Hazing Meri Sugarman

by M. Apostolina

  Would it really be that simple? After exchanging a few whispers and a wink with the registration clerk, Rhea directed Mom, Debi, Julianna, and me down a long corridor toward Meri’s room.

  “What number are we looking for?” I asked, my heart racing.

  “Ten twenty-two,” answered Rhea.

  “Why ­don’t you lead the way, dear,” said Mom sweetly.

  Rhea gestured magnanimously and stepped aside, allowing me to charge confidently (or at least I thought so) into the main elevator, which whisked us all up to the tenth floor. I had barely taken two steps out of the elevator when I heard a very tiny high-pitched screech. My eyes popped. At the end of the hall Gloria stood startled, holding an ice bucket, momentarily frozen in place, outfitted with a new and saucy black bouffant wig. Then she hurled the bucket, which scattered dozens of little round ice cubes (“exclusive” ice cubes, no doubt), and ran. I honestly ­don’t know what came over me. All rational thought seemed to vanish. In what seemed like a split second, I was off. I raced after her, whipping down the hotel corridor, and suddenly felt a truly frightening roar blast from my wide-open mouth. I roared! I actually roared. And before I knew it, I took a full-out flying leap (gracefully, I thought), with my arms extended as far as they could go. I was airborne! Gloria whipped around. She looked up. Her face was gnarled in terror. Ka-boom! I flattened her, practically squashing her like a bug when my body landed on top of her and forcefully slammed her to the lime green carpeted floor.

  “Cindy!” exclaimed Mom, who raced around the corner with Rhea, Julianna, and Debi.

  Then they burst out laughing, having discovered that I had everything very much under control. Mom leaned in and whispered threateningly to Gloria, “Card key. Now.”

  “Good job, Cindy,” said Debi, giving me a wink.

  This was it. We knew the room number, we had the card key, and Gloria was safely detained in an exclusive Venezia utility closet, snugly bound with a vacuum cleaner cord and gagged with the back belt of Debi’s pea jacket. She ­didn’t look too happy about it. Aw. Toughie-wuffy. I harbored no sympathy for Gloria. Instead I led the way to Hootchie Bouvier’s room and firmly slashed the card key in the entry slot. The door softly clicked open. Mom pressed her finger to her lips. “Shh.”

  I glanced back at her nervously. She encouraged me with a resolute expression. Julianna looked equally determined, Rhea was grinning with anticipation, and Debi’s jaw was flopped open, her eyes wide as saucers. We padded gingerly into the suite foyer. It was darkened, though I could see beyond the foyer to the sunken living room below and out to the large garden terrace where the morning sun was beginning to shine brightly. Rhea motioned me forward and we stepped into the living room. From the bedroom we heard faint breathy moans: “Lower. Little lower. Oh God, that’s it. Work it. Really work it. Harder.”

  I glanced at Mom, horror-struck. Yes, I wanted to bring Meri down, but I really ­didn’t feel like interrupting some smutty game of slap-and-tickle (even the thought of it made me feel so scuzzed out). Mom must have read my mind, because she shook her head and elaborately motioned with her hands and fingers, miming the movements of a massage therapist.

  ­“Don’t you have magnolia oil?” purred Meri from the bedroom. “I just love magnolia oil.”

  Uh-oh. Sashaying out from the bedroom was a Venezia “massage technician,” but honest, he looked just like a lifeguard from Baywatch with his big Nautelized chest and fleshy lips, along with a certain brain-free gleam in his eyes that seemed to be saying, I am s-o-o-o proud of my vintage Barbie collection. Wanna see? Motown Midge is my fave. And he was humming. Oh my God, I recognized the tune.

  Tune my motor up!

  Oh, baby, tune it, tune it, tune it, make me purr!

  Tune my motor up!

  He stopped short, staring confusedly at me, Mom, Debi, and Julianna, and he was just about to say something when Rhea popped up from behind, slapped her hand over his mouth, and yanked him down to the couch.

