by Josie Brown
Oh, just dandy.
Suddenly, the limo driver makes a quick stop, causing everyone to slide to the right and spilling the last dregs of bubbly onto our shoes as well. Besides slurring our words, we will now slosh our way into America’s hearts and minds.
“Another appletini?” one of our all-male waiters asks Penelope.
By now, you’d think he was clued in to her personal Morse Code: two pats on his ass means yes, she’s ready for another drink; whereas one pat and a quick cupping of his dangly parts indicates that she’s his for the night.
My guess is that he’s pushing the Stoli because he’s hoping she’ll pass out before he has to earn his tip the hard way.
Even if most of the women in our group weren’t already inebriated, the waiters would still make their hearts go pitter-patter. Frankly, I haven’t seen this much Grade-A beef outside of a butcher shop; or, better yet, a Chippendales’ lounge.
Having been tipped off as to why we’re honored with their presence, I’ve promised my personal pourer a bigger tip if he brings me water instead of vodka. So far, he’s earned it.
Penelope isn’t the only one of our party who seems to have been tempted. Cassandra perked up at another of our designated boy toys. Perhaps Professor Farnham doesn’t make the grade where it counts most. And Patty looked longingly at another of the men, only to blush when catching my sidelong glance.
Suddenly, Patty’s waiter hands her a large envelope. Her eyes grow wide, and her hands shake too hard to open the envelope’s clasp.
Sienna sighs loudly. “Oh, give it here!” She practically snatches it out of Patty’s hand. Opening it, she pulls out a sheet of paper. “Ah! Here we go. Our trials by fire.” She winks. “‘It’s time to play games with your new gal pals! How about Truth or Dare? Each envelope enclosed here has one of your names on it. Pick the person you feel you can trust most to read it to you. If you fail to answer, you must follow their dare to the letter.’”
Ouch.
Alas, Penelope waves away her personal Mr. Chippendale. Even she knows it’s time to get down to the business at hand: making the rest of our lives miserable. “Ooooh, fun! I’ll go first.”
Sienna slyly smiles as she hands Penelope her envelope. “Choose someone to play with you—unless you’d like me to do the honors.”
Penelope snorts loudly. “Sorry, you’re not my type.”
Sienna looks miffed, but it’s Cassandra whose brow raises wickedly. “What a disappointment. Just think of what a tryst between the two of you could do for the ratings.”
Penelope’s slow burn is visible by the ruddiness of her neck and cheeks. To her credit, for once in her life, she thinks before speaking. Finally, she mutters, “I’ll play with…Donna.”
Yikes.
“Good luck,” Sienna murmurs. Her lack of sincerity is palpable.
I rip open the envelope and first read it to myself.
Oy.
Finally, I take a deep breath and turn to Penelope. “How many men have you had sex with since your marriage to Peter?”
Someone gasps—Ariel, from what I can tell without turning my head in her direction. I’m too mesmerized by the kaleidoscope of emotions playing out on Penelope’s face: shock, fear, anger—
Finally, determination. “Too many.” She shrugs. “Let’s just say I quit counting after it ran into double digits.”
Sadly, I believe her. In any event, at the expense of her dignity and her reputation, her answer should keep her in the game.
In ten years’ time, when Cheever is an adult and looks back at all of this, what will he think? It should matter to Penelope and Peter. Sadly, I’d guess that the money or the fame matters more.
“Your turn,” she says to me. “Truth or Dare, Donna Stone?” She emphasizes my former surname as if I don’t deserve the one I took after remarriage. “Have you had an affair with President Lee Chiffray?”
“No.” My answer comes not too fast but deadly firm.
The next voice I heard via my Acme earbud is Brin’s as she exclaims to her crew: “Ha! Way to bring the drama, Pickled Penelope! That girl is in it to WIN IT! Hey, New Girl!”
Emma’s voice comes in, fed from another locale. “Yes?”
“Dig up the details on Stone Cold Donna and POTUS. Where there’s smoke, there’s got to be fire.”
“Will do.” Am I the only one who hears the dread in Emma’s voice? I hope so. Despite Brin’s determination to put me in my place, I plan on being last gal standing—next to my target.
