Sidekick Returns

by Auralee Wallace

  ‘Okay. What happened to the dress?’

  I felt my eyebrows screw up. ‘Huh?’

  ‘What happened to the dress?’

  I brought my hand up to cup my mouth as a snapshot of a bag sitting in a museum washroom flashed through my mind. ‘The dress! The beautiful, beautiful dress! Oh, Queenie,’ I gasped. ‘I am a hateful, hateful person.’

  Queenie didn’t move.

  My eyes darted over her expression. ‘That’s your agreement face, isn’t it? You’ve been right all along about me.’

  Still nothing.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. ‘And you didn’t just whip off that masterpiece out of the Elvis fabric, did you?’ I asked, cracking one eye open. ‘Oh,’ I moaned, ‘and that’s your No, I didn’t Bremy face.’

  I flopped back down on the bed. I couldn’t meet her empty mirrored gaze that somehow reflected everything I hated about myself any longer. ‘I’ve been thinking about it. You’re in fashion. That’s what you do. Probably an intern for some designer who works your fingers to the bone, and you still found time in your off hours to make me a dress, and what do I do?’ My hands flopped to my sides. ‘Leave it behind. But there was a fire … and a falling Pierce … and then my sister … who has a cape!’ I sighed. ‘But I didn’t even think about the dress because I have led a disposable pampered life. I am a miserable, miserable human being, who does not deserve good friends.’

  I shook my head back and forth on the flat pillow. ‘No! And now I’m making this all about me by feeling sorry for myself!’ I shot up in bed. ‘Queenie, what can I d— Queenie?’

  I was all alone in the room once again. Okay, I deserved that.

  ‘Queenie? Queenie?’ I shouted in the direction of the door. ‘Come back! Tell me what I can do to fix this.’

  Queenie walked back into the room with a garment bag.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked. ‘Did you save the dress from the museum? Tell me you saved the dress from the museum.’

  ‘No.’ She laid the garment bag on the chair by the bed. ‘It’s your Gone With the Wind dress.’

  ‘My gone with the what-what dress?’

  She sighed angrily. ‘Your Gone With the Wind dress. The dress Scarlett has to make out of curtains to go see Rhett.’

  I shook my head. ‘I got nothing. Never seen it.’

  Her eyes moved from the bag to me. ‘You are an ignorant troll.’

  ‘Hey! I mean I know the basic premise, and the not giving a damn part … Wait. You called me a name.’ I smiled. ‘We’re friends again, aren’t we?’

  ‘Stop talking!’ I started a little, which seemed to satisfy Queenie. ‘This Big Shot, he’s from your previous life, and he likes you.’

  My jaw dropped. ‘How did you know that?’

  Queenie planted her hands on her hips and tossed her head. ‘Oh, he’ll see me … he’ll see me.’

  ‘Huh?’ I asked. ‘Oh! You’re doing me.’ My face twisted into a grimace. ‘Wow. That is kind of annoying.’

  Queenie ignored me again. ‘But he liked socialite you, and right now, you don’t look like socialite you.’

  My hand automatically flew up to my hair. ‘Which me do I look like, right now?’

  ‘I don’t have the time or the patience to deal with the horror that will ensue if I answer that question.’

  ‘I understand.’

  She unzipped the garment bag. ‘So get up.’ I moved to get out of bed when a thought suddenly hit me. ‘Oh! I’ve got an idea! While I’m changing maybe we could talk about the Bart and Kevin situation,’ I said, smiling and nodding.

  Queenie matched my smile in a sick parody and clapped her hands together. ‘Oh! But first we should totally talk about what’s going on with Pierce and Jenny.’

  I blinked a few times. ‘Um, ow. Okay, we’ll take our friendship one step at a time.’

  Queenie nodded.

  ‘Now, let’s get me dressed,’ I said in a Southern accent. ‘I’ve got a scoundrel to meet.’

  ‘No.’

  I nodded. ‘I knew it was too much even as I was saying it.’

  ‘And, if the word Mammy leaves your mouth, I will punch you in the face.’