  In the bedroom, Meri was wrapped in a plush towel and lying flat on a massage table, her head protruding through the hollow opening in the tabletop, her black bouffant wig slightly askew. She was blissfully unaware when a new pair of hands began lightly massaging her back. Then another pair. And another. Startled, she jerked her head up, and that’s when she saw me, standing just a foot before her, my hands on my hips, my expression really fierce (I thought). The end of Meri had arrived, though she ­wasn’t quite ready to accept that. She whipped around, gazed open-eyed at Julianna, Mom, and Debi, leaped furiously off the massage table, swiped a robe, and firmly tightened the sash. Meri was in control once more—or so she thought. For an eensy-weensy moment, I felt sorry for her. It kind of reminded me of the time I found this really huge and disgusting water bug in the bathtub and stomped on it, then gathered it in a paper towel, hurled it into the toilet, and flushed it down, thinking in those brief final moments as it swirled in the bowl, Yes, it had to happen, but it is sad to see any life end. And yet, after it was all flushed away, my sympathy evaporated. Poof. Just like that. After all, no one really likes water bugs.

  “Well, well, well,” Meri acidly intoned. “Is this a reunion?” She glanced at Mom. “I know you. I know all of you. Gee, it’s so nice that ­we’re all here together. Let’s have a party. Drinks, anyone? Mimosas?”

  She reached for the phone—and Julianna’s hand slapped down hard on the receiver.

  “End of the road, Meri,” I stated plainly.

  “Tsk, ­you’re cute. Be a little ring ding and order drinks, would you? And coffee, too. The caffeine will bring me up; the booze will bring me down. In other words, it’ll make you bearable. Now, where’s that Tony?”

  She made to step to the living room, but I blocked her, swiftly stepping in front of the door.

  “I told you, Meri. End of the road.”

  She smirked. “What are going to do? Jump me? Aw. Let me guess. ­You’ve just seen Kill Bill. And ­you’re feeling empowered. As a woman. Which is really very sad. Do you honestly believe that movie’s any different from any other mass entertainment? It’s not. It’s exactly the same. It’s just more jolts for jocks.”

  Debi seemed completely bewildered. “Would someone please tell me what the hell she’s going on about?”

  “Nice try, guys,” Meri continued, triumphantly whipping out her cell phone from her robe pocket. “Now move or I’ll call security. This is my party. And ­you’re not invited. Get it? ­You’ve got five seconds. Ready? By the time I reach five, ­you’ll all be gone. You too, Cindy. ­Don’t be a weenie. You know I mean what I say.”

  I had to interrupt her. Now was the time. “Meri, before you start counting, I’d like to introduce you to another alumna of Alpha Beta Delta.”

  I swept aside from the door and in sauntered Rhea, grinning complacently.

  “Meri Sugarman, meet Rhea Nichols.”

  Rhea ­didn’t wait for her response. She pulled out a pair of handcuffs and said, very coolly, “Meri Sugarman, you have the right to remain silent—”

  Meri exploded. “Are you out of your mind?!”

  “Oops, I guess I forgot to say,” I gleefully interjected. “See, Rhea’s a detective with the Las Vegas Police Department. ­Isn’t that cool?”

  Meri snickered. ­“You’re all just itching for a lawsuit. I’ve done nothing in Vegas. Nothing.”

  She was right, she ­hadn’t, but as Rhea calmly explained, she was arresting Meri on behalf of the Rumson River Police Department on charges of extortion and illegal wiretapping, along with a myriad of other charges big and small (­they’ll even be hitting her with animal cruelty charges, given her hit on Rags!). For the first time since I’ve known her, Meri stood stifled and nearly motionless, since she surely knew that there was nothing she could do. After listening to Rhea recite the Miranda rights, she abruptly gasped, like she was choking for air. Then she spoke out loud, more to herself than to us. She was reassuring herself. If she was going to be arrested, or if she had to serve ti
me, then okay, fine, at least it was in Vegas. But she was out of luck there, too.

