Crazy Bitch (Bitches and Queens)

by Rachael James

  “We make our own rules. We always have. You and I belong together. The only thing that changes in your last name.”

  Willow Bell, she wasn’t sure she liked the sound of it. It sounded like something you might find at a Home and Garden Expo—a sort of ivy with tiny, white blooms. She couldn’t help but think, If nothing changes, why are we doing this? Zachary, still on his knees, looked up at her with his soulful brown eyes. His expression yanked at her heartstrings, and she knew she couldn’t tell him no.

  “OK,” she mumbled, hardly sounding like an enthusiastic soon-to-be bride.

  “Awesome,” Zachary said and reached for her hand.

  She wasn’t expecting it to fit, almost hoped it didn’t, but it wrapped around her ring finger perfectly. Wearing someone else’s lost dream didn’t feel promising.

  Hannah was waiting for her the next day at work, which was odd because lately she hadn’t come in until around noon. Instinctively, Willow hid her left hand behind her back.

  “We’re going out this morning,” Hannah announced.

  “We are? Where?”

  “A very dear friend of mine is getting married soon, but his bitch-of-a-fiancée can’t find any dresses she likes. I told him about your work, and they decided to give you a try,” Hannah explained.

  Good Lord, what was it with all this wedding stuff? Is fate trying to tell me something?

  “Wedding dresses aren’t my area of expertise,” Willow cautioned.

  “If you’re not up to the challenge, I can cancel. I just thought you might want to try your hand at something that wasn’t a thong, garter, or held together with a piece of string,” Hannah scoffed.

  “No, I’ll go, but if she is that picky, I don’t expect to come up with anything she likes either.”

  Later when they were inside the ultra-posh downtown condominium, Willow kept thinking there was something very familiar about Kate and Sam. She was certain she had seen them both somewhere before. Hannah was her bitchiest, but Willow was slightly relieved she wasn’t her only target. Apparently, she couldn’t stand Kate, and the feeling was obviously mutual. Willow tried to stay out of the way of their claws.

  Sam seemed pleasant enough but very hard to please. Of the two, he was more opinionated about what constituted the perfect dress for Kate. He was so verbal at one point Willow thought, Geez, what’s with this guy? Is he gay or something?

  Kate must have been a mind reader because she chuckled quietly and then whispered so softly that only Willow could hear, “I thought the same thing when I first met him. And no, he’s not, just very fashion conscious.”

  “All right, so you’ve told all the things you don’t want. Maybe, it might help if you tell what you do want,” Willow suggested.

  “Have you ever heard of Emmaline Watkins?” Sam asked.

  What fashion design student hadn’t? Emmaline was an icon of haute couture wedding dresses. A few of her dresses were displayed in the Smithsonian, not to mention the traveling collection that made its way to every major museum across the globe. The daughter of a millionaire, she married an energy magnate before her career launched short after the second World War.

  According to legend, Emmaline didn’t start designing wedding dresses until she could not find one she liked for her only daughter. After the wedding, she was all the craze of high society. She only accepted a few commissions each year, but each dress was hand sewn. Some even said that entire weddings were planned around her schedule.

  If Emmaline was what they wanted, Willow was afraid she would disappoint them, but instead said, “Of course.”

  “Considering the bitch has been dead for over forty years, you’ve missed the boat on that,” Hannah snorted rudely.

  “I’ve studied her work,” Sam said.

  Why doesn’t that surprise me? Willow thought to herself.

  “Apparently, she began each commission with an interview, or more of a conversation really. They might talk for a few hours. She was trying to get a feel for what the bride really wanted. Instead of just tossing ruffles and satin their way, Emmaline designed a custom dress tailored to each bride’s specific tastes.”

  “Yes, I’ve read that as well,” Willow said.

  “So, I guess what we’re looking for is someone who will do the same,” Sam said.

  Kate cocked her eyebrow in challenge. “Notice how he used the word ‘we’re.’ It’s more like what Sam is looking for. Honestly, I never even heard of her before a few months ago. He probably won’t be satisfied until we find something that will look fabulous on both of us.”

