Annihilate Me 2: Holiday

by Christina Ross

  Blackwell simply looked at me with a bemused smile.

  “Jennifer,” she said. “Darling,” she said. “I do love you. But if you think for one moment that my daughters or I am going back to that horrible hellhole of a cottage Alex and you call your ‘second home’ on that raw and ugly coast of Maine for yet another Christmas gathering, well, you can forget about that right now. It’s not going to happen.”

  “We’re not going to our house on the Point,” I said to her. “And by the way, that house is as lovely as its views. And I believe that you spent plenty of time there with Alex’s mother when she was alive. It’s no hellhole. You’re just acting up, as you usually do. That said—and in case you didn’t hear me the first time, allow me to repeat—we aren’t going there. Alex has already secured a cabin for us at Sugarloaf.”

  “A cabin?” she said, lifting her dark bob away from her face with the pinky of her right hand. “So, now I’m to become some sort of a woodswoman? Should I bring a rifle with me? Should I learn to shoot? Bare knives? Swords? Sling arrows? Seriously, Jennifer? A cabin? Get real.”

  “That’s just what they call them there,” I said. “What Alex chose for us is large and elegant. And, by the way, he did all of this out of love for his family, which includes you, Daniella, and Alexa.”

  “Why would he ever choose a place called ‘Sugarloaf’?” she said. “Already it sounds fattening. I’m imagining a heaping dose of sugar folded into loaves of bread. Are you trying to fatten me up? Just hearing this revelation of yours makes me want to crack down on a few cubes of ice.” And when she said that, her gaze roamed over my body. “As should you, my dear. Because, you know, if a baby is to come for you and Alex, which I believe it will sooner rather than later at the rate you two are going at it, you need to start to control your weight right now. And just by looking at you, I’d say that you’re failing spectacularly.”

  “Like hell I am.”

  “Oh, you’ve gained a few ounces. Believe me on that.”

  “Moving on. Sugarloaf is one of the best ski resorts in the United States.”

  “A ski resort,” she said. “So, now you’re expecting me to ski?”

  “I actually think you’ll rather enjoy it.”

  “Then you clearly know nothing about me.”

  “Oh, but I do know you. And do you want to know how well I know you? Why don’t I just show you? Madison?” I called out.

  “You’ve brought Madison into this?” Blackwell said.

  “In fact I have, because, along with the rest of us, she wants you and the girls to join us.”

  Madison entered the room with a garment bag that was branded with the ‘Chanel’ logo.

  “Hello, Barbara,” she said.

  “‘Hello,’ my ass. And what is that you’re carrying?”

  “Enticement,” Madison said.

  “I don’t even know what that means…”

  “Jennifer and I thought that if you were to take to the slopes—even the bunny slopes, which are super easy and fun—that you might want to rock them in this.”

  “The bunny slopes,” Blackwell said. “What is this? The seventies? That sounds like Playboy to me. Utter porn! But whatever. I’m already starting to become weirdly transfixed by the Chanel logo. So, reveal to me what’s inside—if it even is from Chanel…”

  “It is,” Madison said, pulling down the zipper and removing the bright red, quilted ski suit we’d purchased for Blackwell at Chanel. “And not only is it your size, but no one is going to be wearing anything like this in Maine.”

  The moment Blackwell saw it, she stood.

  “Turn it for me,” she said.

  Madison turned it this way and that.

  “It’s sublime,” she said. “Perfection.” She shot me a look. “I don’t follow ski suits, so I need to know—is this part of this year’s collection?”

  “It is,” I said. “It’s bright red, it’s leather, and it’s to die for.”

  “And there also are these,” Madison said as she reached deep into the bag. “Sun goggles—also by Chanel. Just look at the solar finish on them. Hypnotizing! And then there are the gloves,” she said, retrieving them from the bottom of the bag. “Black. To create a shot of interest and, you know, to match your boots. When you’re in this, you will be the star of the slopes.”

