by Elaine Viets
‘But what choice do we have now?’ Stu said. ‘Even if I knew whose ass to kiss to get something better, I’ll be damned if I’ll do it. We’re both wearing golden handcuffs.’
‘At least I can get away,’ Will said. He sounded smug. ‘Jessica is talking about backing me in my own business.’
‘Hah! Don’t bet on it,’ Stu said. ‘She makes those promises to get what she wants, and then forgets them.’
With that, I heard the click of heels on marble. I slid out of the bathroom, and peeked around the corner.
‘I heard that,’ said an angry voice.
Jessica. A glittering goddess of destruction, death rays beaming from her hard eyes.
‘All of you are no-hopers.’ She sounded like a judge pronouncing a sentence. ‘You aren’t has-beens. You never worked hard enough to achieve that. If you were any good, you would have succeeded on your own. You’re never-weres!’
I winced at her cruelty.
‘Stu, the only thing you ever make disappear is your paycheck! The way that vanishes, it has to be magic.’
‘Not true!’ Stu said. ‘The timing was bad. Magic is a big deal. If I had a comeback in Vegas, I could make it.’
‘Hah!’ Jessica said. ‘Not a chance. You’re no David Copperfield. You’ll be doing children’s birthday parties for the rest of your miserable life.’
Stu moved back as if Jessica had struck him.
Jessica turned her wrath on Tawnee next. ‘Tawnee, quit whining about that movie from 1967. You didn’t get the part because you can’t act your way out of a paper bag.
‘And Will, forget the idea of starting your own make-up line. You’re a loser, like these other two. You’ll never get a nickel out of me.
‘I’m firing all of you when we get back to LA. Tawnee, where’s my goddamned spray?’
I saw Jessica grab the red spray bottle from Tawnee, then blow her nose and stick the used tissue in Tawnee’s outstretched hand. Yuck. Then she flounced off.
I was horrified. I waited for their reactions. Stu showed no emotion at all. He could have been a wax figure. Will looked worried. ‘Are we really fired?’ he asked. ‘I’ve never seen her so furious.’
Tawnee shrugged it off. ‘Don’t worry, she doesn’t mean it. She fires us all the time, especially at the end of a tour when the strain is getting to her,’ she told Will. ‘After she’s home a week, we’ll regroup and get ready to go back on the road and she’ll have forgotten all about it.’
Stu finally came out of his trance. He narrowed his eyes and said, ‘But don’t bet you’ll ever see any of her money for your make-up line, Will. It ain’t gonna happen.’
There was a scream from the main salon, and we all rushed out.
Jessica was lying on the floor by her throne, surrounded by her green goodie bags. A woman in blue sequins was cradling Jessica’s head. ‘She’s fainted,’ she said. ‘Call an ambulance.’
Soon sirens screamed up the drive and Jessica was loaded onto a stretcher, bound for Sisters of Sorrow Hospital.
Becky materialized next to me. ‘Is she dead yet?’ she asked.
SIX
‘Angela, you’ve got to help me!’ It was Mario, calling me at six the next morning. I heard the panic in his voice. Also, his Cuban accent had thickened, a sure sign he was upset. He’d called me on my personal cell phone. I had two phones, like some egotistical titan: one for personal calls and one for work. If my work phone was ever subpoenaed, I didn’t want my personal calls and texts to wind up in court.
‘You’ve got to drive me to the hospital,’ Mario said. ‘My car won’t start. Jessica wants me to fix her hair before she leaves.’
‘Leaves? Mario, she can barely stand up.’
Last night, Jessica wasn’t dead, but darn close to it. She had double pneumonia. Mario and I found out when we followed her entourage to the hospital. Jessica didn’t have to wait in the ER like everyone else. She was examined, diagnosed, pumped full of antibiotics, given oxygen, then rushed up to SOS’s finest private suite. Stu, Tawnee and Will slept on cots and couches in her suite. Mario and I left about two in the morning, once she was settled.
‘She wants her hair done. I should be there now,’ he said.
‘I’m on my way. But I’m on call as a death investigator today, from six to six. I might have to suddenly leave. How will you get home?’
