by Josie Brown
Jack and I stare at each other—
And then we’re laughing so hard that we fall off the bed.
“Goodbye, Ryan,” We shout in unison. Our cells click off at the same moment.
“Why, that sly old dog!” Jack sputters. “He dangled that worm—”
“And we ate it up, with relish,” I remind him. “Speaking of dangling worms, I’ll let you call Brin about our resignation from Hot Housewives of Hilldale. At the same time, you can tell her that we’re also passing on the chance to have a show of our own.”
Jack picks himself up from the floor. “I’m on it.” In no time at all, he dials her direct line. “I’ll talk to her downstairs so that I don’t wake the kids.”
Good move, since, from the sound of things, Brin isn’t taking Jack’s call very well. Even from our upstairs bedroom, I can hear her screeching at him.
When Jack finally hangs up on her, he comes back into the bedroom.
I pat the bed to beckon him over. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“Hell, it was worth it, just to hear her beg, plead, quadruple her offer, and then throw it in my face that she didn’t need me because she already had Peter.” He chuckles. “I wished her luck with that!”
“You mean to tell me that she’s creating a spinoff for Peter?” Ah! So, that’s why he wasn’t in his office the other day.
“Something like that. It’s called, Diary of a Divorce.”
“Peter is finally kicking Penelope to the curb—and on live television?”
Jack leans back onto the bed. “It certainly looks that way.”
I sit straight up. “Wait…you mean to tell me that her meetings with you were to convince you to kick me to the curb—on national television?”
“International television. Don’t forget the syndication rights.”
I don’t pick up a pillow. Instead, I grab the lamp off my night table.
He ducks in anticipation of my excellent aim. “Honey, come on—I never actually considered it! But it was sure fun stringing her along.” He frowns. “Gee, I’ve just thought of something.”
My arm goes back. “Quit stalling. Take your punishment like a man.”
“No—wait! I'm serious.” His eyes widen. “Let’s hope Ryan doesn’t have us reconsider her offer. What if he realizes that international syndication will allow us the same opportunity to pass cryptic messages to Acme operatives all over the world?”
I leap up and cover his mouth with my hand. “Bite your tongue!”
He kisses my palm. “I prefer you do it to me.”
Instead, I kiss him.
He reciprocates.
Ah, it’s great to sleep in—
Even if there’s no sleeping involved.
Life is normal again.
News travels at a digital speed in the ever-changing world of celebrity journalism. Within twenty-four hours the paparazzi decamped from the sidewalk in front of our house. Apparently, we are no longer somebodies.
That’s okay. Anonymity suits the Craigs like designer couture.
Babs and Wendy are more disappointed about her defection from the show than Mary is herself. On the upside, her concern for Jenna’s ability to handle the spotlight instills in her the grace to accept the shy girl’s friendship. With Arnie’s help, they’ve opened text accounts on secure servers. Mary won’t jump back into the spotlight, but texts Jenna tips for maneuvering the shark-infested waters of high school mean girls.
Ironically, the Craigs are too addicted to Hot Housewives of Hilldale to turn it off this late in its one-week run. Despite Jack’s threats, Aunt Phyllis plops herself down in the media room and flicks on the show, warning us: “Get lost for a couple of hours. It's the most fun I’ve had in years! Besides, Howard Stern is waiting for my recap.” And on my quest to monitor my children’s homework progress, I catch Mary, Evan, and Jeff watching it on their cell phones.
What’s the use? “Okay! Alright! You can watch with Aunt Phyllis.”
Their stampede down the stairs leaves me hugging the wall.
I find Jack in the kitchen, making popcorn for everyone. He shrugs. “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, right?”
And so we do.
Tonight’s show opens with a tight shot on Dominic as he proclaims, “Welcome back to the sixth night of Hot Housewives of Hilldale! After yesterday’s suicide, shopping spree, and the capture of a spymistress’, no doubt the question on everyone’s lips is, ‘What will those wacky women do next?’”