  “The star,” Blackwell said. “How enticing. Let me touch it!”

  When she did, she looked at each of us.

  “Fine. Let me see what I can do with the girls,” she said. “At this point, I must say that I appreciate your slovenly holiday appeal. But none of this is a done deal yet. Naturally, the Chanel is divoon. And frankly, when it came to targeting your audience—which naturally was me—you did an outstanding job. But I’ll nevertheless need to get back to you on all of this, because, despite how desperately each of you have groveled, I remain unconvinced about whether we’ll go until my daughters weigh in.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Lisa and I met for lunch in the Pool Room at the Four Seasons. Traffic was ridiculous due to the light bit of snow we’d received, so I was a full ten minutes late. I’d sent Lisa a text on the drive over, so at least she was expecting me to be late.

  “Ms. Ward is sitting right over there, Mrs. Wenn,” the maître d’ said as he led me into the lavish space after checking my coat.

  “Thank you, Stephen.”

  “Always my pleasure. You two do tend to lift the room. In fact, I’d say that right now that you alone are attracting your share of attention.”

  Since I could see heads turning toward me as I followed him deeper into the restaurant, I knew what he meant, not that I commented on it. I couldn’t care less about how well known I was in this city. And so we just carried on, stepping past the square pool at our left, which was illumined from within and giving off a warm glow of light. Lisa was sitting at a table along the wall of windows at the opposite end of the room. Her face brightened when she saw me.

  “Finally,” she said, standing up to give me a hug.

  “It’s been a full week,” I said. “And by the way, enough of this. We should be seeing each other twice a week. Certainly we can manage that.”

  “The undead shall see to it,” she said.

  When we parted and sat down, Stephen asked us if we’d like something to drink.

  “Martini,” I said. “Three olives. Same for that one.”

  “Belvedere?”

  “Perfect,” Lisa said. “Just make sure it’s as smooth as silk and as cold as January.”

  “You remember that?” I said to her.

  “Are you joking? That’s one of the most elegant lines I’ve ever heard. I remember the day that Ann said that to you. It was when you first met Alex. And look at how that turned out.”

  “I’d say pretty damned well. How are you, lovecat? You look fresh!”

  “If I do, it’s nothing short of a goddamned zombie miracle. The new book is killing me, but we’ll talk about that later—because I might have something to share with you that’s funny and scandalous, but that could get me into a bit of trouble. It involves my new book—and it involves Blackwell.”

  “You’ve put Blackwell into your book?”

  “Not getting into specifics quite yet.”

  “What? How can this even be? You’re going to tease me with that and leave me hanging?”

  “It’s called a hook,” Lisa said. “It’s what we writers do. But it’ll be worth it. Hell, it might even be dessert!”

  “Now I totally need to know.”

  “Later. First thing’s first—did Blackwell cave in? Are she and the girls going to go to Maine with you for the holidays?”

  “I think the Chanel ski-suit stunt worked, but she still needs to get buy-in from Alexa and Daniella, who are nothing if not difficult. So I’ll know by the end of the day or tomorrow morning.”

  “Good luck with those two if they do decide to go.”

  “It can’t be as bad as last year,” I said.

  �
��Really? From what you told me, Cutter is going to be there. Daniella’s hormones are going to circle around him like a blizzard of buzzards. Good for you for trying to enjoy some Christmas cheer and all that, but I think that you’re in for it.”

  “Look, it is what it is—they’re family to me at this point. They need to be there. The only thing that will be missing are Tank and you. I wish you were coming, but I understand why you aren’t. Do you realize that this will be the first Christmas we haven’t spent together?”

  “I’m still trying to process it.”

  “It’s just not going to be the same.”

  “It’s not, but it’s time for me to meet the family!” she said in a completely false yet light-hearted voice. “And we’ll see if those Midwesterners take a liking to me or not.”

  “They’ll love you.”

  “I write about zombies, Jennifer. They’ll probably think that they need to serve me a raw steak or something.”

