Hailey screamed, “Lewis! Are you here?” There was no answer.
Annie said, “We spread out. Check the entire roof. Go!”
The three women ran in different directions.
Derrick stared at his toes. “Do you think I need a pedicure?”
“I don’t see Lewis!” Hailey yelled.
Annie searched the west end of the high-rise. No signs of human life. “He’s not here,” she said.
“I can’t find my baby!” Roberta said.
“One. Lewis is a lawyer. Two. Someone’s blackmailing him with disturbing photos,” Derrick said. “Check the copy room. Plenty of shredders in the copy room.”
“Hailey! Where’s the copy room?” Annie asked.
The law firm’s copy room was small and packed with industrial sized copiers and shredders. Lewis Schuchiani shoved some papers into a shredder, clutched some papers and wiped away a few tears.
“Lewis! What are you doing?” Hailey said and walked toward him.
Lewis stuck out his hand to stop her approach. “I can’t hurt you, Hailey.”
She looked confused, but stopped.
Roberta put her hand over her chest. “Lewis, baby. Come to Mommy.”
“I can’t hurt Hailey, Mom. I won’t live with that.” He lifted his hand to hit the shred button.
“That better not be my new will,” Derrick said. “You’re my personal assistant, Annie. Time to ramp it up a notch. By the way, your wig’s askew and your hat makes you look like someone who forgot personal appearances are everything.”
Annie frowned. “Lewis, who’s the primary beneficiary in Derrick Fuller’s new will?”
Lewis clutched papers to his chest. “I don’t know.”
“That’s a lie, Lewis. You’ve read Dr. Fuller’s new will. You know the primary beneficiary is Franco Fennedy.”
“I don’t know anything, anymore,” Lewis said as he pushed the button and shredded a Fuller document.
“I really hope that wasn’t my new will,” Derrick said.
“You have copies, right?” Annie asked and coughed into her sleeve.
“No.” Derrick looked bummed.
“There are multiple copies of Dr. Derrick Fuller’s will,” Annie said. “However, Mr. Schuchiani, if you shred Derrick Fuller’s new last will and testament, you are in violation of the lawyer’s code of ethics’ number...” Oh God, she thought, what would sound like an official number? “You, Lewis Schuchiani, are in violation of ethics’ number second-in-fifteen-penalty-flag-on-the-play.”
Lewis hesitated and looked confused. “That wasn’t Dr. Fuller’s will. It was just a mean, spiteful picture.” He stared at Roberta. “I’m doing this for you too, Mom.”
Roberta fidgeted with her scarf. “Stop it, son. I won’t allow you to ruin your career. We’ll figure it all out. We always do.”
“I can’t risk either of you being hurt.” Lewis shoved more papers into the shredder.
“Stop him!” Derrick yelled. “Protect Franco!”
“Lewis! Just say no!” Annie said.
“I can’t!” Lewis said.
Annie tackled Lewis. They fell to the floor between the shredders and copiers and fought over the papers he clutched to his chest. Lewis grabbed Annie’s hair. Paperclips torqued, tape snapped and her wig ripped off her head. She screamed. (Those clips were sharp and a few cut into her head and face. Also, ripping tape off one’s face, neck and hair really hurts. And total bummer about that new nickel-sized bald patch on her scalp.)
Hailey threw herself onto Lewis and rolled him away from Annie. She cradled Lewis, kissed his check and all the fight went out of him.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Lewis apologized.
“I love you, son,” Roberta said. She sat on the floor next to them, ran her fingers through his hair and looked at Annie.
Annie’s wig lay on the floor, her eyebrows had dropped, her chin sank, her ears evened out. She now looked like a woman in her thirties wearing too much makeup, as well as office supplies.
“I knew it! You’re an imposter!” Roberta picked the wig up off the floor and examined it. “Good God, where did you get this fabulous Asian hair?”
“You’re right, I’m not the duchess. Who cares? We saved your son’s career.” Annie flipped through the documents and photos she wrestled from Lewis. She found Derrick’s new will. His old will. Really looked at the photos and realized why Lewis was being blackmailed. “I am authorized to investigate Dr. Derrick Fuller’s death,” Annie said. “Lewis is Fuller’s attorney and has direct access to his wills. Someone was blackmailing Lewis.”
“Why Lewis?” Hailey asked.
