Hysterical Blondeness (10 page)

As Mr. Martin finished his transaction, she wrapped the pretty bracelet in their special red box with a white ribbon and delivered it to Madam for inspection.

“Very nice, Patricia. Now keep your eyes open and your mouth closed.” Madam put her finger to her lips.

The next customer was a beautiful blonde
woman dressed in a designer camel-hair coat and tasteful jewelry and accessories. She was rich, no doubt about it. Her hair was smoothed into an elegant sweep. Patricia studied her closely.

“Good afternoon, madam,” the beautiful blonde said. She had a tense quality to her voice and a sad, bitter look around the eyes. “So what have we bought today?” The woman put a gloved hand on the top of the counter and Madam patted it softly.

Madam Gaffer then brought out a tennis bracelet identical to the one she’d sold Mr. Martin.

“Oh, I see. Well, let’s have this one instead—a bit bigger, with the sapphires and diamonds. I fancy myself in a blue dress for the symphony fund-raiser next month. And the matching earrings as well.”

“They will look stunning on you, Laura; the blue against your hair and your blue eyes.” Madam called the woman by her first name. So far she hadn’t heard that happen much today. Madam put the diamond bracelet away and took out a fabulous combination diamond and sapphire bracelet with matching earrings that
clustered like wisteria blossoms. Many, many little sparkling gems.

In a few minutes the items were put in velvet boxes, no gift-wrapping, and the mysterious Laura was gone.

Patricia had straightened gold chains and looked busy while she’d watched.

Madam Gaffer came over close to her. “So, you understand?”

“I’m not sure. You have special customers?”

Madam tsked at her. “That was Mrs. Martin. Laura Martin.”

“She wanted to know what her husband bought for her?”

“No, my goodness, did you just arrive off a turnip truck? George Martin has a mistress. After Mrs. Martin had lunch with him he made his usual once-a-month stop into our department. He’s been at this for years. Every time he buys jewelry for the mistress, Mrs. Martin buys herself a nice gift. She calls it her special reward for putting up with him.”

Patricia stared at Madam Gaffer. “How in the world do you know all this?”

“Keen observation,” she replied in a slight
German accent. “Besides, once on a very bad day Mrs. Martin confessed all to me. Now we have an understanding.”

“What a dog.”

“George Martin? He is merely an egotistical aging gentleman who thinks he is so clever as to get away with his illicit affairs.” Madam waved her hand in the air.

Then she looked Patricia in the eye with a hard glint. “But more importantly, Patricia, he is our good customer. There is much to the art of fine jewelry, and being discreet is part of the job. George Martin spends thousands of dollars a year with us, whether it’s by his own hand or at the hand of his unfortunate wife. Therefore, we will keep his secrets that he thinks are so secret, and we will keep Mrs. Martin’s secrets as if we were priests in the confessional. Now do you understand?”

“I do,” Patricia answered.

“Good, now get back to work and you can have the next sale that comes in. I’ll watch you.”

Patricia felt rather sick thinking of the unfortunate Laura Martin and how sad and bitter she’d looked. So this was what Pinky meant about the fine jewelry ho’s. Or was it Mandy
and her claws, or just the whole eat-what-you-kill commission jungle laws? A fine confusion set itself in her head and she decided just to separate gold ropes from snakes and not try to sort out anything more than chains.

At the end of the day they pulled all the display pieces into the back room for lockup and Mandy kept her distance. Patricia hadn’t made any sales, but she’d talked to a few people just to get the hang of showing pieces.

“Patricia.” Madam stopped her as she was sliding her coat on and handed her a card. “Here is your schedule. Your black dress is lovely, but tomorrow if you have something cut a bit lower, I’d advise you wear it. Not too much, just enough. Your hair is also lovely. You will be our most elegant girl. Think of yourself as elegant. Maybe sweep the hair up off the face and a bit more makeup. You look pale.” Madam turned and left her there holding her card, trying to get her coat on.

Think of herself as elegant. Show some cleavage. Tart up a bit. Patricia sighed. She could feel her flannel pajamas calling her. She closed her eyes and thought of Paul’s chicken cacciatore and his risotto and, last of all, her lovely bed.
The bed that she and Paul had made love in. But tonight that bed was hers alone.

“Ready for dinner, sweet thing?” Brett strolled into the fine jewelry department jolly as you please. He looked very boyish and like he’d been up to no good.

Patricia felt a very small groan escape her lips. Farewell to flannel. How could she pass up a date with Brett?”

“What a surprise, Brett.” She smiled.

“I figured we’d celebrate your new job. First day and all that.”

Patricia felt the eyes of Mandy burning down on them. How sweet of Brett. She was hungry. Maybe she’d get home early enough to get a taste of the risotto, too.

“Sounds heavenly,” she said.

“You should put your hair up in one of those sweeps. I just saw the most elegant blonde over by the Estée Lauder counter.”

Patricia smiled. Up-do’s, elegance, cleavage; there was more to being a blonde than she’d thought.

For just the most fleeting moment, as she looked over at Brett with his ruggedly Nordic
good looks, she saw George Martin’s face instead, superimposed over Brett’s.

“Good grief,” she said out loud.

“I know just what will fix that. You need the hair of the dog that bit you. We’ll go to Wild Ginger for ice-cold sake. I love it that way. I bet you will, too.”

Ice cold sake. Wild Ginger. Gee, that sounded elegant, didn’t it?

