by Jody Gehrman
Hero took his hand and led him gently to the redwood I was crouching behind. “Here,” she coaxed, “just put your hands behind you—yep, behind the tree like that. Oh, you’re being such a good boy.”
Once we had his arms wrapped backwards around the trunk, I clamped the handcuffs onto his wrists, and the sound of the metal clicking shut seemed to echo through the trees.
“Oh my God. Is that what I think it is?” A little struggle confirmed his suspicions. He tried to keep his tone light. “I never guessed you were into bondage.”
But Hero didn’t answer him. She was no longer a flirty girl traipsing through the moonlit woods. She bent to pick up her candle in silence, and we all picked ours up too; Amber lit them one by one while John prattled on nervously.
“Hey—is someone else here? This isn’t like a group thing, is it? I mean, kinky’s cool, but I like to know what I’m getting into.”
We had our candles lit, and we formed a wide circle around our captive, who twisted his head left to right, listening. I nodded at Marcy, and she pushed PLAY on the iPod, filling the air around us with the sound of John’s malevolent voice.
“Purebred pussy . . . Best blow job in town . . . You think anyone suspects? You think anyone suspects? You think anyone suspects?” We looped this over and over again—his disembodied, hateful voice bouncing off the mist-shrouded redwoods.
“Okay, hold up. What’s the deal? Who’s there?”
We said nothing.
“Hello?” he was getting louder now. “Hero? Is this supposed to be funny?”
Still we were silent. Marcy edged the volume up slightly, and John had to yell to be heard.
“Because it’s not funny, you know! I’m not laughing.”
When he seemed suitably unnerved, I nodded at Marcy and she immediately turned the iPod off. Then I turned to Hero, and she began to chant in Latin, her voice deeper and more commanding than I’d ever heard it.
"Dura lex, sed lex.”
"Dura lex, sed lex,” we echoed.
"Quidquid latine dictum sit altum viditur.”
"Quidquid latine dictum sit altum viditur.”
"Da mihi sis crustum Etruscum cum omnibus in eo . . .”
And so on. Even though we’d practiced this some, I wasn’t prepared for how authentic it sounded, out here in the ancient forest, with only the misshapen moon as our witness. (Okay, technically, the stofers were our witnesses too, but they were so stoned I hardly think they count.)
John wasn’t saying a word now. Our candles cast flickering pools of light on his face, and I could see he was sweating. The Latin was getting to him. If only he knew we were saying things like, “Everything sounds profound in Latin,” and “I’ll have a pizza with everything on it.”
When I sensed we’d milked all we could from the demented Druid act, I slid my finger across my throat, and the BAM committee fell silent. When I looked at Amber, she pulled the script I’d written from the inside of her robe and recited in a somber tone, “John Jamieson, hast thou sinned against the daughters of Eve?”
“Daughters of Eve? What the—?”
“I repeat: Hast thou sinned against the daughters of Eve?” Amber was louder now, getting into it.
John tried hard to yank himself free of the handcuffs, but it was futile. “I don’t think so.”
"You don’t think so?” Amber was the very embodiment of righteousness. “Sir, in the eyes of this committee, your answer is insufficient.”
As if to punctuate Amber’s statement, Hero led us in another chant: "Dura lex, sed lex, dura lex, sed lex!” Our voices intertwined and spiraled up through the trees, getting louder and louder. An owl hooted from somewhere above us, as if egging us on.
Finally, when our mantra sounded so maniacal it was scaring even me, Amber broke in with, “Sisters, he’s not getting it. Bring me the cleaver.”
She was improvising now, but I didn’t mind.
John cried out, “Okay, okay, yes!”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I guess I’ve sinned. Against Eve, or whoever.”
Amber glanced down at her script. “Please, sir, tell the committee what crimes you have committed against the Bettys here assembled.”
John actually cracked a smile. “Wait a minute—is that Beezie?”
In a flash, Amber had her knee against his crotch. She wasn’t inflicting any pain, but he cringed just the same, and she kept it in place as she spoke. “I recommend you refrain from using that name, now and forever. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” he grunted.
