1 The Housewife Assassin's Handbook

by Josie Brown

  “Oh, no reason.” I feign innocence, but all I can think to say is something totally stupid. “I thought they might have been the ones who’s let their dog run wild and make in everyone’s yard.”

  Tiffy wrinkles her nose in disgust. “That’s Nola’s mutt, Rin Tin Tin. That great Dane makes some humongous piles!”

  Penelope snickers, “Yeah, well, he’s big all over, if you catch my drift. That’s the way she likes all the men in her life.”

  Her pals giggle.

  My God, their own lives are so dismal that they have to fantasize about Nola’s?

  “Speaking of all ‘men,’ I can’t wait to finally meet Carl.” Penelope’s purr has all heads swiveling in my direction.

  “Oh . . . I’m sure you will. Soon.”

  “You mean tonight, don’t you? Remember, I’m Mistress of Ceremonies at the dance.” She smiles supremely. By the way, the cafeteria ladies aren’t on duty tonight. I told them you’d cover. Bring an apron and a hairnet.”

  “But—I can’t do it tonight. I’ve got to stay home with Jeff and Trisha—”

  “Just ask your foreign exchange student to sit for them. She’s got nothing better to do, right?”

  Oh, no, nothing at all, just saving Los Angeles from being blown off the face of the planet sometime in the next three weeks. And instead of slinging Tater-Tots, I could be checking out the weirdoes who live next door to Hayley.

  “By the way, Hayley, you’re on kitchen duty, too,” adds Penelope with a vicious smile.

  “What? Why me? Why not Tiffy?” Her voice tells us she’s frowning, but we certainly can’t see it. Those weekly Botox injections have paid off in that ghastly smile and glass-smooth forehead.

  “Because I need Tiffy at registration, and then out on the floor, making sure all the girls are having a great time.”

  “Oh yeah? Then what will you be doing?” I presumed the question sounded innocent, but from the stares I’m getting from Penelope and her entourage, I guess I’ve overstepped some boundary.

  “Oh, don’t you worry. I’ll be taking care of the men.”

  I’ll just bet you will . . .

  I’m so angry about getting roped into kitchen duty that I poke my thumb with a pipe cleaner. Blood spurts out. Quickly I grab one of the tissues and wrap it tightly around the cut.

  Hayley snatches it away. “Oh my goodness, Donna! We’re short on the pale blues. Couldn’t you just suck on it?”

  Rarely have I let the phrase “suck on it” go without a good pistol-whipping. I carry a Lady Derringer for moments like these.

  But yeah, okay, I’ll suck it up. For now, anyway.

  “Mom, you’re not going to school—looking like that, are you?”

  Mary has every reason to be horrified. Besides plain black pants and a severe black button-down cotton shirt, I’m wearing the requisite hairnet.

  Next to my daughter’s darling prom dress—what with its pale blue fitted strapless top and its short flouncy ivory skirt, in a puffy bow—I look like what I will soon be: the cafeteria lady.

  It doesn’t help that Jack is bounding down the stairs, dressed in black tie, and a perfectly fitted tux.

  Armani, of course.

  Mary’s shame is momentarily mollified at the sight of him. Both she and Trisha gasp in unison. Their father is too handsome for words, a life-size Ken doll.

  For just a second I’m wishing it were their real father standing there for them to admire. But then I force myself to be happy that they’ll have at least one memory to share—if not of Carl, then at least of a man who is a good enough actor to make them happy again.

  Jack gives Mary a tender hug. Trisha doesn’t want to be left out and throws her arms around his waist. Jeff looks up from his Wii just long enough to give an appraising nod.

  When Jack glances over at me, his eyes widen, and so does his grin. I cross my arms as a warning to him: say one word, and we’ll see who’s left standing.

  He takes the hint. Instead, he opens the front door and bows grandly. “Now, now Mary. One of us has to be Cinderella. Here’s the great news: no pumpkin tonight. Ladies, our chariot awaits.” He jingles the keys to the Maserati.

  “Yes!” Mary’s eyes are big as saucers. It’s her first time inside the Jackmobile. All of the other girls will be so jealous.

  The big girls, too.

  As I brush past him, he whispers in my ear, “Hairnets can be sexy—if that’s all you’re wearing.”