Annie shared a conspiratorial look with Roberta, aka Robbie. They were both strong and proud. Annie wanted to give Roberta, her worthy adversary, a way to maintain her dignity. The two women nodded to each other, warrior to warrior.
Roberta put her hand on Hailey’s arm. “Because, my darling future daughter in-law, Before I was Lewis’s mother, I was Lewis’s father.”
“Huh?” Hailey said, confused.
Roberta unwrapped her scarf. She’d already had some work done—a shaving of the prominent cartilage in the front of the neck that most men had, and women didn’t. Most women didn’t have the super low body fat percentage and distinctive clavicles that Robbie boasted. “Sweetie. Someone tried to blackmail Lewis because they knew that his mother, a celebrity fashion designer, had a sex-change operation.”
Hailey shook her head, confused. “Lewis?”
“Whoever sent me the photos threatened to leak them to the press. I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore. That you, your family and the firm would be embarrassed,” Lewis said.
“You’re the only one who has ever understood me, Lewis. I thought your mom worked out a lot and had a little lipo,” Hailey said.
Lewis kissed Hailey on the lips, turned and regarded Roberta, earnest. “What if the blackmailer goes to the press, mom? Can your business, can the fashion industry handle the scandal?”
Roberta tried to re-drape her scarf around her neck. Her hands shook. “Don’t worry honey…”
“Let me help.” Annie faced Robbie and futzed with her scarf until it draped perfectly down Robbie’s surgically enhanced cleavage. “You did the right thing. Job well done, Mom.”
Roberta finally exhaled.
Annie thought before she spoke. “Lewis, your mom’s a legend. Her talent transcends gender. As to the fashion industry? The headlines will run something like… ‘Robert was a delicate boy who knew fabric. But deep in his psyche, something wasn’t right. So Robert became Roberta, a stunning girl who knew how to cut, drape and fold.’ The demand and prices for your mom’s clothing lines will skyrocket.”
Roberta put her hand to her face and wiped a tear away. “I owe you.”
Annie replied, “The silver wig was procured through a woman named Yang at Thai Massage Spa at Vermont and Beverly. If your story comes out Roberta, trust me, there will be multiple offers for a TV movie of the week. Call me, I know a decent screenwriter. I’d love one of those wrap dresses some day. Those things make everyone look good.”
Back in Annie’s living room the clock read five p.m. Still wearing her deli beekeeper outfit, Annie examined the photos of Mike and Derrick laid out on her apartment floor. Below the Mike photos were the pics donated by Sienna Saffron, the photos collected from Franco Fennedy’s apartment and the still intact glossies from Lewis Schuchiani. All showed people in compromising, embarrassing situations with Derrick.
“Come on!” Derrick said as he jogged in place, his silver thong package jiggled inches from her face.
She gagged and waved him away. “I’m reviewing evidence. The silver thong can only be tolerated for so long, Derrick. You need to find a way to cover up or I quit.”
“People loved my ass,” Derrick said.
“Enough to shoot it and subsequently kill you,” Annie said.
“My point, exactly. Someone blackmailed Lewis to hide my new wil
l for a reason.”
“I’m blinded by your twenty-five watt bulb. Share,” Annie said.
“My old will gave fifty percent of all my worldly possessions to Tawny, and fifty percent to other greedy types. My new will gives fifty percent of my estate to my dear son Franco, twenty-five percent to Tawny and the rest divided between assorted hustlers and charities.”
“You didn’t have time to file a newer will before you decided to divorce Tawny?”
“I was prepping my new book, doing line rewrites and fine-tuning marketing strategies. Besides keeping up with my private clientele, I spent my remaining time on my spiritual, emotional and physical upkeep. I was exhausted, babe. You’re the one slacking. Call another suspect.”
“Fine. Tawny,” Annie said, grabbed the phone and dialed. A voicemail picked up. “Greetings in the name of the most righteous, sacred and beloved.” Annie stared at her phone. Maybe she dialed the wrong number. She hung up, looked at the number and dialed it again. “Greetings in the name of…” Okay. “You’ve reached the Church of the Reverend Tawny ‘Sunshine’ Fuller. I’m most likely baptizing a lonely, searching baby soul or reaching out to another of God’s creatures in need. So call my spiritual assistant, Madison Morgan at 310/555-LIVE. Today’s Special Word? Puppies!”