  ‘Totally fair.’ A few minutes of silence passed as I dressed. It was yet another masterpiece. I smoothed the dark silver fabric of my classy tight dress. That might sound like an oxymoron, but Queenie had kept the pressure cuff theme that Ricky’s girls were always wearing, but managed to craft it in a way that still put some class around my a— Well, let’s just say, I’d be sure not to lose this baby.

  ‘Queenie?’ I asked suddenly.

  She looked up from the adjustments she was making to the clingy fabric around my hips.

  ‘Do you think Choden’s right? That I have no hope of saving Ryder?’

  ‘Probably.’

  I nodded, then waited a moment before asking, ‘Then why are you still here?’

  She sighed. ‘Choden can’t protect you from this. You were right about what you said back in the alley. It doesn’t matter which corner of the earth Choden tucks you away in, your father’s coming for you.’

  I swallowed hard. ‘Revenge is how he shows he cares.’

  ‘Besides, you’re like watching one of those daredevils on TV.’ Her eyes trailed up to the ceiling. ‘One of these times you’re going to die, but that’s not going to stop me from making popcorn.’ Her eyes snapped back down to mine.

  ‘Ha! Come on. You don’t mean that,’ I said, studying her expression. ‘That’s your I mean it face, isn’t it?’

  Queenie smiled a bit.

  ‘Well, here’s hoping I don’t die in this dress,’ I said. ‘I’d hate to get blood on it.’

  Chapter 39

  A few hours passed before I was riding the elevator up to Ricky’s penthouse. It really hadn’t been too difficult finding out where he was staying. A quick call to Mr Pushkin had taken care of that, and when the doorman called up to see if I had permission to visit, I was shown right in. I adjusted the fabric of my dress again in the mirrored wall of the elevator. Sure, the blood in my head was still pounding uncomfortably, and all my muscles were screaming obscenities, but damn did I look good. Queenie was the real superhero.

  As the floors dinged by, I tried to slow my breathing, but I wasn’t having much luck. I was going to see Ricky. Ricky.

  Man, had I been in love with that boy back in the day. Puppy love, sure. But even the cute canine version was pretty strong stuff. For the most part, growing up, boys had been weird around me. They were either spoiled bluebloods who could never seem to muster up much interest in anything other than themselves, or they were too nervous to speak to me like I was a regular person, and not a St. James. Not Ricky, though.

  I looked at the glowing numbers clicking by on the elevator wall. Almost there. I caught myself smiling remembering the first time I had met Ricky. It had been at our estate down in South Beach. I hadn’t even noticed the new guy skimming the water when I walked out that day in my polka dot bikini. Well, at least not until the new guy noticed me. It was hard not to pay attention to him then—what with his grabbing his chest like the sight of me had given him a heart attack. He even fell to his knees. Yup, Ricky always knew how to make an impression. I swallowed hard.

  Pretty unforgettable.

  Just then the elevator dinged and opened … at the exact same moment, the doors to the penthouse swung wide.

  Whoa.

  Big, big, Ricky … I mean, Big Ricky Shot … I mean, just Ricky. My heart picked up its pace just at the sight of him. Muscle memory, I guess. Goosebumps. ‘Well, hello,’ he said, voice warm, manly. ‘Welcome.’

  I walked the few steps towards him, taking in the face of the boy I once knew. He had definitely become a man, a big, filled-out, handsome man. He had naturally tanned skin, warm brown eyes, and, now that he had washed out that stupid slicked back bouffant thing he had going on, his hair looked quite … touchable … and damp, like he had just showered. I resisted the urge to lean closer to breat
he in his freshly washed smell. I needed to focus. Truth was, all memories aside, I didn’t know Ricky … not anymore. In fact, the only thing I knew for sure was that he was working for my father.

  I slid past him into the penthouse, ignoring the heat I picked up from his body that made me shiver. My goal was to basically find out everything Ricky knew about my father’s plans. The tricky part would be finding it all out in twenty minutes or less. I peeked down at the little device nestled in my cleavage. We knew my father would be watching Ricky, and Bart had figured out a way to put a bubble around the building to interrupt all wireless communication, but only for about twenty minutes. After that, I was on my own. The special frequency pager I was hiding would give me a five-minute warning.

  Time to do this thing.

  ‘Well,’ I said, looking around the enormous room, ‘this is … loud.’