“What?”
“Yes!”
She stepped away from him and went on, referring to her script once again. “Sir, we have gathered here today to illuminate for public record the crimes you have committed against those assembled. You will hear the testimonies against you, and plead innocent or guilty, as your conscience demands. Do you understand?”
He just nodded, his face twisted into a tight grimace.
One by one, each of the BAMs stepped forward, removed her hood, and stated her grievance. Nikki had gone out with John three times, and when she refused to have sex on the third date, he’d told all his friends she had chlamydia. Lexa had gone to the prom with him and was blown away by the legendary yacht; unfortunately, he couldn’t get it up when they tried to do it, and the next thing she knew people were spray-painting “whore” on her locker. Marcy had only gone out with him once, and because she told him to his face he was a sloppy kisser, she’d been plagued by rumors about her alleged sluttiness ever since. Kim hung out with him for a month, let him videotape her kickboxing in a T-shirt and boxers, but was horrified when the footage starting popping up all over the Internet.
Each of their testimonies only made me hate the guy more. He was charismatic, persuasive, charming, intelligent, and what did he do with those gifts? He chewed us up and spit us out, as if every girl with a drop of self-esteem was a direct threat to his manhood.
It was Hero’s turn now. She stepped forward, shrugged off her hood, and said in a low, dangerous voice, “You ruined my birthday. You turned my first love against me. That’s all, but it’s enough.”
Nobody knew better than me how important that birthday party was to her. It might sound silly to people who don’t know Hero, but destroying her pink Glitterland fantasy was brutal; it was like taking a child’s favorite doll and slashing it to bits.
As Hero withdrew into the shadows of her hood, Amber removed hers and stood up taller. Her red hair looked fierier than ever in the candlelight. I thought Botticelli would be happy to paint her as she stood there, gazing at John with a look that mixed love and hatred in equal measures. He could call it Venus Gets Her Revenge.
“God, John. What can I even say to you? I was so happy; then you turned everything black.” Her voice broke, and I stepped forward to squeeze her hand. She squeezed my fingers in return and took a deep breath. Then she walked over to John and carefully, tenderly, removed his blindfold. She looked him right in the eye and whispered, “You know how to make people love you, John. To use that against them is just cruel.”
She pulled her hood up and walked back to her place in our circle, leaving John to gape at us, seven hooded figures in candlelight. It was my turn. I shook off my hood.
“What was your crime against me? You messed with my cousin and my best friend. That, I’m afraid, was a big mistake.”
“Bitch.” He said it under his breath, but we all heard it in the still, foggy night.
Amber started toward him, her eyes blazing, but I grabbed her arm and she stood still.
“I’m sorry,” I said pleasantly. “What did you say?”
I wondered too late if we should have left his blindfold on. He had his bearings now, and though he was still handcuffed to a tree, the element of surprise was no longer ours. He focused on me, his eyes glittering with rage.
“You heard me. I know you’re behind this, you stupid cunt. And I know where you live.”
I
felt a shiver travel down my spine, but I made myself address him in a commanding voice. “Sir, do you plead guilty to the charges leveled against you tonight?”
He laughed. “What? I went out with these girls, sure. All except you. I wouldn’t touch you if you were the last skanky, disease-ridden whore in the world.”
“Shut up!” Amber barked.
“The question remains: Cum tacent, clamant.” Hero got up in his face suddenly. I suspect Latin fueled her courage; it was like her superpower. “Are you guilty?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Yeah. Guilty and proud.”
“Excellent. Then our work here is done.” I produced a Triple Shot Betty to-go cup from the inner pocket of my robe. As I stood before him, I rattled it so he could hear the metal object inside. It was sealed with a plastic lid.
“What’s that?” he sneered.
“The key. Specifically, the key that could keep you from remaining here for the rest of your life, and possibly starving to death.” I shook my head. “Not a good way to go.”
He just scoffed.
