“I hope you don’t mean the brownies,” I say. “Because I really need one right now.”
She laughs with a Marlboro-laced huskiness. “I mean the months of cameras, the interviews, the gossip magazines.”
“Are you Sanchez the Snake’s wife?”
She cackles again. “I still can’t get used to that name.” She wipes her black-lined eyes. “I call him Louie Heine. Though I’ve certainly called him a snake plenty of times too.” She sucks in a fuchsia pink lip. “I’m Frannie, and I am not Louie’s wife. I’m his ex-wife.”
“Oh.” I crunch my teeth on some nuts. Why do people have to destroy a perfectly good brownie with nuts? “That’s too bad about his mom. I hope she gets her liver.” Just not with winnings from the show.
She snorts loud enough to turn a few heads. “Right. His dying mom. In Mexico.”
Okay, well, her bitterness is putting a downer on my snack time. “I’ll see you at the show, Frannie.” I stuff some chocolate chip cookies in my purse and walk away. Somewhere there’s a buffet calling my name.
Later in the hotel room, after I’m glossed, CHI’d, and sprayed, I join the rest of the superprimped family in the sitting area. We all look ready for our close-up.
Mom has us say a quick prayer for Jake, then we’re out the door, walking down the hall on carpet so busy it makes my eyes hurt.
Once again we are escorted to our seats in the WWT arena. Chills break out on my arms as music swells and the host begins his intro.
“Hello, America! We’re coming to you from Las Vegas at the World Wrestling Television Hotel, and we are down to the final night. This evening our contestants, Captain Iron Jack and Sanchez the Snake, will have two matches—against each other. We will combine your voting results from last night with the judge’s scores at the end of this hour. The winner will walk away from here as
I’m Sure the new professional wrestler on the WWT team. Live from Las Vegas . . . it’s Pile Driver of Dreams!”
The crowd goes wild. Robbie and Budge hold up signs for Jake. I scan the crowd for more just like them.
Giant screens play highlights of the last few months, giving the overview of Jake and Snake’s lives.
“Captain Iron Jack gets up before dawn to train, then reports to work at a local factory to help support his wife and three kids. Jillian Finley and Bella Kirkwood, once Manhattan princesses, now live the Wal-Mart life on Jake’s income . . .”
Eek. No need to make us sound like we’re one paycheck away from living out of the Tahoe.
“Sanchez the Snake works three jobs . . . to pay for his five children . . .”
The person behind me kicks my seat, and automatically I turn around. It’s Frannie. Her arms are crossed, her eyes narrow slits. “Pays for his five kids.” She does her snorting thing again. “And I’m Reese stinkin’ Witherspoon.”
I return my attention back to the screen.
“Sanchez the Snake also supports his mother, who will die soon without the money for an organ transplant.” They show pictures of Snake’s kids and a pitiful shot of his shriveled up mom. The entire arena awwwwws.
“Aw, my tush!”
This lady is worse than high schoolers in a movie theater. “Frannie”—my voice snaps a little too harshly—“can you keep it down?” I dig into my purse. “I have some cookies if you want them.”
“Sorry, kid.” She smacks on a big wad of gum. “This whole thing is about over, and I’m officially at my breaking point.” She points toward the screen. “They’re making him out to be some stinkin’ saint. That man’s never paid a dime of child support to my five kids.” She blinks rapidly as if holding back tears. “And little Tommy needs . . .”
I hand her a Kleenex. “Shoes?”
She sniffs. “A Wii.”
“But if your ex-husband hasn’t paid you in all these years, why are you here?”
“Because I want that money. He owes me.” She blows her nose. “But now . . . my tummy hurts, you know?”
“From all the brownies?”
“No,” she whines. “From keeping his secrets.”
The heavens open and angels sing above me. “What are you talking about?”
“And tonight he tells me he knows he has it in the bag—and won’t be giving his kids their share.”
I’m so in her space, I’ve all but leapt over the seat. “Frannie, what secrets?”
