by Savoy, Skye
“Hey, darlin, do these look all right on the steps?” He grunted as he lifted the pot closest to him and moved to the base of the steps. “What about right here?”
Tempted as I was to make him hoist the thing up the stairs and back again, I didn’t. “It doesn’t matter. Where did you get that vase?” Okay, so Webster didn’t list “tact” in his definition of a Southern Belle.
“Well, it matters to me.” He paused a beat to wipe the sweat from his face with a pink hanky tucked in the tiebacks of the apron. “I borrowed the vase from your aunt.”
“Yeah, but when? Because I don’t remember letting you borrow it.” I slapped my hand on my forehead. “I mean, she didn’t tell me she let you borrow it.”
Jimbo twisted the material in his hands for a good thirty seconds. “Of course she didn’t, silly.” He pushed past me. “Oh dear, I’ve got to relight the tea lights. The mermaid put them out.”
I went after him, slowly at first and picked up speed as he did. He waddled past the fountain at top speed. His feet went fast considering he wore a floor length pink apron. The patch of skin on top of his head got redder from the effort to outrun me. Why? What was my former best friend hiding?
“You know, he really does look like a pig in a blanket,” I thought aloud as I zapped myself in front of him to prevent his escape into the tent.
Unfortunately, Ouida Severson chose that moment to pop out of the tent. Jimbo didn’t stop in time. He was like a pink bowling ball, and I was the pin. We both fell onto poor Ouida, who landed with an oof on the Astroturf floor.
I jumped up quickly and used my magical strength to lift Jimbo up with me. I held onto him until he was steady.
“Wh-what? H-how?” Jimbo stammered. He didn’t see Ouida on the ground behind me until a very mannish looking woman in a floor length hot pink chiffon gown rushed to her rescue.
“Moth—ma’am? Are you okay,” asked the woman as she extended a hairy hand and hauled the fragile old lady up off the ground. Kitty, Mel, and Jimbo helped her into the chair I pulled out.
“Yes, Cousin Linda, I think I’m all right. I just need a drink,” said Ouida in a woozy voice.
I hurried to the bar opposite the serving tables to see if the bartender unloaded any water.
“I didn’t see what happened. Did she faint?” Kitty asked and started to fan the little lady.
Mel joined in the fanning. “I don’t know. She probably got overwhelmed by the sea of pink in here.”
Ouida batted their hands away. “I’ve never fainted in my life!” She straightened the pink diamond-encrusted tiara on her head and smoothed her pale pink dress. “I was knocked over by two idiots.”
I returned with a bottle of water right on cue. All eyes were on me and Jimbo. We fell over ourselves to apologize. I offered her my water. Jimbo upstaged me and presented her with the flask he secreted away in the apron.
Ouida snubbed my bottled water. She went for Jimbo’s booze. The old lady belted back some whiskey, rose to her full height of five foot two inches. Two arthritic fingers pointed at each of us as if parting the Red Sea.
“If anything else goes wrong at this party, I guarantee neither of you will work in this town ever again.”
I patted the top of my head to make sure my hair wasn’t charred off. Jimbo and I stumbled over ourselves to apologize all over again.
Cousin Linda shoved Jimbo’s flask at him, and ushered Ouida out of the tent.
“All right then. Let’s get crackin,” Jimbo said, then darted for the exit.
I linked my arm in his. I flung him around like a Square Dance partner.
“Mama, Mel, I promise I’ll be right back.”
Jimbo’s shoulders drooped as if resigned to drag me about like toilet paper on his shoe. I led the way to his delivery van where two teenage boys heaved boxes of leftover fabric and lights into the cargo area. He dismissed them and plopped down on the threshold of the sliding door. He tipped the silver flask to his lips, slugged one back, then put it in my outstretched hand.
“So,” I gagged on the whiskey. Old Lady Severson could put some stout alcohol away and I couldn’t. How embarrassing. “You—” hack, hack, “aren’t,” wheeze, “going to tell me?”
“Tell you what, sugar?” Jimbo had the audacity to look innocent.
