She squeezed into one of Julia’s spandex one-size-fits-all outfits—a skimpy off-the shoulder leopard print dress. And the absolute worst? They made her wear really tall heels. Everyone who ever met Annie knew she was petrified of tall heels.
Annie caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror in the hallway on the way to the ballroom. “I look like Tarzan’s girlfriend, Jane.”
“You’re welcome,” Julia said.
“I totally appreciate all your efforts, but you know I can’t walk in heels.” Annie wobbled, her arms extended out to her sides for support, as she pushed off the hallway’s walls.
“Own the heels, work the attitude and be the totally cool contest judge that we know you can be.” Julia grabbed Annie and smooched her on the cheek. “Kill them, babe.”
Grady smooched Annie on her other cheek. “I’m writing all this down you know.”
“Change my name this time,” Annie said.
“I changed it last time.”
“You called my semi-fictitious character Fannie Laceland. Everyone with half a brain figured it out.”
“Considering that spec script went nowhere, I think you’re still off Hollywood’s radar.”
Annie teetered toward the conference table where the other contest judges were already seated. She spotted Stephanie on the sidelines, picture perfect and posing in front of Olaf’s rolling camera. They were the only video camera crew in attendance. In L.A. this place would have been infested with news crews.
She couldn’t wait to meet her fellow judges. They were probably Nicole Scherzinger or J-Lo types. Gorgeous, hip, cool. She felt lucky to be included in their company. She took her seat at the conference table. Phew. She’d arrived. She hadn’t fallen. And she didn’t feel any bugs crawling in her enormous hair. Disaster averted.
An older woman sat next to Annie. She had silver hair, looked like someone’s beloved Nana and smelled like overly sweet roses that had been dipped in lilac water. Annie’s nose crinkled. The woman placed her paper-thin skinned hand on Annie’s arm.
Annie felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. She flashed to the ancient grandmother character in Titanic and felt a sense of dread.
“Welcome home, Annie Graceland,” the older woman said. “Frankly, I never expected to see you again, unless it was on an episode of TMZ or Primetime Live. But here you are. Congratulations, you proved me wrong.”
“Mrs. McGillicuddy?” Oh frick, Annie thought. Mrs. McGillicuddy was her English teacher sophomore year in high school. In high school, Annie had an aversion to the classics. She despised reading Dickens. The Iliad was like taking a sleeping pill. She loved Ann Rice, Sidney Sheldon, Louisa May Alcott and Cosmo. But every book report that she wrote about commercial fiction, Mrs. McGillicuddy would always give her a grade of C minus, tops. It was a miracle she passed that class. “It’s lovely to see you here.” She offered her other hand to greet her former teacher.
Who ignored it and pursed her lips. “I’ll be evaluating your entire contest performance and will submit your final grades to Hot Guys Nationwide Pageants. Anything under a B plus, and you’ll never get another sweet gig like this again.”
Annie shook her head. This grading thing was a surprise. “Uh—okay?”
“Tonight I give your outfit a D, but at least you weren’t completely tardy. You get a C for that.” Mrs. McGillicuddy filled in forms attached to a clipboard.
“What do you mean a C? I’m here. I’m on time. Surely that’s worthy of an A?”
“You were supposed to show at least fifteen minutes ahead of time. Did you not read your pageant judge’s manual and itinerary?”
“That was in my suitcase which is currently lost,” Annie said.
Mrs. McGillicuddy leaned in and checked her piece of paper again. “I’m giving you a C on preparation skills.”
Great, Annie thought. Mrs. McGillicuddy still hated her. She’d figure out her former teacher’s weird grading thing later. Now, what to say to make nice? “Awesome to reconnect with you, Mrs. McGillicuddy. Can I Facebook you?”
Mrs. McGillicuddy sniffed and looked away.
Another woman sat to Annie’s right. She looked a little older than Annie but a lot harder. She smelled like store-bought generic brand fruit jam that had exceeded its shelf life. She futzed with her short, bleach blond, overly processed hair with her fake acrylic, French manicured nails.