  Willow suddenly realized where she had seen the two of them before. Without thinking first, she said, “I know where I remember you from. I did you on your birthday last year.”

  “No,” Sam stated firmly, looking very uncomfortable towards Kate. “No one did me on my birthday but Kate. I swear, babe.”

  “No, I meant I performed at your party…” Willow corrected. Feeling suddenly guilty that she hadn’t mentioned her former occupation yet, she glanced towards Hannah, who was watching her with an ice-cold look of challenge. At that moment, Willow knew Hannah had known about her past, probably from the beginning, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it now. Besides, Willow wasn’t sure what it meant, if anything at all. “…only you looked different then. Maybe it’s the hair?” Or the fact that he was in full drag that night.

  “I didn’t recognize you. You look so different in…” Kate started, but suddenly stopped, “…well, without all the makeup.”

  Willow smiled because she knew Kate had been about to say she looked different in clothes. Not offended, she even teased, “I brought along my veil if you want to play later.”

  “The fuck you did,” Hannah hissed. “Now you understand why I had to fucking hound you about the exclusivity clause. If I wanted a goddamn whore, I would have just hired one.”

  “Jesus Christ, Hannah, I was just teasing,” Willow growled in frustration.

  “Coming on to potential customers isn’t teasing. It’s just plain slutty rudeness,” Hannah spat.

  “Hannah, it’s no big deal,” Kate rushed, trying to deescalate what appeared to be on the verge of becoming the next World War in the middle of her living room. Kate knew Hannah. She knew she was a wicked bitch. She also knew that weren’t very many people who would stand up against her when she was in middle of one of her fits, but Willow looked like she just might.

  “Sorry,” Willow groaned as she waved her hands wide in frustration. “I was trying to alleviate an awkward situation. I had my tits in her fiancé’s face last year, for god’s sake.”

  “Just go get her measurements,” Hannah said as she snapped her fingers impatiently.

  “Don’t snap at me,” Willow countered as she walked back with Kate towards the bedroom.

  After the door was closed behind them, Hannah turned and found Sam watching her carefully.

  “What?” she hissed.

  “I don’t know,” he shrugged blandly. “Right now, I am trying to decide whether I am in awe or terrified by how far you will go to get what you want. A stripper? You brought a fucking stripper to my home? I thought you said your intern had real talent.”

  “She does,” Hannah said calmly. “Thank God. Otherwise, imagine the mess I would be in if her work sucked.”

  Sam crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her steadily. “What the hell are you doing, Hannah?”

  Hannah walked over and pinched his cheek playfully. “Nothing for you worry about, baby boy.”

  A few minutes later, Willow and Kate emerged from the bedroom, giggling like a pair of schoolgirls. “Sam, Willow’s fiancé’s band is playing tonight, and Willow is giving a special performance. I want to go.”

  Before he could respond, Hannah let out an ear-piercing shriek, “WHAT!” She started to lunge towards Willow, but Sam caught her waist and held her in place. “What the fuck is she talking about? Only a few days ago, he was your boyfriend, and now Zach is your fucking fian
cé? And if you even think about performing again, I’ll fucking ruin your name!”

  “It’s not that kind of performance,” Willow yelled back. “He asked and I said yes!”

  “WHY? Why, goddamn you, why did you say yes?” Hannah screeched.

  Willow had never been good at confrontation. If pushed, she would snap back, but when she was really angry, she cried. She felt her eyes filling with tears, and the way Hannah was looking at her wasn’t helping. Right then, Hannah loathed her. In Hannah’s eyes, she had just committed the ultimate act of betrayal, and the worst part was—she couldn’t even give her an honest answer. She didn’t know why she had said yes. Maybe because since the subway, only the most significant moment of her life, Hannah had been treating her like a piece of shit? That might have something to do with it.

  This whole conversation was horrible, and Willow never intended to have it in front of two people she barely knew. Kate had been so affable, and when she had started talking about what she wanted for her wedding, Willow naturally started talking about what she wanted as well. She never thought Kate would come out and spill the beans. Considering the way Hannah had been treating her for the last couple of weeks, she never dreamed she would react like this.