Onward ho. “Who’s up next?” I ask brightly.
Cassandra raises her hand. “I’ll take the plunge.”
Sienna hands her the envelope marked with her name. “And who would you like to ‘dare’ to speak the truth?”
“Let’s see…” As Cassandra’s stare moves from Sienna to Ariel and then to Patty, she shakes her head. When it comes to Penelope, she laughs outright.
Finally, she eyes me. “I think I’ll stick with the stony Mrs. Craig.”
As I take her envelope, I declare, “I promise to warm up.” She asked for it: the hot seat.
To that end, her question does not disappoint: “It asks, ‘Why did your husband get fired from the University of Dubai?’”
Interesting. Exactly the question I want to know…
If a woman is ashamed, a blush starts at her chest, crawls upward through her neck and as high as her forehead. The face of an outraged woman will change its color to that of a blister. On the other hand, if she is about to lie, the hue of her eyes loses any intensity as it hardens to stony darkness.
Because Cassandra’s does the latter, I assume she has steeled herself from the other more telling emotions. Even her laugh is chilly. “My dear, where did you get the silly notion that he was let go? In fact, the dean begged him to stay on, but we felt the boys were at an age that if they were to acclimatize to Gerald's homeland, it was best to move them before they got much older.”
“With his academic record, couldn’t he have taken a much more prestigious position than one at Hilldale State University?” I insist.
Cassandra’s eyes narrow. “Are there two questions on my card?”
“No,” I admit. Drat.
“Then I believe the rules allow me to ask my own question, or offer a dare.” Her smile is an angry slice of malice. “Let’s stay playmates, Donna, shall we?” She leans in seductively. “What happened to your first husband, Carl?”
“You know about him?” I try to keep the shock out of my voice.
“You’re not supposed to answer with another question,” she says as she wags a finger in my face. “I heard it from your little friend there, Penelope. She loves to dish on those with wicked pasts.” Her smug smile is accompanied by a full-body stretch. “If you’re afraid to answer, feel free to take a dare.”
“Not at all,” I reply nonchalantly. “Carl disappeared. No one knows where. I’d be the last person he’d reach out to since he is now persona non grata with our government.”
“See? What did I tell you?” Penelope’s words slur as she waves a hand in my face. “It pays to have friends—with benefits—in high places. Hers got rid of her ex.”
I keep my eyes on Cassandra. I could still take Penelope out with a sidekick that would send her reeling over the terrace rail, but why give Brin yet one more thing to crow about?
Finally, I nod to Sienna. “Who’s the next victim?”
Sienna reaches into the folder. Her eyes slide toward Patty. “You’re up to bat.”
Patty blanches. She hasn’t even come to the plate and already she’s choking.
Her prayer that the question is a soft ball won’t be answered. I totally ignore the ridiculous one on the card (Did you really want six kids, or did your husband make you skip birth control?) and ask the one relevant to Acme: “What was the real reason that your husband left military service?”
“What?” Brin screeches into my ear. “That wasn’t the question on the card! Who the hell does she think she
is, changing it—”
“Wait!” Emma warns her. “Look at Fatty Patty’s reaction!”
She’s right. All color has drained from Patty’s face. “He was…honorably dis…discharged,” she murmurs.
“That wasn’t what I asked,” I prod her gently but firmly. “What was the real reason he retired?”
“Because…because he wants to spend time with…our children…while they are still young.” Her tone is insistent, but her eyes plead with me to let the issue drop.
“Hmmm. Well, maybe there’s some drama there after all,” Brin grudgingly admits.
I have to grant her wish. There is nothing else I can do without looking like a bully. And besides, now is not the time to get a straight answer from her.
Brin must think otherwise because she declares, “She’s lying! I can smell it.”
I doubt this, but yes, Patty has released her fear in a pungent sweat.
The others sniff the air before scooting away from us. I too hope to get away from the poor woman’s all too obvious anxiety, but it’s not to be. Patty’s eyes darken. Her voice is a guttural growl: “Your turn, Donna.”