  By far the best part of the penthouse was the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the electric cityscape. The inside, however … well, the inside was very Rock Star! The dark blue loft was filled with rich leather furniture, a bar, and over-the-top art pieces. I took a step forward, snagging my heel on a white shaggy carpet—the kind that made you want to go barefoot … or not. Gross things had probably been done on that carpet with Ricky and one of his groupies … maybe more than one groupie. The room kind of had that feel.

  ‘Do you like it?’

  I swirled around to see Ricky’s signature I know what you got under that dress smile. ‘Um, I’m not so sure about that lamp over there,’ I said, furrowing my brow.

  ‘You mean Betty?’

  I eyed the smooth metal floor lamp, its base the shape of a naked woman. ‘Yes, Betty.’

  ‘Then Betty’s out,’ he said, turning to the lamp. ‘Sorry Betty. It’s been fun.’

  ‘And,’ I said, eying the near room-length bar with its glowing aquarium base, ‘is that some sort of water snake?’

  ‘You don’t like the snake?’

  ‘I’ve had some bad experiences lately.’

  ‘Wow.’ He covered his heart with his hand. ‘That one hurts, but for you Bremy, the snake’s gone.’

  I flashed him a sidelong glance. ‘Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you, Ricky?’

  ‘It’s only going to get thick—’

  ‘No,’ I said, channelling Queenie. ‘No.’

  He flashed me another slow, lazy smile. A moment passed, a hot tingly moment. ‘So,’ I said, drawing out the word. ‘Where do I even begin? The coat? The museum? Bremy St. James day?’

  ‘Let’s start there,’ he said. ‘Did you like it?’

  I pressed my lips together.

  ‘We watched that movie together. You remember?’

  Yes, I remembered spending a day watching movies with Ricky. It had been one of the best days of my adolescent life. I nodded.

  ‘You always liked eighties movies,’ Ricky went on, watching me. ‘Guys like me never had roles in those chick flicks though. They were always gardeners or pool cleaners … oh wait.’

  I wagged a finger at him. ‘Ricky, you know I’m not here to rekindle whatever it was we had back then. I’m …’

  Ricky quickly crossed the distance between us and lifted my chin with one finger before I pushed his hand away.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Checking for the hickey.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘The Hickey from Hell is long gone.’

  ‘That is a shame. I was trying to mark you for life.’

  ‘You are not a dog, and I am not a hydrant,’ I said, with what I hoped looked like some disdainful rapid blinking and not a seizure. ‘And hickeys are not cool.’

  He dropped his hand and met my gaze with an unusual degree of sincerity. ‘Actually, I just wanted to make sure you couldn’t tell yourself later that it never happened.’ He turned his back to me. ‘It must have been hard for you to live with yourself after you made out with the pool boy.’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ I said, pushing him on the shoulder. ‘Your being the pool boy was never the problem. Your desperation to be a playah was sometimes a problem, though, Big Shot.’

  ‘You like the name?’ he said with a game show-worthy smile. ‘I came up with it myself.’

  ‘It’s a little … over-the-top.’

  ‘Exactly what I was going for.’ Ricky stepped closer again. ‘You know, even though that hickey got me fired …’ He paused and shook his head. ‘That day was worth it.’

  Electricity crackled between us.

  I shook my head and moved away. I needed to get this conversation under control. All these memories were making me feel warm and fluster-y when I was supposed to be feeling all cool and manipulative-y. The clock was ticking. I looked down again at my boobs. All quiet on the cleavage front.

  I sidled back over to Ricky who had moved to stand in front of the windows. I put a finger on his chin this time, guiding his gaze from the cityscape to mine. He studied my face, and if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a slight hitch to his breath. I moved my eyes to his mouth, catching my bottom lip between my teeth. Oh, I was good. ‘Can we talk about your recent path to greatness … Ricky?’

  For a brief moment, I was certain I had him under my spell, then he said, ‘What are you doing?’

  I cocked my head. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  The corner of his mouth shot up in a half-smile. ‘The finger?’ he said, looking down at my hand still at his chest. ‘The biting your lip?’ He moved closer still. ‘I liked that one, by the way. Keep it. But, Bremy St. James, I do believe you are trying to seduce information out of me.’