  “Hannah, please,” Willow muttered as she wiped furiously at her eyes. “I don’t even know why you care.”

  “I care because it’s a fucking joke,” Hannah spat and then tried to pull herself free. Turning her head, she growled, “Get your fucking hands off me. It’s a goddamn farce. They have a fucking open relationship! Zach fucks all the sluts he wants and then he leaves his leftovers for Willow!”

  “You’re a fucking bitch,” Willow sobbed and then stormed out.

  Chapter 9

  They weren’t his usual sort of crowd. It wasn’t his usual sort of bar. It was the kind of establishment Sam wouldn’t dare step foot in until he had at least four beers to clear out the homophobic-filled air. Hmm, what’s that scent? Ah right, little pierced gay still in the closet. Needless to say, he hadn’t wanted to come tonight, and wouldn’t have, but he knew Hannah couldn’t stay away.

  Earlier that day in his condo, she had really scared him. They had known each other since they were both nine years old, and he had never seen her behave like she had. He was afraid if he didn’t come with her tonight, he might find her name in tomorrow’s arrest log, or her face splashed across the internet—Supermodel Goes Berserk.

  Sam tried to keep an open mind about Willow only because Kate informed him that he should. Willow was young and naïve, according to Kate. Young, yes, she was only twenty-one. Naïve, yeah right, she was a fucking stripper. Maybe, in her tittie-bearing world, she had never met someone like Hannah? But it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Hannah wasn’t what anyone would ever describe as emotionally stable. She was a freaking time bomb, and Sam was terrified that Willow might just be the fuse to set her off.

  At the end of Z-Bell’s performance, who were surprisingly talented considering their choice of venue, Willow made her grand appearance. He had been dreading this since they stepped in the bar. All night long, all he could think was, Good Lord, please let her have clothes on, because if she was naked, he wasn’t entirely certain he could hold Hannah back.

  Throughout the entire show, she had remained quiet and calm, which with Hannah wasn’t a good thing. He had witnessed some of her most vicious strikes just after she had the same look in her eyes. Her features, as still and timeless as a mannequin, only became animated once Willow stepped out on stage and then she blinked in surprise.

  Sam took one look at her pink ballerina costume complete with a rhinestone tiara, and purple and yellow striped legwarmers, and groaned in disgust. “This is who you sent to design our wedding dress?”

  “Sam,” Kate hissed with warning. “It’s my wedding dress—not ours. And I told you not to wear that dress if you couldn’t hold your tongue.”

  “I’m trying,” he shrugged defensively. “Oh look, a hula-hoop. What the fuck are we doing here again?”

  But it wasn’t just an ordinary hula-hoop; it was a light-up, glow-in-the-dark hoop, and the way Willow whirled it around her body was mesmerizing, silencing even her harshest critic. Once she was finished with her routine, Willow went down in a full curtsy before exiting the stage.

  “Well, I for one thought that was wonderful,” Kate said.

  “It was interesting,” Sam casually dismissed.

  “It was impressive,” Kate corrected. “What did you think, Hannah?”

  Before Hannah could answer, Willow, who had come up from behind them, said, “She thought it was fabulous,” and then wrapped her arms around Hannah’s shoulder’s and kissed her cheek. “I’m so happy you came tonight,” she said ecstatically as she slid her body around Hannah and then settled in her lap.

  “Jesus Fucking Christ, Willow,” Hannah growled as she scooted her off her lap and into the empty chair beside her. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Only a little,” Willow answered with a silly smile. “It helps me keep my balance.”

  “Is that so?” Hannah challenged.

  “Yes, it is. Go on, and say it,” Willow teased. “You know you’re dying to tell me how fabulous I was.”

  “No, I’m not,” Hannah retorted, stone-faced.

  Willow stared at her lips. She was certain Hannah was fighting back a smile. “Yes you are,” she said and put her finger on Hannah’s mouth.

  Hannah reached for her hand and pulled it under the table. “You’re fucking drunk.”

