Beauty to Die For

by Kim Alexis

  Juliette nodded. “She’s still the same old Tantrum Queen. You would not believe the interaction she and I just had.”

  “I thought you were going to hide till she left.”

  “I tried, but I ran into her at baggage claim anyway.”

  “Ran into her? Well there’s your problem right there, my dear. For future reference, when it comes to Raven, you’re supposed to run away from her, not into her!”

  Juliette groaned. “Trust me, I wish I could have.”

  “So how’d she look? Is her mouth on her forehead yet?”

  Juliette smiled. “No, but—”

  “Face so full of Botox she looks like a freeze frame? Lips plumped up bigger than a duck-billed platypus?”

  “Didi, stop,” Juliette insisted, laughing now. “That’s not nice. Yes, she’s had some more work done, but that’s beside the point.” Smoothing out the line of her Derek Lam pants, Juliette grew more serious. “She seemed happy to see me at first, but then I asked what she was doing out here, and it was all downhill from there. She got real weird and vague and then she tried to change the subject.”

  “If she was being evasive, I’ll bet she’s here for more plastic surgery. That’d be my guess, anyway.”

  “Maybe. But then she asked me what I was doing here and I said I was on my way to Palm Grotto Spa. The next thing I knew, she was threatening to kill me.”

  “What?” Didi veered into the next lane and back again, earning a loud honk.

  “Yep. All of a sudden she just flipped out. Got right up in my face, told me the most bizarre thing: ‘That part is mine. Steal it and I’ll kill you.’”

  “‘That part is mine? Steal it, and I’ll kill you?’”

  Juliette nodded.

  “Part of what? What part?”

  “That’s what I said. I have no idea. But whatever she was talking about, she wasn’t kidding around. She was furious.”

  Didi was quiet for a moment, lips pursed. “You know Raven. Do you think it matters what she was talking about?”

  Juliette shrugged. “She’s always been prone to throwing fits. And we’ve all heard her go off on other people. But she’s never had any issues with me personally, not that I can remember. Now all of a sudden she’s hissing in my face, threatening to kill me?”

  “That’s just a figure of speech.”

  “I know. But she never used to direct her tantrums at her fellow models. It was you booking agents that she blasted to kingdom come.”

  “Tell me about it.” Didi ran a hand through her limp and straight brown hair. It was a move Juliette had seen her do countless times, even way back when Juliette modeled and Didi was her booker. “Raven was difficult from day one of her career, but the more famous she got the worse she grew. She may have been one of the most successful models of all time, but she was also one of the most difficult.”

  Pushing away an air-conditioning vent, Juliette grew silent as they continued down the road. In her mind she reviewed her conversation with Raven yet again, trying to figure out where it had taken such an odd turn. First, the woman had evaded answering the question about why she was here, then as soon as she heard the words “Palm Grotto,” she’d flipped out.

  That part is mine.

  Juliette gasped, turning to Didi. “I just had a thought. What if she’s trying to go into the business? Our business?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, maybe she’s introducing a line of beauty products. Maybe she doesn’t realize we’ve been working with all the major spas out here for years, and that some of them even feature our line exclusively. Maybe she thinks we’re crowding in on her territory instead of the other way around.”

  “So when she said, ‘that part is mine,’ you think she could’ve been referring to some sort of region? A territory? Like, ‘I’m in this business now too, and I declare that everything within a hundred miles of Palm Springs belongs to me’?”

  Juliette nodded. “Exactly.”

  “How could she think that? We were here first, by far.”

  “You bet we were, by a good ten years. But maybe she doesn’t realize it.”

  “Okay, let me look into things, make a few calls. If Raven is trying to launch a beauty business in our territory, trust me, hon, I’ll find out about it.”

  “Good. Thanks, Didi.”

