by Tonya Hurley
How could Damen allow that, Scarlet wondered. Unless … he was with her. Immediately Scarlet’s heart sank to her stomach. She would rather have faced her lifeless body than face the fact that Damen, who said he wouldn’t leave her side under any conditions, might be with Petula.
As Damen raced to Hawthorne High, Petula swung from one side to the other like a broken pendulum, her mouth slightly agape, with each sharp turn of the steering wheel. This wasn’t the first time she’d been in that condition in his car, Damen recalled, but this was definitely different. He looked over at her, bouncing aimlessly like a crash test dummy, and realized he hadn’t been that close to her in a very long time, nor had he wanted to be. Though Petula was in the seat next to him, it was Scarlet he had on his mind.
Damen had texted ahead to the football coach and word was spreading like impetigo that he was on his way — with Petula. Kids began drawing up oversized signs and messages of support. petula’s toe-tally cool and she has risen banners were painted on bed sheets and hung from the bleachers. The emcee began rewriting his coronation speech, and cheerleaders retooled their Petula chants abandoned after she took ill.
“Whether she’s alive or not, Petula Kensington is so damn hot!” was quickly replaced by a new one, “O-M-G-W-T-F,” they spelled aloud, cheering: “Petula’s toe is all healed up!” which rang from the stands so loudly Damen could almost hear it as they drove up to the school.
Most everybody was thrilled to hear the news, except for returning alumni Petula-haters and the other would-be Homecoming queens who had been grasping for votes all year as well. With Petula out of the contest, it was anybody’s game. Her return, however, would mean certain defeat for the other girls, especially given all the bonus sympathy she’d receive for overcoming death and everything.
As Damen and Petula arrived, the gate to the school parking lot opened, just as it always had for Hawthorne’s First Couple. Damen rolled by the checkpoint and gave the guard the thumbs-up.
“Long time,” the old acquaintance said fondly to Damen. “Glad to see you’re back.”
“Good to be back,” Damen said, flashing a big smile and heading onward.
It wasn’t really, but this was just the littlest of the frauds Damen was perpetrating at that moment. He would have said anything to keep Petula from attracting attention. Lucky for him she was generally so rude to people they knew better than to greet her or look her in the eye for that matter. He never thought he would ever appreciate her condescending nature as much as he did now.
Damen pulled into a reserved space at the head of the red carpet. The less walking, the better. He got out and waved at the crowd of photographers anxiously awaiting his arrival. He stepped around his car, obscuring their view of Petula as much as possible, and gently lifted her out, making sure that her head was leaning against his shoulder for support. He turned, holding Petula in his arms like a bride about to be carried over the threshold, and stood for a few seconds as flashes popped around him and the bystanders roared their approval.
“Can you believe this?” Maddy said, rubbing all the adoration for the Petula-and-Damen display in Charlotte’s nose. “How cool to be them?”
“Yeah,” Charlotte agreed. “Cool.”
Petula’s huge toothy grin and bug eyes were a very uncharacteristic show of emotion, the photo hounds commented, but then this was a very special day for her. A very special reunion, not just with Damen but with her status at Hawthorne as well. Damen, on the other hand, was hoping for a reunion of his own.
“Remember,” Damen muttered to himself, realizing these pictures would be incriminating if he was successful in bringing Scarlet back. “It’s all for you.”
“Did you hear that?” Maddy nudged, misinterpreting Damen’s intentions yet again. “He’s totally ditching your friend for her comatose sister.”
Charlotte looked dumbfounded. This was really happening. Damen and Petula back together again, hogging the limelight, soaking up the praise, just like always, and Charlotte, she was sidelined, totally invisible, just like always.
Everyone was shouting questions and Damen could barely think. He was hoping this first big blast of admiration would start to bring her around, but she didn’t move a muscle. One thing he was sure of was that he could not stick around here. He had to keep moving.
“No interviews, please,” Damen yelled as he bolted down the carpet into the secure area where the Homecoming parade floats were tanked.
