“Fairly certain Mom’s company delivers them weekly.”
“Which means she uses incredibly fresh ingredients without preservatives.”
“My mom thinks if I become Princess of Fredonia, I’ll be her spokesmodel. But when I become Princess of Fredonia, I won’t have to deal with this shit anymore.”
“Got it. So you’re marrying for love?” Annie asked.
“Frederick’s like the best friend a girl could have.” Lila plucked daisies from her bouquet and twisted them into long chains.
“And you love him?”
“He’s the kindest man I’ve ever met.”
“Admirable. Any love involved?”
“He’s like a fuzzy puppy.”
“You’re walking into another gilded cage, Katie Holmes. Trading one prison for another.” Annie gazed at her suitcase. “Did you ever even like baking, Lila?”
“I loved baking. When I was a kid, my dad, mom and I concocted these silly recipes that monsters would make. Like, you know—what would Frankenstein bake? Obviously Franken-cakes with squares of chocolate sticking out like the lug nuts in his neck. What would the Monster-Under-the Bed bake?”
“The Monster-Under-the Bed scares the crap out of me. I mean—scared,” Annie said. “He would bake dust bunny cookies that were very dark chocolate covered in fluffy dabs of white frosting. This is a good idea! Mashing monsters with baking—Monster Bakers—New on The Food Network. Lila, with your looks, savvy, connections and killer recipes, I predict a hit.”
Lila sighed. “I don’t think Frederick will allow—I mean—want his new princess doing Monster Bakers. Go get ready.” She grabbed the remote, plopped on the bed, squished some pillows under her head and flicked the buttons to a clothing reality show. “You know if Frank were still here, he’d lie down beside me, we’d spoon and he’d stroke my hair.”
Frank Plank lay down beside Lila and gazed at her, smitten. He stroked her hair.
Annie slashed the remaining tape binding her suitcase. Free at last! She gently unzipped the bag and wondered if she should she pick the dress that she’d bought on sale at Snotsky’s of Santa Monica? Perhaps the vintage Halston she’d scored in a resale shop. It was, after all, evening wear. She owed it to herself, her town, her state and all the people she loved to look bitchin’.
She unzipped her bag, flipped back the top and gazed at her clothes. No. Not her clothes. She gazed at skinny white threadbare towels. Huh? She didn’t remember packing towels? Her hands started shaking.
In the background, the TV blared local news coverage. “This is Stephanie Storms reporting for WNOC. In local news today, international celeb Lila DeLovely left her fiancé Prince Frederick of Fredonia in the dust to join D-list celeb Annie Graceland and her local boytoy, Scott Puddleman. Is it a kinky love triangle? Or simply a coincidence? Meanwhile, Frank Plank’s killer continues to run free. Is local law enforcement doing anything? Or should we boycott Wisconsin’s Hot Guys Contest, stay home and lock our doors? This is Stephanie Storms reporting for WNOC.”
“This Stephanie chick’s a moron. I have no idea why my mom sucks up to her.” Lila flipped channels.
Annie picked up a towel. Pinched it between her thumb and index finger on one corner and held it arms distance in front of her, limp. Her fingers started to burn.
The towel had seen better days. Perhaps originally it was a one hundred thread count but was now threadbare. There was a dingy, barely legible tag on it that read, “We don’t pick your pockets, please don’t take our towels. Bill’s Bar and Bathhouse—Bikersville, South Dakota.”
Firey sensations spread up Annie’s arm and she dropped the towel like it was covered in ants. Her fancy clothes had to be under these rags. Who in their right mind would put towels in her suitcase?
She picked up and tossed more towels. Primarily bath-sized but also a few hand varieties. “Mother of God, no!” Where were her clothes? Her beautiful pageant outfits? Her spiffy accessories? She glanced at the clock. She had forty minutes to shower, dress, accessorize and make it to the ballroom on time. But there was nothing to wear. The only thing left in her bag was her little book entitled, “How Not to Stress.”
Holy freak, she was stressing.
Grady, wearing a nicely cut tuxedo, leapt out of their hotel room bathroom. “Ta-da!”
Annie screamed. “Never surprise me like that again!”
“Never!” Grady screamed.
Lila rolled off the bed onto the floor and screamed, “No photos!”
Frank screamed and dropped down next to Lila, but only Annie heard him.