Here we go again.
“Will you be chasing after our husbands?”
What? Is she kidding?
From the look on her face, the answer is no. She knows James is attracted to me and honestly wants to know if I reciprocate his desire. I stifle the urge to laugh if only to keep from embarrassing her even more.
“I have no interest in anyone other than my husband. Despite what you’ve heard otherwise.” I nod in Penelope’s direction.
The fact that Penelope leers like a jack-o-lantern justifies my suspicion that she’s the source of Patty’s misinformation.
“Isn’t this fun?” Sienna murmurs as she pulls another envelope from the file. Seeing the name on it, she opens it herself with a sad smile. “My, my! I guess you’ll see how well I can hide my dirty knickers.”
“We can’t trust you to read the question.” Penelope snatches it out of her hand. It takes her a while to adjust her eyes. When she does, she grumbles, “Why is it in Chinese?”
I sigh as I pluck it out of her hand. It takes me a second to see that she’s reading it upside down. I flip it, then read: “Why won’t Roger marry you?”
Sienna is the last person in our little entourage that I’d ever expect to blush. “He has proposed. In fact, we’re to get married—on a future episode of the show.”
“Unfair! Unfair!” Penelope hops up out of her seat. “That means the show will turn into a showcase for you—”
“And all of you will be my bridesmaids,” Sienna adds coolly.
“Huh? ...Oh!” Penelope drops back into her chair. “Well, then…”
Sienna rolls her eyes before turning to me. “Since you’re already used to it, what say I try to stump you to take a dare?”
I shrug. “Sure, what the heck? Go for it.”
“If your ex-husband were to reach out to you, would you report it to the NSA?”
“Of course.” No hesitation there. Ha! Even if he weren’t already dead, I’d be the first to call anyone and everyone who has ever wanted to lock him up and throw away the key, or better yet, hang him from the highest tree.
I make a hell of a hangman’s knot.
Still, I wonder: why would she ask such a thing?
Even as I think this, she pulls yet another envelope from the folder. “Ariel, are you ready to give your ounce of flesh?”
Ariel’s Cheshire cat smile fades as she nods. “Why break protocol?” She takes the envelope only to hand it to me.
“Get her to tell you about her daily routine,” Arnie reminds me.
I nod slightly, but when I read her real question, I pause.
Interesting.
Okay, I’m game. I read it as is: “Do you know your husband’s secrets?”
The blood drains from Ariel’s face—proof enough that her response was worth breaking protocol. Livid, she retorts, “He…we keep no secrets from each other! We’ve known each other too long—since high school. He worked hard through med school; he works just as hard for his practice, and he’s an ardent supporter of our family.”
“Look, don’t shoot the messenger,” I remind her gently. “I just asked what is written here.” To prove my point, I hand it to her.
She glares down at it. After collecting herself, she nods calmly. “Alright. Sorry I snapped at you. It’s just that…well, you’ll soon learn—all of you will find out that he’s a saint!” She shakes her head angrily. “I should have never agreed to be on this show!”
“Hear, hear,” Cassandra mutters.
“That little miss goody two-shoes better not start a mutiny!” Brin shouts in my ear. “She knows we’re doing Doctor McDreamy a big favor by having him as a contestant.”
Oh, yeah? I wonder what that would be? I guess we’ll soon find out.
“We’ve got to find out when Ariel will next be out of the house," Arnie insists.
“Yep, okay,” I promise with a whisper.
“And…the very last envelope is for Donna.” Sienna holds it up gleefully.
“Really? I don’t think so. At this point, you ladies know more about me than my obstetrician.” I stand up. “Feel free to hang in here. I’ll catch a cab home.”
“I’m going with you,” Ariel, Patty, Sienna, and Cassandra say in unison.
Penelope burps loudly. “Party poopers.” Her eyes flutter as she flops to the floor.
Mr. Chippendale sighs as he flings her over his shoulder and follows us out the door toward our limousine.