  “I have a feeling that Tank’s family is far more sensitive and advanced than that.”

  “I’m just joking. I actually can’t wait to meet them—I mean, they produced Tank. How bad can they be? That said, we have to spend the entire week at their house! And Tank said that it isn’t a large house. And all of us know what that means. If he even tries to have sex with me, his parents will hear my every moan and groan!”

  “Oh, dear. Well, my best advice is to exhaust him before you leave.”

  “Seriously? Tank has conditioned himself to the point that he’s essentially a machine. We might have to do what you and Alex pulled last Christmas. You know—escape to a no-tell motel, just to have some sort of privacy together. Hopefully, there’s a motel nearby. In fact, I need to Google that shit STAT. If there is one close to us, we’ll just say, ‘Hey, look at us, we’re just going to do some shopping! See you soon! And by the way, don’t mind me if I return looking as if your son has just banged the hell out of me, because he will have. Pay no attention!’”

  “You’re killing me.”

  When a waiter returned with our martinis and asked us if we would like to order, I declined. “If you don’t mind, we’d first like to enjoy our drinks and catch up, and then we’ll order.”

  “Absolutely, Mrs. Wenn. Just catch my eye when you’re ready, and I’ll be right over.”

  “Thank you.”

  When he walked away, Lisa said, “People fucking revere you.”

  “Oh, they do not.”

  “Like hell they don’t.”

  “You’ve had two number-one bestsellers in a row. As if people don’t revere you as well.”

  “My peeps just want to eat my brains. And other body parts. That’s the crowd I’m selling to. You, on the other hand, have become New York royalty. And by the way,” she said, leaning into me. “How are things going with the pregnancy thing? Is New York any closer to having its newest prince or princess?”

  My shoulders slumped. “Alex and I are trying like a couple of type-A overachievers to get pregnant, but nothing has happened yet. In fact, I took a test this morning, because I knew that we’d be having our usual martinis and there was no way in hell I wasn’t going to have one if the results were negative, which they were. I’m starting to become desperate. I don’t understand why I’m not pregnant yet. My doctor continues to tell me that I’m fine. That it will happen. But it’s been seven months, Lisa, and I’m starting to wonder if there’s a problem.”

  “Seven months is fine,” she said. “I’ve already done my research on the sly. There might be an issue when it takes you longer than a year to conceive. At that point, you might want to seek out some sort of assistance. But I’m not concerned. You’ll get that bun in your oven soon enough, and you’ll bake it to perfection. The time will choose itself, Jennifer. But I hear you. And I’m just as frustrated for you as you are. I know that, since your miscarriage, you and Alex have become more committed than ever to having a child. So, let’s lift our glasses and give cheer to the day when that happens,” she said. “Because it’s going to come soon.”

  We touched glasses and sipped our martinis.

  “Damn that’s good,” Lisa said.

  “It’s nothing like the rotgut we used to drink when we first arrived in the city, that’s for sure.”

  “I don’t even want to remember those days.”

  “Actually, I do. It makes me appreciate everything I have now—and I’m not talking about material things. I could give a damn about those. I’m talking about my husband, you and Tank, Blackwell, and my other new friends. They’re the ones who mean the most to me.”

  “Well, when you put it like that, I’m just as grateful. Next to you, Tank is one of the best things that has ever happened to me. Thank you for introducing me to him—even if I did look like a slut when we first met. But whatever—wearing no bra in a white tank top did the trick!”

  “To say the least. So, I have to ask, it’s been nearly a year since you two became engaged. When are you going to marry?”

  “Actually—and this is on the low down, so keep your lips sealed—discussions are underway.”

  “And you’ve told me nothing about this?”

  “He only brought it up to me a few days ago. I wanted to tell you in person.”

  “Tank brought it up?”

  “In fact, he did!”

  “Shit’s about to get real.”

  “I know! He said that we should set a date because he wants to start calling me his ‘wife.’ And how romantic is that?”

  “I love him.”

