My fashion consultant/house cat wouldn’t let me out of the house in such a getup, much less be on the air.
“You piece of crap!” I was about to introduce myself to Yooperman and let him know he was messing with my newsbeat when Georgianne, the normally calm, articulate business owner and lover of all things printed, ran toward Yooperman and attempted to grab his phone.
“You’re broadcasting lies. Where’d you get that load about better days? How is that even a fact? Marzie! Good, you’re here. I’ve got the state to deal with, and inspectors and then this guy is lying about my store. Don’t you have any respect for the truth?” She turned back to Yooperman, who had a smile on his face.
“We at Man Cave Dot News are tired of the bias. We tell it like it is.”
Yooperman stepped back a few paces, and Georgianne stood her ground.
“I’m Marzie Nowak. You did insert your opinion in there, about how the business is run. That’s really not cool.”
“I am just saying out loud what everyone thinks.”
“No one thinks that!” Georgianne said. “No, don’t you dare. That’s my bone saw!” Georgianne ran to the back where the movers were dismantling half of her business.
“What’s your name?”
“Weston Redman. You can call me Yooperman though, or Mr. Yooperman.”
“How did you know this was going down?”
“They’re called sources. I have them. You don’t appear to. Now, step aside. I need a few more shots of the deer processing signs being removed.”
I stood there for a moment with my jaw open. This dude was a real piece of work. Who were his sources? Where had he come from?
I took a breath. There was a lot to deal with here. I couldn’t let my annoyance at Yooperman stop me from doing what I knew was right.
I would get the facts, opinion free, about exactly what happened to The Broken Spine and the readers and viewers of the news product would decide for themselves what they thought. But before I did that, I’d have to figure out a way to get Georgianne to calm down and stop trying to chain herself to the meat grinder.
I collected the facts. And a lot of what Yooperman reported wound up being true. Some state licensing agency had decided to shut down The Broken Spine. The actual violation report, though, was not so easy to come by.
Somehow Yooperman had a copy and an interview with the state inspectors, but they were too busy dismantling The Broken Spine to do any more interviews. Georgianne, however, did have time for me. She composed herself and addressed the viewers of Your U.P. News.
“This is a misunderstanding. I am quite certain we’ve complied with all the health and safety regulations. I just want to assure our customers we’ll be up and running in no time.”
Over an hour after Yooperman’s report, I filed mine. It was infinitely less sensationalized; I diligently represented all sides. Naturally, Yooperman’s coverage was killing mine in terms of online views.
My work for Your U.P. News on this story was solid reporting but boring and second. I wasn’t going to hear the end of it from Justin, I was sure.
Finally, things settled down, but the store was empty, and the closed sign was prominent. It was a disaster for Georgianne; this was her baby.
By the time I left, Georgianne was calmer and had started to focus on the problem at hand. “I’ll just make some calls. I mean, it’s a mistake. A simple mistake.”
As predicted, Justin blew up my phone with annoyance bordering on outrage that the new, upstart, previously unknown Man Cave News had wiped the floor with me today.
“Strike two, Nowak. How’d you miss that story? Aren’t you friends with the owner? Couldn’t the mayor or something tip you off that there was going to be a raid??”
“It wasn’t as dramatic as all that.”
“Really? Yooperman has that red-headed woman wrapped around some sharp bone grinding thing as they haul it out.” That much was true. And instead of taking pictures of it, I was summoning my friends, making sure we helped Georgianne through this crisis.
By the time I left, Georgianne was back to her intelligent, serene self. And she was focused on fixing things. The panic over what had just happened had subsided. I knew she’d figure it out, and we’d help her. This had to be temporary.
Unfortunately, Justin’s panic over losing stories to this new competitor was just beginning. The era of my being my own boss out here in the Widow’s Bay Bureau of Your U.P. News was in serious jeopardy if I continued to lose to that dufus in the Stormy Kromer.
This was quite literally conveyed to me via a million texts and emails and requests that I call the news desk, now!!
