Say Yes to the Death (3 page)

“I'm nobody,” I told her, “and you're making a scene.” Although no one else in the busy kitchen was paying any attention to us, and I wasn't sure that Olivia cared besides.

She continued to rant like she had a fatal case of PMS. “How dare you interrupt when I was right in the middle of—­” Abruptly, she stopped screaming and blinked.

“Yelling,” I finished for her and jerked my chin at Millicent Draper, who was vaguely trembling and appeared on the verge of tears. “You were reaming out Millie. Then you insulted me. Wow, it's like flashing back to prep school. Are you going to give us wedgies next, or push us into a gym locker?”

“Oh. My. God.” She breathed each word.

The way she'd acted, I didn't think Olivia had recognized me. Then I watched something change in her face. Her pale blue eyes flickered, and the frown on her wide mouth twitched at the corners.

“Is it possible?” she drawled, and her finely plucked eyebrows arched. “Is it really Andy Kendricks in the flesh? Your mama must have hog-­tied you and hauled you here, didn't she? I know
your
name wasn't on the guest list.”

“Brilliant deduction, Sherlock,” I said dryly.

“Oh, I know more than that,” she remarked with a smirk. “Like, I heard you design Web sites for charities. How quaint. Didn't you go to some dinky art school in Chicago? But then you never did aspire to much, did you?” Her gaze dropped to my chest and she added with a slow grin, “Some things never change. I can see that you're still lacking in the boobs department, too. You should've dug into your trust fund to have those puppies fixed.”

She was right. Some things never changed.

Self-­consciously, I crossed my arms. “And I can see that you're still acting like Attila the Blonde and pushing nice people around,” I replied, about as witty a comeback as I could come up with on such short notice. Although I'd lain awake with tears in my eyes many nights during middle school, mulling over all the things I wanted to say to Olivia La Belle. But I didn't figure calling her a “big stinky poop face” was going to do the trick.

“Oh, Andy, darlin',” she said in such a honeyed tone you'd think I'd given her a compliment. “It's so sweet that you're holding a grudge after all these years. And I thought you'd forgotten me.”

“Mean is hard to forget,” I told her.

“You thought I was mean? C'mon, it was all just good-­natured teasing,” she replied, but there was a spark of malice in her eyes. Perhaps making fun of other people
was
funny to her.

“Good-­natured teasing, right,” I murmured, getting angrier by the minute.

She'd shoved me into the gym's equipment cage in my underwear and locked it so that I was left to be found by the next class. She'd covered a sculpture I'd made for a school art exhibition in maxipads doused in ketchup. She had pummeled me with volleyballs hard enough to leave marks.
That
was good-­natured teasing? Was that how the CIA classified water-­boarding, too?

My chest tightened, my heart aching in a way it hadn't since my school days, and all the angst and confusion I'd felt back then threatened to bubble to the surface. Did old pain never go away?

I opened my mouth, ready to tell her she was a sorry excuse for a human being and that I'd never hated anyone the way I'd hated her. But this wasn't about me. I glanced at Millicent Draper's exhausted face and what came out of my mouth was simply, “Leave Millie alone or else.”

“Or else what, Kendricks?” Olivia smiled tightly. “Are you gonna sic your mama on me? At least
she
has a reputation as a steel magnolia. You're more like Silly Putty.”

“Cissy doesn't fight my battles,” I said firmly, incensed at her implication that I was weak because I'd never struck back. I'd never even told my mother about Olivia picking on me. I hadn't wanted her to know.

“What battles? We're grown-­ups, right? I've got no beef with you,” she said, and she tapped her open palm with the cake knife. “If you haven't noticed, Dorothy, we're not in prep school anymore.”

Maybe we weren't, but Olivia La Belle was still the Wicked Witch as far as I was concerned.

“Could have fooled me,” I said under my breath.

She waved the shiny knife toward the open kitchen doors. “Now click those ratty heels together and scoot. I've got a wedding to put on, and Millie here's already thrown me off schedule.”