“Why in the hell are you dressed in a tux?” Annie asked.
Grady looked at her suitcase picked up a towel and regarded it with disgust. “Why in the hell did you pack towels?”
“I didn’t pack towels!”
“Has it been that long since you’ve traveled?” Grady asked. “Do you not realize that unlike airlines and buses, hotels still offer the basics?”
“No pictures!” Lila crawled toward the balcony.
“I’m not the paparazzo, Model Girl!” Grady yelled.
“Then who are you?”
“He’s my best friend. Where are my clothes?” Annie said. “Is this a bad pageant hazing thing—like in high school when Julia and I stole the freshmens’ clothes when they were in swim class? It was a dare. A simple prank or I never would have done it. I’m not that kind of girl.”
“That’s why you and Julia did it six times before you were caught. I don’t know where your clothes are. I wish I did,” Grady said. “I do know I was just promoted to be the new official announcer for Wisconsin’s first annual Hot Guys contest.” He straightened his tie, a small smile tugging his lips up.
“Congrats!” Lila poked her head up from behind the bed.
“Are you on crack?” Annie asked. “You’re not from Wisconsin—you’re from Iowa. You’re not an actor. You’re a writer. Why would they pick you?”
Grady looked like he’d just been slapped. “Why wouldn’t they?”
Crap, Annie had just said a terrible thing to her best friend. “Because this is kind-of a Wisconsin-only gig?”
“My boyfriend convinced me to take a few acting classes. He said it would help my writing,” Grady said. “After we got here, your mother told me on the QT that the announcer was coming down with laryngitis. She encouraged me. Maybe if you inquired about my life more frequently you might know that.” He turned away from her and sniffed.
“I ask you what’s going on all the time! I made you my Plus One even though Julia threatened to expose me and the Pudding Debacle.” Annie shook her head. Why did misunderstandings with friends always happen at the worst possible times? “I’m sorry I haven’t been more attentive. I’m happy you got the gig. We’ll talk about the actor-thing later.” Annie leaned back against a wall, slid down it and plopped her butt onto the floor, defeated.
“But what will you do?” Grady asked. “Maybe I should stay…”
“Go! One of us needs to get the damn job done.”
“Love you.” He bent down, kissed the top of her head and ran out the door.
Frank took Lila’s hand and kissed it. “Lila will help.”
Lila stared at her hand a little funny. “I’ll help you, Annie.”
Annie glanced at the clock, her suitcase. A few tears leaked out of her eyes. “What was I thinking? I should never have come back to Oconomowoc.”
“Yeah there, you should have,” Lila said. “Hop in the shower. Scrub. Shave. FYI—you have several half inch-long hairs on your ankles. A lot of people skim over the ankles when shaving their legs. Beauty tip? Never skimp on your ankles. Go!” Lila flicked her hand at Annie.
“But what will I wear?”
“You can trust Lila,” Frank said. “She’s good with the details.”
Annie caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror in the hallway on the way to the ballroom for evening wear. She wore an exotic, Grecianesque, one shoulder bared, crème colored cotton gown
. Daisy chains crisscrossed under her boobs and cinched her waist. Lila had cut off the tag on the hotel sheet before she let Annie exit her hotel room.
Lila had styled Annie’s hair into a partial updo and woven a crown of daisies into a tiara on her head. Portions of her long hair curled and cascaded down her back. Her makeup was perfect. She even looked almost kind-of thin if she really sucked in her stomach. “I can’t believe it. You are freaking good.”
“She’s freaking great,” Frank said. “I totally screwed up letting her go. What was I thinking?”
“I modeled on a season of Project Runway,” Lila said. “The designer made me his muse. I might look vapid, but I’m actually kind of a dorky information sponge.”
Annie looked down at her feet. She was barefoot with sparkly pink polish on her freshly groomed toenails. “It’s evening wear. Is it okay I’m barefoot?”
“Yes, it goes with your look. Besides you hate heels.”
“I hate heels almost as much as I hate spiders and ants and bees.” Annie stopped dead in her tracks and turned toward Lila. “How’d you know I hate heels?”
“I was in the audience the first night of the Hot Guys Contest. I saw you walk—or should I say—wobble on stage. Trust me, I felt your pain. Go get em!”