Her dark brown eyes lock onto mine. “Sanchez the Snake does not have a mother in Mexico. She lives in Scottsdale, Arizona, in a condo on the ninth green.”
“But the little old lady? The video footage?”
She waves a hand. “I did some acting in my skinny days—small parts in sci-fi movies. We don’t even know that lady. I spent weeks Googling to find someone in Mexico who needed an organ or something. I found one other lady, but she was Chinese and spoke clear English.”
“So Louie, er, Sanchez the Snake just went and filmed this woman in the hospital?”
“That lady don’t speak no English. Apparently neither do any of the reality show crew because nobody’s called Louie’s bluff.” Frannie digs in her purse and pulls out some Maalox. She opens the bottle and chugs it like water. “I ain’t proud of this. And I haven’t slept in, like, six months since he hatched this plan.” She grabs her cheeks and pulls. “And I’m getting wrinkles from the stress.”
I glance at my mom and my stepbrothers. The first match has started, and they are so in tune with that, they haven’t heard a word of this.
My heart pounds in my chest. “Frannie, wouldn’t you feel better if you came clean?”
“I know, right?” She tightens the lid on her Maalox. “I tried to talk to the producer this afternoon, but he told me that Louie had warned him about his ‘bitter, delusional ex-wife.’ I’m not bitter! I’m furious! And I’m the one who showed Louie all those wrestling moves. Who do you think he’s been training with? And those pants he has on? Mine!”
Ew.
I move to the empty seat beside her. “If you want, I could go with you to try and convince them to listen to you again.”
“It’s no use. The producer kicked me out of his office. He had security tailing me all day.”
I stare at the ring where Louie has Jake pinned against the ropes. See, the dirty secret to wrestling is that it’s all planned and choreographed. So while the moves are real, your opponent knows exactly what’s coming so he can minimize the hurt if possible. Jake is supposed to win the first match and Sanchez the Snake the second, to keep it all fair.
But nothing’s fair now! How dare Sanchez the Snake pull the old dying-mother card?
“Security may be following you, but not me. I’ll be back.” With no time to lose, I don’t even bother filling my mom in. I run down the steps and sprint toward the ring.
“Mickey! Mickey!” I stop right in front of Jake’s manager. “You have to listen to me. Louie, er, Sanchez the Snake—he’s a fraud. His story about his mother—”
With his eyes zoned on the ring, Mickey moves me aside. “Later, Bella.”
“No, you have to hear this!”
He walks away, yelling toward the ring at an illegal move.
Augh! Think, think, think.
I spy the black-haired camera guy who has followed me around like my own personal paparazzi. “Hey! You!”
“Don’t block my camera! Are you nuts?” he yells.
“Crazy camera guy, I have urgent news. Sanchez the Snake—he’s no good. He’s been playing you guys from the beginning. His mom—”
“Beat it.”
I tug on his shirt. “Look, if you don’t listen to me—”
“You’ll what?” His look is withering. “Shoot me with some more refried beans?”
Sheesh, a girl starts one teensy-weensy food fight. “Dude, the contract the wrestlers signed—that we all signed. It said something about being disqualified for misrepresenting the facts.”
“Look, I don’t have time for your chitty-chat, but I will tell you that it’
s too late. We can’t do anything about it now. The votes have been tabulated, the judges are set to make a decision after the second match. This is a live show, and we have twenty-five minutes left. It’s over.”
But this is Jake’s dream. He can’t lose out to some lying snaky scumbag.
I glance up at Frannie and shake my head. But I’m not going to give up.
Everyone stands and claps as the first match is over. The referee holds up Jake’s hand as the winner. After a small break, they begin the second round. I’m losing time here. Where is the producer? I finally spot him behind another camera crew, but he’s surrounded by security.
God, what do I do? I need help!
WWWD. What would a wrestler do?
I watch Frannie walk down the steps and stop at the bottom rail. “What do you need me to do?”
I think for a second. “Provide a distraction.”
She nods. “Done.”
In four-inch heels, Frannie goes running in front of security, screaming wild insults against her ex-husband. Her arms are waving like windmills. I take the opportunity and shoot straight for the ring. I make a flying leap toward the mat, heaving my legs over and rolling until I’m on.
