by Josie Brown
“Does that mean our bridesmaids’ gifts will be a jug of moonshine?” Penelope sniffs.
“For you, I thought a certificate to rehab would be more apropos,” Sienna replies.
“‘Comfort’ for whom?” Cassandra asks. “We can’t even sit down in these wretched things!”
She’s right. Every time we try, the voluminous skirts of our dresses flip around us like the rings of a target.
“And how are we going to go to the bathroom in them? Admit it, Sienna! You’re just trying to make us all look as fat and ugly as Patty, now that she’s out of the picture.”
“Poor, poor Patty,” Sienna bemoans from her dressing room. “She’s lived a hellish life. Who knew he beat her?”
“We all did, you dolt.” Cassandra scowls down at her dress and mutters, “Well, at least she’s avoided one indignity.”
Penelope scrutinizes herself in one of Hilldale Bridal Boutique’s full-length mirrors. “The only advantage to this skirt is that it makes our waists look even tinier, and our boobs look even bigger.” For once in her life, she’s right. Already her décolleté has suffered six nip slips. The audience of bystanders staring into the shop window is certainly getting an eyeful.
Lucy doesn’t mind. Anything to pop the ratings, right?
I try to keep my tone casual as I ask Penelope, “Will Peter be back in time for tonight’s little fashion show?”
She looks up sharply. Warily she retorts, “Why wouldn’t he? And why should you care?”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad!” I reply. “It was an innocent question.”
“They’re not. In fact, I’m not wearing any!” To prove her point, she raises the front of her hoop skirt.
The audience outside the shop hoots and claps.
When Penelope bows in response, her hoop skirt then flips up in the back, and we Housewives get a cheeky peek.
“Argh!” Cassandra moans. “Franklin should have offered her a butt lift too.”
Miffed that Penelope has stolen her spotlight from the admiring crowd outside, Sienna calls out, “Okay, ready or not, here comes the bride!”
The dress she has chosen does not disappoint. The simple strapless silk dress hugs every curve.
The crowd applauds.
Sienna’s smile doesn’t waver as she murmurs, “What a waste of a dress.”
I wonder what she means by that?
Because Hilldale’s streets are now filled with rabid fans of the show, we are anticipated to arrive at the Housewives’ mansion an hour later than expected.
To save time, Lucy insists that we stay in our dresses. If you think three women in hoop skirts and crinolines easily fit into a stretch limo, you are sorely mistaken. The skirts flip up.
We can’t see above them.
Maybe it’s for the best. Personally, I’m glad I was oblivious to Penelope’s inadvertent mooning of anyone walking down the street as our limo crawled along beside them.
Her anonymity was taken away when one bystander took a photo of her butt tat of a heart entwined with two P's.
By the time we make it to the mansion, it is already trending on Twitter.
It puts Brin in a much better mood. “Six million likes, and counting!” she hooted. “And Pickled Penelope moves to the head of the pack!”
When the first pre-recorded hour of the show unfolds, everyone on the Acme mission team braces for the worst. If Emma doesn’t pull off her assignment as per Brin’s terms, then after tonight we’ll be shorthanded at the worst possible time: with two nights left for the terrorist to initiate his jihad.
Her teaser opening is everything it should be: salacious (Penelope) touching (Cassandra fighting for the rights of her disabled son, Sami) and romantic (Jack and I, in a playful embrace).
The next segment plays off these stories beautifully. The audience is titillated, inspired, and touched.
However, the last three segments of the hour are dedicated to the Garretts. Intercutting the family’s personal interviews with the tension caught through the in-home webcam, Emma’s story arc builds dramatically to its tragic conclusion.
Whereas most of Patty and her children’s declarations express their fear of and concern for James, other statements give insights to the better man he used to be—at least, as they choose to remember him.
As if answering a question asked off-camera as to what may have made him so angry and threatening, Patty sighs. “What he did for a living wasn’t easy. It turned the man I married into a monster.” As her tears fall to her cheeks, she adds, “You don’t desert someone you love because they hurt so much. You just try to relieve their pain.”