He winks at the camera, which then pulls back to show Patty Garret on his left, and Ariel and Franklin Powell on his right. The women look uncomfortable. However, as always, Franklin is unflappable.
But when Dominic puts one arm around Ariel and another around Franklin, the Powells grimace. “We’re happy to welcome back Ariel and Franklin Powell, a family who is always an audience favorite! We’ll catch up with their typical good deeds more tomorrow night.”
Then, taking Patty’s hands in his, Dominic looks soulfully into her eyes and intones, “Patty, may I speak for all of us, both here at the Housewives mansion and for the greater world as a whole when I say, ‘I feel your pain.’”
When she sobs, he pulls his kerchief from his tux and dabs her cheeks for her.
Penelope tosses back her champagne. “How many votes do you think she earned with that?” she hisses to Peter, knowing full well that the audio boom will pick up her question.
Peter glares at his wife. “I hope you’ll be half as heartbroken should I die before you.”
“With what you purchased as an insurance policy, oh, I’ll be crying alright,” she mutters.
The show’s next segment focuses on how Patty is dealing with her younger children’s trauma over their father’s death. Her tenderness is touching, as is her ability to focus on the goodness in her husband as opposed to the evil.
When not attending to their grief-stricken mother, Jason and Jenna keep the household running with military precision without threats, punishment, or retaliation. Jody and Jordan naturally follow their lead. Having expressed their grief for, and hatred of, their father publicly, they are now freed from his toxic self-loathing.
They have the fierce love of their mother and each other to move forward with their lives. Hopefully, this very public platform will inspire others to do so, too.
The final segment of the prerecorded hour showcases the trials and tribulations of the Farnhams.
Cassandra’s meetings with Hilldale High’s administration and its teachers weren't video-recorded because of school policy, but her seething anger is evident in every caustic remark. “I’m well aware that Adam can be…a handful. But considering all he’s been through, you’d think they’d try harder to help him fit in! Not all children were born in a war zone. They come out of it with one thought: survival. If they want him to look beyond himself, they shouldn’t shut him out. They have to do what they can to challenge him to look beyond himself. Gerald, Sami and I do it every day. It is…our cross to bear.”
“They are good parents,” Evan declares. “Unfortunately, he’s a rotten son.”
“Why do you feel that way?” I ask.
“Because he likes to take the easy way out,” Evan explains. “Lies, intimidation…and now that he’s famous, he’s using that too.”
Mary nods adamantly. “I tell every girl who asks that he’s worse than a player. Worse than a man-ho. He’s…evil!”
My sympathy for Cassandra just increased tenfold.
When the segment cuts to her at home with Sami, we see a calmer, happier woman. Dominic’s voice-over declares, “As for the bullies who taunted Sami, all is forgiven.”
“Hardly,” Jeff snorts.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask.
Jeff purses his mouth—a telltale sign that he’d rather not say anything that may get him in trouble.
“Jeffrey Harrison Craig, I’m waiting for an answer,” I warn him.
Jeff weighs his options. They aren’
t pretty. Finally, he mutters, “The bullies are still pissed, but we’ve got them under control.”
“Oh yeah, how?” Jack asks.
Jeff shrugs. “One of the creep’s girlfriends asked Sami for his autograph. He said he’d take a selfie with her instead. He did it with his cell and then texted it to her. That gave him access to her phone—and her boyfriend’s. Apparently, the asshole is two-timing her. Sami threatened to tell her unless the creep and his posse backed off.” He pumps the air with a fist. “One for the geeks! Boo-yah!”
I slap my forehead. “Please, no ‘booyah-ing’!”
Jack is still frowning. “You boys know that what you did isn’t legal, right? If you get caught, it could mean jail time. I suggest you not do it again.”
“Even if it’s for a good cause?”
Jack shakes his head. “There are better ways to help a good cause.”
“What if someone’s life is in danger?” Jeff insists.
I’m getting the feeling that this is no game. “Whose?” I ask.