  Settling in her seat, Juliette looked out the window at the rows and rows of spinning windmills in the distance, stark white against the blue California sky. This was her fourth trip to the region, but she was still as fascinated with the contraptions as she’d been on her first visit. The windmills were both hideous and beautiful, functional and artsy, man-made yet almost natural, as if they had sprung up, unbidden, from the ground.

  “I hate to mention it,” Didi said, interrupting her thoughts, “but what’s the latest with the counterfeit products situation? I’ve been so busy out here getting ready for the event I haven’t kept up.”

  Juliette turned toward her friend. “Well, let’s see. The Harper’s Bazaar people want me to appear at their next anticounterfeiting summit, and the congressional hearings for the new bill are set to begin soon.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  Juliette brushed at a smudge on her cuff. “I know. I’m not sure if I’ll speak out or not, but I’ve started jotting down some notes about what happened in our situation, just in case.”

  “Already making notes? Sounds pretty much like a given to me.”

  Juliette shrugged. Whether she took a stand against counterfeiting or not, just getting things down on paper had helped to organize her thoughts. Last night she’d written out the whole story, starting with six months ago, when they’d first unveiled the new design for the JT Lady product line. As a part of the transition process, they had requested that all old stock be returned to them for exchange. But when that stock started coming in, they had run across some major discrepancies. It was obvious that not everything they were getting back had been manufactured by JT Lady. When they looked into it further, they found that counterfeit versions of JT Lady products were being produced and distributed—all over the world—and that some of those counterfeits had made their way into the returns.

  Through the process they managed to educate themselves, learning that the counterfeit market was a big, nasty business with direct ties to child labor, organized crime—even terrorism. Juliette found that hard to believe, but when an expert suggested she read up on the 2004 Madrid train attacks, she was shocked to see that those bombings had been funded entirely by the sale of counterfeit goods—with the proceeds being laundered through Al-Qaeda, no less.

  After learning that, Juliette finally grasped the scope of the situation.

  Didi turned up the air a notch. “I wonder if speaking out on this would put you in any danger? These aren’t nice people at the other end of the issue.”

  Juliette looked at her friend. “I know, but I have to do something, Didi, I can’t just turn a blind eye. If my words and my image can help create a tougher environment for counterfeiters, then I think I have an obligation here to help.”

  “You’re braver than I, my friend.”

  Juliette shook her head, her eyes on the road ahead of them. “Not brave, just angry. Angry that someone has been using my name and my products for evil instead of good. Angry enough to do something about it.”

  Chapter Three

  CRYSTAL MADE IT BACK to her apartment with more than enough time to eat lunch and get dressed. Pulling up the long driveway and coming to a stop at the garage out back, she decided that if she moved quickly, she could even bring Mrs. Peterson her gifts before leaving for work.

  Earlier today Crystal had commandeered a perfectly good lawn chair from someone’s trash. She pulled that chair from the back seat of her car now, piled the rest of the morning’s bounty on top of it, and then hauled the whole lot up the exterior garage stairs. Once inside the apartment, she put some vegetable soup in the microwave then went b
ack out to the landing with her new chair. It fit well along the back rail, so she tested it for sturdiness, then sat to check out the view. After all, that view—or at least one part of it—was what had convinced her to rent this apartment in the first place. Looking down at it now, she inhaled deeply, peace and calm filling her soul.

  As a child, Crystal had had a picture book of Peter Rabbit, with pages and pages of glorious, full-color artwork showing a bunny’s eye view of Mr. McGregor’s garden. Crystal’s mother hadn’t been much for the details of life, like making sure they had food to eat, so before Crystal was old enough to scavenge at the farmer’s market and along restaurant row, she’d often had to go to bed hungry. On those nights somehow it always made her feel better to take out that book, turn the pages, and run her fingers across the pictures of fat green watermelons and plump, juicy tomatoes and crispy green spinach. She would imagine that she was eating them, that she, too, had a garden just outside, and that all she had to do to stop the gnawing ache in her gut was to go out and pick from its bounty.

