A Charmed Life

by Jenny B. Jones

  “Okay. Let’s do this.” I slip under the tablecloth and with a few tries, finally get situated good enough to be covered up. “Oh my gosh. I’m like a pretzel in here.” I’m so going to need a massage after this. And a really strong latte.

  “My name is going to be Mavis,” Ruthie says above me. “Mavis Durbinkle, the food service girl.”

  “Whatever gets you by.”

  “Mavis has had such a hard life. She needs this job.”

  I pull up a foot by its pink heel. “Write your autobiography later, Mavis. I have a wedding to stop.”

  My world goes black as Ruthie flops the white material over me and the cart. I hear her inhale big . . . then she puts us into motion.

  Oh shoot. Oh shoot. Oh shoot. Moment number 1,981,642 my mom would not be proud of.

  My butt bounces with every rotation of the wheel, and the dishes clank a clumsy tune above my head.

  Knock! Knock! “Room service,” Ruthie drawls.

  “Nice country accent,” I whisper.

  “Thank yew, sugah.”

  The door opens, and a loud thunk tells me it caught on the safety latch.

  “Yes?”

  I swallow hard and pray none of my feathers are showing.

  “Room service, ma’am. Just fer yew.”

  “I did not order room service.”

  “It was sent up. Compliments of someone who said you’d need a little pick-me-up right about now.”

  Nice job, Ms. Durbinkle.

  “I—I don’t know. Who sent this?”

  “The woman just said you’d know, and that she would talk to yew later. She popped her sweet li’l head in this mornin’ and gave us the order. Dark-headed lady. Real nice.” Ruthie stretches the syllables out like Laffy Taffy. “I think we have some chocolate goodies in here.” My friend taps a serving dish, and I can feel it vibrate all the way to my Jimmy Choos.

  “Okay . . . I guess come on in.”

  Ruthie pushes the cart, and it bounces over the carpet. “Oh, I see yer packin’ up here. Are you leavin’ us?”

  “Yes.”

  “I hope it’s nothin’ we did wrong. We here at the . . . um, the . . .”

  The Broadway Heights! It’s the Broadway Heights!

  “The hotel wants to make sure all our customers are happy as a pig in the mud. At least that’s what my ex-boyfriend would say.” A beat of silence. “Before he left me for another girl. But she was a hunter and a fisher like him. And Ezekial never could get past the fact that I couldn’t skin my own possums.”

  Shoot me now.

  Achoo! Ah-ah-choo!

  Oh no. Mercedes sneezes three more times. It’s my feathers!

  “That’s strange. Achoo! I had the hotel take away all the down pillows, but—achoo!—I seem to be—achoo!”

  “Um, here we go. Here’s some—oops! That’s pea soup. That ain’t right. I specifically asked for chocolate cheesecake.”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave.” Mercedes makes a whirling noise in her throat. “I seem to be allergic to you.”

  “No!” Ruthie cries. “It’s not me. But I gotta serve yew some dessert now. Let’s just uncover this other dish right here.” Ruthie sticks her foot under the cloth and shakes it. It makes contact with my knee.

  “Ow!” I slap a hand over my mouth. I have to move. I have to bail out of here and confront this Mercedes woman.

  “I must insist you leave. I’m to catch a plane in a few—achoo! — hours to leave the country.”

  “Oh, I’ve always wanted to travel.” More kicks beneath the cart. “Where are yew goin’?”

  “None of your business.”

  “I’ve never been there.”

  “Please take the cart and leave at once!” The woman sneezes again. And again. “I’m calling management if you don’t walk out of here right now.”

  “Yeah? Well, not before you see this!”

  Light explodes in my eyes as Ruthie flings the cloth away. The tall woman’s eyes go wide. She mutters a curse and reaches for the bedside phone.

  “Stop!” I yell. “Stop. I won’t hurt you.” I move closer.

  She doubles over and launches into a sneezing fit. “Get. Out.”

  “I know who you are.”

  “I don’t care!” Her face is turning purple.

  This isn’t going well. I probably should’ve thought this out more. I figured she’d see me, see the dress, and know I was part of the wedding party, then fall at my feet, confessing the truth.