  I held his gaze for a moment longer before I cracked. ‘Dammit!’ I flung my hand away and hopped up and down angrily before kicking the sofa. ‘Why can I never do the femme fatale thing? I mean, I already kind of decided I didn’t want to be that kind of super— I mean, never mind. But I’d still like to be able to do it. You know what I mean?’

  ‘You lost me about halfway through,’ he said with a playful sidelong look. ‘But don’t be so hard on yourself. I never said it wouldn’t work. But a man has to have a little self-respect. I just need you to know that I know what you’re doing. Now continue,’ he said, closing his eyes with a very pleasure-filled look on his face.

  I just looked at him.

  He rolled his hand in a carry on gesture.

  ‘Forget it. I told you that’s not going to be my MO anyway.’ I sank into the couch by Betty the lamp, before scooting over a bit. Headless naked lamp ladies made me uncomfortable. ‘Not that I even know what my MO is.’

  ‘Don’t be sad, Brems,’ Ricky said, kneeling in front of me. ‘If you wanted information, all you had to do was ask.’

  I raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said, standing up and offering me a hand. ‘I want to show you something.’

  ‘Alright,’ I muttered. ‘But if that something is in your pants, I’m not going to be impressed.’

  Chapter 40

  ‘Um … wow.’

  ‘I know.’

  I stared at the enormous blown-up photo plastered to the wall over Ricky’s king plus, plus, plus sized bed. ‘Well?’ he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and rocking on his feet.

  I squinted. ‘It’s me.’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘A giant me … in a bikini.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Above your bed.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  And here I was, once again faced with yet another Bremy, from all the Bremy St. James-es past. I recognised the shot. It was from my modelling days. Two days in total. That’s all it took for me to realise that modelling was actually hard work—and for me to remember that I was really rich. But it was a nice shot. I was lying on my stomach in a gold bikini with my head thrown back in laughter. Ricky had changed the photo to sepia, giving it a sort of timeless quality. I was definitely channelling Ms Brinkley that day. I backhanded Ricky on the stomach—a stomach that I couldn’t help but notice was covered with ridges. ‘What the he
ll is the matter with you?’

  ‘You don’t like it?’

  ‘No! It’s creepy. And weird,’ I answered, wrinkling my nose. ‘What are you going to do next? Watch me sleep?’

  ‘It’s a symbol.’

  ‘Of what? Your stalker tendencies?’

  ‘Success.’

  I spun to look at him.

  ‘You, Bremy St. James, have always represented everything I’ve ever wanted to be.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, dropping my chin and looking up at him from under my brows. ‘What now?’

  ‘You have no idea how remarkable you are, do you?’ He shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘It was never your physical attributes that had me so …’ He sucked air in through his teeth. ‘Tied up in knots. It was your attitude.’

  ‘You like spoiled rich girls?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. That’s not you. It was the way you looked at life … like it was some juicy, ripe peach that you wanted to sink your teeth into.’ He leaned towards me and brushed one finger down from my lips to my chin then to my throat. I gulped.

  ‘That sounds messy.’ I couldn’t deny Ricky’s words were having an effect on me. Lately, it felt like everyone I knew, and some people I didn’t, were taking my inventory, and I had been trying to convince them all that I was a good person, or at least not a bad one, and then here was Ricky—Ricky with his weird bedroom shrine—who seemed to think I was awesome just the way I was … or used to be. His finger traced a path further down to the dip at my throat, then lower, almost … almost to the little pager-type device hidden in my boobs!

  I slapped his hand away.

  ‘Anyway, that’s the way I wanted to look at the world,’ he said, spreading his arms wide. ‘And now I am.’

  ‘Oh Ricky.’ I shook my head. ‘You’ve got the fever. But I promise you, there is more to life than Cristal baths and the backseat of a Maybach.’ In fact, Cristal baths could be quite painful if you had any nicks from shaving.

  ‘I know,’ he said, once again coming in close. ‘There’s Bremy St. James on the beach.’

  I gulped again, and mumbled, ‘I don’t know what it is … but right now you sound a lot like Dracula.’ A Dracula that I found kind of hot. I stepped away from him, hitting the back of my legs on the mattress. And then I was sitting on the bed. Oh my. Ricky took that as an invitation to sit beside me.