‘If I get stranded, I’ll call Carlos at the salon. I can’t find him this morning. And you know the last cab I called took forever to show up and the driver was drunk. Just get here, please. I’m at my salon.’
I wasn’t looking forward to Jessica and her meanness, but Mario was my friend. I threw on my black death investigator pantsuit and rushed over. Mario ran out of the salon and threw his bag of gear in the back of my Dodge Charger. He was wearing his customary black pants and shirt and a fantastic black fake fur coat.
On the way to SOS, he tried to fix my hair.
‘I’m driving,’ I said. ‘Stop that.’
‘But you’re with me, and your hair looks terrible.’
I slammed the car into a parking space, and gave him a moment to brush my dark hair until he was happy with it. Then we ran through the cold to the hospital lobby, past the waiting TV reporters. Judging by the forest of cameras, Jessica’s hospitalization had become a national story.
Stu, in a sharp navy business suit, met us in the lobby, and got us through hospital security. He showed no emotion.
‘How is she?’ I asked, as we elbowed our way through the crowd of reporters.
Stu waited until we were in the back stairs before he answered. ‘She’s still sick, but she insists on going home. The doctor is trying to talk her out of it.’
‘After last night? Is she fit to travel?’
Stu shrugged. ‘Jessica doesn’t follow the rules.’ He was puffing a bit by the time we got to the fourth floor – we all were. We’d run up the stairs, Mario still lugging his heavy black styling case, as if we were responding to an actual emergency. We waited in the hall outside Jessica’s suite.
The door was closed, but we heard raised voices.
‘I cannot release you,’ a woman said. This voice was deeper than Jessica’s, and impatient. A doctor?
‘You’ll have to leave here Against Medical Advice,’ the doctor said. ‘If you opt for an AMA discharge, you’ll need to sign a document. This will state that you understand that you are leaving against our advice.’
‘Bring it on!’ That sounded like Jessica, a wheezy, angry Jessica.
‘Your insurance may not pay for your care,’ the doctor warned.
‘I don’t give a damn!’
‘The long flight will aggravate your symptoms,’ the doctor said. ‘With an AMA discharge, you have a four-time higher risk of readmission to the emergency department.’
‘I want out of here.’
‘You have a higher likelihood of dying within the next six months,’ the doctor warned.
‘If I don’t get out of this shit-hole I’m going to die. I’m going home to sunny California.’ Jessica’s outburst resulted in a fit of coughing that sounded like her lungs were being ripped apart.
‘That wracking cough is exactly what I mean, Jessica. What if this happens on your flight home?’
Jessica took two wheezy breaths and said, ‘I’m doing this. I’m fine and I’m leaving. I want to go home.’
‘As you wish,’ the doctor said, clearly offended.
We scattered away from the door as the angry doctor stomped out – a tank-like brunette in a starched white coat. I slipped around the corner and ran into Becky. At least, I thought it was Becky – she was clean and wearing a blue pantsuit with a pink top, a pink-and-blue checked scarf, and matching blue Crocs with a coffee stain on the right shoe.
‘Becky?’ I said. ‘Is that you?’
‘I clean up good, don’t I?’ she said. Even her good-luck G sparkled around her neck.
‘You look terrific. Nice clothes.’
‘I found them,’ she
said.
I didn’t ask where.
‘She’s still alive, isn’t she?’ Becky asked.
‘She’s going home today,’ I said.
‘She looks like shit,’ Becky said. ‘I got into her room when everyone was asleep, and snagged an e-cigarette case that’s real silver, some cool vape juice, and some cash. I got out before anyone noticed.’
‘You stole things out of her room?’
‘So? They deserve it. They were all in on it. What happened last night was like being raped, except hundreds of people watched, and laughed at me.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘It must have been horrible.’
‘It was. I’ll remember it for as long as I live. But I got my revenge.’ Her sad smile showed crooked, yellow teeth. ‘She’ll pay for what she did to me.’ She. Becky couldn’t bring herself to say Jessica’s name.
I was grateful when Mario called my name.
‘Angela! If you want to stay here at the hospital, you have to be my assistant,’ he said. ‘Will is almost finished with her make-up.’
‘What do I do?’