The office was feeling colder than a meat locker now, and Petula reached her arm around Virginia’s small shoulder, pulling her in close to her body. Such an unselfish act was so alien to Petula that she wasn’t even sure how hard to squeeze. Virginia made it a moot point as she nestled comfortably into Petula’s electrolysized armpit, looked up at her, and smiled. The girl was much less afraid all of a sudden.
“You look sad,” Virginia said.
“I just want to go to Homecoming so badly. This is my year.”
“How do you know?” the girl asked sarcastically, flashing her beauty queen savvy and quick wit once again. “Did someone do the judge?”
Petula didn’t answer but squeezed her as tightly as she could, affectionately, prompting the little girl to giggle for the first time since she got there.
Chapter
20
Divine Comedy
This world is a comedy to those that think,
and a tragedy to those that feel.
—Horace Walpole, Fourth Earl of Oxford
Better she than me.
They say comedy is tragedy happening to someone else. We try to find the funny in the misfortune of others mostly as a defense mechanism, but there is a limit. Death is no laughing matter. With everything she’d ever wanted and had so reluctantly given up being paraded right in front of her again, Charlotte began to feel like everything was one big cosmic joke—on her.
The Wendys tiptoed down the hospital corridor looking for the fastest, least obvious, exit. Traipsing around in their tight suits and heels was not exactly the most unobstrusive means of transport, but they had no options. They needed to get out of the hospital and to the high school pronto, so hiding in plain sight seemed a wise strategy.
“Damen is going to be so pissed,” Wendy Thomas whispered.
“So what? I’m not missing Homecoming for him.”
“Yeah, he didn’t think twice about leaving the Living Dead Doll all alone back there anyway.”
Just then, the grief-stricken young couple Damen had seen earlier spilled out of another room down the hall, the mother clutching a beautiful ribbon, which fell to the floor unnoticed in her distress. As the woman wept convulsively, hugging her husband and hanging on to him for support, the desk nurse pointed them toward the chapel.
“We are praying for her,” the head nurse said, offering whatever comfort she could. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too,” Wendy Anderson said sympathetically as she eavesdropped.
“How sweet,” Wendy Thomas added with uncharacteristic sincerity.
The girls, done congratulating themselves for the momentary show of compassion, returned to more pressing matters.
“The ribbon,” Wendy Anderson observed enviously. “It shouldn’t be on the floor like that.”
“No, it shouldn’t,” Wendy Thomas agreed.
“It’ll go perfectly with my outfit” Wendy Anderson continued. “That blue will really make my eyes pop.”
The Wendys eyed the ribbon, gave it some thought, and decided it would be difficult to steal. A triage room at Hawthorne Hospital was not, after all, the change stalls at Blooming-dale’s. But, as the distraught couple slowly made their way down the hall toward the chapel, the Wendys made their move.
“One girl’s trash,” Wendy Anderson began.
“Is another’s vintage accessory,” Wendy Thomas concluded, hooking the prize with her pointed-toed shoe and tossing it in the air toward Wendy Anderson’s expert grasp, honed at many a downtown sample sale.
The Homecoming candidates were beginning to take their places in their floats as mothers from Hawthorne’s alumni and their young daughters stood behind barricades to hopefully get pictures of their budding queens with a member of the royal court. The “floats” were actually cars decked out in papier mâché sculptures, dyed toilet paper streamers, and cardboard, but the Hawthorne student body and returning alums had no trouble suspending disbelief. It was their very own Tournament of Roses parade, even if less imaginative eyes saw only a ridiculous kind of trailer park soapbox derby come to life.
The “techer” candidate, a hair technology major, made over her Pinto in the shape of a hair dryer. It was a given every year that all the “techers” would rally behind one of their own, despite the odds, and try to vote her into the Homecoming court. They were used to coming in last, so just being there was an annual triumph for them.
Then there was the skanky candidate whose float was better suited to a window display at the local Victoria’s Secret. To no one’s surprise, her date was Josh Valence. He and his alma mater were despised at Hawthorne, which didn’t matter a bit to him. He was always willing to grandstand in front of a crowd, even one that hated him.
Damen glared nastily over at the couple, especially Josh. This whole thing with Petula was really his fault. Who dumps a sick girl on her driveway and takes off, Damen thought. Petula was rarely deserving of any sympathy, but Josh made her seem like Mother Teresa.