As the others climb in, I pull Ariel to one side. “Look, I hope you aren’t still mad at me for having asked the producers’ stupid, prying question. Seriously, I like you, and I’d hate for this difficult experience—or any others we have on the show—to stand in the way of us exploring the possibility of friendship.”
Her lips stay pursed as she hears me out. When I’m finished, she tears up. “I’d…I’d like that as well. This wasn’t how I’d hoped to meet my neighbors and make new friends. And it certainly wasn’t what I thought it would be like to be on this show!”
I chuckle. “You and me both. Hey, since we’re not due on the set until tomorrow afternoon, why don’t we grab a coffee in the morning?”
She smiles as she nods. “Okay…Oh, wait! I can’t, sorry. The Hilldale mommy-and-me group is meeting at the country club. We swim with our tots and pre-schoolers.”
“No problem,” I assure her. “We’ll make it the next day instead. My kids will be in school, but feel free to bring your little guy with you.”
“I’d appreciate it, since Franklin now only works in the mornings, to accommodate the show.” She holds out her hand. “I hope this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”
Yes, I take it.
And yes, I feel guilty for doing so. Here’s hoping I’m not caught while breaking and entering into her home.
It’s been a long day. I can’t wait to get home and hug my kids.
I get home to find that my children are vomiting in stereo.
Thankfully, it’s just two of my kids: Mary and Jeff. Trisha is sound asleep.
I relieve Evan, who has been monitoring Jeff’s travails as he hovers over the hall bathroom toilet.
Mary is doing the same, in the master bathroom. No way would she let Evan see her in that condition.
As Jack paces between the two bathrooms, I ask, “What the hell happened to them? Was it food poisoning? Should we take them to the hospital?”
Frowning, he replies, hesitantly, “No, and no. They’re…um…drunk.”
“What? …But—how?” I stare down at Jeff as if I’m seeing him for the very first time. Rebellion and puberty seem to go hand-in-hand, but he’s always been my sensible child; the one who looks before he leaps into any abyss his peers run toward like lemmings. “Did Mary cajole him into—”
“No, Mary did nothing wrong. They were tricked into drinking it.”
/> “By whom?” My heart takes a leap. “Evan wouldn’t have done this to them—”
Jack puts a finger to his lips and motions for me to join him in the hall closet.
When we’re inside, he answers, “While we were at the opening ceremony, the producers put cameras in every room but the bathrooms, as per the contracts we signed.”
“In other words, we have to wait until we’re taking a shower before having a private conversation?” I ask.
“They didn’t think to put one in the playhouse or the kitchen pantry. If any of these secure places are inconvenient, we’re to use the code phrase, ‘We’re running low on olive oil,’ at which point Arnie will turn off the audio and turn on a pre-recorded feed of an empty room.”
“Just dandy.” I close my eyes to wish away my fatigue, if not our situation.
“And, for the record, Evan had nothing to do with Mary and Jeff’s conditions. I’m sure he would have picked up on it instantly if he had taken the so-called sodas that Lucy was passing around to the kids.”
“She spiked their drinks? That isn’t legal!”
“Ironically, she’s off the hook because of the roundabout way in which she did it: allowing Cheever and Adam to see where she hid the key to the liquor cabinet. The only thing the camera picked up is the two boys’ complicity. After they had spiked everyone’s sodas with vodka, they goaded Jeff into a chugging contest.”
“So, Cheever has a new minion? How depressing.”
“Frankly, it’s the other way around. Adam is clearly the top dog in that relationship.” Jack rolls his eyes. “If he told Cheever to jump off a roof, my guess is the moron would do it.”
“Lucky Adam. He has his mother’s dark side,” I mutter. “And Mary played chug-a-lug as well? It’s so unlike her!”
“Adam went out of his way to make sure she drank as much of it as she could. And Evan felt so sorry for Jenna that he paid more attention to her than to Mary—”
“Let me guess. Mary got jealous and decided that flirting with Adam would get her Evan’s attention again.” I cross my arms at my waist, if only to keep from slamming a fist against the wall. “And where were you all this time?”
“The husbands were asked to hang out with each other for another half hour. When I brought up that it was a school night, we were told that the children would be escorted home within the hour.”