‘Hand me brushes, clips and spray when I ask for them,’ Mario said. ‘I’ll point them out.’
Jessica was sitting in a tall-backed hospital chair by the window, where the light was best. She wore a blood-red turtleneck, tight black pants and stylish black high-heeled boots. Her veined hands were purple with bruises from the IV sticks. Her mane of hair was crushed into a turban, while Will worked on her face.
Will looked a little rocky this morning. His rusty red hair needed combing and he had bags under his brown eyes. But he did a fine job of making the star look glamorous.
Stu got in the way, making Will’s brushes and make-up disappear with his magic tricks, until the two nearly came to blows.
‘Stop with the stupid tricks, Stu, and go sit on the couch,’ Jessica ordered through gritted teeth, as if he were a disobedient child. Stu sat next to Tawnee, and sulked like a child.
Tawnee, her hair a rat’s nest, demanded, ‘Stu, did you make my e-cigarette disappear?’
‘No,’ Stu said.
‘You liar.’ I could feel the heat in her voice. ‘It was a good one. Real silver.’
‘No, honest, I didn’t. Someone swiped my vape juice, too. And sixty dollars out of my wallet.’
Tawnee glared at him, but said nothing. Neither did I, though I could have solved that mystery.
‘That’s what you get for leaving your things lying around in a hospital room where anyone could come in and take them,’ Jessica said. Never mind that they were at SOS because of her.
Will did a final dusting of powder on Jessica’s face and said, ‘All done.’
‘Good job,’ I said.
Jessica glared at me and said, ‘Who the hell is that woman?’
‘She’s my assistant,’ Mario said.
‘Long as she’s not with the press,’ Jessica said. ‘Will, there’s a shadow under my left eye.’
Will touched the imaginary shadow with a brush, and finally the star was satisfied. Mario stepped up to her chair. I lugged over his styling case. It must have weighed fifty pounds. He plugged in a powerful acid-green dryer, and started brushing out her hair. He sectioned it, and pointed out the brushes and clips he needed, his words short, his manner serious.
‘Round brush.’
‘Clip.’
‘Second round brush.’
‘Clip.’
I felt like a nurse assisting a surgeon in the OR.
Finally, the star was ready. Her cold symptoms were no longer visible. Jessica shrugged into a fabulous white fake fur, fit for a forties movie queen, and covered her bruised hands with white leather gloves. I had to admit she looked dazzling, and I didn’t even like her.
Will powdered her nose again and she said, ‘Let’s go while I can still breathe. I need to get out of this hellhole. Stu, do you have everything ready for the demonstration?’
He held up a tall glass of what looked like liquefied grass clippings. ‘All ready,’ he said.
‘I’m ready, too,’ Jessica said, and we headed for the elevator.
The dark gray marble lobby of SOS was crammed with reporters, doctors, hospital staff, and visitors. Security had to clear a path for us through the scrum.
‘Jessica! Jessica, what do you think of St Louis?’ asked a red-haired TV reporter in a chic blue dress.
‘Such a friendly city,’ she said, her voice slick with false sincerity. ‘Thank you for the sold-out shows and good reviews.’
‘What’s next?’ a second blond reporter in shocking pink asked.
‘I’m going home to recover and then I’ll hit the road for the East Coast leg of “Just Jessica.”’
‘Why are you checking out against medical advice?’ asked a reporter in baggy khakis and an old tan coat. By the way he was dressed, I suspected he was a newspaper reporter.
‘I loved it here,’ she lied, ‘but now I need some healing California sunshine. Let me show you what else will heal me.’
The media crowded around, hungry for a photo op. I caught a glimpse of Becky at the edge of the scrum, watching with avid eyes, and thought of her question, ‘Is she dead yet?’
Stu produced the tall glass of green stuff with a magician’s flourish.
‘This is Captivate,’ Jessica said, holding up the glass. ‘It’s packed with nourishment. This is why I look so good. My personal fountain of youth not only keeps me young – it will cure me of this cold.’
Cameras clicked as she drank the whole glass of green gunk. I tried to hide my disgust. Nothing could make me drink a glass of cold ground-up kale. The woman’s greed was astounding.