The Wendys had no floats, just sleek matching candy-apple red, open-top sports cars, which sat vacant for the moment. They were surprisingly tasteful, but the vehicles were so much the same, you could only surmise they were intentionally planning to split the vote, thus guaranteeing Petula the top spot in the final tally anyway.
Petula opted for the subdued approach as well, except for the blazing pink color of her Corvette. She never wanted to be overshadowed by anything or anyone, even her own parade float, and the shade of the car paint had been meticulously coordinated with her dress.
Damen lifted Petula onto the backseat of the convertible and sat up next to her, smiling for the crowd, supporting her like a ventriloquist with his dummy. He gripped her elbow and lifted it, waving her arm back and forth. He began to sweat a little as real fear began to seep through the phony grin he had plastered on his face.
What if Petula actually died on the field? He would be responsible and would probably be charged with kidnapping and murder. Second-degree at least. Open and shut. The Wendys could certainly be counted on to cut a deal and testify against him, although, he thought, they would probably have enjoyed being called “accessories” in the newspaper. He would lose everything — his freedom, his future, and most importantly, Scarlet.
He imagined being featured on one of those Dateline specials where they profile criminals, prompting viewers to ask their television sets — What kind of person would do a thing like that? Despite the bout of self-recrimination, there was no turning back now. He signaled to his driver that they were ready, and the procession began. Petula’s car was last in the lineup.
Charlotte and Maddy jumped in the backseat and looked up at the couple.
“Why don’t you hop up there with them?” Maddy suggested. “Look at all these people.”
Charlotte had never seen Maddy so giddy, which was surprising since she didn’t find Maddy to be much of a people person or the sentimental type who would get off on a Homecoming parade.
“That might be fun,” Charlotte said, trying in vain to hide her eagerness. Sitting on top of the backseat with them, it was a whole new experience. The screams from the crowd, the souped-up engines roaring, horns beeping, the music blaring was all so much louder, so much more vivid. It was thrilling.
Damen proceeded to wave Petula’s arm in that generic kind of crowd-pleasing way and pasted a big perma-smile on his face. As the cars circled, Charlotte was overwhelmed by the cheers and accolades thrust from the bleachers. She didn’t need to imagine what it would be like to be in that car, next to Damen. She was there. Now.
Charlotte could barely hear the voice of her own conscience any longer. The only voice that seemed to break through the crowd noise was Maddy’s.
“It’s so amazing what he’s doing for her. He must really love her.”
“He did once,” Charlotte affirmed. “But I thought that was over.”
“You can put a stop to this, Charlotte. You can bring Petula and yourself back.”
Each girl was announced over the loudspeaker to polite applause as their car approached the stands, but the crowd erupted as Petula’s car came around the front of the bleachers. Charlotte bathed in the spotlight as Petula was introduced, her mini-bio — one Petula had clearly written herself especially for the occasion — read over the PA system:
PETULA KENSINGTON IS A RETURNING SENIOR AT HAWTHORNE HIGH.
LIKES: CHIHUAHUAS, BRAZILIAN WAXES, AND VEGGIE BUR-GERS ON FIFTEEN-GRAIN LOW-CARB BREAD.
DISLIKES: NEGATIVITY AND THE COLORS BROWN AND BLACK, ESPECIALLY WHEN WORN TOGETHER.
SHE IS THE ACTING CAPTAIN OF THE CHEERLEADING SQUAD, WHICH UNDER HER LEADERSHIP WON THE PRESTIGIOUS TRI-STATE SPIRIT AWARD. SHE HAS ALSO COMPLETED A FULL YEAR OF COMMUNITY service WITH GRACE AND DIGNITY, ROLLING UP HER THREE-QUARTER SLEEVES AND HELPING HER FELLOW MAN BY SERVING COFFEE AND BUSING TABLES. SHE CHANGED THE WAY VOLUNTEERS ARE REGARDED, STAMPING OUT PREJUDICE ONE CUP AT A TIME. ADDITIONALLY, SHE HAS LOBBIED THE LOCAL CORRECTIONS DEPARTMENT FOR MORE FASHIONABLE PRISON WEAR, COMMUNITY service ATTIRE, AND ACCESSORIES. MS. KENSINGTON PLANS ON USING THE CROWN AND HER TITLE TO RESTORE HOPE TO THE COMMUNITY AS WELL AS TO LAUNCH HER OWN CLOTHING LINE AND, IF THAT IS SUCCESSFUL, DOLLS IN HER LIKENESS.