I really wanted to beat my head against the door frame but settled for leaning on it. “The vase. When did you get it from my Aunt?” The force of the words through my teeth made my head rattle.
He motioned to me to return the flask while humming, “If I Were a Rich Man.”
I gladly relinquished the booze, and watched his Adam’s apple bob as he took a deep drink.
Jimbo studied the filigree on the lid to the flask, screwed the top on, and took a deep breath. “Igotitfromherthenightshedied!”
I made out the “night she died” part. June bugs chorused in the early evening in perfect time with the wheels turning in my mind. Jimbo was the last person to see me alive. Why didn’t I remember inviting him home with me that evening?
I thought back to that night for the thousandth time, only the deep holes in my memory remained. Let’s see. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, donned my four-X T-shirt, and woke up dead.
“But she worked the Thorsen party until after midnight. Why would she invite you to her home?”
Jimbo clucked his tongue indignantly. “Your aunt was a grown woman, honey. She didn’t have a curfew.”
“I know that. Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
He clumsily unscrewed the cap to his flask, again. I snatched it from his fluttery hands. “You’ve still got pink things to poof up. It might be nice if you were sober. Now, tell me what happened that night.”
“You’re a pushy little b-witch aren’t you?” He ran his hand over the top of his head, found the marabou I saw earlier, and shook it off in disgust.
“Stacy, if you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will deny it on my mother’s grave.”
“You live with your mother.”
“She’s old. She could go any day,” he said succinctly. “You’d better not tell a soul.”
“Fine, just tell me already.”
“I don’t remember how or when I got to Ava’s house,” he yelled, scanned the area to see if anyone heard him, then continued in a hushed voice. “I just remember putting the vase in a box in the back of my van before I got in.”
Jimbo looked longingly at the moonshine I held tightly in my hand. I tucked it behind my back, and silently urged him to continue.
“I looked in the mirror as I was backing out, and noticed a scratch on my face. Honestly Stacy, I have no idea how it got there. I just don’t know what happened.” He broke down.
I saw guilt gnawing on him like a fat man on All You Can Eat Rib Night at Po’ Folks. My heart went out to poor Jimbo, and my hand opened the flask. I took a big swig to knock my thoughts into place. The demon-bitch used Jimbo to kill me. I don’t know what’s worse, being killed by a possessed friend, or not being able to kick his butt.
“I’m begging you Stacy, if anyone ever finds out I was the last one to see her alive, they’ll think I had something to do with it, but I didn’t! I could never—” His plea brought tears to my eyes.
He gratefully accepted the return of his drug of choice when I shoved the vintage container toward him.
“Jimbo, you don’t have a thing to worry about. They said she died of natural causes.” The liars.
The tiny bit of “Pollyanna” in me thought, “The good thing is now you know who did it. You can almost rest in peace.” The rest of me raged against the audacity of the she-demon for using my friend to kill me. Here I am consoling him with alcohol. I need to stomp a certain creature into the ground to vindicate not only myself, but my friend, family and fallen angel.
I took his sweaty hand and forced him to look at me. “Listen to me. You didn’t do anything wrong. Do you hear me?”
Jimbo nodded through his tears.
I pulled him up. We returne
d, arm in arm, to the party area.
He pulled me in for a quick hug and summoned his happy face. “Like Ava always said, ‘let’s get this partay started!’”
* * * *
Hoity-toity social event or not, teen debutants clad in everything from eBay couture to vintage thrift shop, were bottomless pits. We just filled one tray when another was cleaned out.
While Mason and Mel worked the tent, I joined Kitty where she hid out in the kitchen. She put her arm around me in a rare display of motherly pride. “My little girl knows how to throw one hell of a party.”
I murmured, “thank you,” and desperately wished the real Stacy was here to feel the love. I hugged her before she could break away and relished the closeness of my totally opposite, very eclectic sister.
“You know, being here without your Aunt Ava really made me sad. I miss her ornery self every day. I know she’d be so proud of you for stepping in.”