Annie hung up, dialed the other number and left a message. “Mr. Morgan, this is Crystal Light from Towering Cathedral Publications. We had an unexpected cancellation, thank you Higher Power, that provided a fortunate opening in our roster. Our board convened and we are inspired to interview the Reverend Tawny ‘Sunshine’ Fuller for our upcoming ‘Transform Your Life’ issue. We’re thinking about giving Reverend Tawny the magazine cover. So we all here at Towering Cathedral Publications pray that you call me back at 310/555-8181. Thank you...”
She was about to hang up, when a male voice came on the line. “Hello? Ms. Light?” Annie put the phone back to her ear. “Blessings, yes?”
Derrick jumped up and down, excited. Annie swatted him like a gnat. He leaned into her ear to catch the conversation.
“I’m Brother Madison Morgan, Reverend Tawny Fuller’s spiritual advisor. What kind of time frame are we talking about for the cover?”
“I’d need the interview almost immediately. Our photographer could do the photos wherever and whenever the Reverend would like, within the next week.”
“Oh,” Madison said, “Hold, please.”
Christian rock played on the phone muzak. Annie snapped her fingers at Derrick. “I’m getting a headache from your dead vibes. Back off.”
“Is someone hypoglycemic? Does someone need a sugar fix?” He pouted, but stepped away.
Shit. What if Madison didn’t believe her? She was a baker, not an actor. Her hands quivered as she waited for his answer. The Christian rock stopped, thank God, because if she heard the words “lifted up” one more time, she’d either have to buy a new bra or kick her phone to the curb.
Madison got back on the line. “I’m looking at Reverend Tawny’s very busy schedule. Good news, I found an opening. The Reverend is attending a rejuvenating seminar at Inhale Spa in Santa Monica tomorrow. She can meet you in the lobby at six thirty p.m. The Reverend’s a big fan of your magazine and honored to be on the cover.”
“Amen, Brother Madison! Reverend Tawny Fuller will be resplendent on our magazine’s cover. Thank you!” Annie said, jazzed that Tawny was a fan of her non-existent magazine.
“Thank you, Ms. Crystal Light. Blessings,” Madison Morgan said and hung up the phone.
Annie hung up and washed her hands in the kitchen sink. Twice. Spritzed some Lysol on a paper towel and wiped down her phone and answering machine. “Hey Derrick. Do you think whoever offed you is going to take a pass at me?”
Derrick looked at his feet. “Maybe.”
That word took the anger and the wind out of both of them. “If I end up sunny side dead, with my neck twisted or my head bashed in like I slipped and wiped out on a cat hairball, will you promise me that you’ll help find who killed me?” Annie looked Derrick square in the eyes.
He took her hand and she didn’t pull away. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel skivvy, like she’d been injected with dirty needles or contracted flesh-eating bacteria and needed to take massive antibiotics.
Derrick held Annie’s hand. “Yes, Annie Rose Graceland. No matter what happens to you, now, in five years, ten, fifty, no matter where I land, I’ll be there for you. My karma in this lifetime was to stop offering false promises. To only promise what I truly believe I can do. I’ll do that for you, Annie.”
“Oh.” She thought that was one of the nicest things someone ever said to her. A few tears welled in her eyes. “Thank you.”
She looked down at the pictures laid out like tile samples on her floor. Derrick, Mike, Sienna, Franco, Robbie and Robert Schuchiani. Something wasn’t right. Something was altered, photoshopped, faked, whatever. She knew it in her bones, but she still couldn’t put her finger on it. Damn! Her phone rang and she let her answering machine pick up. Mike’s voice played through and he sounded plaintive, a teensy bit whiny, but appealed to her overwhelming desire to help and make everything right. Yes, she needed to join a Twelve Step Program for Co-Dependency.
“Annie. It’s Mike. I miss you. I know it’s spur of the moment. But I’m not just asking, I’m appealing to your desire to help the little people. Like me. Hah! I’ve got a big audition tonight at, well, it’s actually an A-list fund-raiser in Bel-Air. 1225 Copa Del Oro Drive. Seven thirty p.m. Cocktail attire. Our names are on the list. You’re my rock. I need your support. If I can just see you and be by your side, I can pass this test. I can be the man you need me to be. Please meet me, Annie. We’ll talk afterwards. If I don’t hear from you, I’m going to assume we’re on, eh?”
She picked up the phone. “I’ll meet you, Mike.”