Just as Jake falls right next to me.
“Bella?” His eyes widen like he can’t believe what he sees.
“Hey.” I smile. “I just thought I’d drop by.”
As Jake holds out an arm to shield me, he yanks me up. The ref breaks through, yelling at the top of his lungs.
“What the heck are you doing?” he screams. “Are you insane?”
I feel five thousand faces turn to me. The arena is eerily quiet. Security has dropped Frannie like a dirty diaper and is headed straight toward me.
“Uh . . .” A hundred words pummel in my brain, but none of them will make sentences. Mom stands with Mickey, her face white. I clear my parched throat. “This man is a phony.” I point my shaking finger at Sanchez the Snake. “He—he. Mother. Golf. Not. Mexico.” Oh, crap! “No, I mean, his liver needs child support!” Oh, Lord, something has a hold of my tongue and won’t let go!
Jake pulls me to the side and holds up a rope. “You need to leave.” A vein throbs at his temple as boos come from every direction. I barely dodge a Coke bottle.
Security rushes the ring and climbs up.
“Come with me, ma’am,” one says as he grabs my arm.
“Don’t hurt her.” Jake removes his hand. “She’ll go with you.”
“No!” I jump back. “I won’t! Sanchez the Snake has been lying to you all!” My voice grows in volume and strength. And if I’m not mistaken, I think what I said actually sounded like English. “He pretended to have a dying mother to get the votes. But his mom is alive and well. And he has five kids and has never paid a dime of child support to Frannie.” I flail an arm toward his ex-wife below. “She needed the help, so that’s why she went along with it. But she couldn’t do it anymore and nobody would listen to her.” Two beefy guys in black bump Jake out of the way and wrap their hands around my arms like shackles. “Listen to me! There is some lady in Mexico who needs a liver, but Sanchez found her just so he could film—”
The rest of my sentence is drowned out. My eyes are filled with
I’m Sure the sight of Sanchez the Snake leaping off the ropes, his body soaring like an eagle. I’m powerless to move as his shadow covers me.
Somewhere I hear Jake’s roar. A security guy shrieks like a girl.
And I go down.
Pain and shock register in my back, my head, my face.
Sanchez hits me like a missile, and I’m on the mat, collapsing under his massive weight. My arms. My legs. My head. Pain.
There’s a stinky, sweaty man on me.
My eyes roll back in my head. I shudder for breath.
I give into the pushing darkness in my head.
And everything goes black.
chapter thirty-five
I put down the USA Today as Mom packs up my things.
“The WWT owner was able to find the doctor and get you an early release.” She feels my head and winces at the bruises. “I called Hunter and updated him. He’ll meet you at prom. But honey, are you sure you’re okay? I would feel better if you stayed here today. Maybe even another evening.”
The hospital nurse takes away my lunch tray as I down some Tylenol. “No. One night in this place is enough. Plus this gown is scandalous!” I mean, every time I go to the bathroom, everybody sees my business.
Mom pulls a brush through my wild hair. “I don’t know how you didn’t break something. It’s a miracle.”
Budge tears his attention from the TV. “A miracle and Frannie Heine. That was awesome when she did a swan dive for Sanchez right as he was about to land. If he had hit you dead center, we’d be calling your dad for plastic surgery right now.”
“That was a brave thing you did, Bella, but stupid. You should’ve told me what was going on,” Mom says.
I run my fingers over my split lip. “I just didn’t want Jake to lose—not like that.”
Robbie runs around my bed, his cape flapping. “And thanks to you, he won!”
Mom smiles. “Life is going to be very different from now on.”
“Great,” I droll. “I need some more change in my life. Moving from Manhattan just wasn’t enough.”
“Bella, please think about—”
“No.” I swing my feet over and put on my shoes. “I am not missing prom. And neither is Budge.”
Jake enters the hospital room and holds the door shut, muffling the sound of cameras snapping outside. He looks at me and winces like my mom.