“I was just leaving,” Millicent Draper said and touched my arm. “Thank you, Andy, for trying to help. You always were such a sweet girl.” She gave me a sad little smile. Then she turned to Olivia. Her cheeks flushed, she raised a finger and shook it. “If you think you can do to me what you did to Jasper—­” she began, then sucked in a breath and started over. “One day you'll get what's coming to you, and it won't be any too soon.”

“Do I need to call security to have you thrown out?” Olivia snapped at her.

“No,” Millie said, dropping her arm to her side. “I'm leaving already.”

I watched her go, shuffling away with her head down, and I couldn't help but feel angry all over again.

“Wow, way to go, Olivia! You just beat up on a woman twice your age. I hope you're proud of yourself,” I said, sticking out my chin and looking my old nemesis in the eye. “The cake looks stunning. Why give her so much crap for being a little late?”

“A little late?” Olivia balked. “She almost missed the whole damned wedding!”

I shook my head, too disgusted to speak.

“C'mon, Kendricks”—­she sniffed—­“cut me some slack.” And suddenly, for a brief moment, her bravado slipped. Her face pinched, and I noticed the shadows around her eyes that even a good makeup job couldn't hide. “You don't know how it feels to have so much riding on your shoulders, so much at stake, and it's not just the business. It's—­everything. One wrong step and—­” She made a noise and drew the knife across her throat.

Oh, Lord, she was such a drama queen.

“So you let out steam by screaming at people?”

“Don't be so naïve.” She glanced around as if someone might overhear. “I scream because that's how I get things done. Do you know how lazy people are these days? Besides, I'd lose my TV show if there wasn't drama. Sometimes you have to ramp things up to keep it interesting. Why do you think Bravo's got those housewives throwing tables and prosthetic legs? It's so the public keeps watching, and I need them to watch and believe.”

Did that mean Pete the Cameraman
was
filming for her stupid reality show? And that she'd reamed out Millie for the sake of ratings? Did she think blaming her rudeness on Nielsen numbers made her any less of a jerk?

“That doesn't make it okay,” I said, not feeling sorry for her in the least.

Maybe I imagined it, but I thought Olivia almost looked contrite, like perhaps there was actually a half-­decent human being hidden beneath all the makeup and shellacked pixie hair. Then the mask slipped back on, and her eyes turned hard as stone.

“Christ, you're still playing Joan of Arc, aren't you? Andy Kendricks, defender of strays!” she mocked. “At Hockaday, it was that scholarship girl, Molly, and now you're standing up for tired old pastry chefs who are past their prime. If I had anything to say about it, Millie would hang up her apron and retire.”

“Luckily, it's not up to you,” I told her.

“Isn't it?” she said with such arrogance that I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from cussing her out, which I knew wouldn't solve a danged thing.

It was sad, I thought, realizing some people never grew up. I had a theory that whoever people were in high school was who they were forever, at least at their core. Just because a body aged didn't mean a narrow mind opened or meanness morphed into kindness. I could envision Olivia bullying old ladies at the Shady Acres retirement center when she was ninety-­five. Maybe I wasn't the epitome of maturity, but I'd grown up enough to know that I was done being her victim. There had been so many times I wished I'd had the last word with Olivia La Belle; but at that moment I had nothing more to say.

“Lovely seeing you again,” I said, dripping sarcasm. It would be my pleasure if I didn't run into her for another dozen years, or ever again for that matter. “Excuse me,” I murmured and brushed past her, heading toward the hallway. I wasn't about to ask Olivia for directions to the loo. I'd find it on my own.

“You're going the wrong way! The wedding's outside,” she called after me. “But if you see a lost bridesmaid while you're wandering around, tell her I'm looking for her and I'm mighty pissed!”

I ignored her and kept walking.

I took more than a few deep breaths as I hurried along the hallway, stopping to open every closed door along my path, sure that one would be a guest bathroom. I stumbled upon what must have been Lester Dickens's den, as it had a massive desk and a wall filled with photographs of the oilman with various celebrities and presidents. I glimpsed a Black Suit patrolling outside the windows and he paused, looking in, so I made a beeline for the door.

A few more doors along the hallway revealed rooms filled with carefully staged Oriental rugs and gleaming antiques or closets stuffed with linens or cleaning equipment, like a house that wasn't actually lived in anymore.