  Ruthie lunges for the phone, but the woman knocks her hand aside. “Get away!” she screams.

  “Mercedes, I just want to talk to you.” I spy three framed photos across the room. The one in the middle is of her, Christina, and a younger Marisol. Surrounded by pictures of others I’m assuming are family.

  “I don’t know who you mean.” Her left eye is swelling shut. It’s not pretty. “But you have broken into my room, and I am calling the police.”

  Ruthie makes another try for the phone, but the woman throws herself on Ruthie and digs in her long nails.

  “Ow!” My friend howls in pain. “I knew I should’ve brought my brass knuckles!”

  I jump into the fray, only to trip over the train of my dress.

  Stupid feathers!

  In a move worthy of any professional wrestler, Mercedes clotheslines me with an arm, and down I go. She grabs the phone receiver and punches a button. “I need security. Room 857. Now.”

  From my position on the floor, I see her other eye taking on a gargoyle quality as well. Praying she can’t see me, I race back to the cart, dig into my purse for the camera, and snap off some shots. But who would ever recognize this swollen creature?

  “Come on!” Ruthie yanks hard on my arm and drags me toward the door. “Sprint like an Olympian!”

  We run like mad to the stairwell. My heels dig into the carpet, and my feet cry out for mercy. Please don’t let us get caught! Please don’t let us get caught!

  I lose a shoe at the fifth floor. “We need to separate!” I yell, kicking off the other heel. “They’re going to be looking for two girls together. I’m going to get off at the fourth floor and ride the elevator. You go to the bottom floor and go through the kitchen. I’ll meet you at the coffee shop half a block down. I won’t leave until you show up.” I wheeze out more instructions.

  “Bella?” Ruthie calls as I pull open the fourth-story door.

  My chest heaves. “Yeah?”

  “I will never forget this.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, Ruthie.”

  Her face splits into a grin. “Are you kidding me? This is the best graduation present ever!”

  “Remind me of that when we’re wearing stripes.” I shoot through the door and run down a series of halls until I reach an elevator.

  It’s all I can do not to shout a hallelujah when the elevator pings open and I step inside with a group of Asian tourists. When we hit the lobby, I shuffle close to them, completely invading their personal space until I’m emptied onto the street.

  Freedom! Yes!

  My dress straps long gone, I hold up the bodice with one hand and use the other to propel me down the street. At the sight of Manhattan Mocha, I slow down and sag against the building.

  Thirty-one minutes later I sit at a bistro table inside and drum my fingers on a cup. Where is Ruthie? What if she got caught?

  What if the police have her? What kind of friend am I that I even dragged her into this twisted mess?

  I lower my head to the table and bang it twice. “I’m the worst friend ever. I’m the worst—”

  “If you get a bruise on your schnoz, that is not going to look good for the wedding pics.”

  I lift my head in a rush. “Ruthie!” Throwing my arms around my friend, I hug her close. “You made it! Thank God. You’re the best sidekick ever!”

  “Dude!” She goes limp in my arms. “Back off, okay? I don’t even let Budge get that handsy.”

  “I’m so glad you made it. I w
as freaking out.”

  “When I went down to the kitchen, they wanted me to unload the dishwasher.” She shrugs and straddles a seat. “I thought it was the least I could do.”

  I rest my head in my hands. “The wedding’s in thirty minutes, and I’ve got nothing. I could try and show those pictures to my dad or people who know Christina, but who would even recognize that woman with her face all swollen?”

  “Seriously. That chick looked like a bloated up shar-pei.”

  “It’s over. I have to admit defeat and let the wedding go on. It was a half-baked plan anyway.”

  “The guide book said you’d have times of self-doubt.” Ruthie reaches into her shirt and pulls out a frame. “Maybe you can show your dad this.”

  I snatch the picture and stare at Christina and her smiling family. “Aw, Ruthie. You’re the best.”

  “Even without my slingshot.”

  Failure spirals in my gut. “But what does this really prove? Let’s face it. I got nothing.”

  Ruthie takes the frame, unlatches the back, and hands me the photo. “Check it out.”