All of Petula’s adoring fans were yelling at fever pitch, drowning out the techer and skank contingents as expected, and Charlotte was finding it just as hard to control herself. This was the kind of moment that Petula lived for, planned for. The kind of moment so powerful, so insanely ego-gratifying, that it could drag a dying girl back from the edge of the abyss, and hopefully, Damen was betting, bring her sister back with her.
“It’s now or never,” Damen yelled in Petula’s ear, loudly enough for both Maddy and Charlotte to hear.
Everything Charlotte had ever wanted was literally within her reach. Charlotte’s eyes met Maddy’s and she saw a gleam, a glee, and a scary delight in them that she’d never seen before.
“This is your time, Charlotte,” Maddy pushed even more forcefully. “You heard him, it’s now or never.”
Charlotte looked over at Damen and Petula and back to Maddy, hopelessly confused.
“But what about Scarlet?” Charlotte asked weakly.
“You’ll be doing them all a favor,” Maddy went on. “Do it. Now!”
The applause, the cheers, the revving car motors, the lights, the signs all seemed to agree with Maddy. The crowd wanted Petula back, Scarlet wanted Petula back, and from the looks of things, even Damen wanted Petula back. And she was the only one who could make it happen.
She reached slowly for Petula and placed her hand near her heart.
“Charlotte,” a desperate voice called out from across the field.
“Scarlet!” Charlotte yelled back, shocked by the sight of her friend rushing toward her.
Charlotte wasn’t sure if Scarlet was upset with her or Damen at first, but the closer she got, with Pam and Prue at her side, the clearer it became.
“What are you doing?” she screamed.
The horror on Scarlet’s face and the disappointment on Prue’s and Pam’s faces were almost too much to bear. Charlotte was speechless. Maddy, unflustered by the gang approaching, jumped to Charlotte’s defense.
“Maybe you should be minding your own business a little more,” Maddy warned, pointing to Damen’s hand around Petula’s waist.
Scarlet did glance up and was none too thrilled to see Damen so close to Petula.
“This … is not what it looks like,” Charlotte stammered. “I’m not a body whore.”
“That’s right,” Prue jumped in, explaining to Scarlet. “Charlotte’s not.”
“She is,” Pam turned and pointed accusingly at Maddy.
Maddy just smiled as the other girls glowered at her. Charlotte said nothing.
“Good luck proving that one,” Maddy laughed. “I wasn’t the one sitting up there, landsharking Petula to get Damen.”
“But you told me to,” Charlotte said to Maddy. “I was only going to do it to help… .”
Charlotte sounded unconvincing to the crew around her because she wasn’t sure herself what her motives really were anymore.
“I just wanted to do the right thing,” Charlotte babbled.
“For who?” Scarlet chided. “Me or you?”
“She didn’t come knocking on your door,” Maddy said, playing both sides.
“Don’t give me that,” Scarlet countered, scanning the field. “She wanted all … this.”
“Not so fast,” Pam interrupted. “Maddy’s been plotting this all along.”
“Bull,” Maddy argued defensively. “Charlotte’s a big girl. Don’t blame me for her decisions.”
But Pam wasn’t just speculating. She motioned to Prue that it was time to say what they knew.
“I got a call,” Prue said snidely to Maddy, “from an acquaintance of yours right after Charlotte called in sick.”
Charlotte shrugged her shoulders a little, silently acknowledging the ridiculousness of a dead girl using a sick day.
“The call was from an up-and-coming young starlet almost suicidal from guilt,” Pam picked up, “because her friend, ‘Matilda,’ died mysteriously while they were both competing for a break-out role.”
“Apparently, Maddy, as she was called, was a forgotten former child star living in Las Vegas … ,” Prue continued.