“Hi,” Annie stuck out her hand. “I’m Annie Graceland—”
The woman shook her hand and smiled sweetly. Then she sunk her razor sharp talons into Annie’s palm. “I know exactly who you are,” she hissed. “Don't think for one tiny second that you will steal my thunder.”
Annie winced and tried to pull her hand away. “I’m not a big fan of thunder. We don’t get a lot of thunder in Los Angeles. But on the rare occasion it happens, my cat totally freaks,” she said. “And then we go and hide in a dark corner together. I promise. I will not borrow, let alone steal, your thunder.” But the woman did not release her death grip. “Um, who are you?” Annie asked.
The woman’s face didn’t crack a millimeter. Not one wrinkle. Only the side of her upper lip turned up. “Like you don’t know.”
Annie racked her brain but could only wonder if the woman had drawn blood yet. “Sorry. I don’t.”
“You’re not the only baker from Oconomowoc. We went to high school together. I’m Suzy Mae DeLovely. Of the Delovely Bakeries and Coffee Parlors.”
“Oh, wow,” Annie said. “You were a couple grades ahead of me. You were an amazing baton twirler. And your family owns a Midwest baking institution. You’re an empress with an empire. You’re….” Annie fought for nice words. But as Suzy Mae’s acrylics poked painfully into her palm, all she could think was, ‘You’re a dragon lady who suffers from Queen Bee Syndrome. For God’s sake, go to a therapist or get laid – immediately. Or even better—both!’
But Annie sucked it up. “You are lovely indeed, Suzy Mae.”
Suzy released her death grip. “As long as we know who’s in charge here. I’m Simon. You’re not Paula. You’re not even Nicole.”
“Yes, Suzy.” Annie checked her palm and spotted four deep square indentations.
Sitting at the far end of the table was a man with a full head of orangey-brown hair with a touch of salt at his temples. She could only make out his profile. He smiled a lot and waved to many people. It seemed he was the last of her fellow judges. She prayed he was on the positive scale of normal and didn’t hate her for something that she totally didn’t realize or remember.
The ballroom’s lights flashed on and finally someone she recognized in a heartbeat stepped up to the mic at the podium.
Five
Hot Stuff
Detective Jamie Ryan, handsome in his police department dress uniform (not that Annie even remotely registered that) picked up the mic to thunderous applause.
“Yo, Oconomowoc,” he said.
The crowd cheered. Jamie smiled and the flashes from the cameras caught the blue in his eyes and made them sparkle. “People that aren’t from our fair city think Oconomowoc is kind of a third cousin to bigger and more exotic Wisconsin towns. I beg to differ. Yes, Madison has an awesome Big Ten college. Spring Green boasts the architectural genius Frank Lloyd Wright and the famous House on the Rock.”
“But we have Lac LaBelle, one of the most beautiful lakes I’ve ever seen. Oconomowoc has fishing, boating, hunting, and amazing winter sports. We have five-star restaurants and a band shell with free concerts. Our high school has The Rudy Timmel Music Scholarship Fund, a scholarship for kids who want to become musicians.”
“I went to Rudy Timmel’s music camp! It was awesome!” Annie blurted.
Jamie nodded at Annie and cracked a smile. “An endorsement from one of the Hot Guys judges. Nice! Like a lot of you, I grew up here. I’m used to all the Wisconsin quirks that we are known for and sometimes made fun of. Being called a Cheesehead, hunting, Packer football, boating, tobogganing, baseball, sports, music, parades, par
ties, lakes, rivers. I cop to it all, no pun intended, because growing up here was paradise.”
The crowd applauded.
“When I heard Wisconsin was sponsoring a contest where all the monies went to charity—and I mean all—I rallied Friends of Oconomowoc to pull it together, fill out and send in the scads of paperwork and make this contest happen here, in my home town.”
A few people whistled.
“Now we have deserving charities, great contestants, awesome judges—” Jamie looked at Annie and winked, “—and some fun activities for the July fourth weekend.” He paused and regarded the crowd a little sternly. “Most of you already know that I’m a police detective.”
There were a few catcalls and several boos from the audience.
Annie watched Jamie as he took it in stride.
“I advise you not to drink and drive or drink and boat,” Jamie said. “Play it cool this holiday weekend and we’ll all have fun. On that note—let the festivities begin!”