I remembered what it felt like to have to work under micro-management, and I did not want to return to it.
I hugged Georgianne and offered to stay, but she reminded me that we were getting together soon for the wands.
“I’m better now. Calmer. I can attack this logically, or maybe magically. But with some decorum. Thanks for not filming me freaking out.”
I nodded. I knew that the internet had seen her lose her cool thanks to the Man Cave News coverage. And I knew what it was like when the internet got to watch you freak out. Going viral wasn’t fun when you were the one losing it in endless repeat. That was a lesson I got to learn when I cussed out my husband live on the news desk. He deserved it, but it was not professional, and it had made me a joke.
“You’ve got pageant stuff to get to, and I do not want to be the one who messes that up. Me freaking out is one thing. Pauline? That could cause an earthquake or another major disaster.” Georgianne reassured me when I was supposed to be reassuring her.
“Oh, and add new vampires to the list of things to discuss at the wand meeting.”
“Great, this day is sucking.”
“Agreed.”
And it was about to get suckier. I had to report for duty as the newest judge for the Miss Vernal Equinox Pageant.
My day had included a weak story on the murder of Miss Florine and being scooped, twice. I didn’t expect pageant judge 101 class was going to make it any better.
But Georgianne was right. I didn’t have the strength to withstand the wrath of Pauline if something got in the way of her meticulously planned events.
So, it was off to Widow’s Bay High School. The main pageant would be in the high school auditorium, and the preliminaries would all be held in various spaces on the campus.
I hadn’t been back to Widow’s Bay High in a while, but it hadn’t changed much. It was still small.
“You’re late,” Pauline chastised me under her breath as I walked in. Rushed in, really; the day had been marked by me getting to places a little too late.
“Sorry, the raid at Georgianne’s was unexpected.” I hugged Pauline, and she ushered me to a table, where all the other judges were gathered. She had a clipboard in her hands. She always had a clipboard.
“As you all know, we suffered a blow here with the death of Miss Florine. God rest her soul. The pageant officially has sent flowers and condolences to her family. But, as Miss Florine would have wanted, the show must go on. As such, Marzenna Nowak, local celebrity and a reporter for Your U.P. News and the anchor for ten years of WXYD in Detroit has graciously agreed to fill Miss Florine’s spot in light of the unexpected tragedy so we can still have a fair event that’s sanctioned by the state pageant committee.”
“Fair? Ha, that’s the first time fair, and the local news were used in the same sentence.” Ridge Schutte, now a state legislator, was a fellow judge. I’d almost forgotten. This was going to be a long several days.
“You all know Congressman Schutte. Thank you so much, Ridge, for traveling back from Lansing to participate in this historic event. Ridge Schutte has served on the Widow’s Bay council, the Parent Teacher Organization for this very school, and was the President of the Park Board before achieving high office in Lansing.”
I knew Pauline would soon as kick Ridge Schutte just as soon as kiss him, but she was putti
ng on a gracious intro nonetheless. Pauline was the consummate host. I wanted to kick Ridge in the teeth, but I restrained myself as well. I wondered why the heck he’d got roped into this thing.
Pauline moved down the list of judges, seated in high school desks.
“This is Carrie Detweiler, Miss Chippewa County 1999 and top ten finalist for Miss Michigan that same year.” Carrie Detweiler was pretty. Her blonde hair was crafted into a purposefully messy bob. Her nails were manicured, and her jeans brand new. She also wore a sweatshirt that indicated she had a child currently at the Widow’s Bay Middle School. I could relate. There was a period in my life that I was either in power suit for work or a spirit wear sweatshirt for my kids. She smiled and tilted her head to all of us as Pauline read off her qualifications as the last contestant who successfully achieved top ten with a flaming baton routine.
“And, of course, Former Mayor Paul Fisk is here with us. He served for nearly a decade and led Widow’s Bay through tough times. He helped establish the festival district areas and approved the current calendar of festivals, of which the Miss Vernal Equinox Pageant is a part. Mayer Fisk is now retired but has agreed to volunteer his time for this auspicious event.”