I curtailed my desire to call her out on the “ornery” remark. It wasn’t like I’d gotten one of those dramatic deathbed scenes where I could tell her how I felt. This was probably the only chance I had.
“She never told you when she was alive. I know for a fact, she was proud to have you as a sister. She loved you and—”
“Hello, ladies. I hate to break up this love fest, but…” Craig’s smarmy smile indicated he was thoroughly pleased to interrupt our moment in the sanctity of the kitchen.
We pulled apart, reluctantly. Kitty scowled. “What are you doing here?”
“You remember Phoebe, Mitzi’s daughter don’t you?”
Our blank stares egged him on. “She’s one of the debutantes. We had to come chaperone since she’s a little too much like her mama, if you know what I mean.” He winked.
“If you mean her mama is a tramp who was stupid enough to sleep with you while you were married to my sister, then no, I don’t know what you mean.” She pulled me into her side. “My daughter was never like that.”
“Oh, yeah? Well…”
I gladly interrupted Craig. “What do you want? Just get to the point and get out!”
He sputtered and got so red, I thought he might spontaneously combust. Wouldn’t that be nice? He stuck a finger in his collar to relieve the restrictive pressure of the bow tie.
“I just wanted to let you know I saw a lawyer about Ava’s Will, and I’m within my legal rights to contest it for the house. I guess I’ll be seeing you in court.” The tone of his voice suggested he wanted to stick his tongue out and waggle his fingers in his ears.
Kitty revved up to give him a tongue lashing. I was too fast. My hand shot around the obnoxious waste of a man’s neck. I slammed him against the far wall of the Butler’s Pantry. The urge to squeeze the life out of him was all consuming. I watched, with sick fascination, as the veins in his forehead sprang out. His eyes bulged out of their sockets. I smelled the Crown Royal seeping out of his pores. If I squeezed a tiny bit harder, I could take my anger at the demon out on him and end his life.
“I don’t think he’s worth it. However, if you really feel you must, then I’m all for it.” The glib words broke my concentration long enough to allow Craig to take a deep breath.
My rotten ex remained pinned against the wall by his neck. I twisted to see Samael standing at the entry to the pantry. He looked particularly spectacular in his black leather and white “Seinfeld” pirate shirt.
“Nah, he can’t help being a dumbass.”
Kitty stood just beyond him with a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. She didn’t see Sam. All she saw was her delicate daughter holding a four hundred pound man several inches off the floor. There’s no way to explain my way out of this one. Kitty sprinted out of the room. I was alone with Craig and Sam until Mel walked in.
“What’s the matter with—” She stopped dead in her tracks.
“Can you give us a minute, hon?” I made the “one second” gesture with my free hand.
Mel nodded, turned heel, and walked calmly out of the kitchen like I’d asked her to let me finish the last line of a crossword puzzle.
“He’s not worth it.” It pained me to release my grip on Craig’s sweaty neck.
Craig slid down the wall to the floor and massaged the bruises I left on his windpipe.
“You had better stay away from me and my mama. You lost your rights to anything of Aunt Ava’s when you left her. And, if you contest the Will, you will lose.”
Craig picked himself off the floor and beat a path to the door before my ominous words finished ringing. Sam disappeared to avoid being run through.
“You can’t threaten me! I have every right to that house, and I’m getting what’s mine!” He threw the wavering words over his shoulder in retreat.
“It wasn’t a threat, moron. It was a promise.”
Sam popped back in the doorway beside me. “You really should make better choices in men.”
He better not mess with me right now. I clenched my fists to thwart the adrenalin before I hauled off and socked the only fallen angel able to help me.
“I would have loved to have seen you tear him apart.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t have time to murder my ex. Suriyel was taken by Michael to the center of the Earth and I need to—”
Sam put a hand up to stop me. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”
“Wh-what?” I stammered more out of fear of hearing bad news than shock.
“I said I am aware of Suriyel’s imprisonment. Archangel Michael made certain we were all aware of what happened and what could happen to us,” Sam said in a hard voice. “What were you thinking? You weren’t supposed to draw attention to yourself!” His eyes narrowed into glittering silver slits with each accusing word. “It’s fortunate for all of us that Michael was so furious with Suriyel. He failed to sense the abomination you really are.”