I bent down and placed the cup near his feet. “We think it’ll take you a little while to get to it. Maybe a little longer to actually unlock the cuffs. But we imagine those hours of quiet reflection will serve you well. Given the crimes you’ve so freely confessed to, providing you with a little time to think things over is letting you off pretty easy, don’t you agree?”
“Don’t do me like that.” His face turned from vindictive to imploring so abruptly, I had to admire his emotional agility.
“Mmm, sorry,” I told him, “your charm’s not going to work this time. It’s late, we’re tired, and frankly, we’re a little disappointed in your lack of remorse. We’ll sleep better knowing you’re out here in these cold, dark woods, pissing yourself with fright.”
We gathered the iPod and speakers before making our way back through the woods toward the car. It’s funny; I expected us to be running and laughing at this point, exhilarated by our own daring. Instead we walked in silence. There was a somber mood hanging between us, like what we’d done wasn’t a prank at all, but an actual ritual. We could hear John crying out to us, pleading at first, then getting angrier and angrier as he realized we weren’t turning around.
Once we were out of John’s line of vision, we waited for the stofers. They met us on the path a little while later, camera in hand, smoking up as usual. “Man,” Dog said, “what a blowhard.”
John’s furious shouts grew harder to hear with every step, but we could still make out the gist of it. “You think anyone’s going to believe you, stupid whores? No! Nobody will believe you! Get back here!”
“Maybe nobody will believe you girls . . .” Virg patted his camera affectionately. “But everyone will believe Baby.”
Friday, August 15
10:10 A.M.
Woke up wondering if I dreamed last night’s escapades. Checked my e-mail and knew I hadn’t—there were twenty messages, all from the BAMs, all plotting and scheming about the final stage of our plan. Hopefully we’ll pull it off cum laude magnum.
3:30 P.M.
Classic! A zit. I can’t believe this. It’s the size of a golf ball. Why must the gods taunt me so?
5:40 P.M.
Tonight’s the big night: dinner with the guys, then off to the midnight screening of Blood Moon. I’ve been so nervous and fidgety, I could hardly apply my makeup.
Of course Hero looks fabu. All that shopping with Bronwyn has updated her look—she’s gone from a princess to Bohemian babe. She still favors bridesmaid pastels, but she’s gone in for a little leather fringe here and there, beaded halter tops, that sort of thing. Tonight she’s wearing these killer suede flares with a celery green baby doll tank. Amber’s wearing her signature denim mini with one of Hero’s hand-me-down cashmere tees. I’ve got on a pale orange baby-T with Bronwyn’s buttery suede skirt. All in all, we look pretty hot, except that I resemble the “before” shot in a Clearasil commercial. Why, why, why?
At Uncle Leo’s suggestion, we got dressed early and sat out on the patio, sipping Pinot as we nibbled on cheese, crackers, and Elodie’s amazing bacon-wrapped green beans. The valley below was bathed in creamy, golden light, and little wisps of fog were lining up above the far hills, ready to be stained pink come sunset. It’s one of those evenings that makes you wish summer would last forever.
To my surprise, the EUWW was there—her name’s Sharon, evidently—and every time she praised Uncle Leo’s Pinot or complimented Elodie’s appetizers, his eyes gleamed with pleasure.
I pulled Hero aside and whispered, “You think they’re dating?”
She sighed. “I think so.”
“Are you horrified?”
She tilted her head to one side, considering. “Not really. I’m not in love with her, but I want Dad to be happy. He’s all alone here now.”
I nodded, feeling a quick pang of guilt about my deep-seated bimbo bias. If only I could be as accepting and serene as my cousin.
The doorbell chimed, startling me. “They’re not here yet, are they?”
Amber’s face was puzzled too, but Hero bit back a knowing smile. “Dad and I invited a friend.”
Uncle Leo stood up as Esperanza ushered in Alistair Drake. He was wearing black leather pants and a red silk shirt with dragons painted down the front. His blue-black hair was slicked into a ponytail.
“G’day,” he said in his thick Aussie accent.
“Alistair! Glad you could make it.” Leo clapped him on the shoulder and showed him to a chair. “Pinot all right?”
