by Josie Brown
Thanks to Franklin, these recent patients don’t need much improvement. Even without makeup, the women look sleek, fit, and above all, sensual.
Patty smiles shyly when I take the makeup chair beside her.
“Patty, you look gorgeous,” I exclaim.
“Doesn’t she?” Mona, the stylist, gives Patty a hug. Undoubtedly, Mona adores her.
She blushes. “Thank you, Mona! Donna, I feel as if I’m in a dream!”
I nod. “I’ll bet the children were surprised.”
Her smile falters. “Yes, well, it was an adjustment.”
“And James? He must be pleased with your—well, I guess the best word is transformation.”
From the way the tears well up in her eyes, apparently not. “He needs more time to get used to the new me.”
Mona gives Patty’s hand an encouraging squeeze. “Let’s show off that beautiful face with an upsweep, shall we?” she coos.
Patty nods and leans back in the chair.
But when Mona lifts Patty’s hair off her shoulders, we both see something that scares us: the bruises around the back of Patty’s neck and shoulders.
When Patty catches our expressions, she quickly says, “Those are from the operation.”
The stylist knows better. She shakes her head at me.
By the time the hair stylists, make-up artists, and wardrobe mistresses are done with us, we at least embody the role of celebrities. Our floor-length gowns are Oscar-worthy. Hair is either upswept like Patty’s, or flows to our shoulders in silky waves, like mine. Along the décolleté, make-up is used to cover up any bruises still visible from the operation.
As we move toward the living room, I’m concerned enough to pull Lucy to one side. I’m blunt and to the point: “James is an abuser. The show should protect Patty and her children.”
Lucy shrugs. “You’re leaping to conclusions.”
“Bullshit. You’ve known since Day One!” I point my hand in the direction of the make-up trailer. “Don’t lie and say the staff hasn’t already mentioned it to you. As the assistant showrunner, you need to alert the police.”
When Lucy is fibbing, her eyes dart from left to right. At the speed in which they’re moving now, she’s making me dizzy. “We can’t do anything unless she asks,” she insists.
“At least talk to her about it!”
“Sure, okay—after the show.” She turns to walk away.
I grab her arm. “You like ratings, right? Don’t you see? If you expose him on-air, the producers are heroes. The ratings will pop!”
Lucy’s eyes shine at the thought, but then she shrugs. “I don’t know. There’s good drama and then there’s bad drama. Abuse falls into the latter category.”
“Since when is saving a life a bad thing?” I argue. “Never mind, don’t answer that. I can guess: when it hurts the ratings.” I shake my head. “You people are sick.”
She winces because she knows I’m right. When she says, “Let me talk it over with Brin…” I know the conversation will never happen.
Damn it! I hope James turns out to be our man. Putting him away for life may be Patty’s only salvation.
The show’s first hour is made up of audience videos congratulating their favorite Housewives.
Except for James, the men smile proudly at the beauties by their sides. But the audience’s favorite is soon apparent. Whereas all of the patients receive accolades, it’s Sienna who wins the night. Most of the videos are addressed to her.
Roger is ecstatic—and from the peek I got at his financial problems, relieved as well. “Their votes only validate what I’ve known since the moment I met you,” he exclaims more to the camera than to Sienna. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”
The other women’s disappointment doesn’t show in their unlined Botox’ed faces and Collagen-inflated lips, but their grinding teeth are loud enough for one of the boom boys to whisper, “Where is that sound coming from?”
Hopefully, Season Two will hire a dental surgeon who can supply porcelain implants to any teeth ground to the root during the run of the show.
“—which is why everyone should read Middlemarch,” Cassandra concludes. “I’m sure you agree—don’t you, Penelope?”
Apparently not, because Penelope’s eyes are closed, and she is yawning.
“Argh! Will someone shut her up already?” From the way Brin is groaning in the control room, I guess that the second half of the episode—our little book swap—is putting the show’s audience to sleep as well.