  “Sorry, kid. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” Rhea informed her. “What happened to you happened in Rumson River. And that’s exactly where ­you’ll be going.”

  Then she held out the handcuffs and motioned to Meri. “Now give me your hands. Let’s do this calmly.”

  Meri shuddered, meekly held out her hands—then violently shoved Rhea, who tumbled backward. It all happened in a flash: Rhea hit the floor hard, Mom screamed, Debi brought her hands to her face, crying out, “No-o-o-o way!”, Julianna lunged for the phone. And me? I ran out of the suite as fast as lightning. Did Meri really think she could get away? Not if I could help it. I leaped out into the hallway. My adrenaline was pumping. Which way did she go? I heard a ping from the elevator and the breathless voice of Rhea behind me.

  “She’s in the elevator! Quick, the stairs. We’ll catch her at the registration lobby.”

  I bolted ahead, practically leapfrogging down the stairs, and behind me I could hear the violent banging of Mom’s and Debi’s and Julianna’s and Rhea’s shoes against the hard metal stairs—rat-a-tat-tat, like machine guns. Then I heard a gasping scream. Uh-oh. Poor Debi. She must have lost her footing. Before I knew what was happening, she was tumbling head over heels down the stairs ahead of me, her frizzy hair flying, her eyes wide with shock. Boom-boom-boom, down she went, one flight after another.

  “Keep going!” cried Julianna, who decided to stay behind and tend to Debi, whose fall was luckily stalled three floors below when a hotel guest abruptly swung open a stairwell door, making painful contact with Debi’s head.

  I kept running, and my hands thrust out before me when I reached the door to the registration lobby. I pushed it open with all my might, and I guess I must have looked horrible, or maybe threatening, because the lobby attendant jerked his head in my direction and let out a gasping girly squeal. But I didn’t care. Before me, I could see the bank of elevators. One of them was opening, and running out of it was Meri. She soared across the lobby to the adjoining bank of elevators that would take her to the ground level. I howled inhumanly and charged right toward her, and in a quick and elegant whirl, she switched directions and ran the opposite way down the adjacent hallway.

  Could I really keep running? Could I really catch her? And more to the point, I thought, doesn’t Meri know when enough is enough? I mean, jeez, even Godzilla goes down at some point. I purged these thoughts from my mind and ran faster. I became a machine, a running, screaming Robo-Cindy, whose tiny computer chip had been programmed with just one objective: Bring down Meri. It worked! I was gaining on her, and there was nowhere for Meri to go at the end of the hall unless she decided to take a flying leap out the window, which seemed wildly unlikely since it would have been deadly (true, some war criminals and psychos opt for suicide when they’re cornered and have no way out, but oddly enough, I think Meri is made of much stronger stuff, and like James Cagney in that old movie White Heat, which Dad loves so much, I think Meri would much prefer to go down in flames). I flung my hands out, my fingers greedily reaching. If I pushed myself just a bit more, I could smash her against the wall and finally wrangle her to the floor.

  Then the unthinkable happened. As I thrust myself toward her, a maniacal glint appeared in her eye, and quick like a bunny, she darted to her left—and poof!—she was gone. I stood there dumbfounded. What the heck just happened? Is Meri supernatural now? I thought. Oh my God, that is just so unfair if it’s true. Screams and hollers from Rhea and Mom shook me out of my reverie, along with a sudden jolting metallic bang. I whipped around. The hard metal door to the large Venezia garbage chute slammed shut. My jaw dropped, though I’ll bet not as fast as Meri was dropping right at that moment down the chute, which I’m sure is absolutely filthy no matter how “exclusive” it may be. I guess I could have just flung my arms up at that moment and said, “I give, she wins,” but I didn’t. While Rhea was frantically calling for backup, I grabbed Mom’s hand and ran. She was wailing, “Cindy, let’s leave it to the professionals!”

  But really, who could be more professional than me at this point in terms of bringing down Meri? Foregoing the elevators, Mom and I ran down the stairs to the ground level and sprinted to the back alley, where a seemingly endless line of gargantuan Dumpsters were lined up, each with a large chute and flap before them.

