Mayhem in High Heels

by Gemma Halliday

  "Here comes our boy," one of the aunts said, rushing into the kitchen.

  I could have kissed her.

  "Oh, mijo, you look so handsome!" Mama clapped her hands together and ran toward Ramirez.

  Relief flowing through me, I turned around.

  And just that quickly the relief died.

  "What is that?" I heard myself ask.

  Ramirez was clad in a long, white, billowy shirt with screaming red, green and turquoise embroidery along the front. It looked like the sort of thing I'd bought on spring break in Tijuana senior year.

  "My boy's guayabera," Mama said, pride shining in her eyes.

  "It's... nice," I lied. "What's a gooberbera?"' I asked, sure I was butchering the word.

  "Guayabera," BillyJo correct with a smirk. "It's a traditional Mexican wedding shirt."

  I glanced at it again. "Wedding shirt?" Holy hell. I was going to be marrying a walking souvenir stand. "What do you mean, wedding shirt?"

  "In Mexican culture the groom wears a guayabera at his wedding."

  "But what about the tux?" I asked, my voice going squeaky. I looked from the billowing tent around his middle to Ramirez's face.

  He just shrugged.

  Great, lot of help he was.

  "I think it's too big," I pointed out.

  "No, no, it's supposed to be like that," Mama said, fussing with the hem.

  Swoozie nodded. "For the guavas."

  "The what?!"

  BillyJo piped up. "In Mexican culture the family traditionally puts guavas in the pockets of the groom's guayabera for he and the bride to start their life together."

  "We got a whole fridge full of 'em for you," Mama said, patting Ramirez's cheek.

  I looked down at his oversized pockets. And did a loud hiccup.

  "Sugar," Kiki said. "Eat a spoonful of sugar and those hiccups will disappear."

  I nodded. Then hiccupped again.

  "Oh, that reminds me," Mama said. "Your cousin Nico, who works at the sugar factory, he called and said he's bringing the whole family up from Mexico City. They'll all be here Wednesday. He can't wait to see his cousin married."

  I felt a frown settling between my brows. "Nico? Did we send him an invitation?"

  Mama waved that insignificant little detail off. "Don't worry. I invited him. We don't need fancy invitations. It's okay."

  I felt a sudden knot of dread ball in my stomach. "Just Nico, right?" I let out another hiccup.

  She blinked innocently at me. "And a couple other people."

  I felt faint. "How many is a couple?"

  "Well..." Mama tapped a finger to her chin, her eyes rolling upward as she mentally counted. "There's Nico and his family, then my cousin Amelia and her son and his two boys, and the girls from Arizona, then your father's aunt Rosa and her kids and... I don't know, maybe a hundred."

  I grabbed Ramirez's arm to steady myself. "A hundred?" I choked out.

  Mama gave me a blank look. "What? Your mom said the garden seats four hundred."

  "But the preparations were made weeks ago! We can't just add a hundred people at the last minute."

  BillyJo narrowed her eyes at me. "Oh, so only your family is important enough to attend?"

  I shook my head. "No, that's not what I meant. We invited plenty of Jack's friends. And family." Just apparently not all six million of them.

  I felt a headache starting to brew between my eyes as I faced the army of aunts all giving me the same stern look. I was severely outnumbered.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Okay, it's not that I don't want the whole family there..." Liar. "...it's just that I'm not sure we'll have enough food."

  Mama waved me off with a smile. "Oh don't' worry, I'll just makes some extra tamales."

  "Tam-(hiccup)-ales?"

  She nodded.

  "No, no, no," I said, feeling my control quickly slipping away. "We have a caterer doing the food. We're having chicken kiev, baby carrots, and roasted potatoes with cream sauce. Simple, elegant," I said, my voice going up an octave.

  "Which will go perfectly with tamales. We've been baking all week. I think we have just under five hundred of them frozen. When do you want me to bring them to the site?"

  Panic rising in my throat, I turned to Ramirez for help.

  He shrugged. "Mama's right. We need to make sure we have enough food."

  Great. He picks now to have input on the wedding.