The last face at the table was newer. I didn’t think he’d gone to high school here and was pretty sure he was a new resident. What I didn’t know is if he was a new Yooper Natural resident. He had floppy blonde hair, wore a ski sweater, and looked like his skis and poles were just around the corner. Which made sense for his line of work.
“This is Rad Tadrick. Rad is the new owner of Michigan Ski Bum. He’s a recent transplant here to Widow’s Bay, thanks in no small part to the work Mayor Hitchcock and former Mayor Fisk are doing at economic revitalization. The new wave of tourism is perfect for Michigan Ski Bum. Let’s welcome Tad Radrick as a wonderful new judge and new addition to the downtown business owner’s community.”
“It’s Rad,” the tanned blonde newbie said to Pauline.
“Totally rad,” Pauline said and made some sort of hang ten motion with her fingers.
“No, the name, it’s Rad Tadrick, not Tad Radrick.”
“Oh, oh my apologies, Rad.” Pauline fell over herself to tell Rad Tadrick she’d made an error. Rad? I’d never heard that as a first name either. I fixed it in my memory, knowing otherwise I’d do exactly what Pauline had done and mess it up. Rad is Rad. Rad is Rad not Tad.
“I thank you all so much for taking the time out to make this pageant a success. You’re doing your part to put Widow’s Bay on the map!” Pauline said to all of us.
“Feel free to enjoy the cookies and water as we run through the rules.” The cookies were delicious, that was something. I grabbed one and tried not to throw my eyes open in shock at the materials Pauline had prepared and provided us.
Pauline passed out a three-ring binder of rules, regulations, and schedules. I grimaced a time or two reading the rules, by-laws, events, and contingencies for said events. This was more intensive than learning to fly on a broomstick.
She also ran through the scoring system and the procedure that would be followed in the unlikely event of a tie.
“You also have a list of contestants. If there is any reason you cannot be an impartial judge, for example, because one of our girls is a relative, please speak now. I’ll give you a moment to look it all over.”
I did as she instructed and hoped to heck that I was related to one of the contestants. It was my last play. Sadly, none were on my family tree that I knew of.
“Now is an appropriate time to let you know what we’re looking for in Miss Vernal Equinox. You’ll find a complete wish list in your binder, of what she should represent. But let me just say, Miss Vernal Equinox must be community-minded, well spoken, have a clear criminal history, and be able to speak about why she wants to represent Widow’s Bay in the state competition.”
“And she needs to be cute. We don’t want some ugly girl wearing the crown.” Leave it to Ridge Schutte to be inappropriate and awful.
“Looks are not a requirement. Poise, however, is. Oh, and you’ll note Miss Vernal Equinox can be a boy, or gender fluid, or anything,” Pauline mildly corrected Ridge, and he sniffed in disgust.
“Well, then she’s not Miss, is she?” Ridge laughed at his own jokes.
“Several boys are contestants on that list. If they win, they’ll be Mr. Vernal Equinox.”
“Oh, brother,” Ridge groaned. I secretly gave Pauline a round of applause for her open-minded approach to a somewhat outdated idea, the beauty pageant. Maybe this was going to be fun after all?
We finished our orientation and cookies.
Pauline released us back to our normal lives after a reminder that the first judging started tomorrow, with the interviews. And that we—with a look in my direction—could not be late. Under any circumstance.
“Yes, I’ll make sure no news happens to interfere.”
Pauline thanked me and did not catch my sarcasm.
As we left, a group of moms entered.
“Oh, did they eat all the cookies? That’s my special recipe.” It was Abbie Grupp, the mom I’d run into outside Pizzazz.
“Abbie, they loved them.” Pauline helped collect her materials, and the judges all filed out.
“Thank you again, Marzie, you’re helping me out of a bind.”
“Sure, speaking of binds. There’s a new vampire in town. We have to figure that out and how to do the magic wand thing.”
“Okay, see you at the cauldron!” Pauline was energy incarnate.