“You’re my girl. You’ve always been a good girl. That’s why I married you.”
She hung up the phone. Mike knew her weak spot. She wouldn’t let go of a marriage and a lifetime commitment if they were the targets of a hoax. In a couple of hours she would meet Mike. And, she would do it right.
Stoneycliff Cheesy Cakes
Description: Light as air freshly baked, then cooled, mini cheesecakes in fresh graham cracker crusts. For variety we recommend you add different liquors to spice up your potential cheesecake orgy. Check out Kahlua, Amaretto, Bailey’s, etc. Do not attempt all these liquors in one mini-cheesecake as that would be considered an alcohol-cake. If you were pulled over by Police Officers while driving, you would most likely not pass a Breathalyzer Test.
Appropriate Occasions: Promotion parties. Impersonating royalty. Snooping.
Best Served With: A gift card to Staples, surgical tape, fabulous wrap dresses, a mother’s love and a father’s devotion.
Twenty
Family Values Fun-Pack
Another glorious sunset was setting on Venice, California, this funky community that hugged the Pacific Ocean. The oranges and reds of the sun played off the blue mist that rose on the horizon of the ocean and crept inland as Annie left her apartment.
She wore a sexy but tasteful black above-the-knee cocktail dress. It had a plunging neckline without being tawdry and she even attempted three inch black strappy heels.
Derrick stood next to her victory gardens and eyed her appreciatively. “You look hot, Cupcake. Where are we going?”
“Where I’m going is none of your business. Tonight’s about my marriage. Considering that debacle is the reason I met you, you’re not invited.” She turned and walked to her car.
Derrick looked disappointed. “You sure?”
Annie waved bye bye over her shoulder.
The Observer sat in the car parked across the street from Annie’s place and watched her leave. The Observer flipped the driver’s sun visor down. Smudged old rubber bands held a twenty-year-old faded picture of Derrick laughing and smiling. Simpler times. But the Observer knew the plan was in place, and only a few steps r
emained to ensure simpler times in the future. Their future. She pushed the sun visor closed. It snapped back in place.
Annie pulled up in her ancient Cabrio at the party address in Bel-Air that Mike had given her. She looked out her window at a gorgeous, immaculate two storied Cape Cod styled mansion. It sat on an enormous lot behind a large fence covered in blooming white trailing roses. This place was big money.
There was a valet parking line that consisted of a few Beamers, some Benzes and shiny hybrids in front of her. Behind her piece-of-shit-classic car were a new hybrid SUV and a limo. The parking line moved quickly and she pulled up to the valet guy and hello, can you say karma, was back in front of…
The event parking organizer. The same guy from Derrick’s memorial service at the Shrine. He was dressed in yet another cheap sweat stained suit. “Name, please,” he asked and checked his clipboard.
“Mrs. Piccolino,” Annie said, and turned her head to inspect her makeup in the rearview, aka regrouping.
The event organizer reviewed his clipboard. “I don’t see a Mrs. Piccolino.”
Oh God, no. This nightmare could not be happening again.
“Wait!” he exclaimed. “I see a Mrs. Mike Piccolino Pickles. That you?” He tried to stare into her car.
She avoided his gaze, leaned over into the passenger seat and stuck her butt up in the air. She opened the glove box and searched for something. Anything. “Yeah, that's me.”
Although Annie was rifling through the glove box, she knew the event organizer was checking out her ass. She leaned further forward and wiggled her butt. (Distract the enemy and buy time.) Those few seconds gave her enough time to throw on her glasses, grab her Mini-Mag ‘blind-em’ flashlight, a thick 8 X 10 envelope and a scribbled-on legal pad. She swiveled her hips and slid back into the driver’s seat. She placed her heeled feet on the pavement, wriggled her skirt above her knees, bared her legs to low thigh level and stepped out of her car.
The event organizer’s eyes traveled from Annie’s calves up to her thighs.
Annie pondered a moment. Yes, a woman could be zen and forgive and forget. Poke out my other eye. Cut off my second leg. I’ll still have arms and can learn how to crab-walk. Those women usually had heart attacks at age forty-five. Or a woman could wait years or lifetimes for an opportunity that offered a smidge of revenge. On the rare occasion retribution was easy. Annie believed it was stupid to ignore the call of karma. She flicked on her Mag flashlight, shone it square into the event organizer’s piggy eyes and semi-blinded him.
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