The crowd in the ballroom whooped, hollered and clapped. Annie had no idea what to expect. So when the clapping grew louder, she slapped her hands together and went along with it.
Donna Summer’s classic disco song “Hot Stuff” blared from the loudspeakers. Multi-colored ground-level twinkly lights and overhead flashing beams lit a raised runway. It was fashioned to figure eight through the Lodge’s auditorium. The fifty men voted into Wisconsin’s first annual Hot Guys Contest strutted down the runway through the audience, just hands distance away from their adoring fans.
They were decked in their finest fitting suits. Their ties were custom made and had the names of their hometowns on them. They waved. They winked. Some, more savvy than the rest, worked the crowd, extending their arms to high five or shake hands with audience members. They walked across the stage in front of the judges.
The Hot Guys were just feet from Annie. She was inundated by sharp cheekbones, dimpled chins, heads filled with beautiful hair and shimmering bald-heads. Mesmerized by thin men, medium men, big men and muscular men. White men, brown men, black men, yellow men. Blue eyes, black eyes, hazel eyes and brown eyes.
One incredibly Hot Guy was in a wheel chair. Each contestant smelled different. One was like Old Spice, another Versace, a third firewood, a fourth summertime grass after a hard rain. This was the most sensory experience since the first time she went to second base under the bleachers with Scott Puddleman when she was sixteen after the semi-final football playoffs with Wauwatosa High School.
Mr. Oconomowoc stared at her as he walked past. A shiver went down Annie’s spine. He was gorgeous, over six feet tall and his finely cut suit could not conceal his muscular physique. He had wavy black hair and brown eyes so yummy a girl could get lost in them. She remembered his name—Frank Plank. Another kid she babysat when she was in high school.
A wolf whistle pierced the air. Annie looked at the audience and spotted a gorgeous, young, scantily clad brunette with a killer body blowing air-kisses at Mr. Oconomowoc. At least Annie thought she was blowing air kisses.
The Hot Guys circled back on the runway, past their adoring, cheering, screaming audience. They waved at their fans and disappeared back stage.
The spotlight shone again on Jamie. “See you all back tomorrow at eleven a.m. sharp at the picnic area for the Hot Guys Brunch and the announcement of the top ten finalists.”
The crowd screamed.
“Have fun. But be careful out there!” Jamie turned off the mic and exited the stage.
Mrs. McGillicuddy hunched over the table, eyeballed Annie, covered her scorecard with her arm and scribbled on the paper.
“Do we vote now?” Annie asked Mrs. McGillicuddy.
“Don’t be ridiculous. The top ten have already been picked by the contest’s organizers. We’re just here to contribute to the finals,” she said. “I can’t believe you didn’t read your judge’s itinerary.”
Frank Plank carefully hung his suit and “Mr. Oconomowoc” tie in the closet. He was relieved to be home, in his converted lakeside boathouse on his family’s property. He pulled on his favorite athletic sweats and faded short-sleeved T-shirt. Picked up the dumbbells from the floor mat and faced his workout bench.
The opening ceremonies for the contest tonight were a little crazy, but Frank knew he had to be consistent with his workouts or he wouldn’t be hot for very long.
When his grandpa, Hank Plank, passed away, his mom and dad sold the boats and converted the boathouse to a library and a billiard room. But his dad, Heck Plank, ignored it. He spent all his time watching sports on his big screen TV, playing online blackjack and taking his mom to Vegas.
After years of spiders crawling over the books and the pool table drowning in clutter, Frank moved back to Oconomowoc from college, cleaned the place out and installed a small but serious gym. Frank was born muscular, had always been admired for his looks and wasn’t about to let his body go to pot just ’cause he’d hit the ripe old age of thirty.
He knew he had lucky lot in life. Some day he would inherit the family business: Plank’s Franks and Sausages. Meanwhile, he ran the company and worked hard to uphold its spotless reputation. His passions lay elsewhere, which made him a little sad, but he was okay with that.
Frank would have loved to work for the Peace Corps, an orphanage or a deserving charity. But his folks needed him. He sponsored a monthly “Plank’s Billiards Blast” at his converted boathouse. All proceeds went to the winner’s favorite charity. His events became the place to see and be seen. Soon, folks who wanted invites besieged Frank and he became even more popular.