“Knock ’em dead,” Frank said.
“You don’t mean that, Frank,” Annie said.
“What?” Lila frowned. “Who?”
“Oopsies.” Annie bolted through the door that led into the ballroom.
Dust Bunny Chocolate Drop Cookies
Ingredients:
½ Cup butter
1 Cup packed brown sugar
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla
Two 1 oz squares baking chocolate, melted and cooled
2 cups all-purpose flour
½ tsp baking soda
¼ tsp salt
¾ cup sour cream
(If you like nuts, add this. If you don’t, skip this.) ½ cup chopped pecans
Instructions:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a large bowl, ream butter with brown sugar until smooth. Add egg, vanilla, and cooled chocolate, mixing well; set aside. In a small bowl, combine flour, baking soda, and salt. Add dry ingredients alternately with sour cream to chocolate mixture, beating well after each addition. Stir in pecans (if you like nuts.)
Drop batter by teaspoonfuls two inches apart onto a greased and floured baking sheet. Bake ten minutes or until set. Remove from baking sheet to a wire rack to cool.
White Powdered Sugar Frosting Ingredients and Instructions:
1 cup powdered sugar, sifted.
½ tsp vanilla
1 tbsp water
Mix frosting ingredients thoroughly. When cookies are cool, dab with frosting.
Eighteen
Evening Wear
Annie sat next to Mrs. McGillicuddy at the table on the judges’ stage. Her former teacher wore a boxy, two-piece, formal suit that Annie could have sworn was a Hilary Clinton knock-off ensemble from a recent state dinner.
Mrs. McGillicuddy eyeballed Annie, sighed, leaned forward and marked a piece of paper.
“You’re grading me?” Annie asked.
“Yes.”
“Fine. But this time I want a B.” Annie frowned. “Hey—did you get a personal invite to Suzy DeLovely’s opening ceremonies party?”
Mrs. McGillicuddy nodded. “Of course. Didn’t you?”
Annie shook her head. “Nope.”
“Perhaps Suzy thought you had the pageant’s schedule. Trust me, you didn’t miss much. I was supposed to be filmed reading an original poem about the contest on TV.” Mrs. McGillicuddy shook her head. “Never happened. I was extremely disappointed. The WNOC interview with Stephanie Storms was even printed on the itinerary.”
“I’m sorry,” Annie said. She gazed into the audience that filled the lodge’s ballroom. For the most part, everyone had cleaned up nicely. Each seat was taken except for one next to Prince Frederick. People even stood in the back along the walls, sandwiched next to the paparazzi.
Stephanie and Olaf from WNOC weren’t the only camera crews on set. Milwaukee and Madison TV reporters filmed and commented from the sidelines. Melissa Black from I-CHIC, the prestigious Chicago station, talked with her cameraman as she assessed the crowd. The publicity party had grown larger, most likely due to Frank’s demise and the contest’s increasing popularity.
Scott Puddleman was dressed in a stylish tux and stood center stage. Suzy Mae DeLovely, still wearing the same crème puff gown, whispered into his ear. Scott shook his head.
Suzy frowned and walked toward the judges’ table, leaned toward Annie and hissed in her ear. “Do not think for one second that I will overlook or excuse how you treated my daughter today.”
“Considering I was the only one who treated her like a grown-up, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Suzy Mae glared daggers at Annie as she took her seat.
“Welcome one and all to the first annual Wisconsin Hot Guys evening wear competition!” Scott said to huge in-house applause. He smiled and nodded. “Tonight I need to be a fulltime judge. So I’m turning Master of Ceremony duties over to Grady Swenson. He’s been subbing for the contest since our announcer, Earl Dussair, lost his voice due to his unfortunate situation, which he has lawyered up about and we are not allowed to divulge. Take it, Grady!”
Grady stepped up to the mic. He looked styling and handsome. Annie applauded. He winked at her. He turned back to the mic. “Hello, Wisconsin!”
“Hello!” the enthusiastic ballroom crowd responded.
“It’s a fine night in beautiful Oconomowoc, Wisconsin. Tonight your votes count. Voting will be open until the fireworks celebration at nine p.m. Text, write, phone your votes in. We will tabulate and announce the top five Hot Guys tomorrow morning. After their poignant interviews, there will be a final vote and we will crown your winner. Without further ado, let evening wear commence!”
