Midnight Madness

by Kendall, Karen

  “But I’m not Cinderella, and I don’t even want to go to this—this—inaugural ball. I have a business, not a wicked stepmother. And I have business partners, not evil stepsisters. So I’m not interested in being rescued from my life, Prince Charming.”

  Jack lifted an eyebrow. “Well said.”

  Marly turned to Mrs. H. “And I could have sworn you just complimented me on not changing my look for you. So what’s with the whole makeover suggestion?”

  Jack’s mother sighed. “I did say there were two different options. You can lie low.”

  “Why can’t I just be me? What’s wrong with my clothes? What’s wrong with my job?”

  “I like your look, dear. And your job doesn’t bother me at all. But if you’re in the public spotlight as Jack’s girlfriend, fiancée or wife, the media won’t be kind to a hairdresser with hippie tendencies. People are cruel.”

  “I don’t really care what they say.”

  “You may not care what they say about you. But what about Jack and his goals? The media’s attention needs to focus on him and his political platform, not on you and whether they think you’re ‘right’ for him or not. You need to fade into the background, like most candidates’ wives. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.” And in fact, Mrs. Hammersmith did say it in the nicest possible way, without malice of any kind. But her concern was obvious.

  Marly took a deep breath. “I met Jack four weeks ago. Twenty-eight days later, you are asking me to go through a reincarnation as a different person?” Her voice rose on the last two words and she turned to him. “I can’t believe you’d ask that of me. I’m not a toy, a doll. I’m not a tab that you insert into a slot. I’m a human being!”

  He put his hand on hers, but she jerked away. “Marly. I’m not asking you to change. I don’t even want you to change.”

  “But then understand,” his mother repeated, “that you will have to lie low. You will have to be careful, or you’ll be facing a media maelstrom.” She clicked her French-manicured nails against her iced-tea glass, then caught herself and stopped.

  God. I guess political wives aren’t even allowed to fidget!

  Marly pulled her napkin from her lap and tossed it on the table. “I’m not the right person for you, Jack. I’ve tried to tell you. I’m not cut out for your kind of life.”

  He leaned back, his jaw hardening. “Giving up that easily? I thought maybe you had some feelings for me. And I also thought you had more character, sweetheart.”

  She paused, wanting to scream and run out of there. “I don’t think this is about character,” she said quietly. “I think this is about you trying to twist me like a pretzel into something I’m not. Or keeping me swept under the rug like an embarrassment or a stain or a dust bunny.”

  “You’re taking this the wrong way.”

  “How else am I supposed to take it?”

  “Are you asking me to give up the throne, then, Wallis?” Jack steepled his hands on the tabletop. “Because that’s what it amounts to.”

  She knew he referred to King Edward the Eighth abdicating the throne for his divorcée love, Wallis Simpson. “Why? Why does it have to be that way? Why can’t the governor just date a hairstylist if he wants to? Is that just too lowbrow, too blue-collar, for Jack Hammersmith? Because I refuse to be ashamed of what I do for a living. I refuse to be ashamed of the fact that I am working class. And your average voter isn’t sitting on a gigantic trust fund, either. So maybe dating a peasant could work in your favor!”

  “Stop it, Marly,” he said, his voice tight. “You know I’m not like that. You know my values aren’t like that.”

  “Do I know it?” She stared at him. The master and the slave girl, huh? That little fantasy cuts a bit too close to the bone.

  “Christ, I don’t even want to run for reelection.” He threw up his hands and turned his gaze on his mother. “You should run. I’ve said it before. You’d be a brilliant governor.”

  She laughed dryly.

  “I’m not kidding,” said Jack.

  Mrs. Hammersmith began to twist her wedding bands, and then stopped, caught fidgeting again.

  “You ran our household like a well-oiled machine. You could run the state with your eyes closed.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You speak fluent Spanish and would be perfect to liaise with Latin America…whereas I stumble through the language with a crutch and a pocket dictionary and a phonetic teleprompter.”

  Benito danced in with a tray holding their salads and put an end to the conversation. Marly put her napkin back in her lap, intrigued by the new topic.