  I guess I didn’t make myself clear about making fun of Cinderella. This time to make my point, I step on the toe of his John Lobb tuxedo shoes.

  His groan tells me he finally gets it. At the very least he’ll be limping during the first dance.

  As we drive up, Mary’s friends, Wendy and Babs, lead a group of girls who come running out to greet us. They all look beautiful. Full war paint has been applied, and their hair is piled high on their heads or flowing in shining locks down their backs (bare, for the most part). Silk and taffeta swirl around us in a rainbow of colors.

  One by one, Mary introduces them to Jack. His dazzling smile is not lost on any of them. Their cheeks pink up under his warm gaze.

  So does Penelope’s and the rest of her pack. Always the queen bee, Penelope glistens in a gold-sequined St. John sheath, cinched at the waist. I’m given a one-minute reprieve as she simpers and preens. “Well, well, well, so this is Carl Stone. Finally, we meet! You’ve been such a mystery man that we were beginning to think you were a ghost!”

  That gives her no right to act as if he’s also her mystery date.

  “If I’d known what great company I was missing, trust me, I would have stuck around some more.”

  The women giggle at the inference. But the fantasy that he actually means what he says dissipates under Penelope’s white hot glare at me. “And I presume the cupcakes are in the car?”

  Oh heck. I knew I forgot something.

  Seeing the color drain from my face, Jack puts his arm around Penelope’s waist. “I’m the one who’s at blame—Penelope, isn’t it? Donna delegated the task of loading them into the trunk to me.” He throws me a wink, and then tosses me his car keys. “Honey, here you go . . . unless you need help unloading.”

  “No, no, you all go on in! I’ll be right back in no time at all.” I smile, but I’m panicking. Beyond Heavenly closed an hour ago.

  That means I’ll have to break into the bakery to get them.

  Jack leans over to give me a kiss. “Don’t forget to turn off the alarm,” he murmurs.

  “Piece of cake,” I mutter back.

  A hundred and forty-four of them, to be exact.

  Another reason I’m happy we took the Maserati. I’d rather have chocolate icing smeared on his backseat, not mine.

  I’m dangling from a rappelling wire, high above the wall of shelves where John Mathews, the owner of Beyond Heavenly, stores the boxes containing his cupcake orders.

  I thought I could just pick the back door lock, but I was sorely mistaken. Not only has he installed a webcam and a silent alarm that alerts the police, but a laser motion system as well.

  Emma was able to disarm the first two, but the latter may take another hour or so, which is why I’m now playing Catwoman, ducking and dodging the rays that crisscross the space below me, forcing me to play a perverted game of Limbo.

  For the life of me, I can’t figure out why John feels the need to have tighter security than the Pentagon. Granted, he’s selling a hella lotta cupcakes. The shelves are chockfull with orders! I guess everyone in Hilldale has a sweet tooth, although you wouldn’t know it to look at the tight-bodied yummy mommies that roam our streets, which leads me to believe that poor Hayley isn’t the only one chewing and spewing.

  As if a size six should be considered a weight problem.

  It’s too dark to read the tickets on the boxes, but I�
�m guessing that twelve dozen cupcakes equates to the biggest boxes on the shelf. Since time is of the essence, and my body is too tired to shift into any other Cirque du Soleil contortions, I grab the largest order I can find, then pull my rappelling cord.

  Like a rocket, it hoists me up back through the skylight—

  And I hit the roof on my butt.

  So much for poise and agility. Yet another reason why I’ve got to quit skipping my Pilates class.

  One of the six double-dozen boxes goes skittering on the slick roof tiles. I grab it before it freefalls onto the street below—

  Just in time, too, because right then a cop car drives by, checking for anything that looks suspicious. If it were raining cupcakes, I’d say that would qualify.

  At the very least, I’d certainly have a lot of explaining to do.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Hayley eyes me suspiciously. “They’re already done with the salad course! If Penelope hears you’ve been slacking off, she’ll hit the roof. You’re lucky Carl is keeping her occupied.”

  Yeah, I’ll just bet he is.

  She grabs the boxes out of my hands and places them on the table, but she’s unable to resist taking a peek. “Yummy! Look at these! They are so adorable!”