“Sounds great. But just a sip—can’t stay long—got to pick someone up at the airport soon.”
I snuck a look at Amber; her face was veering dangerously between ecstasy and terror.
“Hello, girls,” he said to us before leaning forward and smiling at Amber. His teeth were slightly crooked, but it was a good, genuine smile. “You must be Amber. I’ve heard about you.”
Amber’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Oh, yeah. Your friend Hero’s been telling me you’re quite an artist. Sorry to be so abrupt, but I’ve only got a couple minutes. I was wondering if you might have some samples of your work on you?”
Amber swallowed and nodded. She reached into her bag—a hand-me-down Louis Vuitton tote from Hero—and pulled out the little sketchbook she takes everywhere. She passed it to him and I saw that her hand was shaking a little.
He took it from her and flipped through the pages, sipping his wine as he perused. None of us spoke. Sometimes he paused and squinted at a page for a long time. “I love this rocket. The planets are brilliant.” He flipped more pages. “Wow, the passion flower’s quite detailed. Very evocative. And the Skater Girl looks just like your friend here.” He nodded at me; then he locked his hawklike eyes on her face. “I’m gathering staff for my shop, you know—we open our doors next month. If you want to help out, I’d love to have you.”
“I—oh, my God—yeah, absolutely.”
I’ve never seen Amber so tongue-tied.
“Nothing glamorous, and the pay’s not great, but if you help out with the phones and inventory, I guarantee you’ll apprentice with the best. We’re bringing in Seiji Unisuga from Kyoto—have you seen his work?”
“Have I seen it? Yeah—I mean, yes. He’s amazing.”
The side of Alistair’s mouth quirked up in a bemused grin. “Excellent. Then it’s decided.” He reached into his shirt pocket and handed her a bright red card. “Call me next week, we’ll set it up.”
“Thank you.” Amber’s eyes were shining.
When he’d gone, she covered her mouth with both hands. “Holy—Jesus—God!”
Leo poured more wine. “Sounds like you’re having a religious experience over there, Amber.”
She looked back and forth between Leo and Hero. “You guys. Oh my God! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
Hero shrugged, but I could tell she was pleased with herself. All she said was, “A deal’s a deal.�
�
Saturday, August 16
2:20 A.M.
Oh my God, I’ll never sleep! I feel like I’ve been pounding triple shots with Red Bull chasers.
Ben, PJ, and Claudio showed up right at six. When we heard a car in the drive we ran to the window, expecting to see Ben’s ancient relic of a Volvo, since we’d never fit into PJ’s truck. Instead we found ourselves staring at a huge silver limo.
After we finished screaming, Hero looked at her father. “Did you do this?”
He was noncommittal. “I think it’s a great idea.”
“Because it was yours, wasn’t it?”
“I might have suggested it.” He loaded a cracker with brie and took a bite. “Studies show, the more teenagers you pile into a car, the greater your chance of having an accident. In order to eliminate that variable, it’s easy enough to—”
Amber tackled him mid-sentence with a running hug. “Leo, you’re so damn cool! I wish you were my dad.”
“Thanks, honey,” he said when he could breathe again. “You’re welcome.” He patted her back awkwardly, still chewing.
The doorbell rang.
Hero, Amber, and I looked at each other, suddenly rigid with nerves. “Okay, don’t panic,” I said as we made our way into the foyer.
Amber said, “What’s the Betty Code of Conduct, girls?”
“Stick together,” Hero and I answered in unison.
“That’s right,” she said. “Watch each other’s backs.”
“If a Betty has something in her teeth,” Hero said, “notify her immediately.”
“And don’t get vomitously drunk,” I added.
Amber came back with, “That’s your rule.” When I threw her a look she said, “But it’s a good one. Gum, anyone?” Hero and I nodded, and Amber handed us each a stick of Big Red.
“Girls?” Uncle Leo called from the living room. “Esperanza’s gone home. You waiting for me to get the door?”
“No!” Hero called.
“Okay, chicas,” I whispered. “Let’s do this.” Then I yanked the door open.