  “Fresh pepper? Parmesan for the Caesar?” When he’d tended to everyone’s needs, he disappeared again.

  “You have a law degree,” Jack said to his mother. “You have all the connections I have, and you’ve been instrumental in the campaigns—both Dad’s and mine. What’s stopping you?”

  “We’re straying from the subject,” said Mrs. H. briskly.

  He gave a good-natured laugh and shook a finger at her. “No, we’re straying from your subject. We’re talking about spin—what could be better spin than Working Mom Runs the State?”

  Marly chimed in. “Oh, I like that!”

  “This restaurant is very nice,” Jack’s mother said, ignoring them both with a charming smile.

  “Is it Dad who’s stopping you?” Jack asked.

  She put down her fork. “No. It’s my son, the incumbent and the stronger candidate. Keep in mind that this isn’t only about you or me. It’s about what’s good for the party. Now, how’s your salad?”

  “Just peachy.”

  Marly glanced at her watch and realized that she was already two minutes late for her next client. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hammersmith, but I’ve got to get back to After Hours. I have a customer waiting.”

  Jack’s mom nodded. “That’s all right. And I do apologize if I upset you, Marly. I’ve just been in this racket for a long, long time. Please believe that I only have your best interests at heart.”

  Marly extended her hand. “I know that. Thank you. Jack and I…have some things to discuss.”

  He stood up politely as she rose—his manners had been bred into him from the time he could crawl. It was one of the things she loved about him, but also one of the things that made her conscious of all the differences between their backgrounds.

  She wondered what Jack would do if he ever faced her mother’s noodle surprise. It was a far cry from lobster ravioli. Or her roast? He’d probably hand-carry it for Fuzzy to the center of the guest bed and lay it on a napkin for him. Maybe he’d even say grace.

  Dad would think Jack was a smooth, smarmy politician and Ma would be struck mute, strangled by sour grapes but mesmerized by his looks.

  “It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Hammersmith. Enjoy your lunch—and if you’re ever in the neighborhood and need a haircut, come see me.” Marly smiled at her and walked to the door. Then she turned and added, “And by the way, I’m a pretty good judge of character, too, and I think you’d make a fabulous governor.”

  Chapter 16

  MARLY POKED at the dry, icky sushi pieces in the plastic takeout container in front of her. The cooked imitation crab in the center of the rolls didn’t look in the least bit appetizing.

  She sat on one of her oversize cushions opposite Peggy, who’d come over for a glass of wine and who looked equally unimpressed with the sushi.

  “How can you eat that stuff?” Peggy asked with a shudder. “Raw fish…eeeuuww.”

  “This contains no raw fish,” Marly said. “And besides, when it’s really fresh, spicy tuna or salmon or eel is to die for.”

  “Yeah.” Peggy took a sip of her wine. “To die for, writhing in pain with food poisoning or a vicious attack from some microbial organism.”

  Marly rolled her eyes and changed the subject. “So, Troy is in New York, you said?”

  Her friend nodded. “Putting in orders for the new sporting goods store. He’s b
een so excited about it, like he’s planning Christmas morning for an entire city or something.” She grinned. “It’s the first time he’s ever gotten to control his future one hundred percent. As a football player and then as a coach, he was always answering to someone else and could be traded or fired on a whim.”

  Marly nodded and put the lid back on her tray of sushi. She just wasn’t hungry. “What I don’t get, Peg, is how your love life is going so well after you stranded the guy naked in the After Hours mud bath!”

  Her friend stared into her wineglass sheepishly. “Well, though I thought I was pretty clever at the time, you know it wasn’t my proudest moment. Let’s just agree to forget that, okay? Tell me what’s going on with Governor Jack.”

  Marly grimaced, got up and stuck the sushi in her refrigerator. She came back into the living room with the other half bottle of chardonnay and plunked it down on the floor in front of them.

  “Governor Jack is a trip. He’s funny, he’s hot, it’s the best sex of my entire life—yes, including Arnie-the-drummer-from-the-band-that-will-remain-nameless.”