By the end of the hour, there isn’t a dry eye in the control room. I imagine the same goes for the majority of viewers at home.
When the show fades to commercial break, the control room staff gives Emma a standing ovation.
Instead of clapping with everyone else, Brin shouts, “You pulled it off, New Girl! Best memorial service video ever! Okay, crew, battle stations for the live part of our show, which I’m calling ‘Whores in Hoop skirts.’ Wardrobe, do we have a peach bow tie for our hunky host? No? Well then, make one—and quick! Pull a Scarlett O’Hara and cut it from one of the bridesmaids' dresses—Penelope’s. I don’t know why she needs the dress anyway. As long as a camera points in her direction, she’d much prefer to walk around nude…”
While the production crew sets up, I search for Peter. Finally, I see him, standing in the hall. Good, he’s by himself.
I saunter over. “I’ve been looking for you all day,” I coo sweetly.
His eyes widen in anticipation. “Really? What can I do for you?”
“You see, I think it’s time for a bigger—”
He grins impishly. “So you’ve heard the rumors. Well, you’ve come to the right place, because they’re true.”
“Like your slogan says, around Hilldale, when it comes to quote-unquote bigger and better, you’re known as the king.” I put a finger on my lips. “But for now let’s make this our little secret. You know, keep it out of the rumor mill—something nearly impossible, what with the show and all the publicity surrounding it.” I nod toward the other end of the hall. “Can we talk somewhere in private?”
I don’t have to ask him twice. The next thing I know, he’s shoved me through the library’s wide double doors and pulled up my hoop skirt.
If he hadn’t gotten lost in all those layers of crinoline, he might have felt my hand in his jacket pocket, pulling out his cell phone. With one hand, I pull the scanner from my cleavage and insert it into the phone. With the other, I smack away his roving hands.
I’m still fighting him off when, finally, I hear the scanner’s faint beep.
At the same time, Peter has fought his way through my petticoats. When he puts his hand on my thigh, I grab it by the wrist and twist it until he’s on his knees.
He yelps when he feels my knee on his back.
Through my earbud, Ryan says, “Donna, COMINT has verified that Roger Pembroke’s novels contain ciphers that coincide with covert operations conducted by foreign enemies occurring within a week of his book’s launch dates. The CIA is sending a SWAT team to the house right now.”
Thank goodness, this nightmare is finally over!
Just at that moment, Penelope opens the library’s door. I’m sure it looks like I’m praying. She must think I’m asking the Good Lord for a bigger vote count because she just rolls her eyes. “Have you seen Peter?”
I look up at her innocently. “Um, nope! In here all by my little lonesome.” To warn Peter to keep his mouth shut, I press my knee into his back.
He yelps again.
Penelope scans the room suspiciously. “What was that?”
I sigh. “New shoes. They hurt like hell.”
“Where did you find a pair to match this ugly peach color?” Before I can stop her, she lifts up my skirt—
To find me straddling her husband.
“Peter?” Penelope’s eyes open
wide before narrowing into a glare. “So, this is who you’ve been slipping away to see—the show’s slut?”
“Don’t you mean the show’s MILF?” Yeah, okay I’m proud of that.
“You heard what I said! Let me guess: he’s your latest victim! Well, I’m not going to let you embroil my husband in your sick little love games!”
“Seriously, does this look like a love game to you? ...Don’t answer that. I forget who I’m talking to.” To prove my point, I let Peter get up.
As he scurries away, Penelope fumes, “First, you try to steal my brand, then you try to steal my husband?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Since when is ‘show slut’ a brand?”
“So you admit it! Ha! Well, you can’t use it! I’ve already trademarked it!” Penelope crows as she waves her arms wildly—
At a camera in the ceiling.
Oh.
Shit.
Suddenly, the double doors fly open. Sienna stands there, arms crossed. Two cameramen swarm into the room. “Hey, this is supposed to be my hour! I’m choosing my Matron of Honor, remember?”