  “No, I’m not,” Willow answered. She really wasn’t drunk, not even buzzed. She was so fantastically happy she was bubbling over with joy. From the moment she spotted Hannah in the crowd, she knew everything would be all right. Hannah wouldn’t have come if she was still furious or if she didn’t care. Willow didn’t know what it meant or even what tomorrow might be like, but for this night, everything was right in her world.

  “Hello,” Willow said to Kate and Sam. “You both are so gorgeous. Are you sure you don’t want two wedding dresses?”

  “No,” they said in unison.

  “My family is traditional,” Kate explained.

  “Ahh,” Willow murmured in understanding. “You could always have two weddings.”

  “Right now, we’re just focusing on one,” Sam said drily.

  Zachary came out from backstage and found Willow. He stood beside her and placed his arm around her shoulder. Willow didn’t look at Hannah as she made the introductions. “Zachary, this is Kate, Sam, and Hannah. Everyone, this is Zachary.”

  “Your fiancé,” Hannah gritted through her teeth.

  “Yes, my fiancé,” Willow said with a wary smile.

  “Nice to meet you, y’all,” Zachary said, leaning over and whispering something into Willow’s ear.

  Willow turned her head towards where he motioned with his finger. A petite blond woman was waiting in the corner. When she saw Willow, she smiled and waved.

  As quietly as possible, she whispered, “No, not tonight.”

  “Come on, babe. It will be fun,” he said coaxingly.

  “No, but you go ahead,” Willow mouthed, mortified that he was asking her this in front of Hannah and her friends.

  “I don’t want to without you,” he said.

  “It’s fine, really.”

  “For fuck’s sake!” Hannah screamed. “What the fuck do you not understand? She doesn’t want to fuck you and that skank whore!”

  “Hannah,” Willow hissed. “Sorry, Zachary,” she muttered. “Go on, and I’ll call you later.”

  Once he left, Willow turned back to Kate and Sam and said, “Sorry about that.” She didn’t know who had embarrassed her more—Zachary for asking if she wanted a threesome in front of people she didn’t know very well, or Hannah for announcing it to everyone sitting around them. Looking back at Hannah, she glared, “That really wasn’t necessary.”

  “Yeah,” Hannah scoffed, “neither is dressing up like s
ome goddamn fairy princess.”

  “It’s my birthday, Hannah,” Willow snapped.

  “What?” Hannah blinked in surprise. “Today is your birthday?”

  “Has been all day,” Willow declared sarcastically. “You might have known that if you had looked at my resume instead of my tits. And tonight, I want to dance,” she announced. She stood and then started towards the dance floor.

  Kate waited until Hannah left to follow after her before asking Sam, “What is going on with those two?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”

  Willow was halfway across the floor when she felt two hands wrap around her waist. “Where are you going, dancing queen?”

  Willow turned around. Hannah reached for her hand and began pulling her towards an abandoned corner. “What are you doing?” she only half-heartedly protested.

  “I am avoiding giving any of these losers beer money for the next year. One shot of me dancing with another woman would sell for at least six figures,” Hannah explained once she had Willow pinned against the shadows. Leaning close so they stood cheek-to-cheek, she whispered, “I liked your performance, both of them.”

  Willow rested her head against the wall behind her and her eyes drifted shut. Feeling like a junkie who had just opened her vein and poured in an intoxicating drug, her soul was writhing in ecstasy. And Hannah was just that—her drug, her addiction. Ever since that moment on the subway, she had craved more. Hannah must have felt it too. Her breathing was just as erratic as it struck against her cheek. Her heart was pounding so strong, Willow felt its rumble against her chest.

  Hannah’s long leg stretched up and brushed against her crotch. Willow whimpered. Unable to fight the temptation any longer, or even remember why she had tried, Willow started to move towards Hannah’s mouth, but she swiftly moved back.

  Before Willow could protest, Hannah put her finger on Willow’s lips. Leaning back down, she rested her forehead against Willow’s. “Do you really want to go home by yourself on your birthday?”

  “No,” Willow muttered.

  “Then come with me,” Hannah whispered and then stepped back. Standing at arm’s length, Hannah reached for her hand.