The Housewife Assassin's Terrorist TV Guide

by Josie Brown

  Gerald is practically salivating.

  “The producers are excited about the opportunity to keep tabs on your recovery as well,” Franklin promises. “They feel that helping women feel good about themselves is important.”

  “I don’t care if the whole world thinks I’m ugly! I won’t do it,” Cassandra proclaims bluntly. Her glare is directed at Franklin.

  For a second, his smile levels out into a grimace. He forces the grin back into place.

  Gerald puts his arm around his wife’s waist. Tepidly he murmurs, “Franklin is only asking that you think it over, dear.”

  “You're not serious, are you?” She turns toward him and squints as if seeing Gerald for the very first time. “Look, I’m aware of what you see as my ‘limitations.’ Rest assured, dear husband, I’ve never let yours stand in the way of our marriage.”

  Way. To. Go.

  He stutters before finding what he hopes are the right words: “I was only suggesting that you take advantage of his very generous offer for a good cause.”

  “Were you?” The arch of her eyebrow belies her belief in this. “I see no reason to mutilate my body for anyone’s so-called cause. If you feel differently, feel free to consider a tummy tuck or liposuction.” Her eyes drop pointedly below his waist. “By the way, I hear they’re also making incredible inroads with penile implant surgeries.”

  Her harsh words pierce what little bravado Gerald has left. He shrinks before our eyes.

  The visual leaves a lot to be desired.

  Despite the fact that it’s Cassandra’s home, she thinks nothing of making her exit up the foyer’s grand staircase.

  Brin hoots with glee. “Way to go, Caustic Cassandra!”

  Lucy snickers, “Make that Castrating Cassandra.”

  “Love it! Yes!” Brin screeches. “I’ll offer Gerald a bonus if he can make her change her mind between now and tomorrow’s show. Knowing their money problems, it should be a cinch.” She chuckles deviously. “Who wants to take a side bet that he’ll do it?”

  The rumbling in the control room doesn’t give her much hope, nor do the head shakes of the production crew who hear her every word.

  As much as I’d love to follow Cassandra upstairs with a bottle of bubbly for a round of sistah solidarity, my mandate is to stay in the game—

  But I don’t take that to mean that I have to go under the knife—

  Unless the knife is being held to my throat, in which case I wouldn’t be worried about how pretty I was when I woke up, but whether I’d be waking up at all.

  I’d sure fight like hell to make sure I do. Here, I do the next best thing: I clap, slowly and loudly. “Smart woman,” I say just loud enough for the audio boom to catch it.

  “Oh, hell,” Lucy sighs. “We’ve got a mutiny.”

  “Want to bet?” Brin retorts. “I’ll make Hunky Hubby the same deal. He’ll make sure Delicious Donna plays ball.”

  Sienna says in a loud voice: “What time would you like me at your office, Doctor Powell?”

  Penelope shoves her aside. “I said yes first!”

  “Not to worry, ladies. Penelope, I’ll see you at seven, sharp. Sienna, let’s shoot for eleven.”

  James nudges Patty forward. “Will you have time for me as well?”

  Franklin takes both her hands in his. “I’ll always have time for you, Patty,” he assures her. “Why don’t we say two o’clock tomorrow?”

  Dominic turns to the cameras. “That’s four takers, and two who have elected to stay au natural.” He rolls his eyes.

  I’d like to push a boulder on top of him, then sit on it while he squirms and begs for mercy.

  “How about you, Hot Housewives audience?” he continues. “Are Cassandra and Donna passing up a great opportunity? Just text us at the toll-free number at the bottom of your screen with the word ‘niptuck’ and the name of the Housewives you feel could use a little tender loving care—despite their stubbornness.”

  Stubborn—me? That dumbass, Dominic, will need a little TLC when I get through with him…

  Ryan proves he’s of like mind when he mutters into my earbud: “What’s he trying to do, get you Craigs kicked off the show? Not that you aren’t doing a good enough job on your own.”

  I steel my lips to keep from frowning. Jack has to turn away from the camera to hide his scowl.