  I looked heavenward. What had I done to deserve this? Was it Bobby Fineman? I remember my Sunday school teacher telling me that holding hands with altar boy Bobby Fineman in the back pew of the church was enough to make me go to hell. So, what had I done? I'd tongue kissed him behind the organ after he'd scored us a couple goblets of sacramental wine. I know, I was a terrible kid. Which was probably why I was in the suburban L.A. version of Hades right now.

  "Fine."

  What the hell, I was already having an island paradise wedding complete with floating butterflies, crapping doves, seashell bridesmaids, some shirt with fruit in the pockets, and a pair of whacked-out shoes designed by a cop who couldn't tell the difference between a stiletto and a platform if his life depended on it.

  What were a few tamales and out of town in-laws added to the mix?

  "I'll have Marco come pick them up tomorrow."

  Mama clapped her hands. The aunts enveloped me in a group hug. BillyJo actually cracked a smile.

  And I did a loud hiccup, wondering what else could go wrong between now and Saturday.

  On the other hand, maybe I didn't want to know.

  Chapter Thirteen

  That damned organ music was playing again. Loudly. Vibrating off the walls, assaulting my poor ears as I walked through a flowered archway to a gazebo across the lawn where Ramirez stood waiting. His back was to me, and he was wearing the big, puffy white shirt. And as I got closer, I could see the pockets were bulging with fruit, guava juice dripping down his thighs.

  Then suddenly the organ music turned into a mariachi tune. And all the groomsmen started dancing. And Marco, in his red appliqued tie, grabbed me by the arm and started swinging me around square-dancer style. I tried to protest, to tell them I wanted the wedding march, not the Mexican Hat Dance. But no one was listening.

  "See, isn't this fun, Maddie?" Dana asked, dancing past with Ricky on her arm, her seashell dress clacking like castanets against her ankles.

  Suddenly the scene darkened. A shadow fell over the group. I looked up.

  Above me was a huge, white dove the size of the Goodyear blimp. People started screaming and running.

  "Look out, she's gonna blow!" Marco yelled.

  I stood, transfixed to the spot watching the largest glob of bird shit ever fall straight toward me.

  * * *

  I opened my eyes with a start, dragging in shallow, too-fast breaths. On instinct, I looked above me. No giant dove. Just the blades of my ceiling fan softly twirling above my head.

  That's it, this wedding was going to kill me.

  I closed my eyes, willing the jackhammer in my chest to slow to a normal heart rate as I listened to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. Get a grip, girl. The wedding was just one day. No biggie. Just one insignificant little day.

  That marked the beginning of the rest of my life.

  I heard the shower shut off and moment later felt Ramirez's hand skimmed my thigh.

  "Hey," he said.

  "Hey."

  I opened my eyes. God, he looked good. His hair was still wet, curling a little around his ears. His skin shone with steam, a towel wrapped around his wait. A fine sprinkling of dark hairs covered his chest, angling downward in an enticing V that was covered by just enough terry cloth to remain PG, yet low enough to make my mind go straight to what I knew lay beneath.

  "You're awake early," he said, pulling open a dresser drawer.

  "Bad dream."

  He turned around, concern wrinkling his forehead. "You okay?"

  "Yeah." No. But it was touching
that he asked. "I'm surprised you're not gone already," I said, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice at waking up with only Mr. Coffee for company the past two days.

  "Got a late start," he said, pulling a pair of boxers from another drawer. "I'll be making it up with a late night tonight. Captain wants a status report filed on the Van Doren case."

  "Uh huh," I said. I cocked my head to the side as he leaned over to grab a pair of socks, angling for a better view of his towel clad tush.

  "By the way, I opened that box on the counter last night after you went to bed. Your aunt sent us a humidifier." He paused, turning so I got a primo view of his bare pecs. "Does she know you don't have asthma?"

  "Uh huh."

  He shook his head, his back muscles flexing as he got up and reached in the closet for a T-shirt.

  "Anyway, my brother's picking up the groomsmen tuxes later today and dropping them off at Mama's."

  He picked up the boxers from the bed.

  Then dropped the towel.