  Peg’s eyes widened. “You’re having the best sex of your life with a Suit? And a Republican?”

  Marly nodded, tongue-in-cheek. “Yeah, can you believe it?”

  “So where do you think this is all headed?”

  “If he has his way, it’s headed toward me in a twin-set with a fat pink bow on my head, gazing adoringly at him in front of a sea of people.” Marly pulled a floor pillow toward her, flopped onto her stomach and shuddered.

  “Fat pink bow…no! What, you’re going to be his Betty Boop on the campaign trail? I forbid you.”

  “You’d better get ready to alligator-wrestle his mama, then. She’s got it all worked out.”

  Peg’s expression became militant. “Ve haf vays of dealink vith Evil Mothers. Troy can kidnap her, I’ll give her sciatica and you zap her with the poodle perm. Maybe over pluck her eyebrows and dye them orange, too.”

  “But she’s not evil,” Marly wailed. “She’s very nice. She was just being realistic. If the media finds out Jack and I are an item, the shit will hit the fan. It calls attention to his bachelor status and morals, plus it takes the focus off him and his leadership skills and puts it on me, the hippie hairdresser.”

  Peg stared at her. “Oh, I get it. Sex with a bow-head is more moral?”

  “Well, I’d look sweeter under a bow or a velvet headband. More proper and wholesome.”

  “Marly, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Well, the alternative to the twin-set and bow is to be the Top Secret Slut-Behind-the-Scenes. Does that play better, when it comes out?”

  “Maybe you should find another boyfriend. This sounds like a lose-lose situation.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. Maybe a nice, low-key fertilizer salesman or John Deere rep.”

  “Go with John Deere. Wasn’t that guy who murdered his wife and unborn child in fertilizer sales?”

  “Good point.”

  Peg poured herself some more wine. “You?”

  Marly shook her head. “No. I’ve got to figure out exactly what I’m going to say when I break up with Jack. And I’ve got to do it soon, because there are already little sound bites on the news about him gearing up for the campaign trail, and whether or not the Democrats will have a strong enough candidate to beat him.”

  “I don’t want to drive home,” Peg said, looking sleepy and comfortable. “Can I sleep over tonight?”

  “Sure. You can help me rehearse.”

  MARLY TOSSED AND TURNED all night in her bed, got up several times and stared with envy at Peg, who was gently snoring away on the floor in her living room. Then she went back to the bedroom and thrashed around some more, visions of Jack swimming through her mind.

  We need to talk. It’s not you, it’s me. You’re a very special person, but…

  I think we should see other people. I love you but I’m not in love with you. We just don’t have anything in common. I don’t think I can give you what you need….

  All of these lines had been running through Marly’s head for hours when the phone by her bed rang the next morning. “Hello?”

  “You’re going to break up with me, aren’t you?” Jack’s voice spoke into her ear.

  “What?” she said, appalled. “Uh…no! Why would you think that?” I’m going to kill you for blindsiding me like this! All night I rehearse, and you catch me off guard?

  “I put myself into your cute little rubber flip-flops, Marly. I tried to choose between being transformed into a Stepford Wife or being swept under the rug like a shameful secret, and neither appealed to me very much. I thought, ‘Hey, it’s easier to get rid of the pesky guy, even if he’s handsome, charming and great in bed.’”

  “Modest, too,” she couldn’t resist adding.

  “Mmm. So I said to myself, I said, ‘Jack, dude. She doesn’t want your money, she’s not the single-strand-of-pearls type, and—though it’s tough for a man to admit—there are bigger penises out there. She’s going to ditch you and wash her hands of the problem.’ Am I right?”

  It’s not you, it’s me. “Why—why would you think that?”

  “I just told you,” he said patiently. “So here’s the deal. You’re not going to sing my swan song until we’ve had a chance to see each other again and talk.”

  “I’m not?” Marly was nonplussed. “I mean, no, of course not! I had no plans to…” God, could you just make a cup of coffee appear magically in my hand? This is so unfair!

  “I’ll get down there as soon as I can, okay? And you have to promise to hear me out. I have to warn you, I can be very persuasive.”