  She’s right. They come in a rainbow of colors. But something about that makes her frown. “Ha! John must have gotten the order wrong. They were only supposed to be decorated in the party’s theme colors: blue, with green polka dot wafers. Oh well, Penelope can strong-arm him for a discount.”

  Darn it! So I picked up the wrong order after all. If Penelope does make his life miserable, I’ll let him know that I’ll make up the difference.

  Speaking of making life miserable, I peek out the kitchen door to see if Penelope is bugging Jack. I’m happy to see that Mary and Jack are dancing together—

  Until Penelope taps Mary on the shoulder, to cut in. From the winces on both Mary and Jack’s face, I’m guessing it hasn’t been the first time this evening.

  “Hey, shouldn’t Penelope be in here, helping us?” I turn to Hayley. She looks guilty because I’ve caught her stuffing a cupcake into her mouth. She groans as if in the middle of a chocolate-induced orgasm. “They taste as good as they look! It must be the kind of chocolate he uses. It’s so deep . . . and rich!”

  She takes yet another. I snatch it away, but she’s too quick for me. “My goodness, Hayley, control yourself. Those are for the kids, remember?”

  Just then Tiffy sticks her head through the kitchen’s swinging door. “Where the hell have you been? I had to help Hayley pass out the salad! Hayley, slap those birds on the plates, double-time. And you, Stone, get moving! We got a mob of hungry teens out there!”

  Hayley looks up innocently. Her hands—and the cupcakes they hold—are now behind her back.

  Dare I leave her alone with the whole box? Let me see: there were a hundred and forty-four in there. I guess if two or three go AWOL, they won’t be missed—

  Tiffy shoves a tray of plates into my hand, and nudges me out the door, leaving me no other choice.

  Rubber chicken tastes better when you are dressed to the nines and are trying to impress your first crush: your dad.

  Mary wouldn’t know this. She refuses to dig in until Jack returns from the dance floor with Penelope. Watching her as she sits there with tears in her eyes is breaking my heart. Personally, I’d like to break both of Penelope’s legs.

  Despite having Babs and Wendy to console her, my sweet daughter looks so forlorn, now that Penelope has absconded with her date.

  Mary gives me a wan wave, so I meander her way. I don’t allow myself to glance in Jack’s direction. While other dads and their daughters are doing some tepid boogying to the Black Keys’ “Tighten Up,” somehow Jack and Penelope have turned their moves into a sensual body-hugging (or at least, she’s hugging him) tango.

  If it’s any consolation, he doesn’t exactly look like he’s enjoying himself. My guess is that her death grip on his neck is a killjoy.

  Well, boohoohoo.

  “Mom, this is so unfair,” mutters Mary. “She’s monopolizing Dad!”

  “Couldn’t you start a fire in the kitchen or something, Mrs. Stone?” Wendy’s face scrunches up into a frown. “Maybe that will loosen her claws on your husband.”

  I couldn’t have put it better. Not that I can say that out loud. Until I can think of a more appropriate answer, I clear my throat. “Well, Wendy, while I agree that Mrs. Bing has been bending his ear for much too long, I’m sure that they’ll be back any moment now—”

  As if. Speaking of bending, Jack dips Penelope until her hair sweeps the floor. In that position, I’m surprised that her two-sizes-too-small Spanx hasn’t rolled up over her head.

  Jack notes my raised brow. His response is a perplexed shrug.

  But then he follows it with a stare: not at me, at the kitchen door.

  I turn my head to see what’s got his attention. It’s Hayley, who is swaying back and forth to the music, her eyes closed in deep concentration.

  Okay, what the heck is wrong with her, anyway?

  “Girls, excuse me. I’ve got to go check on the main course.”

  I get to Hayley just in time to shove her back into the kitchen before she flops onto the floor. Has she been tippling or something?

  I scan the kitchen. I don’t see any liquor bottles or wine. What I do see are a bunch of cupcake wrappers wadded up on the floor.

  I grab one of the cupcakes and break it open. The smell that assaults my nostrils is that of marijuana.

  Oh. My. Gawd.

  No wonder Beyond Heavenly is inundated with orders! It must be supplying all the medical marijuana shops in the Los Angeles area . . .

  I grasp Hayley under her armpits and hoist her out the door. She’s so zonked out that she’s snoring as she curls up on the stoop. Good riddance.