Penelope frowns. “But…you promised me that I was to be your Matron of Honor.”
“Not anymore,” Sienna retorts. “In fact, I think your behavior on the show is an abomination. I don’t want you anywhere near my wedding.” She looks directly at the camera and declares grandly, “Twelve episodes, coming this spring on this network—”
“Ha! That’s what you think!” Penelope turns triumphantly to the camera. “Roger and I have been having an affair!”
“Is that so?” Sienna turns to Roger. “This is the woman who left her thong in my bed?” She laughs uproariously. “Ha! And all this time, I thought it was Donna.”
Roger rolls his eyes. “Darling, I told you that you were hallucinating about it. I wouldn’t let that woman near our bedroom—”
I throw up my hands. “Me? Seriously? Don’t you people get it? I’m with Jack! I don’t want Roger, or any of these men for that matter—” Just then, Roger’s words hit me: “Wait! You find the neighborhood slut more attractive than me?”
Penelope shoves me. “I told you—I’ve trademarked that phrase!” She draws quotation marks in the air with both index fingers: “T-M!”
Sienna retorts, “You’re right. These men are pathetic, especially Roger. And, frankly, so is this show.” With head held high, she glides down the hall. “Tah-tah, darlings! I’m out of here!”
“But…you can’t go!” Roger panics. “You vet all my manuscripts! You’re my muse!”
She stops to purr, “You don’t need a muse, darling. You need a typist! At least, you needed one until your American publisher canceled your contract. If you want to salvage your career, learn how to turn on a computer.”
Shamed, he hangs his head.
So, it’s Sienna who has been planting the ciphers!
And with the traffic outside the mansion, the SWAT team won’t get here in time.
Sienna is now running down the hall.
I’m running too—
Out the back door.
I reach her just as she opens the gate to the back alley.
She seems surprised to see me.
“This is for this ugly dress,” I say, as I take my punch.
She’s out like a light.
It takes the SWAT team another fifteen minutes to get there.
By then, Brin is doing cartwheels. “Best. Show. Ever!” Brin shouts joyously! “Lucy, let’s line up a future bride in every season. Afterward, we’ll pitch the network a spinoff: Battling Bridesmaids! I love the smell of ratings gold in primetime!”
Oh, it smells, alright.
Jack and I head home. By the fourth time he begs to peek under my hoop skirt, I’m too tired to say no.
“At least, wait until we get home,” I warn him.
He honors my request.
Then he honors a few more.
Okay, yeah, I honor a few of his as well—
Including his suggestion that I hang it in my slut gear closet.
Kinky comes in all shapes and sizes.
Chapter 19
Leave It to Cheever
“Boy, everyone around here is wise to me. I might just have to move to a new town and start over.”
—Eddie Haskell, Leave It to Beaver
Here’s how you know when someone is a wise guy:
Tip #1: You’ve caught him lying one too many times.
Tip #2: His life is all fiction and no fact.
Tip #3: He embodies the adage, “Promises are made to be broken.”
Tip #4: He creeps out your friends.
Tip #5: He avoids both your family and his.
Here’s why you don’t need a wise guy in your life:
Reason #1: You don’t live in a fairy tale—and certainly not one of his making.
Reason #2: His troubles should be yours as well.
Reason #3: The only bag you’ll ever want to be left carrying is one with makeup samples.
Reason #4: You don’t look good in orange, let alone wide black and white horizontal stripes.
Reason #5: You respect your friends and their opinions—and you love your family. They’ll respect you all the more when you’re with the right guy.
“Congratulations.” Ryan’s call comes in at five in the morning.
I’m still too groggy to comprehend what he’s saying. “So, when did ISIS turn her?”
“It didn’t,” Ryan explains. “She’s an operative with the GRU—”
“Russia’s foreign intelligence agency?” Jack sits straight up. “That means she must have been under deep cover for quite some time.”