Emotion clogged my throat. Hot tears of shame ruined my makeup.”You helped create this abomination. Why are you here exactly?”
Sam ran his hand through his hair, a gesture I associated with Suriyel. It made me cry even harder. “Oh, stop with the tears already!” Sam manifested a handkerchief. He handed it to me instead of keeping it for himself like last time.
“For reasons I can’t even begin to understand, Suriyel wants me to bring you to him.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. My heart moved in time to Elvis’ “Rock-A-Hula Baby,” my mental happy dance music. Suriyel asked for me! The dance music in my head screeched to a halt. “You can’t just bring me to him. Can you? I mean, he’s imprisoned. Isn’t he?”
The cranky fallen angel waved an impatient hand in the air. “Just come with me.”
I hesitated. “I can’t leave Kitty, Mel, and Mason, can I? And, won’t there be angels posted to guard Suriyel?”
Sam unfurled his ebony wings and wrapped me in them. “Stop with the Twenty Questions.”
“But I have to let them know I’m leaving!” My plea was lost in his wings.
I’m going to be reunited with Suriyel. If we run into Heaven’s angels, I won’t cower behind a fallen angel this time. I’m going to give myself up and pray God will have mercy on all of us.
Chapter Ten
My vision of the center of the Earth never looked like this. Sci-Fi movies depicted pools of bubbling lava bordered by treacherous, rocky paths through damp cavern walls lined with bats. I was glad for the lack of lava and bats. In fact, there was absolutely nothing where Sam and I landed. This place was no more than a fried egg white glaring in the sun.
I held a hand over my brow and scanned the area for Suriyel. “Uh, I thought you said you were bringing me to Suriyel.” A frown etched lines in my forehead that were sure to become permanent.
Sam made his wings disappear. He manifested a brown, leather La-Z-Boy and kicked back. “It’s more like he’s being brought to you.” He entwined his arms behind his head, and nestled into the armchair.
“Where are we?”
Sam’s eyes were closed.
I stood over him for several long minutes. He expelled an irritated breath.”It’s what I like to call my little piece of the astral plane. It isn’t much, but it’s all a fallen angel is allotted. I can make it into whatever I want.”
Blades of grass sprouted beneath my feet and formed a beautifully manicured green carpet in all directions. Above me, appeared a pale blue sky dotted by clouds wispy enough to have come from an artist’s brush. Birds flew overhead. A hedge shot up right in my path and forced me into a rose bush. I created some new four letter words as the thorns impaled themselves into my backside.
Sam chuckled from his comfy recliner. “I gather you don’t like my tranquil Victorian Garden.”
“Too much like ‘Alice in Wonderland,’ and you ain’t no Johnny Depp,” I grumbled as I wrestled an attack rose away from my white chef coat.
“Fine.” He waved his hand. The scenery dissolved into nothingness.
The pain in my butt was soon forgotten as dirt and boulders formed close to me. Scraggly weeds sprang from cracks in the rocks. Waves crashed. The smell of sea salt assaulted my senses.
“For the love of Paula Deen!” My eyes bugged, and my heart did a cartoon-like jump into my throat.
I found myself perched precariously on a cliff like a heroine in an old black and white film. Unlike her, I wasn’t keen on throwing myself off. Cold wind whipped my dress. Wasn’t I wearing my uniform when Sam and I left the party?
Hair blew in my eyes. I went to tuck it over an ear and realized I sported a shorter, crimped circa nineteen forties style. I plastered myself against the cliff wall and searched for Sam.
The freaky angel stood next to a barren tree and peered at me with a melodramatic air about him. A black pencil-thin mustache rested like an anti “Got Milk” ad over his top lip. His hair was slicked back in a silent film star way. Charades? Really?
Another blast of chilly wind hit me. “Let me guess, you’re supposed to be Lawrence Olivier, and I’m…what’s her name from that movie? Um…,” I struggled for an answer and my balance against the wind.