  I sunk my teeth into my lower lip, my eyes riveted to full frontal Ramirez.

  Have I mentioned how much I was looking forward to the honeymoon?

  "He wanted to know what time the rehearsal is?"

  "Uh huh," I breathed, my cheeks (not to mention certain other parts of my anatomy) filling with heat.

  Ramirez slipped his boxers on, then paused, hands on his hips.

  "'Uh huh' what?"

  I snapped my eyes up to his. "What?"

  "Were you even listening?"

  "Yeah. Sure. Your captain. Some asthma. Yada, yada, yada." My eyes strayed down to the front of his boxers again as if I could develop x-ray vision.

  He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Jesus, I feel like a piece of meat."

  "If it's any consolation, you're really yummy meat."

  His eyes went dark and in one quick movement, he was across the room, scooping me into his arms.

  I inhaled deeply the scents of clean man and warm steam as his hands buried themselves in my hair, his hips pressing into me, lips hovering over mine.

  "You know, you're kinda cute when you're checking out my ass," he whispered. Then before I could respond, he had me in a lip lock I couldn't get out of even if I tried.

  Not that I tried.

  "Six," I gasped, when he finally let me up for air.

  "What?" His eyes were dark, glazed over, full of that there's-no-way-we're-getting-out-of-bed-anytime-soon look.

  "Six. The wedding rehearsal is at six."

  One corner of his mouth tilted up in a lopsided grin that made my heart slam against my rib cage. Wedding disasters be damned, I was the luckiest girl in the world to be marrying this man.

  "Good to know," he murmured, before diving into my lips again, his hands roving slowly down my body, raking down my arms, over my belly, to the tops of my thighs and...

  I sighed out loud. He was going to be very late for work this morning.

  * * *

  It was close to ten before Ramirez finally headed out the front door, blowing me a backwards kiss as he left. I staggered out of bed and filled Mr. Coffee, making my own French roast that morning. Not that I was complaining. I grinned at myself in the reflection from my toaster. My lips were red from rubbing against his stubbled cheeks, my hair a crazy I-just-had-mind-blowing-sex bird's nest.

  Nope, not complaint number one.

  I took a quick shower before attacking my matted air with a leave-in conditioner and doing the blow dry routine. I slipped into a pair of white cargo capris, a stretchy green top and a pair of cute green kitten heels with little white polka dots all over them. Then I downed a second cup of coffee while I checked my voicemail. One new message. From Dana. I could hear loud rock music in the background, and she was begging me to call her back ASAP as she'd done something "really, really bad."

  Uh oh.

  I knew I shouldn't have left miss former groupie alone with a mob of sex crazed rockers. It was like taking a diabetic into a candy store.

  Feeling just the teeniest bit guilty for abandoning her last night, I hit number one on my speed dial. Dana picked up on the first ring.

  "Maddie?" she asked, her voice cracking just a little.

  "What happened?"

  "Oh, God, it was awful! I can't believe this happened. I never meant to do it. Oh, God."

  "Slow down," I said, as Dana burst into blubbery sobs on the other end. Geeze, this was worse than I thought. "Honey, tell me what happened."

  "Okay, well, I was with the Zebras, right?"

  "Right."

  "And the bass player, well, he's just got the cutest accent. You know what a sucker I am for a guy with an accent, Maddie..."

  "Don't tell me you slept with the bass player."

  "No." I heard Dana shake her head, her earrings clanging against the phone. "No, not that. It was when they were called out for an encore."

  "Uh huh," I encouraged.

  "Well, the bass player asked if I'd ever done a stage dive before. And I said, no, I'd never even been on stage in a place like this. And he said I had to try it. Well, I'd had a drink or two by then, and I think I was getting a contact high or something, so I said okay. And, well, next thing you know, I'm on the stage, staring down at a mass of people with their arms up to catch me and the bass player pushes me over the edge of the stage."

  "Are you okay? Did you fall?" I asked, trying to get to the root of the sobbing.

  "No." Again with the jangling earrings. "They totally caught me. And for a moment, it was the coolest thing ever. It was like riding a wave. But a human one."

  "What happened?"