A canned drum roll played. A spotlight played over the entrance to the stage’s curtain.
“Welcome, Mr. Madison!” Grady exclaimed. A handsome, shaggy haired, blond guy in a perfectly cut black tux emerged from a gap in the curtains and walked out onto the stage. “University of Wisconsin is home to over forty thousand college students. Their football team, the Badgers, make frequent trips to bowl games.” Mr. Madison smiled at the crowd and held up a white placard marked with his voting numbers.
“Say hello to Mr. Milwaukee!” Grady said as the gorgeous beefy finalist strutted past Mr. Madison. “For much of recent history, Milwaukee is known as the beer capital of the world!” Mr. Milwaukee gave the crowd a dazzling smile and pointed to the numbers on his card.
Grady squinted at his notes. “Hey there, Mr. Richland Center. Your town’s website describes itself as ‘Experience the extreme to the serene’.” A tall lean stud walked a little sheepishly on the runaway. “Which are you?” Grady asked.
Mr. Richland Center shrugged his shoulders and grinned. Mr. Sheboygan passed Richland on the runway and they high-fived. The crowd cheered.
“What’s up, Mr. Sheboygan?’ Grady said. “USA Today once wrote your hometown had the best brats and an ample supply of healthy bachelors.”
A girl called out, “Still single? Whoot, whoot!”
Annie watched and clapped her hands as Grady rocked the house. She spotted Julia in the crowd looking a little rumpled and still dressed in her earlier casual attire. Well, at least she was dressed, Annie thought.
Mr. Wisconsin Dells, so handsome in his black tux, took the stage. He placed his index finger next to his eye, made a heart with his hands and pointed at Julia. She shrieked, bounced up and down on her heels and waved wildly.
“Looking lucky tonight, Mr. Dells,” Grady said.
With the exception of Frank being dead, everything was perfect, Annie thought. What was she so worried about? She heard a tiny buzz. Probably just ambient noise from Grady’s microphone.
WNOC’s cameras were point
ed at her and rolling. Clad in a sparkly sequin covered gown, Stephanie added hushed dramatic color commentary to the videotape.
The buzzing grew louder. It felt like something tiny and fuzzy nuzzled her ear.
Dang. Annie hoped she wasn’t having another empathic reaction. What was tiny and fuzzy that could be nuzzling her ear? She blinked and gazed at the Hot Guy who was currently on stage walking the walk. Shocker—Mr. Bitterhausen.
Was she getting an empathic vibe from him? Was part of Mr. Bitterhausen tiny and fuzzy? If so—exactly what was tickling her ear?
“The ex-Duke of Fredonia, Mr. Bitterhausen!” Grady proclaimed. “The modest hamlet of Bitterhausen has an active scrapbooking community, two mineral springs and a small, but enthusiastic nudist colony.”
Annie frowned and discretely scratched her ear.
Bitterhausen boldly held up his voting placard overhead, swiveling it widely around him in a semi-circle so everyone in the audience could see it.
No way, Annie mouthed to him. She pointed to her eye, mimicked plunking a ballot into a box, held up four fingers on one hand and pointed back at Bitterhausen. No Way I Vote 4 You.
Ivan stood up and started chanting, “Vote fwoh Bitta Howsen! Vote fwoh Bitta Howsen!” A few people took up the chant. Prince Frederick cracked a smile and stiffly waved at the cameras aimed at him.
Mr. Appleton wheeled onto the stage all dream-boaty with a rakish grin.
“Famed escape artist Harry Houdini grew up in Appleton,” Grady said. “Your magic doesn’t escape us, Mr. Appleton.”
Lila, dressed in a skin tight and fabulous shiny faux snake dress, snuck down the aisle close to the stage. Frank was right behind her. She plunked down in the seat next to Prince Frederick, who gazed at her and licked his lips like a kid who just scored the good Halloween candy. Frank kneeled on the floor and stared up at her gobsmacked.
Mr. Bloomer did the catwalk. He was smooth, debonair, and practically danced on air.
Grady tried to steer the crowd back on course. “Like your style, Mr. Bloomer. Perfect—just like beautiful Lake Como in your town.”
Pamela DuMond - Annie Graceland 03 - Cupcakes, Pies, and Hot Guys Page 14