Where in the world was the powder room? Surely Lester Dickens had to pee every now and then.

Farther up the hall, a patrolling Black Suit appeared out of nowhere, like he'd gotten wind that a wayward guest was bumbling around the house. He put a finger to his headpiece and started my way just as I opened a door and ducked inside.

A chandelier glowed above a massive four-­poster bed. Across from the bed was a fireplace with a sitting area. There was an open door to what had to be an en suite. Ah, I thought, relief was near!

Only as I headed toward it, a terrified-­looking young woman with a skunklike dye job and impossibly high heels raced out, screaming into a headset, “Olivia? Olivia, where are you? I've got an emergency here!”

“Olivia's in the kitchen,” I said, because that was where I'd left her. “The cake just arrived, and she's looking for a missing bridesmaid—­”

“Oh, please, you have to help,” she cried, cutting me off, and rushed toward where I stood in the doorway. “Penny's in serious trouble!”

Before I had a chance to speak, she grabbed my arm and dragged me in.

Chapter 3

“W
hoever you are, can you give me a hand?” the girl asked. Her heavily lined eyes looked frantic. “I can't do this by myself, and the bridesmaids are upstairs getting final touch-­ups on their hair and makeup.”

“Um, okay,” I said hesitantly, because I had no earthly idea what I was getting myself into, and I was afraid that if I didn't find a potty soon, I'd be in deep doo-­doo. “I'm Andy, by the way.”

“I'm Terra,” she told me. Her hand on my elbow, she pulled me through the room. “Olivia La Belle's assistant.”

“So what's wrong with Penny?” I asked, scurrying alongside her. A few things came instantly to mind. “Does she have morning sickness? Did she get cold feet?”

“I wish it was that simple!” Terra said and paused, out of breath. “I managed to lace her up in her corset—­which was a feat in itself—­and then wedged her into the hoop skirt. But when I got her into her gown she suddenly had to pee.”

There was a lot of that going around apparently.

When I didn't remark, Terra went on, “That's what happens when you're pregnant.” She nudged my arm and ushered me into a marble bath fit for a king. “You have to go a lot,” she added, tugging me toward what had to be the water closet, separated by a door from the rest of the bath.

My heart—­and bladder—­leapt at knowing there was a toilet within reach.

Terra released me to throw the door wide, and I stopped in my tracks.

“Oh, my,” I breathed, staring at the scene within.

“Help,” a disembodied voice said, sounding totally panicked. “I can't move. You've got to get me out of here!”

“Penny?” I said and glanced at Terra.

Terra nodded, biting her lip.

I couldn't even see the senator's daughter through the mountains of crinoline. Her gown and hoop skirt looked like an upended umbrella.

“She's stuck?” I asked, pretty much stating the obvious and thinking all the while that surely this couldn't be the only potty in the whole mansion. If so, it was no wonder the place had been sitting on the market for months. It was, like, eight thousand square feet, ten bedrooms, and one crapper.

“Olivia's going to kill me!” Terra said under her breath, and all the blood drained from her face, so that her frosty blue eye shadow and pink blush stood out like clown makeup. “Olivia told me to use a wastebasket and make Penny squat, but Penny wouldn't do it! Now I don't know how to get her out!”

I heard a noise that sounded like an old furnace wheezing. At first I thought it was Penny having a panic attack. Then I realized Olivia's assistant was hyperventilating. All I needed was for her to pass out on me.

“Deep breaths, Terra,” I told her very calmly. “This is doable.”

“It's doable,” she repeated and gulped in air. The color came back to her cheeks. “Okay, yeah, sure.”

“She walked in forward, right?” I asked, because that was the general rule of thumb. Before I'd dropped out of my debut, I'd made it through plenty of lessons on everything from how to do the Texas Dip—­the ultra-­deep curtsy that Dallas debs must execute—­to how to pee in a bathroom stall with your gown on, so I wasn't completely ill-­prepared for this emergency.

“For God's sake, yes, I'm on the john ass-­backward!” Penny barked less than delicately, having overheard the conversation.

“That is the standard procedure,” Terra replied with a nod, her skunk-­hair bobbing. At least the color had reappeared in her face like the blood was flowing again.