  “Everyone loves Tank—he’s the best. How lucky am I?”

  “You’re both lucky. So, when’s the date?”

  “I’ve always wanted to be a June bride, and I think that’s going to happen. If, you know, I pass the parent test. Because if I don’t? What are we to do then?”

  “Get married,” I said. “To hell with them if they don’t like you, not that I see that happening. In fact, I think they’re going to fall in love with you. Despite your zombies.”

  “Here’s the catch,” she said. “From what Tank has told me, I’m pretty sure that they’re totally religious, so we’re going to have to wait and see about that. Who knows how they’ll react to me? And what I do for work? I’m taking their only child for God’s sake. And I write best-selling novels about the undead. What will the peeps in Prairie Home, Nebraska think of that?”

  “Yeah, there’s that,” I said. “So! I think we need another drink!”

  “I agree.”

  And so we drank.

  * * *

  Later, after we’d ordered, I turned the conversation back to Lisa’s new book. “All right,” I said. “Spill it about the new book. What does Blackwell have to do with it?”

  “I totally need you to have my back when it comes to this one,” she said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Because my veiled reference to her in the new book isn’t really that, well, veiled at all…”

  “Sweet Jesus!”

  “So, here’s what I’ve done. I’ve got this minor character named Bertha. She just has a small part, but she kind of steals the show.”

  “Already I can’t stand it.”

  “Then buckle up, lady. Because before Bertha was turned, she was a total fashionista. A big corporate powerhouse who loved her some Chanel.”

  “Please, God, no.”

  “Oh, please, God, yes! Anyway, Bertha gets bitten by some poor infected beast and becomes a zombie. Then, because some part of her remembers that she loves couture, she starts raiding all of the Chanel stores in Manhattan.”

  “On, no, she doesn’t!”

  “Oh, yes, she does! She goes to the Chanel on East 57th Street, and then to the one on Madison Avenue, and finally she marches her bony, rotting ass to the one on Spring Street. And in between, there’s Bergdorf and Saks! It’s pure satire, but I think that it’s just funny and subversive enough for my readership to enjoy. Here is a zombie who has somehow remembered what she love
d most when she was alive—fashion. And also the need to look her best, regardless of the fact that she’s been reduced to a decaying corpse. Blackwell has always wanted to be as thin as a needle, so I’ve given Bertha the same traits. She’s a knot of bones with not a lick of meat on them. As she goes from store to store, she tries on this Chanel suit, this Chanel jacket, that Chanel dress, those Chanel shoes. She actually goes from a size zero to a minus two. To top it off, she decides which tailors live or die—if only so that her clothes can be fitted properly to her.”

  “Why do I feel like cackling?” I said.

  “Because we both know that if this was indeed Blackwell, it is the zombie she’d turn out to be.”

  “Iris is going to have your ass.”

  “Are you kidding me? You know how Iris and Blackwell are together. Iris isn’t just an excellent editor, but she also has one serious sense of humor. I think she’s going to have a gas when she reads that passage. It’s only a few pages, but it does make a social statement about our must-have-everything culture. I’m just grateful to Blackwell for the inspiration.”

  “Well,” I said. “As horrified and as delighted as I am, cheers to you, my friend. Because that shit is funny.”

  “Just don’t say a word of it to anyone.”

  “Like I would—I’m a vault. So, when do you and Tank leave?”

  “Two days,” she said.

  “So you’ll be back before New Year’s?”

  “We will.”

  “Then the four of us will need to spend New Year’s Eve together,” I said. “I’ll nail down a restaurant for us. If you have any ideas, shoot them my way. As for the men in our lives, they could give a rat’s ass about where we go. But I want to play dress up with you, so it needs to be somewhere super fancy.”

  “I’m totally on board with that. And since you are absolutely revered in this town, you can make that happen.”

  “I’m not even going to respond to that, because you’re just baiting me. Here’s what I say—the day before the big night, we’ll go shopping for new dresses.”