  Dominic, seemingly oblivious, winks at the camera. “And after our fabulous Hot Housewife make-over, you, our audience, will vote on which transformation was the most beautiful! The winner will earn the equivalent of triple bonus votes toward the grand prize!”

  Well, isn’t that great? There go our piddly double bonus votes for my skewers and Jack’s golf game…

  Aunt Phyllis points to her chest. “Hey, Doc, I’ll let you perk up these puppies too!”

  Franklin grimaces uneasily before nodding reluctantly.

  She’s so excited that she runs to him for a hug. But then a brisk breeze blows the fronds of Aunt Phyllis’s grass skirt toward the outdoor fire pit. The next thing we see is it going up in flames—

  Franklin sweeps her up in his arms and jumps into the pool with her.

  Jack jumps in as well.

  The rest of us run to the pool’s edge. The steam rises so thickly that we can’t see how much damage has been done to my poor dear aunt—

  Apparently not much. She’s still in Franklin’s arms as he makes his way to the pool’s steps. As he walks up, she hugs his neck and exclaims, “My hero!”

  Frankly, I’d say Abu deserves the title. He’s kept the camera on their faces, as opposed to Phyllis’s hips, which, now skirtless, reveal every bulge fighting through her flesh-toned Spanx.

  The show’s closing credits are now rolling across the screen.

  “Unwittingly, the old broad may have kept the Craigs in the game,” Lucy declares from the control room.

  Lucky us.

  “Nah,” Brin assures her. “I mean, sure, we’ll grant them a few bonus points for her going under the knife. But it's still up to Hunky Hubby.”

  By the time Brin’s loud shout, “Cut!” echoes through the speakers above our heads, Jack has climbed out of the pool.

  I grab two pool towels. After tossing one to Jack, I wrap the other around Aunt Phyllis.

  As the on-set doctor and nurse team shuttle her to the poolside cabana for a quick check-up, I nudge Franklin to one side. “Thank you for saving my aunt. She might have been burned alive!”

  He shrugs. “Burns at her age don’t heal quickly. Besides, I have a full enough day tomorrow without having to take time out for skin grafts.”

  “Why, of course,” I retort dryly. “How does that Hippocratic oath go again? Oh, yes! ‘The show must go on.'”

  To his credit, his usual mask of bland geniality never slips. Only the tenor of his voice betrays his anger. “Your aunt’s foolishness is charming to some, but it could also be dangerous. In this instance, at the very least it could have cost her years of pain, and at the very most, her life. If you assume my reasons for being here are any less noble than yours, let me assure you, Mrs. Craig, they are not. The producers have given me the opportunity to turn a very bright spotlight on the victims of the world’s wars, and I plan on using it.”

  He doesn’t feel the need for me to respond. Instead, he walks away.

  Jack waits until Franklin is out of earshot before coming over. “Whatever you said sure got under his skin.” Noting my grimace, he adds, “Sorry, hon, for the poor choice of words.”

  “Yes, well, I had the audacity to question his pureness of heart.” I shrug. “Shame on me.”

  “First you rudely turn down his offer to make you my ideal woman, and then you hurt his feelings?” Jack shakes his head in mock anger. “Just wait until I get you home, young lady!”

  I nuzzle his neck with my lips. “The sooner, the better,” I murmur.

  “Don’t tell me that the Craigs are into a little discipline roleplaying! How adorable is that?” Brin chortles behind us. “How m
any lashes will it take to get her to agree to a boob job? No, no, don’t tell me, lover boy, don’t tell me. Let’s just catch it on video, shall we? Oh!...And before we air it, we’ll let the viewers take bets! For every smack over ten, we’ll double your viewer votes just to sweeten the deal.”

  I close a hand over Jack’s clenched fist before it moves in the direction of her face.

  He takes a deep breath before speaking. “Brin, you know as well as I do that Donna makes her own decisions. As for Franklin’s offer, she’s given her answer. Case closed.”