  "Well, they kind of rode me over to the side, then put me down at the edge of the crowd next to Smokes Dope All Day Guy."

  "Oh God. You slept with Smokes Dope All Day Guy?"

  "No. God, no."

  "Okay, so what happened?"

  "Well, as the crowd set me down, he was lighting up and, well, smoking dope."

  "As he does."

  "Right. Then he handed me a bottle of tequila and told me to take a celebratory swig. You have to understand, I was totally hyped from riding the crowd at that point. So I did. And that's when it happened"

  I shook my head, not understanding. "So, you're upset because you had a shot of tequila?"

  "Some chick from the Informer took my picture! Maddie I was standing next to a guy smoking a joint with a bottle of tequila in my hand at a rock concert. It's on the front page. CARTOON FLAMINGO BAD INFLUENCE FOR CHILDREN."

  Mental forehead smack.

  "Maddie," she sobbed. "I'm a bad influence!"

  "Honey, you're not a bad influence. It's just tabloid."

  Dana sniffed on the other end. "I don't want kids to drink."

  "I know, honey. No kids are going to drink. I mean, kids don't even read tabloids."

  She sniffed again. "Yeah. I guess they don't."

  "Don't worry. I'll talk to Felix today and see what he can do about getting a retraction printed."

  "You think he would?" she asked, hope creeping into her voice.

  Honestly? I wasn't sure. If a story moved papers, there wasn't much I could do to persuade Tabloid Boy. But, it was worth a shot.

  "I'm sure he will," I said, crossing my fingers it was true.

  "Okay," she said. I heard her blow her nose. "Okay, thanks. Yeah, maybe that will work."

  But, just in case the rest of the paparazzi had picked up on the story, she said she was laying low today. I agreed that was probably a good idea.

  "Hey, since you're hiding out, I have a little phone project for you," I said.

  "Yeah?"

  "Spike was a little sketchy on when he got back from Topeka. Any way you think you could track down the person in charge of the fundraiser and find out if his alibi is actually solid?"

  I heard those earrings clacking again as Dana nodded. "I'm on it," she said, then promised to call as soon as she knew anything.

  First crisis of the day dealt with, I keyed i
n Allie's number hoping to catch the daughter before class. No such luck. My call went straight to voicemail. I left her another message, asking her to call me ASAP.

  I hung up, drumming my fingernails on my Motorola. No matter how innocent Allie played, I didn't like the fact she'd left out telling us Gigi was her mother. In my experience, when someone hid something, it was for a reason.

  So what reason did she have?

  Where she and Gigi on the outs? I thought back, trying to remember how they'd interacted with each other that last time I'd been at L'Amore. I hadn't noticed any sort of animosity between them. But at the time I'd been a little too focused on my own mother and her overzealous invitation frenzy to pay attention. What I needed was someone who knew them both well, knew their history.

  And I could think of one guy that fit that bill. Gigi's ex-husband, Summerville.

  I grabbed my purse, hopped in my Jeep, and made for downtown. Forty minutes later I was pulling into the parking garage down the block from Summerville's building and clubbing my car. I'd just got out and beeped my car locked when a blue Dodge Neon slipped into the spot beside me.

  Oh, swell.

  Felix hopped out, doing a little wave my direction.

  "Good morning, love."

  "It was until you showed up," I mumbled.

  "What was that?"

  "Nothing. What are you doing here? Are you following me again?"

  He locked his car, coming around to stand next to me. "Actually, after our little chat last night I thought it might be a good idea to see what Gigi's ex had to say about his stepdaughter. I was just passing by his office when I spotted you. Great minds think alike, eh?"

  The day I started thinking like Felix was the day I wanted someone to take me out back and shoot me.

  "So, shall we?" he asked, leading the way toward the sidewalk.

  Reluctantly, I fell in step beside him. While working hand in hand with Felix wasn't exactly my idea of a good time, it appeared I was fated to be stuck with him. Mrs. Rosenblatt was right. My karma did suck.

  Five minutes later we were standing in the lobby of Summerville Development watching Sweater Vest chat into his head set nonstop while his fingers did the mambo across his keyboard.