Southern Poison (21 page)

Floyd did a laugh-snort. “Who the hell wants to drive around town in a hearse?”

“This is rad!”
Lindsey declared, when I picked her up from school in the hearse, which Spud had nicknamed the corpse caddy. Strange what a teenager perceives as cool. She fiddled with the XM radio, jumping from station to station as we drove to Daisy Obstetrics&Gynecology for her doctor’s appointment. Music thumped out of five rear speakers that were probably worth more than the thousand dollars I’d paid for the vehicle.

“So what do all your friends think about Derma-Zing,” I said, to keep her mind off the fact that she might be pregnant. We’d find out soon enough.

“Derma-Zing is amazing!” she said through a practiced smile. It was the tagline for all the advertisements. “Seriously, I’m having so much fun with it. Everybody at school thinks I’m this huge star, so making friends hasn’t been a problem at all. It’s like, I’m in demand or something. And designs are so popular now at school, the principal banned them.”

For some reason, other drivers always wanted to see who was
behind the wheel of the hearse. A nosy woman in a passing car stared hard at my tinted window, trying to see through it. Ignoring her, I glanced at Lindsey. “Why ban Derma-Zing?”

“You know. Some students will put a cuss word in their design, or a skull and crossbones, or they write their boyfriend’s name. The principal said it’s distracting, so now, if a teacher spots a design on you, you can get detention.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s no biggie. The ban actually made more girls want to buy Derma-Zing. We just put the designs where our clothes cover them up. Everybody who’s anybody uses it.”

I inched the volume down so I wouldn’t have to talk so loud. “Is it still available only through the Web site?”

“Nope,” she near-shouted, turning the volume back up when Feather Heavy’s brand-new song “Blown Away” came on. “Most sales are still over the Internet, but now Derma-Zing is in department stores. There’s a starter kit with three colors and a deluxe kit with seven colors. My picture is on the front of the starter kit box. How cool is that?”

“That’s pretty neat,” I said, wondering if the word “neat” was like, so
out.
“Are you getting paid extra for that?”

She shook her head. “One contract price for the initial marketing blitz. But Spud says that we’ll negotiate up for the next contract. He’s my agent.”

A sculptor and now an agent for a teenage model. Since barreling his way back into my life, my father never ceased to amaze me. I found a double pull-through parking space at the doctor’s office and inserted the corpse caddy, drawing more curious looks. A woman pulling out of the lot actually stopped to wait and see who would emerge from the hearse. I made it a point to wave at her. Lindsey made some sort of sign with her hand and I didn’t know if
it was friendly or insulting. My knowledge of street sign language is limited to the peace sign and the middle finger.

“you’re
not pregnant, Lindsey,” Dr. Pam Warner said, after she examined the girl and we’d been seated in the doctor’s office. Pam has been my doctor for years and is a personal friend. “I am concerned about the nausea, though, especially if it continues. We may want to run some tests, maybe take a look at your eggs and fallopian tubes, but for now we’ll wait and see how you feel in a week or two.”

“What do my eggs have to do with anything?”

“Well, it’s pretty interesting, really. A woman’s entire supply of ova, or eggs, is formed in the fetal stage of life. So you were born with all of your eggs already stored in your ovaries.”

Lindsey leaned forward. “Wow. They didn’t teach us that in health class, when we went over the reproductive system.”

Dr. Warner nodded. “It’s true. Maybe a million eggs or more, each resting in its own little sac. When your hormones kicked in during puberty, the ova began to mature. Then you ovulate—that’s when an egg is released and you have a menstrual cycle. An average woman may only use about four hundred of her ova and the rest are absorbed back into the body.”

“Yeah, I remember the part about ovulation,” Lindsey said. “One egg goes every month. So what’s going on with me? I started my period when I was twelve and I’ve never been late.”

“We’re not sure, but right now, I’d say it’s nothing to worry about. For some reason, you didn’t ovulate like you usually do. But it’s not that uncommon for a young girl to skip periods, especially athletes and people who are really physically active. Even stress can cause a missed menstrual cycle. Are you having any problems at home or at school, Lindsey?”

The girl shook her head. “I just moved here, but I love Wilmington, and it’s excellent to spend time with my dad. I got a modeling job for Derma-Zing and I’ve made a bunch of friends. Everything’s great.”