  The gaiety in Brin’s dark chuckle sends a shiver up my spine. “Okay, I get it: the Comely Craigs aren’t into making stag films. If only the Bings felt the same way.” She rolls her eyes. “If I have to hear Peter choke out ‘mistress of madness’ through his ball gag one more time, I may have to cut them from the show. I’ll let you in on a little secret: it’s turning me off to porn. Can you believe it, me?” She shrugs. “But I’ve got to give them credit. They’ll do anything to win this thing”—her smile disappears—“unlike the two of you.” Her eyes shift to me. “Donna, would you mind if I had a private conversation with Jack? I promise to release him in”—she looks at her watch—“an hour, tops. Feel free to mosey on home.”

  “Say yes,” Ryan’s voice, coming in through my earbud, isn’t a suggestion. It’s a command.

  Of course, Jack hears it as well. His mouth, hard and fierce, opens—

  But I speak first. “Sure, Brin, you can have him for as long as you need.”

  I pull Jack into a lingering kiss and then walk away without a backward glance.

  There is nothing Brin can do or say to change Jack’s feelings toward her or how we are handling this mission.

  And besides, I can hear and see what’s happening.

  “Thank you, Donna,” Ryan says. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see you. I want to discuss your next task—in private.”

  Not a good sign.

  “And by the way, we’ll be going dark on Jack now,” he adds.

  What the…why?

  He doesn’t wait for me to protest. Jack’s audio and video feeds vanish to my ears and eyes.

  Yes, I’m angry.

  I look forward to telling Ryan so in person.

  Chapter 12

  Breaking Bad

  “There’s no honor among thieves…except for us, of course.”

  —Saul Goodman

  The term “breaking bad,” is a Southern colloquialism that means challenging authority.

  You know, raising hell.

  When in fact playing the hell raiser, here are a few do’s and don’ts:

  Do embody the role! (A tepid stance on being a bad ass makes you a half-ass. In other words, no one will cower. Instead, they will snicker.)

  Don’t let the law stand in your way! Some people are above it, proving that there are always ways around it. (Unfortunately, most of these paths can put you six feet under.)

  Do remember that no one likes an outlaw, but everyone loves Robin Hood! (In other words, share the wealth.)

  Finally, don’t expect to live a long and prosperous life. It’s not true that only the good die young. Those who live hard and fast seem to go belly up at a good clip as well.

  And, as we all know, only Superman is faster than a speeding bullet.

  You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

  I’ve heard that homily all my life. I’m about to put it to the test.

  Apparently, so is Ryan. He’s smiling when I open the door to his private office.

  Great, yeah, two can play this game…

  “Hi, boss. What’s up?” I practically giggle as I plop down in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

  His smile broadens, but his eyes are wary. “Thank you for joining me after such a long day. And congratulations on the clearances of Franklin and Cassandra.”

  I bat my eyes. “All in a day’s work.”

  “Tomorrow may be easier. Brin has put Emma in charge of ferrying the patients to and from the medical office.”

  “Why?” I smirk. “Is she afraid they’ll bail on Franklin’s marvelous offer?”

  “Perhaps.” He shrugs. “In any regard, it allows Emma to scan their cell phones while they go under the knife, which is a plus for us.” He leans in slightly. “It still leaves us to scan Ariel’s phone, not to mention James’s, Gerald’s, Peter’s, and Roger’s—which is where you come in.”

  Always the team player, I nod enthusiastically. “But of course.”

  “All of the patients are to be picked up by seven tomorrow, which gives you plenty of time to make the rounds. If you’re looking for an excuse to meet with their husbands, why not do the neighborly thing and drop off a casserole? That way, you can get them, er, talking.”

  “Yeah, right.” Or whatever. “So, who’s first?”

  “Ideally, James.” Ryan pauses. “I…have a gut feeling about him. Something is just…well, not right with him.”

  “You can say that again,” I mutter. “Who would you prefer next?”

  “Roger. If he’s involved in a National Security leak, POTUS will want to know as soon as possible.”

  “But of course.”

  “Speaking of POTUS, he’ll be in town toward the end of the week.” Ryan shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

  I can’t say that I blame him. With a terrorist in the ’hood, having Lee in our midst only complicates things. “Surely you’ll talk him out of it!”

  “Why waste my breath? Only you have that super power.” He winks at me.