Lucy must be wincing. After all, the book club was her idea. It was her night to shine. Instead, the ratings must be dropping with each character description given by Cassandra of the classic tome few have ever read.
Ergo, Brin will have Lucy’s head on a platter if things don’t perk up—and soon.
Donna to the rescue! I raise my hand. “Granted, a good case of tuberculosis always makes for riveting prose, but I think the levity of Pride and Prejudice would be better appreciated by our—”
“Really—Jane Austen?” Cassandra looks heavenward. “Hasn’t she been done to death? Seriously, who hasn’t read her?”
Patty raises her hand.
“What is it, Patty?” Cassandra asks impatiently.
“I haven’t,” Patty whispers meekly.
“You haven’t what?” Cassandra demands crossly.
“I haven’t…I haven’t read Jane Austen.”
Her tepid attempt at boldness is to turn to the camera. “But I have read Bridges of Madison County, and I can say unequivocally that—”
“My God!” Cassandra exclaims. “How can you even mention that sentimental dreck in the same breath as Middlemarch?”
Miffed, Patty exclaims, “But I didn’t!”
Cassandra sighs loudly. “What? What did you not do?”
“I didn’t mention it regarding Middlemarch. I was referring to Jane Austen.”
Sienna snickers. No doubt Sienna’s book club choice—Fifty Shades of Grey—still resonates with the show’s audience, while also burnishing her brand as the show’s not-so-blushing soon-to-be bride. We’ll know soon enough when the votes are tallied later tonight. Since I am currently in last place, you could say I am sweating it.
Still, I resist the impulse to stick my tongue out at her. Instead, to take her down a peg, I mutter, “I’m surprised you didn’t bring one of Roger’s books here tonight. Why not? Not enough kinky sex in it?”
Sienna’s back stiffens at the mention of her supposed beloved. “No, not at all! I just feel that Fifty Shades of Grey is more realistic to women’s lives than Middlemarch or Pride and Prejudice—and certainly more erotic than The Bridges of Madison County.”
It’s Patty’s turn to snort. “There’s nothing real about Fifty Shades of Grey.”
Sienna frowns at her. “Oh, yeah? How would you know?”
Patty’s face is now beet red. “You don’t think I’ve read it? Of course, I have! And let me tell you, that girl in the book knew nothing about the life of a submissive. She and her billionaire boss were just playing at it!” She stands up, shaking. “Do you actually believe that women like to be beaten—to be abused? They don’t! A woman who lives with an abuser dreads it. She’s ashamed to say anything because no one wants to get involved. So she lives with her bruises for days, and with her broken bones for months—and with the pain for years!” Her words spew out in fits and starts. “For her, it’s not a game! It’s survival!”
Sienna doesn’t realize her mouth is wide open. She is too awed to say anything.
“Well, what do you know?” Brin exclaims. “Some real drama! Finally, Fatty Patty’s votes are climbing! Look at the texts coming in… OH. MY. GOD! She’s surpassed Sienna! Middlemarch, Schmiddlemarch! It’s Fifty Shades of Fat all the way! Hey, New Girl, make a note: we do this book club thing every season!”
“Why should she make a note?” Lucy mutters. “I’m the one who thought of it!”
Patty’s little speech has even wak
ened our sleeping beauty, Penelope. She stares up at Patty, stunned. Finally, she retorts, “Look, if you hate being on the receiving end, you should try being a top. No pain, all gain. And, besides, you get to wear some incredible leather outfits.”
Patty’s face crumbles. Her cry for help has fallen on deaf ears.
She flees the room.
“What did I say?” Penelope asks wickedly.
“As always, nothing of substance,” Cassandra murmurs. “And you do it so well.”
“Gee, thanks!” Penelope downs her third glass of champagne. Suddenly, she pulls a pill vial out of her clutch. “Darn it I forgot to take a couple of these little babies…Hey, Champagne is okay to mix with my pain meds, right?”
Sienna’s answer is to nod slyly as she pours even more bubbly into Penelope’s glass.