His lips tighten. “No one. Nothing. Forget I ever said anything.” He turns back to the television.
Jack taps my arm. From the look in his eyes, he’s concerned too.
As we roll into the last segment of the show, I can see now why Penelope may be winning this thing: all the world loves a clown.
Considering the other contestants' drama, her tragicomic antics are a welcomed relief.
For the Housewives’ last task, to be aired tomorrow, Day Seven, they are asked to coordinate a potluck dinner party.
As Dominic puts it, “Your ‘last supper’ as a Hot Housewife of Hilldale will take place here, in the Housewives’ mansion, which holds so many wonderful memories for you!”
Wonderful? Um, I don’t think so…
“You will be judged by your theme, your process, and on how well others receive your dish.”
“We’re going to be seeing a lot of fingers going down a lot of throats,” Jack murmurs.
Aunt Phyllis chuckles. “Maybe the producers should have kept Tiffy Swift as a contestant.”
“And as always, the audience will vote with its texts,” Dominic declares. “Choose your dishes, ladies.” He hands them a cut-glass bowl holding envelopes.
Cassandra draws first: the appetizer.
Patty draws next: the dessert.
Penelope pulls the main course, and Ariel must provide either a salad or soup.
“I think I’ll make flan,” Patty pipes up.
“I hope she doesn’t eat the whole thing before we get there,” Penelope mutters cruelly to Peter.
“Why are you always such a bitch?” he retorts, disgusted. “Can’t you just lighten up?”
“‘Lighten up?’ Ha! You’ve just made a joke—at her expense!” Penelope’s never-empty champagne flute is in her hand.
“What do you think: is Peter upset with her, or is he setting her up in anticipation of his own show?” I whisper to Jack.
“She personifies the word ‘bitch,’ so it’s a hard call,” he replies.
“I guess Peter hasn’t yet told her about Brin’s offer,” I reason. “When he does, how do you think she’ll take it?”
“Sadly, with aplomb.” Jack shrugs. “Penelope lives for adulation and the spotlight.”
I nod. “She’s come a long way from the Penelope I first met.”
Jack shakes his head. “I don’t think so. If given an opportunity to play to a larger audience—even if the role is that of a bitch—she’ll take it. Remember, hate is a form of love too.”
Where have I heard that before?
Oh, yes. Franklin said the same thing to Jack, on the golf course.
In his line of work, the good doctor sees self-loathing every day.
No matter how many incisions he makes, he’ll never get to the underlying cause of it. Sadly, his patients don’t realize this.
To them, he’ll always be a saint.
Sunday starts with a few prayers:
That those I love stay happy and healthy;
That the day is serene, and that all corners of the world are blessed with a day of peace;
That no calls come in from Acme that have Jack and I scurrying to save the world;
That I end my day with the same big smile, I offer up now—
To the man already gazing at me in adoration.
“Morning, Sunshine,” he murmurs. “Hey, I was thinking of having a cook-out today. How do you vote on that?”
I raise my hand. “If you grill the meat, I’ll make the fixin’s.”
“You’re on.” He puts his hand behind his head as it falls back onto his pillow. “Hey, what do you think of inviting Arnie and Emma too?”
“Love it!”
“And I think Abu retired from his Uber job when he got his cameraman’s union card. He may be around, too.”
I laugh. “Hail, hail, the gang’s all here—by what, sixish? Include Ryan on your call list. I promised him a cherry pie. It’ll go well with steaks on the grill.”
“Should we ask the kids who they’d want to have over?”
I nod. “I’ll get a head count.”
But first I collect my kiss before heading down the hall.
Trisha is sound asleep, but Jeff is already up and on his computer.
I look over his shoulder. “What are you working on?”
Startled, he closes the top with a click. “Um…nothing! Fantasy stats.”
Yeah, right. “We’re grilling out for dinner. Have anyone you’d like to invite?”
Jeff rolls his eyes. “Cheever will be here later today.”
“Ack! Why?”