His friends, especially Jamie, who had recently been promoted to detective at the police department, nagged him to enter Wisconsin’s first annual Hot Guys Contest, even though Jamie knew Frank didn’t crave the spotlight. His buddies insisted that since the contest was going to be held in his beloved hometown, and with all the monies going to charity, he couldn’t say no. So he filled out the application. And in a landside write-in ballot, Frank was voted Mr. Oconomowoc.
So tonight he walked the runway in Lac LaBelle’s Lodge with the forty-nine other men even though it just about killed him. There was no way he could have missed Lila. Good God, she was the poster girl for trouble with a Double D. He had so far, at least this time, resisted her many charms. He also knew this contest would stretch his comfort zone in too many ways. There were some catcalls. Several “sausage” comments. But he wanted to help. And that’s why Frank Plank was still working out hard at ten p.m.
Frank loved lifting weights in his small unassuming gym. Unlike his day job, it was blissfully quiet. He leaned forward over the weight bench as he held the fifty-pound dumbbell and methodically pulled his elbow back, activating the muscles between his shoulder blades, completing his final set of upper back rows.
He paused between exercises to catch his breath. He heard several small creaks and peered up at the roof. Raccoons? God he hoped not, because he’d have to take the time to trap them, drive twenty miles into the woods and set them free. Besides the sausage business, there would be no blood on Frank’s hands. When he was a kid, his dad made him try hunting. He hated it.
The creaks sounded like they were made by some winds kicking up outside, ushering in a much needed summer thunderstorm. The storms could create havoc, but would chill the God-awful heat wave for a little bit. He replaced the barbells in the rack, picked up some lighter ones and moved on to his chest workout.
He replayed the night’s events in his head as he pushed the barbells in a semicircle over his chest and grunted. The crowd was crazy. He spotted about ten of his friends in the lodge’s ballroom. That was nice; they showed up. He knew everyone had busy lives. They were obviously trying to support him. And again, there was Lila—brazenly tempting him. She was a vixen, a wild child, and a braniac rolled into the face and body of a super model. Lila—the love of his life. The girl he let get away. Frank wondered if he was a complete idiot for letting her go.
On a happy note, F
rank spotted his former babysitter—Annie Graceland. She was a contest judge! He still remembered her, would never forget her. Every boy he went to grade school with had a crush on Annie—the cute, funny babysitter who always smelled like desserts.
When Frank was a kid, his folks were always busy entertaining potential clients on business dinners. Frank had a couple of babysitters, but Annie was his favorite. When he was really young, she read stories to him and taught him how to ride a bike without training wheels. On occasion, she’d let him watch a scary movie, which he loved. When he got too scared, she covered his eyes with her hands during the gory parts so he wouldn’t have nightmares.
He strained on the twelfth repetition and exhaled loudly several times as he squeezed the barbells together high over his chest. He heard a squeak. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the door open and realized someone had entered the room. He couldn’t see the door from his bench. “Who’s there?” He dropped the weights.
Two gunshots sliced through the air. Frank never got an answer. He felt something that burnt like crazy rip through his chest. “Why?” He gasped and his eyes glazed. His dumbbells bounced off the rubber mat on the floor, and in a foggy haze he watched them roll away. “Why?” he asked as everything faded to black.
Six
Oconomowoc Rocks
The hotel clock on the dresser in Annie’s room at the lodge read 2:30 a.m. Julia and Grady slept soundly in each of their double beds. Grady had pulled the “Ow-my-back hurts” card and scored his own bed. Annie tried sleeping in the same bed as Julia, but Julia kicked hard, and frequently. The last thing Annie needed was more bruises.
Annie glanced down at the simple cotton short nightie with tiny pj bottoms that she had purchased at the gift shop minutes before it closed. “OCONOMOWOC” was printed on the top half of her nightie. She rotated her hip up and craned her neck to see that “ROCKS” was lettered on the back of her pj bottoms, emblazoned right across her ass.
3 Cupcakes, Pies, and Hot Guys Page 4