The wrap-up can’t happen soon enough. From the looks on the faces of the other women, I’m not the only one who feels that way.
The husbands join us in the mansion’s luxurious living room before Dominic makes his entrance, sauntering down the mansion’s grand staircase. “Things are heating up between the Housewives! Only three nights to go! You, the audience, still have time to vote for your favorite Hilldale Housewife.”
The cameras weave around the contestants as Dominic pronounces, “Will you vote for beauty”—a camera zooms in on Sienna—“brains”—Another camera pans in on Cassandra—“or bravery?” A third moves in on Patty. Shocked, she steels herself to smile while James fumes at her side.
Dominic continues: “Are you turned on by sex”—Suddenly, I’m on camera—“or drama?” Penelope bats her eyes so fiercely at the camera that one of her false eyelashes flutters onto her cheek. As Peter reaches for it, she bats his hand away.
“Your favorite Housewife is counting on you, so vote now!”
He smiles until Brin commands, “Cut!”
James marches up to Dominic. “What the hell did you mean by that?”
Dominic, surprised, puts down the ever-present hand mirror he keeps in his pocket. “I beg your pardon, old chap?”
“Don’t you ‘old chap’ me!” James is seething now. “You called her brave! Why? What makes her so brave?”
“Brave?” Taken aback, Dominic points at the teleprompter. “It’s just a word—there, on the screen.” He winks at James. “Frankly, old boy, I assume it’s purely for alliteration: ‘beauty, brains, bravery…’ You get the picture now, don’t you?”
“Oh, I get it alright,” James growls. He looks around, then shouts, “Someone here is making my life into a joke! Well, it’s not a joke! She’s the joke!” He points to Patty, who cowers in fear. She holds her hands over her face. She’s been here before. She knows what to expect.
“A meltdown? Yes! Yes! We’ve got to get this on camera!” Brin’s ecstatic cry pierces her crew’s ears through their buds. “Camera One—stay on sweet crazy James,” Brin growls through the crews’ earbuds. “Camera Two, get in tight on Fatty Patty! We want to see those tears! Camera Three, get some reaction shots!”
When Camera Three turns my way, I give it the finger.
Quickly, it swings toward Penelope, who clasps her hand over her open mouth like a silent film heroine who has just walked in on her husband kissing her sister.
“Just look at her! Look at my so-called wife!” James screams. “That asshole doctor said he could make her beautiful! Bullshit! She’s still the same fat cow she’s always been! She’s still the biggest mistake of my life!”
Anger replaces the fear in Patty’s eyes. She takes a step toward her husband. “I am not ‘your biggest mistake!’ And neither are our sweet, beautiful children! Quit blaming us for—”
Before she can get out another word, James backhands her across the face.
Everyone gasps.
Not me. I run to Patty.
And not Jack. With lightning speed, he’s at James’ side.
One punch from Jack takes James down.
Two men from the show’s security detail scurry over.
“Cut!” Brin shouts. “Okay, crew, we’ve got tomorrow’s opening! Jacked Jack is a ratings knockout! Television doesn’t get much better than this, people!”
I hold Patty in my arms. She’s sobbing uncontrollably. Mona is soon at my side. She too cradles Patty, murmuring, “It’s okay. It’ll be alright.”
I scan the room for Lucy. When I catch her eye, I shout, “Get over here!”
At first, she hesitates—until she realizes I mean business.
I meet her halfway across the room. “What did I tell you? Call the cops—now.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t. I just can’t”
“Sure you can.” I pluck her cell phone from her tool belt.
“No. You don’t understand. Brin won’t want—”
“I don’t care what Brin does or doesn’t want! Patty can’t go home with him! Her life is in danger! Her children’s lives are in danger!”
“He’ll cool off. You’ll see.” Her eyes skitter from side to side. Even she doesn’t believe her own bullshit.