  I flip it over and read. Marisol, Christina, and Sadie Vasquez. “Omigosh.” I dig through my handbag with frenzied hands until I find my phone. With trembling fingers, I pull up my ex-boyfriend’s number. “Hunter?” I suck in a shaky breath. “I need you to meet me at my dad’s wedding. Make sure your father is there . . . I think I just found their money-stealing accountant.”

  chapter thirty-three

  Sadie Vasquez. Of course. It was staring me in the face the whole time.

  “Can’t you drive faster?” I yell to the cabbie.

  “And roll up your window.” Ruthie sputters and spits. “It’s like a wind tunnel of feathers back here.”

  I press the phone more firmly to my ear. “Hunter, Christina De Luna is actually Christina Vasquez, sister of Mercedes.”

  “Sadie Vasquez.” His words are as sharp as knife points. “The psycho who took my dad and yours for millions.”

  I grab Ruthie’s wrist and check her giant alligator skin watch.

  “You have to stall the wedding. I’ll never make it on time.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I don’t know! But think of something.” We come to a stop at yet another red light. Are there no green lights in this town? “I’m going to call my dad and tell him to wait, but I don’t know if he’s going to buy it.

  You find him and tell him you’ve talked to me, and I’m on my way.”

  “Got it. I’ll wait for you inside the chapel.”

  The minutes tick by, and at one o’clock, when we’re stopped yet again, I order the driver to pull over. “We’re getting out here.” I shove some cash in his hand. “Gonna have to run the rest of the way.”

  “Follow me!” I yell to Ruthie and take off down an alley on my bare feet. Three blocks later my phone rings again. “What?”

  “Bella, it’s no good,” Hunter says. “Your dad won’t even listen to me. He said he figured you wouldn’t show up, and he wasn’t going to wait. Something about Christina told him she knew you had made alternate plans for the day. I’ve been escorted out of the church.”

  “Un-believable!” Oh, my lungs are about to explode. And don’t even get me started on my feet. “Go talk to him again. Tell him what I know. Tell him about Sadie.”

  “I tried. There’s some big Brazilian goon guarding his door now. Says he’s a friend of Christina’s and the best man. He kicked me out and won’t let me back into his changing room.”

  Without so much as a good-bye, I end the call and punch in my dad’s number. Voice mail. I hit redial again and again. My own father won’t take a call from me. How do you like that?

  As I pound the dirt-encrusted pavement, I glance at Ruthie. She runs beside me like a track star. Even pace. Bouffant hair defying the laws of gravity and hair spray. Not so much as breaking a sweat.

  “It’s just around this corner.” I think. Five blocks later I know I’m lost. God, please help me. I need to get to my dad!

  I screech to a halt as a woman passes by, pushing a stroller of twins. “Hey!”

  She casts a worried look and keeps going.

  “Ma’am! Please stop, I need help.”

  She turns around. “Your dress is beyond help.”

  “I know that’s right.” Ruthie studies my torn frock, now minus the two bottom layers. I look like a flapper who got caught in a tornado of geese.

  “Do you know where St. Augustine’s Chapel is?”

  The short brunette lifts a hand to block out the sun. “Yeah. It’s two blocks north. Then turn and go four blocks east, and at the Y, head south.”

  North, east, south? Is she kidding me? “I need landmarks. Turn at the red bud tree by the fire station, hang a left at the playground.

  I do not speak this directional jibbity jab!”

  Ruthie grabs me by the arm and offers the woman a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry, ma’am. She just got cut from the Miss Manhattan Poultry model search, and she’s feeling a little crazy. I plan on slapping her at the next street.” My friend yanks me across the road and returns to running. “I can get us there.”

  “You don’t know New York!” I scream over the passing cars.

  She picks up the pace. “No, but I was a boy scout once, and I can tie a square knot, start a fire with gum wrappers, and know the difference between north and south.”

  I hold the pain at my side. “Um . . . a boy scout?”

  “What they didn’t know didn’t hurt them.”

  So on faith and Ruthie’s internal compass, I follow my friend through the streets of the city that never sleeps. And judging from the sludge on my feet, the city that needs to work on its sanitation.