  I blush because he’s right. “Would you like me to try?” Say no…say no…

  Ryan’s brow creases in contemplation. “Let me think about it. As much as I don’t like using him as bait, it may come down to that, if you don’t turn up any clues in the next few days. With a big fish swimming within reach, our suspect may make a mistake and show his hand. In the meantime, I have no doubt you’ll do everything within your power to get our man.” He stands up. It’s my cue to take my leave.

  Suddenly, I realize that Ryan hasn’t brought up my refusal to take Franklin’s offer. Now, why is that?

  “One more thing,” I begin nonchalantly. “I want to thank you for honoring my decision not to go under the knife for this stupid show.”

  “No need to thank me. It was always your decision to make. However, if you had felt you needed some, er, enhancement, I’m sure you would have taken the good doctor up on his offer.” Ryan smothers a smile. “As it turns out, such a drastic measure isn’t necessary.”

  “Oh, yeah…because Aunt Phyllis wants the operation.” Until I can talk her out of it.

  “No.” He looks down.

  “Because the Craigs are leading with points?” I press.

  “You aren’t, but I’ve no doubt you’ll catch up.”

  Funny. He doesn't sound like it. “So, why then, Ryan?” I ask impatiently.

  He hesitates. Finally, he answers: “Brin and Jack have come to…an understanding.”

  My heart seems to want to jump out of my chest. Just what the hell does that mean?

  “It worked out better for Acme,” he assures me.

  “Sure, okay.” I check my nails for chipped polish.

  Later, I may be flicking blood off of them. Brin’s.

  Maybe I’ll torture her on the air. I’m sure if the ratings go through the roof, she would think it was worth it. But since a life outside of prison walls is my end game, I’ll forgo any fantasy I have of making her pay for all the misery she’s caused me these past couple of days.

  A hot bath is waiting for me at home—and hopefully, a husband who is still just as upset at her as I am.

  I pull into the garage by eleven. I hear the music coming from Evan’s room, right above me. He must still be studying for his trigonometry exam tomorrow. In passing, he mentioned that both Jenna and Adam are also in his class, and that she whizzes through the equations without even trying. On the other hand, Adam is struggling. But in
stead of working harder at the course, he taunts his classmates and charms his teachers.

  Aunt Phyllis is fast asleep. I don’t hear a peep in the children’s rooms. Still, to assure myself that all is well, I peek beyond each of their doors, one by one.

  Just seeing Trisha’s lips bowed into a gentle smile has me breathing easier.

  Jeff has fallen asleep with his math book on his chest. After kissing his cheeks, I place the book on his bed stand and turn off his light.

  Mary has her iPhone’s earbuds in, but her eyes are closed, and her lip quivers with what I hope are sweet dreams. Gently, I pull out the earbuds, brush her forehead with my lips, and extinguish her light.

  My room is dark.

  My bed is empty.

  Brin’s requested hour with my husband ended forty minutes ago. So, what’s keeping him?

  I climb out of my clothes. I prop up my pillow with the intention of staying up until Jack comes home…

  Oh, hell, I must have fallen asleep.

  Only one eyelid responds to my attempt to open either or both. The bright face on the nightstand clock reads 3:21 a.m.

  I reach out behind me, hoping to pat Jack. Instead, I hit the flat mattress covered in nothing but a cold sheet: smooth; undisturbed.

  I am alone.

  I lay in bed, watching the clock flick off the early morning minutes like green lightning bugs on a steamy summer night. Finally, a halo of light forces its way along the border of our bedroom curtain.

  Jack isn’t coming home.

  Because I can’t sleep, by five o’clock I drag myself out of bed. I need a cup of coffee.

  But, first things first. With my cell phone, I head out to the playhouse. From there I call Arnie.

  “What…what’s up?” His voice is thick, weighted by sleep.

  “I need you to keep our home's webcam on a generic loop.”

  He clears his throat. “Already got it covered—last night, in fact. I’ve shuffled some time-appropriate footage of the happy-pappy Craigs intermingled with empty home shots. Unless someone looks closely, they won’t notice that they’ve seen the stuff before. I’ll upload it now. It’ll play through the run of the show.”