“Stop doing that! You guys are making me feel like I need to go to prom with a bag over my head.”
Budge lifts his brows. “I suggested that months ago.”
Jake sits on the edge of my bed. “Good news and bad news. The bad news is since you and Budge missed your flight this morning, I couldn’t get you guys on another flight.”
I drop my shoe. “Get to the good part.”
“The WWT president has scheduled his private jet to fly you and Budge to the Tulsa airport.”
“Oh, my gosh. That’s awesome!”
He lays a hand on the part of my arm that isn’t blue. “But the plane doesn’t leave until three thirty this afternoon.”
The panic I felt when a psychotic wrestler took me out is nothing compared to this. “But that’s five thirty Oklahoma time. We’ll be late for prom! I wanted the day to get my hair done. To get a pedicure. To at least have time to zip up my dress!”
Mom’s eyes grow big. “Do we need to call the doctor?”
“No!” I squeal. I must get control or else they’ll strap me to the
bed and make me stay here. “I mean, I’m grateful for the ride. If we have time to get ready, then that would be nice. But if not, I guess we’ll go as is.”
“You could wear your hospital gown,” Budge snarks. “Show your best side.”
I lunge for my stepbrother. “I’m about to kick your best side—”
Standing at the base of the airplane, I carefully hug Mom.
“I can’t believe I’m letting you go. Alone. After something the weight of a refrigerator landed on you.” She runs her hand down the back of my head. “I’m going to get the worst-mother-of-the-year award.”
I pull away before she drags me back to the car. “I’ll be fine. Budge will keep an eye on me.”
She rolls her blue eyes. “Actually, Dolly will. She’ll be at the house waiting for you to help you get ready. Dolly will also be spending the night, so don’t try anything funny like coming in past curfew.”
“How about sneaking my date up the trellis to my room?”
Mom’s lips form a firm line. “Very funny.” She carefully kisses my cheek. “Be careful. And call if you need anything.”
Jake tosses Budge the keys to the Tahoe, and we board the plane.
Feeling stressed and nervous over the time crunch, I check my seat belt three times,
consulting my watch between each tug. The pilot said it would take us almost three hours to get back home. Then there’s the hour-long drive to Truman. Time to change. I guess Budge and I will have to settle for being fashionably late.
My stepbrother reclines his seat. “Ruthie is going to kill me for not showing up on time.”
“Does she know you’re picking her up in the hearse?”
He adjusts the headrest and closes his eyes. “She told me she was a modern woman and didn’t need a man picking her up.”
I laugh at the picture in my head. “So she’s wearing a dress and riding her motorcycle?”
“You got it.”
Hope she has bloomers.
I spend the next two hours watching TV shows on my iPod. Needing to stretch, I get up and grab a Sprite from the refrigerator at the wet bar.
“So is Newt picking up Lindy in his pimped-out Civic?” I hand Budge a Coke.
“Nah,” he says. “He’s driving his mom’s clunker. She won’t let him drive his until he pays to get her Chevy fixed.”
“Can’t be any worse than your death wagon.”
He holds up a finger. “Au contraire. Lindy will have to climb in on the driver’s side because Newt’s passenger side is so bashed in.”
“I’m sure Lindy will be totally impressed. She’ll spend the rest of her life thanking me for this setup.”
Budge pops the top on his can. “He told his mom he hit a deer, but there’s no stinking way.”
The faintest notion tingles in the corner of my mind. “What kind of car does she have? Two-door? Four?”
“Four. It’s some sort of grandma sedan.”
I lean on the armrest toward Budge. “When did he have the wreck?”
“I don’t know. What difference does it make? Sometime before Christmas break, I guess.”
My pulse begins to speed. “Like the same time Luke and I were run off the road?”
Budge opens his other eye. “Don’t be ridiculous. Newt can barely see to drive at night. Plus he works in the evenings.”
“Tutoring?”
“That’s after school. Most nights he works as a janitor.”
Warning bells ding in my already throbbing head. “Where, Budge?”
“The Truman National Bank.”
I'm So Sure (2009) Page 21