  She’d forgotten all about that silly little book until a few weeks ago, when she’d come to Cahuilla Springs for her new job and had gone apartment hunting. Answering an ad in the newspaper for a “small, furnished efficiency garage apartment,” she took one look and decided the terms “small” and “furnished” weren’t quite correct. The place was downright miniscule, with a sagging bed and rickety table and chairs. Right away she decided to turn it down, despite the affordability of the rent and the sweetness of the older woman who owned it and lived in the main house next door. But then as she was leaving, she’d noticed the garden below.

  Though untended, it was easy to tell that once upon a time it had been something, its rows straight and long, its various sections delineated by quaint markers. The whole thing was surrounded by a low, white picket fence, one that looked so familiar. Standing there on the landing, gazing down at it, Crystal hesitated for a long moment, her mind trying to understand the feeling of joy that had surged through her veins at the sight—

  She gasped. Of course. Her old picture book. Mr. McGregor’s garden. This was it!

  Much like the lurching car, Crystal took the similarity between this real garden and the fictional one as a sign. She accepted the apartment and moved in the very next day, feeling sure her decision to live here would prove to be a good one. Though tiny, the apartment had ended up being sufficient for her needs, its location perfect for her job at the spa. Mrs. Peterson was a doll, and even the furniture here was somewhat less rickety once Crystal had taken a screwdriver to it and done a little tightening. With her secondhand decorative touches, a few cans of spray paint, and now a free chair-with-a-view outside, the place was starting to feel like home.

  Her thoughts interrupted by the beeping microwave, Crystal took one last look at the neglected garden below, then rose and made her way inside. Someday soon she’d have to suggest to Mrs. Peterson that they bring that little garden back to life, just as Crystal was making a new life for herself in this special place.

  THEY CAME TO A stop at the guardhouse, and Juliette watched as Didi rolled down the window. A man emerged from the tiny building and stepped toward their car, clipboard in hand. He was short and stocky, dressed in a crisp brown uniform, its buttons straining along the slight paunch at his gut.

  “Hi, Orlando,” Didi called out.

  “Uh-oh, here comes trouble,” he replied with a broad smile, white teeth flashing beneath a bushy black moustache. After nodding a greeting to Juliette, he returned his attention to Didi. “How was the drive? Was the airport crowded?”

  As they chatted, Didi seemed animated, and if Juliette didn’t know any better, she’d think her friend was flirting with the man—something the no-nonsense businesswoman never, ever did. Didi was far too self-conscious about her appearance—the extra pounds she carried, her short stature, her dark, limp hair—to put herself out there like this. Yet here she was now, smiling and giggling like a schoolgirl.

  Orlando held out a printed paper toward Juliette. “Ms. Taylor, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you about the noise policy here.”

  From previous visits Juliette already knew what the paper would say, but she took it from him and skimmed the words anyway: To create a calm and peaceful environment, Palm Grotto Spa respectfully requests that guests keep noise to a minimum, avoid cell phone use in public areas, and conduct all conversations at just above a whisper.

  “No problem. Thanks.”

  The man waved a finger at Didi. “You, on the other hand, better behave yourself. Don’t make me have to come in there after you.”

  Didi giggled.

  Juliette’s mind raced as she tried to figure this out. Didi had been here for two days, preparing for the weekend and calling on other local accounts. Was it possible that in that short amount of time, she and this Orlando guy had struck up a relationship? Maybe they’d had coffee—or even shared a moonlight dip in the spa’s mineral pool.

  Juliette couldn’t wait to ask her about it.

  Orlando put a finger to his lips. “Just remember, ladies, at Palm Grotto, silence is golden.” With that, he stepped back into the gatehouse and raised the barrier. “Have a great stay.”

  “Will do.” Didi gave a little wave then pulled forward, her eyes aglow, her round cheeks flushed a bright pink.

  “My goodness, Ms. Finkleton”—Juliette couldn’t help teasing her—“that seemed cozy.”