“She was recruited as a teen when she was still modeling,” Ryan replies. “The profession gave her carte blanche and all the international travel gave her a perfect cover.”
“Roger’s books are published in many languages, all over the world. Being Roger’s so-called ‘muse’ allowed her to plant clues in them for the GRU,” Jack adds.
“Syndication of Hot Housewives of Hilldale would have done the same,” I reason. “Since reality shows aren’t scripted she could communicate with verbal codes instead of ones buried in Roger’s lousy prose.”
“There’s one thing I don’t get,” Jack says. “The text messages weren’t from the GRU; they were from ISIS. Since when is Russia supporting Middle Eastern terrorism?”
“Great question,” Ryan agrees. “The CIA has a theory on that. Considering Al Qaeda’s ties with Chechnya, Russia has already felt the sting of domestic terrorism. It realizes ISIS is better funded, and that it is ramping up its recruiting efforts abroad—including Russia. Because Putin would prefer it be someone else’s problem, why not nurture ISIS’s growth in Western democracies by helping it gain a greater presence here, and in Canada, and the UK? That way, the West is forced to divert its military resources to ISIS while Putin plays footsie with Syria’s Assad, and other Middle Eastern dictators.”
“Has Sienna admitted to espionage?” I ask.
“There has been no formal admission from the suspect,” Ryan admits, “But the CIA is interrogating her now, so I assume one is imminent.”
Ouch. That won’t be fun. Been there, done that.
“So then, why was Sienna so willing to walk away from Roger—and the TV show?” Jack asks.
“When Roger’s publishing contract wasn’t renewed, he was no longer any use to her or the GRU. And according to Emma, because of the show, Sienna’s talent agent feels that his client’s Q Score—the entertainment industry’s popularity rating—is now high enough to entice a producer to create a spin-off around her. In fact, she’d already lined up a meeting with Addison.”
“Ha! I’ll bet Addison will be disappointed that Sienna is headed for maximum security,” Jack says.
I laugh. “While there, she’ll still have a few webcams watching her every move.”
“I wonder how Roger is taking it?” Jack asks.
“Interestingly enough, quite well�
�now that he’s back in ‘the Game.'” Ryan replies.
Jack’s eyebrow peaks. “By ‘Game,’ do you mean covert ops?”
“Yes,” Ryan admits. “The CIA asked him to approach Sienna’s handler—who just so happens to work in the international rights department of Roger’s literary agency. He explained to the handler that he knew of Sienna’s cover all along and that he’d continue planting ciphers for them, for the right price.”
“Do you think they bought his line?”
“Apparently so. In fact, the GRU operatives have already lined up another U.S. publisher for him. He may be bigger in other countries, but there are still many GRU operatives based here too. It’s a perfect set-up. Roger keeps writing and dropping clues. The CIA can see who uses them, and then blackmail them into playing double-agent.”
“Genius,” I murmur. “And now we can finally say bye-bye to Brin and her hench hag, Lucy.”
Jack laughs. “Wow! That was Brin-worthy!”
“My guess is that they won’t take it very well. With Sienna’s arrest, they’re down to two contestants. Neither are audience favorites. According to Emma, to shore up ratings and beef up the competition, she’s reached out to Patty and Ariel again.”
“Makes sense,” Jack replies. “They both left the show at the peak of their ratings.”
I shudder. “Why would they jump back into that hell hole?”
“As far as Patty is concerned, she could use the money,” Ryan points out. “And Lucy promised Franklin to quadruple the show’s donations to his charity.”
“You’re right. Ariel would never do it for herself, but she’d jump through hoops for Franklin. And so would Cassandra. I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic when she finds out.”
“We’re hanging up,” Jack declares. “We’ve got a resignation call to make.”
I laugh. “Ha! I wonder if Brin will try to keep us on board with a financial sweetener too?”
“Oh, yeah…about that.” Ryan sighs contritely. “Somehow I neglected to remind you that contractors working with United States agencies are forbidden to accept fees or gifts from outside sources.”