Jeff shrugs. “He’s got nowhere else to go.”
Odd. “The show has its big finale tonight. Won’t he be there with his parents?”
“He’s been banned from his house—and from the set.”
“Whatever for?” I ask.
“His mom stayed up all night making individual lamb pot pies for tonight’s dinner party. He took a bite out of each one.”
For once, I feel sorry for Penelope. “Okay, he can hang here, but make me one promise: if he wants food placed in front of him on a table as opposed to tossed at him while he’s caged, he must be on his best behavior.”
Jeff thinks for a moment before nodding. “Now that his mom is a star, he doesn’t get fed much. So I can safely vouch for him.”
I give him the thumbs up before moving down the hall.
Mary is up too, checking her text messages. She looks up at me and smiles. “What’s up?”
“We’re cooking out tonight—steaks and burgers. Six o’clock. Invite a friend, if you want.”
“Oh.” Her smile falters. “I’ve been asked to babysit this afternoon, starting at four.”
“Congratulations! I guess you’ll add it to your car fund. Who’s the lucky kid?”
“That cute little toddler, Conner—you know, Dr. and Mrs. Powell’s boy.”
I laugh. “Ah, yes. The finale of the show is tonight. Another reason to celebrate.”
“Mrs. Powell feels the same way.” Mary frowns. “She doesn’t want to go, but Dr. Powell insisted on it. He says they owe it to the show for being so generous to his foundation.” She laughs. “And they’re spreading the wealth! They offered me three times my rate if I stay the whole night.”
I give my second thumbs-up of the morning. Today is looking great indeed.
My last stop is Evan’s room, over the garage. “Hey, steaks and burgers tonight! You’ll be back from lifeguarding by six, right?”
“Um…” He blushes. “I’ll be out on a date. In fact, I’m taking off at five.”
“Oh…sure, no problem.” I keep the smile on my face as I shut the door.
Still, I can’t help wondering if it’s with Jenna.
Does Mary know? If not, I won’t be the one to tell her. They’re old enough to sort it out. I’m just going to keep my head down and make my pie.
In fact, I’ll make two of them: one for guests
; and as promised, one for Ryan to take home. Don’t want to disappoint the boss.
Life is good.
While Jack shifts the steaks on the grill rack to make room for a couple of burgers, Jeff and Cheever toss some sort of squishy ball back and forth. Whenever it drops out of one of their gloves, they fall to the floor, giggling.
Oh, dear, I better check their soda cans in case Cheever thinks he can pull one over on us. I swear, there’s a stretch in the hoosegow in that kid’s future.
At least they’ve been out of our hair most of the day. In that regard, I follow one policy: don’t ask, don’t tell.
Ryan is the first guest at our cookout. He brings vanilla ice cream that he cranked himself.
“This should go great with the pie,” he explains.
“You shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “It gave me something to do today other than put together client summary reports.”
“Hey, I hear you.” I give him a kiss on the cheek. “This was very thoughtful of you.”
“I always appreciate a home-cooked meal,” Ryan assures me. “I get tired of eating out of cans.”
I steel myself from tearing up. Ryan has seen his fill of tragedy. It’s why his dedication to Acme is so strong;
And why I, and the rest of my mission team, revere him.
Arnie and Emma are close on his heels. Arnie uses one hand to hold onto their toddler son, Nicky. A six-pack of micro-brewed beer is in the other. He hands one of the beers to Ryan and then heads over to the grill to give Jack one too.
Emma sets a huge salad bowl on the picnic table. “From the garden,” she says proudly.
“Yummy, thanks!” I exclaim, as I stroke Nicky’s cheek.
“Mahwee?” He looks around the backyard for the girl of his dreams: my eldest.
I laugh. “Sorry, little guy. She took a babysitting gig tonight. You’ll have to settle for your second crush.” I put his little hand into Trisha’s palm.
When he giggles, she rewards him with a kiss. It’s the start of a game: he runs just far enough away so that she can catch him and kiss him again.