I nodded in agreement. “I’d have to say that Lindsey is a happy, really well-adjusted kid.” I asked what we needed to do about Lindsey’s symptoms.

“Nothing right now. As long as the nausea stops and she doesn’t have any other symptoms, we’ll just wait for her cycle to resume. If she goes longer than two or three months, we’ll do additional testing to see what’s going on.”

“I feel pretty good,” Lindsey said. “I mean, my stomach is still a little queasy, but it’s not as bad as it was.”

Pam Warner spent another ten minutes talking to us. Noticing a photograph of two girls on the desk, Lindsey asked the doctor if she wanted a Derma-Zing kit for her daughters. She pulled an unopened kit from her handbag, explaining that she got them for free.

“Lord, yes, I’ll take one,” Dr. Warner said. “My girls have gone crazy over this stuff. You’ve just saved me twenty dollars.”

Lindsey showed off her television smile. “Eighteen ninety-nine for the deluxe kit, plus tax, of course.”

Pam thanked Lindsey and we thanked the doctor. Outside, we climbed into the corpse caddy and, heading to the grocery store, drew more stares.

“You’ll get used to it, Jerz,” Lindsey said. “Pretend you’re a celebrity in a stretch limo. It’s fun.”

Yeah, right. I’d have rather been driving the Volvo station wagon. And I still wasn’t convinced that the casket carrier hadn’t toted dead people before the money launderers bought it. Or maybe after. Yuck.

Angry that my
cell phone had been turned off, Ashton explained that causing his agents to lose track of me had endangered my safety. I’m not sure that a stringy kid with an iPod stuck in his ear would have been able to do anything but watch as
Incognito
blew up with me on board, but in any event, I claimed that the powered-off cell phone was a simple oversight. Ashton still refused to believe the man Ox wrestled with in the water was John, but then I had seen the diver with my own eyes.

Media continued to swarm around the site of the container ship explosion and speculation ran thick, but at the Block, things had returned to normal. At least as normal as they could be with Spud—the resident artist—repeatedly trying to confiscate a commercial blender and Lindsey—the resident celebrity—signing autographs for customers. And, of course, John Mason, who was still on the loose. Security measures at the bar were quietly upped and Ashton assured me that neither John nor any other suspect would be able to
get within half a mile of the historic building. I asked what other suspects Ashton was referring to but he had no answer.

It was another beautiful but sticky-hot day, the kind that would draw lunch orders of cold salads, sandwiches, and iced-down drinks. Lindsey and Ox were meeting with Holloman and his advertising agency rep at the Block and I’d been invited to join them, along with Spud, who was decked out in his “agent” gear: fedora hat made of straw with a white feather stuck in the band, unlit cigar, diamond pinky ring, and his fancy redwood walking cane with a giant sperm whale tooth for the handle. That was in addition to the plaid shorts, penny loafers, and black knee-high socks. Geriatric pimp was the occupation that came to mind when I saw the getup, but Lindsey didn’t seem to notice her agent’s unusual attire.

“Before we get into the new contract negotiation,” Holloman said, “I want to thank you, Jersey, for your great idea about marketing Derma-Zing to college coeds. We’re in the process of obtaining licensing rights for the top fifty universities with athletic programs and we’ll have Derma-Zing kits on the shelves of college bookstores within weeks. Each will have three tubes—the school’s colors—and stencils of their mascot and logo.”

“I’m surprised your company moved so quickly, but that’s great. I hope it sells well for you.”

His eyes gleamed. “Oh, I’m certain that it will. And it was all your idea. Simply brilliant.”

Lindsey finished applying a smiley face to the back of her hand. “Will I get to model for the colleges, too?”

“Well, that’s one thing we addressed in your new contract. We’ll add a few new faces to the new Derma-Zing products, but we still want to use you to target the high school girls. And we’d like to do one shoot of you with the college girls, too.”

“That’s super,” she said, adding a few sun flare marks to her design, turning the smiley face into a sunburst.

“No it ain’t super, for crying out loud,” Spud said, tapping the cane’s giant tooth on the tabletop. “Have you read this contract, doodlebug?”

“How could I have read it?” she said. “We just got it and you’ve had it the whole time.”

Holloman drank some black coffee. “What’s the problem?”