“Good,” I told her. That meant one of us could gather up as much of the gown and oversized petticoat as possible and the other could get a grip around Penny's waist and start hauling her out rear end first. There was just one more question I needed to ask before we got rolling. “Is she, um, done?”

“Yes, I'm done, although I might have to go again soon if you don't get me out of here!” Penny said shrilly from somewhere within the cloud of silk and crinoline. “So somebody
do
something!”

“Stand up slowly,” I advised her while Terra gathered up the yards of material so I could see what I was dealing with. “Terra's going to hold your gown overhead while I guide you out, okay?”

“Please, just hurry,” Penny said with her voice catching. “I can't be late for my own wedding. My mother will be madder than a hornet's nest.”

“Which isn't half as mad as Olivia will be when she hears about this,” Terra murmured as she edged past me, taking charge of corralling the exploding hooped petticoat, although it seemed to fight her every inch of the way.

“You'll be out in a flash,” I told Penny as she whimpered, and I meant it. I had a serious ulterior motive. I felt a twinge in my bladder, and I reminded myself of all the childhood road trips I'd taken with my father where I'd had to hold it for hundreds of miles. He'd never liked stopping until the car was nearly out of gas—­he had a thing about public restrooms—­and I wasn't about to use the coffee can with the plastic lid that he'd brought along “for emergencies.”

“Brace yourself. I'm coming in,” I said by way of warning. My Spanx threatened to cut off my circulation as I crouched, diving beneath the big skirt to blindly grab Penny around her belly. Well, more like her hip bones. I didn't want to hurt the baby when I yanked. “On the count of three, we're all taking a step backward.”

I paused but heard no protests. So I began to count.

“One, two, three,” I said and pulled at Penny while Terra wrestled the hoop skirt out of the tiny space.

I suddenly understood what it felt like to be the cork in a champagne bottle, jerked free and sailing through the air, as the rings on the hoop skirt popped out of the cramped space and the three of us stumbled backward, ending up in a pile of crinoline and silk and arms and limbs on the floor. I felt something snap around my middle and thought at first I'd pulled a muscle.

Penny burst into tears, and I worried that she'd been hurt.

“Don't cry,” Terra told her as she struggled through the layers of fabric. “You'll smear your makeup!”

But I was more concerned about what was inside Penny than what was painted on her face. “Do you need a doctor?” I asked, sure there was at least one—­or more likely a gaggle of them—­sitting outside on a Chiavari chair positioned over the center pool, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

“No, I don't need a doctor,” she said, sobs catching in her throat like hiccups. “But I think I broke a nail.”

Oh, boy. I rolled my eyes.

“We'll fix it!” Terra reassured her. “The manicurist is still upstairs with your bridesmaids. Well, the ones that are here,” Terra whispered as she extricated herself and set about tugging Penny up from where she'd landed on top of me. “We'll have Desiree repair that broken nail ASAP.”

By the time Terra had Penny upright and had straightened out her gown and everything underneath, I'd managed to sit up. I sucked in a deep breath, amazed at how easy it was to breathe again.

I saw Terra pluck something from her big bag, and then she pushed a bit of paper in my hand. It was her business card—­or rather, Olivia's—­but I saw Terra had her cell number written on the back of it. Maybe Olivia went through so many assistants that she never bothered to give them cards of their own.

“If I can ever repay you,” Terra said, “let me know, okay?”

“Sure,” I told her, figuring there was little chance of that. But I folded the card into a tiny sliver and tucked it in my bra for want of a better place to put it.

She smiled nervously. Then her face took on a horrified look. “No, no, of course I wasn't avoiding you,” she said, seemingly out of the blue. “I was busy with Penny. We, uh, had a situation.”

“Yeah, I know,” I told her, confused.

“Everything's fine, Olivia, I swear,” Terra went on, and I realized she was talking into her headset to my old buddy from Hockaday. “One of the guests helped me out,” she rattled on as she grabbed the big tote bag and led Penny out of the expansive bath. “A woman named Andy,” I could hear her saying in the distance, “Yes, she's still here, but I'm taking Penny upstairs for an emergency nail repair.”

And then the bedroom door slapped closed, and I was left blissfully alone.