I needed a nap after the day I’d had, but then I remembered.
I had a date.
Chapter 6
“You’re going to need to thread the needle between matronly and come get me.”
“What?”
Agnes, my judgmental, fashion-conscious housecat, was literally made for a night like this.
I was not.
“You’re wearing jeans? That’s pathetic. Why don’t you throw on a pair of orthotics to complete the look?”
“I don’t recall telling you I had a date.”
“I don’t recall you ever having a date. Resist your recent urge to dress for comfort. That Brule is rich, don’t blow it. He can afford a lifestyle to which Bubba and I would like to grow accustomed.”
Bubba was my dog. Bubba Smith, to be exact. Bubba was a gigantic hug on four legs. He was also Agnes’s main mode of transport. Though my magical cat would never admit it, she was just as attached to Bubba as he was in thrall to her.
“How’s this?”
I had selected a long gray straight skirt, black fashion boots, and a black turtleneck. A skirt was a huge leap. I had very easily slipped from twenty years of power suits, and spiked heels to comfy jeans and Ugg Boots. Dressing up was a part of a life gone by.
“Turtleneck? What kind of message does that send?””
“The message is I’d like to keep all my blood. Besides, what’s wrong with it?” I turned this way and that in my full-length mirror.
I was trim and toned, thanks to Pauline’s rotating fitness classes, and nothing sagged, too much, yet. There were a few fine lines around my eyes, and I was a salty dinner away from chin waggle at any moment. But, for the most part, I didn’t think it was that bad, except no matter what I did, my belly had a little paunch. I was told that, unless I went under the knife, a five-foot-three woman who gave birth to six-pound twin boys would never look the same as one who had not. My formerly fat stomach was a price I was happy to pay for the honor of being their mom. It was the paunch that reminded me of what I’d done. My twins were now both over six feet tall. I never even thought twice about it. Except now, with Agnes assessing me.
And the possibility that someone other than my ex-husband might care, if I had a belly paunch. I shook it off. Whatever Brule saw in me, he liked. Stressing out about the looks stuff was not the attitude of an evolved woman. I added a little swipe of mascara, though, because giving up body insecurity is a process. I considered addi
ng shapewear but decided against it.
A handsome, billionaire, mysterious, sexy vampire had a romantic interest in me, but even that wasn’t compelling enough to wrestle my squishy middle into shapewear. I valued my internal organs and comfort too much for that torture.
“Wear your V-neck angora. At least you’ll look less like a nun.” Agnes interrupted my female empowerment with her desire to tart me up, just a skosh.
I followed Agnes’s fashion suggestion and put on the angora. I’d already showered, shaved more than I normally would for winter, applied makeup—which I was rather good at from my television news days—and spritzed myself with perfume.
The date prep, rushed as it was after a long day of work, still wasn’t enough to calm my nerves.
Why had I agreed to this again? A date with a vampire? I’d long passed Interview with a Vampire stage and was edging toward Menopause with a Vampire. This was insane.
“Stop.”
“For a woman with two adult children, I’m not that bad, right?”
“Any undead billionaire would be happy to have you.”
Moral support from Agnes? Even she took pity on me during this pre-date basket case meltdown.
“Thank you.”
Agnes and Bubba were self-sufficient for the most part. I ensured they had food, water, shelter, and in return, they took care of each other. And, to be honest, they helped me transition from a life as a busy wife and working mother, to a single empty nested working old lady.
My prep had to be over because my date had arrived.
Etienne Brule could enter my home without asking to come in, and had, but this time he rang the doorbell.
I opened the door and was surprised, again, at the shock of white hair, the broad shoulders, the blue eyes, and the obvious old-world aura of Etienne Brule.
“Good evening.” He had a French accent too; that was another box checked. I reminded myself that checking boxes was not what I had intended in this stage of my life.
“Hi!’ I said, too brightly I’m sure.
“It is always a shock to my memory when I see you.”
Wands Have More Fun Page 5