“Cleavage is the problem, for crying out loud. You’re not going to plaster her cleavage all over for the world to see. It says right here that clothing for the shoot will include bikini bathing suits with push-up tops, miniskirts, and tank tops. What’s that about? I’ve seen those Victoria’s Secret ads with the push-up things.”

The ad agency gal jumped in. “That’s standard attire for this type of ad campaign, but let me assure you that there will be no vulgarity or nudity.”

“Damn right there won’t,” Spud said. “She’s not going to be prancing around in a bikini.”

My mouth twisted with amusement at the irony of Spud acting like a protective grandfather over someone who wasn’t even a blood relative. He’d never been protective over me, but then how could he? He wasn’t there to make me change an outfit before going out, or scare a boy into bringing me home on time after a movie date.

“Well,” the woman explained, “to reach the college market, we have to spruce things up a bit. Take it to the next level. Coeds out having fun, partying, showing off their Derma-Zing designs.”

“Like those wild girls you see on late-night TV? They can’t keep their tops on.”

“No, no, nothing like that,” the ad agency woman said. “If it will make you feel better, you can modify the wording on that part of the contract. Limit the girl’s skin exposure. No cleavage. No bare navel shots.”

Spud gave Lindsey the once-over. “Ain’t nobody going to be drooling over doodlebug’s body.”

“Hello, people?” Lindsey said. “I’m sitting right here. And I think I should make the decision about what to show or not to show. Right, Dad?”

“No swimsuits, no low-cut tops, no short shorts or miniskirts,” Ox said. “And no missing school to travel. They either do the photo and video shoots in Wilmington, like before, or we don’t do them at all.”

Lindsey rolled her eyes and Spud started crossing out lines on the contract.

Holloman’s arms shot out to his sides. “We’re happy to shoot here again. The town of Wilmington is surprisingly accommodating. And, we’re not going to degrade our models, Mr. Oxendine. Trust me. We don’t have to. This product sells itself. We’re filling so many orders that we can barely keep up with demand. My company manufactures Derma-Zing, but the plant I contract with to package and distribute the product had to hire additional staff.”

“If a business grows too fast, won’t that cause problems?” Lindsey said. “I took a business class last year, an honors class.”

Holloman shook his head. “No, it’s perfect! My goal is to expose as many teenagers to Derma-Zing as possible, and sales have already exceeded my expectations. But now, I want to take the advertising to the next level, while the product is hot. We’re even looking into Europe and Japan. In trial markets, the Japanese girls have gone nuts over Derma-Zing. They love western fads. Even do their cute little designs using a string of American words that don’t make sense.”

He continued on his rant for several minutes while his ad agency gal took notes and Spud finished amending Lindsey’s contract. Holloman’s enthusiasm bordered on maniacal, especially for someone who was president and owner of a large corporation. And to top that off, Cracker didn’t much like him and the dog has excellent instincts. I met Ox’s eyes over the table and could tell he thought the exact same thing about Holloman. It would be easy enough to sever ties with the man and let him find a new high school spokesperson.
But Lindsey had kept her grades up as promised, and her first paycheck had cleared with no problems. It was excellent money for a sixteen-year-old to earn, and Holloman appeared to be a legitimate businessman. Still, something seemed off.

The six of us met for another hour, going over the revised contract and discussing exactly what Lindsey’s responsibilities would be. When everything was settled and Ox had signed the contract, Holloman returned to his normal, more relaxed self and asked if he could buy everyone a drink.

“Not for me,” Spud said. “I’ve gotta get to my studio to finish
Nature’s Wrath
so the magazine can get their pictures. That’s the name of my new sculpture. And speaking of the arts magazine, the lady wants to interview you, Lindsey. I told her about you and Derma-Zing, and how it’s really nothing but artwork, with kids using their bodies as the canvas. So the magazine wants to do a story on it.”

“Exactly!” Holloman said, revving up again, his eyes looking a bit crazed. “Derma-Zing isn’t just a product, it’s a
movement.
An artistic statement. Great work, Spud. I’ll let my secretary know to expect a call from the magazine. Perfect. Perfect.”

I wondered if perhaps Holloman was bipolar. His demeanor had flip-flopped between polished professional and hopped-up Derma-Zing fanatic.