“How do you think he’ll react when he sees this tomorrow, on television? Did you know he’s got a basement filled with guns? Is that what you want to capture for your audience—a massacre? Look, I know you like to laugh at us behind our backs and treat us as your puppets, but don’t you care even one iota that you're putting these people’s lives in danger—not to mention those of your crew?” I shake her by the shoulder. “Just how sick are you people?”
“He’ll…be okay,” she insists.
I turn to find Patty standing behind me—with Brin.
Noting my disbelief, Patty adds, “He just needs time to cool down, is all. He’ll be fine just as soon as he hears we’re now in first place.” Her voice is devoid of any emotion.
No, she doesn’t believe this either.
“He beats you,” I remind her. “Patty, I’ve seen the bruises! We all have.”
“They’re just…rough love taps.”
“No. They aren’t. Patty, you’re black and blue—”
“From my surgery,” she insists.
“No, from his beatings! You now have witnesses! You can get him put in jail. You can get a restraining order—”
“And then I get nothing!” She shakes with frustration. “You don’t understand—we are his lifeline. Without us, he will break for good!”
“At least, come home with me and Jack, for one night,” I beg her. “We’ll run by your house and get the kids, too—”
Patty frowns. “Why? Are you looking for a three-way?”
“What? Why would you say—”
“Oh, don’t act so innocent!” Angrily, she takes a step away from me. “He told me about your little visit. How you insisted on giving him your thong as a ‘souvenir.’”
“What’s that?” Brin’s eyes narrow in on me like two heat-seeking missiles. “I never saw the footage of that!”
I grab Patty’s hand. “I…I did nothing of the sort!”
“Franklin mentioned that Ariel saw you coming out of our house.” Patty frowns when her words get the reaction she hopes she won’t see:
I blush.
Her tears fall as she looks down at the marble floor. “Get away from me,” she whispers.
“Nothing happened, Patty! I’m telling you the truth!”
She tosses off my hand.
“Whoa, whoa, Delicious Donna, get ahold of yourself! Give the poor woman some space, okay?”
I step nose-to-nose with Brin. “You’ve got to call the cops.”
“No, I don’t. She’s a consenting adult. All submissive wives are.” Her smile is as cold as her words. “And if you don’t calm down, I’ll have Security escort you out.”
“Don’t bother.”
By the time I’ve reached our car, Jack is there to open the door.
He climbs into the back seat with me.
He puts his arm around me.
He holds me as I cry.
When I get aho
ld of myself, he moves to the driver’s seat.
I stay in the back, curled up until we reach our house.
He waits as long as it takes for me to compose my face into some semblance of Happy Donna.
No need for the children to see their mother heartbroken over something she can’t control.
We are awakened by the sound of sirens.
Jack groans, but somehow rises to his feet and stumbles to the window.
“Police cars,” he exclaims. “A lot of them. Could be SWAT.”
“Are they headed toward Lion’s Lair?” I ask.
“No, the new part of town—the Heights.”
I jump out of bed and run toward the door.
He’s on my heels. He knows what I’m thinking:
James.
It is James.
He is lying under a blanket.
All it took was one shot to the head.
While Jack talks to one of the first responders, I take a seat on the curb.
A few minutes later, he walks over to me. “They’re saying it was self-inflicted,” he explains. “He did it in the kitchen. Patty had already taken her pain meds and fallen asleep. The two older kids woke her up when they heard the shot. She called the police, hysterical. The younger kids are practically in shock too. Still, all of the children validate their mother’s story.”
“Was there a note?” I ask.
“Just one word: ‘Sorry.’”
I nod. “Will there be any further investigation?”
“Because it’s suicide, the coroner will do an autopsy, but the evidence seems to align with what they claim occurred, so the house has been cleared as a crime scene.” He pauses and adds, “Apparently this isn’t the first time the police have been called to the Garret residence. Hilldale's men in blue have seen bruises on both Patty and Jenna. When asked, both mother and daughter refused to file a complaint against James. Personally, I think the cops are relieved he offed himself.”
“Now that the first responders are leaving, I think I’ll offer to stay,” I insist.