Stu handed her a clean handkerchief to pat her lips, whisked away the glass and stuffed it into his leather travel bag.
‘That’s it, people,’ Stu said. ‘The press conference is over. Jessica has to catch a plane. Thank you!’
Jessica waved goodbye and got into her black stretch limo. Mario started to head to the parking lot with me. Stu ran up to us. ‘Mario, there’s going to be more press at the airport. Jessica will need you in her limo for a touch up.’
‘Can I bring my assistant?’ Mario asked.
‘There’s no room,’ he said, though the limo looked to me like it could seat ten comfortably.
‘I’ll follow behind you,’ I said, ‘and give you a ride home, Mario.’
‘I’ll leave my cell phone on and video everything. You can watch it in real time, so you don’t miss anything. I’m even going to record it,’ he whispered. ‘Thank you.’
‘Can you do that?’ I asked. Mario was even less tech-savvy than me.
‘Of course.’ He gave me a kiss on the cheek and I ran for my car.
But before I reached it, I was stopped by his frantic cry, ‘Angela, my recording app is not working! And my battery is down to 37 percent. My phone is useless. Can I use yours?’
‘Do you really need this, Mario?’
‘Yes,’ he said, his voice low, fast and frantic. ‘I told you, I am stuck here in the Midwest where my work is not taken seriously. But a recording of me styling a major star would help my business. Please, Angela. Es muy importante.’ His brown eyes pleaded with me, and he’d regressed to Spanish, a sure sign. Mario was desperate.
I said, ‘OK.’
‘Hurry!’ he said. ‘I have to go! I’ll download a video app on your phone, OK?’
‘Sure,’ I said and handed him my personal cell phone.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure you can watch it, too.’ He called my office phone. I answered and he said, ‘Leave it on, so you can see, too.’ My hated second phone was finally coming in handy after all.
‘Mario!’ Stu shouted. ‘Are you coming or not?’
‘Yes!’ Mario said.
‘Then get your ass in here so we can get the hell out of here.’
I ran to my car, glad Jessica was finally leaving the Forest.
SEVEN
Plumber Bob Ross was
late for work that morning. He ran a red light on Gravois Road and plowed into the side of a white box truck. Bob wasn’t hurt, and neither was anyone in the truck. But Bob’s minor fender bender would have a major impact: it would destroy the Forest’s reputation.
Mario had kept his promise to record everything. He had the cell phone sticking out of his shirt pocket. Jessica was too busy ordering her staff around to notice.
Thanks to him, I could see the inside of Jessica’s black Mercedes stretch limo as it sat in the hospital parking lot, and I was right. There would have been plenty of room for me. The stretch limo had a long black leather bench seat, a bar fully stocked with drinks, and a TV. The sound system played the late sixties music of Johnny Grimes, Jessica’s long-dead lover, his guitar squealing like a vacuum cleaner. I liked his music. Johnny was harder edged than the Beatles, but not quite as abrasive as the Stones. I wondered if the music was a tribute to Jessica from the driver.
Mario was squeezed in a side seat next to Stu, his styling case at his feet. Jessica spread herself out on the long leather main seat, her fluffy white fur coat taking up most of the room. Tawnee and Will were on either side.
The long-gone Johnny Grimes song was ‘Sometime Girl’; the ballad he supposedly wrote for Jessica at the height of their passion. His words wafted softly, thoughtfully, around the limo. ‘Sometimes you’re mine / sometimes you belong to the world / please be mine / all the time / my sometime girl.’ Even through the iPhone’s tinny speakers, the sound was soulful. It was hard to believe the singer had been dead for forty years.
‘Turn that shit off,’ Jessica yelled, and Johnny Grimes was gone.
The limo departed the hospital at a stately pace. ‘Thank God we’re out of here,’ Jessica said, her voice a snarl. ‘Goddamn rubes. Never again. Never again will I go to this hellhole. I don’t care if they pay me double.’
Stu, Tawnee, and Will stayed silent during this tirade. I couldn’t see Mario, but the phone was so still, I knew he was frozen in his seat.
‘How much longer till we’re at the airport?’ Jessica shouted to the driver. A fishwife would have admired her screech.