  “What? Oh please, we’re just friends.” Blushing furiously, Didi steered around a huge cluster of palm trees and into the resort’s main parking lot.

  Juliette was about to reply when she spotted it up ahead: a large, black limousine parked front and center.

  Raven’s limousine.

  With a gasp, Juliette pointed left. “Go that way! Quick! Dragonmobile, dead ahead!”

  Didi turned, tires squealing, and headed to the far end of the lot. “She’s here too? What now?”

  “Just park. We need to think.”

  Didi managed to squeeze their rental car into the last spot in the row.

  “I don’t get it,” Juliette said as they sat there, engine idling, looking toward the limo in the distance. “Maybe I should go inside, stand our ground, and demand to know why she’s trying to infringe on our territory.”

  Didi shook her head. “You know how Raven is. Soon she’d be screaming and you’d be trying to defend yourself, and the whole scene would be unprofessional. Even though she’s the one with the problem, not us, we still don’t need the people here at the spa to see us in that light.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m not up to another death threat today anyway.”

  Before Didi could reply, a smiling, chatty Raven emerged from the main office, walking toward the limo. Another woman followed on Raven’s heels, one Juliette recognized as an employee of the resort. In her midforties, she was trim and attractive with shiny black hair and colorful clothing.

  Didi sat up straight, trying to get a better view. “That’s Iliana. She works the front desk. Do you know her?”

  Juliette shrugged. She recognized her, but they’d never interacted much. During events her time was spent with spa staff, not general resort employees. They watched as the two women reached the limo and stood beside it, leaning toward each other as they talked, their body language conspiratorial.

  “Well, she’s been my primary contact for the group booking, so we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well in the past few months. She’s good, a real pro.”

  They grew silent as they watched the conversation across the parking lot continue. Studying Raven, Juliette realized that despite the fact that her face was taut and expressionless from plastic surgery and Botox, the redhead still had it, that indefinable quality that drew the eye. With her tremendous height and perfect posture, Raven’s bearing was regal and elegant and eye-catching. Who could imagine that this beautiful, seemingly well-adjusted woman could transform into a screaming, ranting she-beast on a dime? T
he Red Dragon indeed.

  “Maybe we’re overthinking things,” Didi whispered. “Maybe Raven’s weird threat was based on a psychotic delusion or something. Maybe all those years of hairspray short-circuited her brain.”

  “Oh great.” Juliette groaned. “That doesn’t bode well for me, does it?”

  Didi waved off her comment. “I’m just sayin’.”

  Juliette gave Didi a slap on the arm. “Shush.”

  “Oh come on. Back in the day, that girl was flatter than Twiggy. Now she could give Dolly Parton a run for her money. Who does she think she’s kidding?”

  They grew silent for a long moment, waiting to see what might happen next.

  “You know, Raven’s no spring chicken.” Didi reached out to direct the air vent toward her face. “Maybe it’s just early senility kicking in.”

  “She’s not that much older than I am. Thanks a lot.”

  Didi chuckled. “Hey, I’m the oldest of all.”

  “Which proves my point. You’re not exactly filling your days with shuffleboard.” Before Didi could reply, movement caught Juliette’s eye. “Looks like they’re finishing up.”

  Both women watched as Raven and Iliana shook hands. Though there was nothing unusual or suspicious about such a gesture, there was still something odd and secretive about their posture. Sliding lower in her seat, Juliette held her breath and continued to observe them.

  Raven reached into the pocket of her designer pants, pulled out a wad of money, and held it close to her body as she peeled off a bill. She handed that bill to Iliana, giving the woman’s hand one last squeeze before climbing into her limo and closing the door.

  “Oh my,” Didi whispered. “Did you see that?”

  “Sure did. I do believe we just witnessed the greasing of a palm.”

  Even from where they were sitting, Juliette could see that Iliana’s cheeks had turned a vivid red. After glancing around, Iliana shoved the bill deep into her cleavage and strode back to the office.