  Like I didn’t know that already? As if I’d normally end up in bed with a nut who picked my photo out of a magazine and fixated on me in a totally unhealthy way?

  “Jack, like I said, I don’t know where this is coming from—”

  He chuckled in her ear. “Save it, honey. You’re not as good at snowing people as I am. I’ve had years of experience.”

  She held the phone away from her ear and stared at it, almost shrieking in frustration. He was several steps beyond intuitive—in fact, he was almost creepy. Was Jack Hammersmith the first psychic Republican governor?

  “So I’ll see you soon, okay?” he said. “Promise you’ll think about me. And don’t wear any underwear.” This sentence was followed by a dial tone.

  Marly clutched the phone for a long moment, staring at it, and then banged it against her forehead. Heat bloomed all over her body and someone—gee, who?—had flipped the On switch to her erogenous zones.

  How could she want to sleep with him and murder him in the same exact instant? What was wrong with her?

  Maybe it truly is me, not you….

  THE FABULOUS FOUR, fresh from an expedition to Miracle Mile, brought all their shopping bags into the salon with them to show off their new duds. And, to Marly’s horror, Denise brought a bag of cheese popcorn and a chilled ring of shrimp with cocktail sauce in the middle.

  Within forty-five minutes, they’d finished off two bottles of chardonnay and created utter chaos inside After Hours. Marly came out from the back to find Suzette standing in the chair at her station, modeling a clingy, new Herve Leger dress and shaking her booty for Nicky, who applauded.

  Denise had draped three other outfits over Nicky’s chair and swayed slightly as she asked everyone in earnest whether she could still get away with wearing a chartreuse micromini at her age.

  Marly squinted at it, the color giving her a headache. But since Denise had had about fifteen years surgically removed from her body, she allowed faintly that yes, Denise could get away with it.

  Marly helped Suzette down from her chair before she fell and impaled herself on a hot curling iron. But she turned to find Rebecca with five shoe boxes open all over the pedicure area, twinkling her toes in a pair of $795.00 Sigerson-Morrison stilettos. Dear God, if there was the tiniest puddle and she slipped, lost her
balance…

  “Alejandro!” she called. I need you to lock up these women. “Come and see the fashion show, sweetie.”

  He must have recognized a note of panic in her voice, because he emerged from the spa’s office right away and moved in masterfully to dance Rebecca out of danger, compliment her new shoes and whip them off of her so he could wrestle her into a pedicure chair.

  “But, darling,” she said with a giggle and another slurp of wine, “I don’t need a pedicure. I just had one two days ago.”

  Alejandro picked up one of her feet and smoothed a big hand over it. “They are a little dry, mi corazón.”

  She appeared to slip into a coma at his touch—most women did. Then she picked up her glass again and purred, “Whatever you say, Señor Manos.”

  It was his least favorite nickname, but Alejandro smiled stiffly and began filling the pedicure basin with warm, scented, bubbly water.

  Marly bit her lip to keep from laughing. Looked as if the White Knight was going to be pushing back her cuticles for a while.

  The fourth of the Fab Four, Natasha, was focused almost entirely on the shrimp and cheese popcorn, which made things really hard on her manicurist. A wilted popcorn blossom floated in her soak bowl, and a shrimp tail swam among the nail polishes to the right on her table.

  Natasha had also found an ingenious solution to the problem of how to drink wine while getting a manicure: a straw emerged from her glass.

  If this hadn’t been going on in their salon, Marly would have found the whole situation funny. She exchanged a helpless glance with Alejandro as she exclaimed over the ladies’ fashion finds.

  She, Peggy and Alejandro had marketed After Hours as a preparty hot spot for beauty treatments…so they had to put up with a little partying. No way around it. But jeez! All they needed at this point was for a bunch of guys to meet every week for poker and massage.

  “Bite your tongues!” hissed Peggy when they said this to her. Then she assumed a thoughtful expression. “But if Marly keeps dating Jack, soon we might be hosting legislative sessions here, with three-martini lunches.”