” Mimi announced.

  “No, she won’t. Everybody makes fashion missteps. I’ll just tell Alayna the world wasn’t ready for that outfit, and we’ll go on from there.” With a shrug, Rachel unwound herself from the sofa. “Alayna and I have been together for three years. She’s too wrapped up in herself to even think about me. Believe me, before you know it, this will be water under the bridge.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Besides, who else is she going to work with? I’m the best stylist there is in this town. And Alayna has to have the best.” Carrying the bowl of popcorn to the kitchen, Rachel felt newly energized. Now that all the brouhaha was over, she knew she’d done the right thing. “I merely sent a message—a clear message not to mess with me. That’s what people do, right?”

  Mimi looked dubious. “I don’t know. This isn’t exactly The Sopranos, sweetie. I work on Sweetwater, remember?” The hour-long drama was the latest squeaky-clean network teen sensation. “There’s not a lot of bed-hopping or revenge going on over there.” Sadly, she shook her head. “Mostly there’s Clearasil. Buckets and buckets of Clearasil.”

  Rachel waved off her friend’s concerns. “E! is kind of out-there sometimes anyway. This story probably didn’t even register with the rest of the networks, much less the tabloids.”

  “I dunno.” Mimi glanced up from her laptop, which she’d hauled onto the sofa. “It’s already on a bunch of gossip blogs, complete with photos.” Grabbing the remote again, Mimi flipped through channels. She went faster, then backtracked. “It’s on the Style network, too. It’s also on MSNBC.”

  Rachel swallowed hard. Maybe she hadn’t thought this through. But she’d been a woman scorned! A woman dumped by her boyfriend for a client! Didn’t that merit special consideration?

  “It’s coming up on Access Hollywood. There’s a teaser.” A pause. Then Mimi shouted, “It’s on the crawl on CNN!”

  Rachel met Mimi’s panicked gaze. They’d been through a lot together. They’d met in design school and bonded over their mutual (if temporary) love of platform shoes. They’d come up in the styling world at the same time, working on editorials, music videos, and commercials, waiting for their big breaks. But neither of them, in their wildest dreams, had ever expected their work to wind up on the crawl. It was inconceivable.

  But there it was. Pop star Alayna…Worst-dressed rehabee?

  “Please.” Disgusted, Rachel crossed her arms over her chest. “They think the only reason for Alayna to be dressed that way is because she’s on drugs? Didn’t anyone see her sense of ‘style’ before I got a hold of her? There are pictures!”

  “You have to admit, that’s a pretty drastic change from how terrific she’s been looking lately.” Mimi frowned at another image of Alayna and Tyson. They looked like escapees from an arts-and-crafts fair. “If I didn’t know better, I’d be wondering, too.”

  Rachel pooh-poohed the idea. “This’ll blow over. You’ll see.” She hefted her Hermès, then smiled at Mimi. “In the meantime, I’ve got cocktails with a potential client to get to.”

  “Wait!” Mimi scrambled up from the sofa. She smiled. “Hang in there, okay? Breakups are hard.”

  “Yeah. Especially when you have to keep working with ‘the other woman.’ And seeing your ex in his underwear.” Evidently, when in Alayna’s company, Tyson was allergic to Tshirts and jeans. “I can do it though. Don’t worry. I’m tough.”

  Mimi gave her a doubtful look, then squeezed her tight in a hug. “I’m here for you. Don’t forget to turn on your phones.”

  “Oh yeah.” In anticipation of seeing her payback realized, Rachel had turned off all her cell phones and her BlackBerry. With mighty willpower, she’d even resisted the urge to check them during commercial breaks. In a swift practiced move, she switched everything back on. “Okay. I’m off. See you next week!”

  She only made it halfway to the door before the first phone rang. Within seconds, bedlam erupted. Ringtones blared.

  “I’ve got fifty-two text messages.” Rachel stared at cell
phone number uno. “Nineteen voice mails, and it’s still ringing.” She glanced at cell phone numero dos. “This one’s jammed, too.”

  “Maybe it’s new clients?” Mimi suggested hopefully.

  Rachel consulted the nearest screen. “It’s Alayna.”

  Mimi bit her lip, looking concerned. “Umm…Maybe she’s calling to have a laugh about this?”

  “Maybe.” A sensation of doom collided with Rachel’s giddy sense of revenge. Shaking it off, she answered. “Alayna! Hi!”

  “You are fired.”

  For an instant, all Rachel could do was clutch her phone. She felt frozen all over, numb with disbelief.

  Thankfully her business instincts kicked in.

  “Alayna, come on. You don’t mean that.” Rachel made herself smile, knowing her positivity would come across in her tone. She was nothing if not persuasive. “If you’re worried about damage control, it’s no problem. I’ve got the skills to handle—”

  A harsh laugh cut her off. “Skills? According to Tyson, you’re like a dead trout in bed. No wonder he came to me.”

  Barely able to breathe, Rachel stuttered, “A-Alayna, everybody makes fashion missteps.” Nervously, she met Mimi’s worried expression. “You know that. The world wasn’t ready for that outfit, that’s all. Let’s just regroup and—”

  “Our association is over. Good-bye.”

  Click. Left with dead air, Rachel stared at her phone.

  She glanced at a sympathetic-looking Mimi.

  The situation was pretty clear. Revenge was one thing, but this…“I’ve made a huge mistake.”

  Chapter Six

  “What do you think, Uncle Reno?”

  Snapped out of the trancelike state he always fell into while stuck in a shopping situation, Reno glanced up. His six-year-old niece, Kayla, stood outside the fitting room at Tina’s Togs, dressed in the new outfit he’d promised to help her find.

  He examined her from the top of her dark-haired head to the tips of her small bare toes, only recently stripped of their Santa-and-holly patterned socks. He shook his head. “I think you look like a junior member of the Pussycat Dolls.”