  “There it is!” Ruthie calls many moments later. “I see it!”

  Relief duels with sadness. We’re here . . . but it’s twenty past one. The wedding was to be a short ceremony. And I’m sure with Christina tipped off now, the service was cut down even more.

  Just as we approach the small yard in front of the church, I notice an olive-skinned man standing in front of the antique entry doors. He looks like a member of a Brazilian mafia.

  “Ruthie . . . that guy’s waiting for me. I know it. I’m going to need you to provide a distraction while I find another way in.”

  She gives him the once-over. “I can take him. I’ve watched a lot of wrestling lately.”

  Oh, Lord help us. “Just use your wits. Not your muscles. Or that slingshot tucked into the back of your pants.”

  “You can see it?”

  “That and your panty line.”

  “That guy is kind of big.” She swallows hard. “Isn’t he?”

  I pull her behind a nearby shrub. “Oh no.” I shake my head. “No, you don’t. You are not wimping out on me now. You, Ruthie McGee, are my sidekick. And I have never needed you more than I need you now. Do you understand me?”

  She nods—slowly at first, then more certain. “I understand.”

  “You can do it. I believe in you.”

  “I sure wish I had that book.”

  “You don’t need that stupid thing.” I tap her temple. “Everything you need is right here. And in your heart. The truth is, you’re all I’ve got here. But you know what?” I look into the heavily lined eyes of a girl who has become my closest friend. “I wouldn’t trust this moment to anyone else. I’m glad you’re here with me.” I can’t resist a slap to her butt. “Now go get ’em, partner.”

  She clutches her chest with a gasp. “Partner? Really?”

  “Of course. Who wants to be a sidekick when you can be a dynamic duo?”

  Ruthie lets out a happy sigh. “McGee and Kirkwood—mystery solvers.”

  Let’s not go crazy. “Um, that’s Kirkwood and McGee.” I give her a playful shove and run toward the back of the chapel.

  But not before I hear my partner in action.

  “No way!” she squeals. “It’s Brad Pitt! Oh my gawwwsh—I loved y
ou in Twilight! Can I have your autograph?”

  Limping like a peg-legged pirate, I jog around the brick building. Pink-dyed sweat trickles inside my strapless bra. I find a metal door and yank with all my might. Nothing. Locked.

  At the back of the church, yet another door. Sealed tight as one of my dad’s eyelifts. With clenched fists I beat the entrance, but no one answers.

  “Are you kidding me?” I yell.

  “You always were a drama queen.”

  I spin around, tripping on a remnant of the skirt. “Hunter! Why aren’t you in there stopping this?” I’m too late!

  “Because I knew you’d want the pleasure. Need a boost?” He points upward. Above us hangs a folded fire escape, leading to a window. “The bodyguard wouldn’t let me near any of the other exits. He’s sure not going to let you in.” He squats low and holds out a hand. “May I?”

  “I just want to tell you that I had a lot more dress on when I started.”

  My ex-boyfriend casts a doubtful look at my outfit. “I’m not judging.”

  I step onto his thigh and swing my other foot over his head until I’m sitting on his shoulders. With rubber knees I rise until I’m standing. “Don’t even consider dropping me.” He walks us beneath the window. “And don’t even think about looking up what’s left of my skirt.”

  “Wouldn’t dare.”

  Hunter wraps his hands around my wobbly calves, and I reach my arms overhead. I feel the warm metal of the ladder and pull it down. “Look out below,” I call as it grows toward the ground. I leave the safety of Hunter’s perch and jump onto the rungs.

  “Good luck,” Hunter calls.

  I shimmy up the rest of the way and push the partially opened window with dirt-streaked hands. Throwing a leg over, I crawl inside. Running out of the room, my feet slap all the way down a dim hallway as wedding music comes to a crescendo. The ceremony must be over. They’re probably walking arm in arm down the aisle together as man and wife now.

  “Dad!” I bellow. “Dad!” Must get to him.

  I whisk down some steps, only tripping on one. “Dad! Wait!”

  The stairs empty me into the small lobby. Smack into the burly man.