  “Cindy, stop,” commanded Mom.

  She was right. Meri was in one of the Dumpsters. It was over. I could relax now. Finally. Twenty minutes later Rhea and several LVPD officers had cordoned off the alley and begun the arduous task of tipping over each Dumpster, one after another, all of which spilled out really rank and disgusting piles of garbage. Yuck. As Rhea informed Mom and me, Meri was surely inside one of the Dumpsters, and probably knocked out cold from the fall and in need of medical attention. But as each Dumpster was tipped over, and the officers poked through the piles, there was no Meri. There was nothing.

  “This is the one,” said Rhea, gesturing to the final Dumpster.

  The officers tipped it over, and the garbage cascaded out. I held my breath in anticipation; the garbage seemed to tumble forth in slow motion. Then it settled, and I nearly gasped. There it was. Right on top of the heap. Meri’s black bouffant wig.

  I already knew that Meri was long gone as the officers began poking through the pile, and I guess I looked pretty defeated, because Mom put her arm around me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

  “You did good, honey,” she said.

  It was Rhea who actually made me feel better. There would be an APB out for Meri now. She was a wanted criminal (a bald wanted criminal). Yes, Meri could run, as they say, but she couldn’t hide. Her downfall was assured. Did I feel sorry for her? Maybe. Just a bit. Then I smiled inwardly, and I thought about that awful icky water bug. Flush.

  “Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” said Mom.

  I held them out. I felt something soft and plushy. When Mom told me I could open my eyes, I stared down at my hands. There it was—Meri’s wig. For a moment it felt like I was holding a hunting trophy, like a stuffed moose head or a tiger pelt.

  “Maybe you’d like to burn it,” offered Mom.

  “Or nail it to a cross,” chuckled Rhea.

  Neither one appealed to me. The wig needed to go somewhere, yes, but not with me. I flung my arm out, forcefully hurling it. It seemed to magically pause in midair—would it suddenly sprout wings and fly away?—and then it landed with a moist plop in the large pile of “exclusive” Venezia garbage. Right were it belonged.

  “This is your time, Cindy,” Mom said, and I was kind of disappointed when she did. We were back on a plane headed to Chicago, and I really wanted Mom, Julianna, and Debi to continue on with me to Rumson U. and join in the celebration, since I knew that Patty, Pigboy, Keith, and Lindsay (and okay, Bud), would be thrilled to hear the news, if they ­hadn’t already. But Mom insisted that this was my time, though Julianna was quick to say, “Really, Cindy, the last thing your mom wants to do is hang out with a bunch of perky sorority girls and feel her age.”

  They giggled. Mom pinched her. Then they all thanked me again for being their hero and for having the strength to have fought so hard against Meri for so long. Debi suddenly gasped in shock.

  “Gloria!” she squealed.

  Oh no! We forgot about Gloria! Oops! After we said our good-byes to Rhea (we said our good-byes to Tony Spinoza, too, the Venezia massage technician, who turned out to be this really nice guy with a very high-pitched voice who unfortunately told us his nickname was “Tony Pepperoni.” Gross!), we headed straight to the airport.

  “Fine, I’ll call Rhea,” said Mom, lazily reaching for the plane’s airphone.

  But Julianna stopped her. ­Couldn’t we call Rhea after we landed? Or maybe later in the day?

  “Like much later,” she chuckled.

  At O’Hare Airport, Mom, Julianna, and Debi walked me to the departure gate for Rumson River, and they go
t a little teary-eyed, and I guess I did too, especially when I looked up at Mom’s smiling face. No, I ­don’t have a new mom now, but I do have more of a mom—a more complete mom, with all sides in view to me now—and while it’s true that we ­don’t have much in common on the surface, I ­don’t think ­we’ll be seeing that as much of an obstacle from now on. In fact, I have a feeling ­we’re going to be really great girlfriends. Ha! How many people can say that about their mom and actually mean it?