  I’ve got to get the rest of these cupcakes out of here. I grab the box and am heading out the back door when Penelope comes into the kitchen.

  “What are you guys doing in here? Half the kids haven’t eaten—” she looks around. Everywhere are empty plates, or plates in which mashed potatoes have been dished out, but no roast birds—

  Because the main course is on fire.

  Smoke is now wafting out of the oven. The smell of charred chicken is choking us. The next thing we know, the fire alarm is shrieking in our ears, and the sprinklers are spurting water from the ceiling.

  Wendy just got her wish.

  Penelope tries to open the oven door. “Ouch! Crap!” The door is so hot that it burns her palm, but she’s able to pull it open—

  And is enveloped in a fireball.

  It hits her full on. The blast of the heat sets her hair on end. The sequins on her cocktail dress are too hot for her to handle. Her solo shimmy is So You Think You Can Dance-worthy.

  Before things get worse, I grab the extinguisher and turn it on her until she’s covered in powdery flame retardant before pointing at the oven.

  By now the partygoers have figured out we need a little help. Despite the smoke, some of the men rush through the door. One grabs a sack of flour and tosses it on any wayward flames. Another is opening the windows and the back door. I presume some of the guys are helping the girls safely through the building.

  I hear a fire truck outside and the siren of an ambulance. Jack wraps Penelope in a tablecloth and escorts her out the back door. They practically trip over Hayley, but Penelope is too shocked to notice.

  After handing Penelope over to an emergency med tech, He hurries back in to find me. He starts to say something, but stops and sniffs the air. “Why do I smell weed?”

  I look around. While coming to Penelope’s rescue, I dropped the box of pot cakes and they scattered in and around the fire. I salvage one from the floor, and hold it up to his nose. “Here, take a
whiff.”

  He gets it. “Wow! I guess it’s a good thing that we never got around to dessert.”

  “You can thank Hayley for that. She couldn’t help herself and ate a few. I’d say she’s officially off her non-diet. Speaking of which, she’s passed out in back.” I shove as many of the incriminating cupcakes as I can into a garbage bag to take out the door with me. “Since she’s no featherweight, can you carry her to her car for me? I’ll drive her home, if you’ll make sure Mary gets back safely.”

  “Will do.” His gaze takes me in from head to toe. I know I look like hell: soaked to the bone and covered in soot and flour.

  That doesn’t deter him from gently wiping charred chicken carcass off my cheek with the back of his hand.

  Under this powdery mask, can he tell I’m blushing?

  So that he can’t, I grab my purse along with Hayley’s and head out to the parking lot.

  He follows, tossing her over his shoulder as if she’s a sack of beans. “So, what are you going to tell her husband?”

  “He won’t be home. He’s a pilot. He’s gone for the next couple of weeks. His runs are trans-Pacific. Lots of layovers with willowy flight attendants. It’s why she tries to keep so skinny. She feels she has to compete.” Even saying this makes me realize that I should cut Hayley more slack.

  If only she’d do the same for me. I can only dream. “Her son is at a sleepover with Penelope’s boy, Cheever, so I think we’re out of the weeds with them—pardon the pun.”

  I wish I could say the same about Mary. Her special night with her “father” has been ruined.

  When we reach Hayley’s Lexus, Jack taps me on the shoulder. “Donna, listen—” he pauses, then looks away, shyly. “Would you mind if I took Mary out to dinner one night? You know, just the two of us?”

  My relief comes with a smile. “That’s very sweet of you, Jack. I’m sure she’d be thrilled. Thanks.”

  He shrugs this off—along with Hayley, who flops onto the passenger seat, but I can tell by the light in his eyes that Jack appreciates my compliment. “I know it can’t make up for Penelope monopolizing my time, but if it’s any consolation, amid all the sexual innuendo she did drop one great lead: her husband, Mister Number One Realtor in the Neighborhood, has had an uptick in home rentals lately: at least three of your new neighbors don’t have kids, so I’m guessing they may be prime suspects. One couple, Dave and Midge Kelsey, moved in next to Hayley.” His lips shift into a lazy smile. “She also intimated that she could get keys to one of his empty listings in case I wanted a—how did she put it? Oh yeah, a ‘private showing.’ Jeez, who knew there was so much action out here in the ’burbs? Now I know why they call you yummy mommies.”