Much that we call evil is really
good in disguises.

Shakespeare

“Hurry up, Pinky, Brett will be
here to pick me up anytime now.” Patricia fidgeted. “I have to be Halloween party ready!”

“Hold still and take it like a woman.” Pinky smacked Patricia on the bare arm. She’d had it up to her eyeballs with the new Patricia, and she was going to get sewn into this dress if it killed her.

“Ouch, you are such a bitch!” Patricia smacked her back.

“If you’d been home for more than five min
utes for some fittings, we wouldn’t be here now.”

“I’m sorry. Brett apparently wanted to spend a whole lot of time with me.”

Pinky sniffed. More like Brett wanted to parade Patricia through a series of highly visible hot spots and make sure Mandy reported all to Lizbeth over the last few weeks. Patricia was being such a
fesso
. And here it was October, the big night of the Halloween party, and she was being so difficult. Maybe she’d sew this dress a little tighter and make
breathing
difficult. Pinky snickered to herself.

“You look fabulous, Patricia, so just behave. Now, Jean Harlow’s hair was shorter than yours, but just about the same color. It’s probably what made her kidneys fail at twenty-six. Peroxide poisoning.”

Pinky removed a handful of pins from her mouth to be sure Patricia heard her on the early demise of Jean Harlow. She could take a clue from Jean. In the five years she’d known Patricia, she never imagined her dragging in at all hours with the faint odor of tequila on her breath.

Patricia twisted herself around. “You shouldn’t say things like that. I’m only taking
my experimental drugs for the recommended course.”

“I wonder if you will revert to being a brunette after you stop taking the stuff. Maybe then you’ll regain some of your common sense.” Pinky stuck her with a pin on purpose.

“
Ow
, you did that on purpose.”

“Did not.”

“Well, look at me, at least I’m dropping weight.”

“I’ll say. Although whether it was the drug or the late nights and not eating properly, it’s hard to say.”

Patricia put her hands on her hips. “Pinky McGee, you are just jealous. You’re jealous because I haven’t been spending time with you.”

“This is the part where your best friend talks some sense into you regarding your recent behavior and choice of companions. But I tried that last weekend.”

“I’m sure things will slow down. They better, because I slowed him down plenty last weekend.”

“He’s trying to score a touchdown?”

“Just because he got a first down he thought he could go for the goal line.”

“You are terrible at football analogies.” Paul’s deep male voice boomed from the kitchen. He must have overheard. That made Pinky uneasy.

Paul went on. “How’s this one? He’s first and ten with pretty good field position but still well out of field goal range. Or maybe you mean this. He only got that first down on a defensive holding penalty and he’s still having trouble moving the ball. He’ll need to show something positive on offense if he hopes to score on this drive, otherwise he’ll have to punt.” Paul had a terrible sarcastic tone.

Pinky stood up, facing Patricia. She watched the embarrassment creep into Patricia’s cheeks.

“Look at you, Paul the swashbuckling dashing pirate. I could have made that for you easily, you know,” Pinky distracted everyone from the discussion of Brett’s passes on or off the field.

“Pinky, my dear, I didn’t want to add any more stress to your life.”

“That’s very gallant of you, sir. Well, here you two are, off to the Halloween ball. I’ll just stay here and huddle by the fire.”

“I told you four times you’re welcome to come along with me,” Paul said.

“Oh,
pu-lease
,” Pinky groaned. “Okay Pattirella, you’re ready to roll. Here’s your feather-trimmed wrap and opera gloves, Miss Harlow. Remember you turn into an ugly orange pumpkin at midnight. Or in your case, a brunette.”

“
So
funny.” Patricia pulled her gloves on and draped the boa-trimmed wrap around her shoulders.

There was a knock on the door and Paul strode over to answer it, his cape billowing.

“That’s
Captain
Costello.” Pinky did her Johnny Depp imitation.

Patricia smiled at her. She looked so elegant and vintage Hollywood in her costume. But Patricia’s late nights were reflected in dark circles under her eyes. They’d spent a sizeable amount of time concealing them with makeup.

Some strange muffled conversation went on between Paul and most likely Brett, a decidedly naughty-type trick-or-treater. Then the two men emerged from the entryway. Paul and Brett. Two identical pirates. Same exact costume. Pinky tried to keep from laughing.

“Oh my,” Patricia said.

“Looks like great minds think alike,” Brett said.

“Or the costume rental store has a limited selection,” Paul said flatly.

“Patti, my little pumpkin, you look delicious enough to eat.” Brett came over to her and took her by the hand. “Are you ready to roll? The limo is full of my old school friends, but there’s room for one more.”

“I’m
ready
, Brett.”

“Oh, I love the sound of
that
,” Brett growled, and nuzzled her neck. Then he ran his hands down the length of her satin Jean Harlow gown. He made another animal sound.

Pinky thought she might yak up. Patricia seemed dazzled by Brett’s gesture. “Brett, you are so funny.” Patricia grabbed the pretty beaded handbag Paul had hunted up especially for this occasion. A vintage bag they sometimes used for display in the handbag department. Pinky thought that was more gallant than Brett’s pawing and growling. Pinky also didn’t like the sound of that
I’m ready
comment Patricia had made.

They swept out the door with Brett whooping and making pirate dialogue. Pinky and Paul stood in the quiet for a minute.

“Jesus, Pinky, this is just too much.” Paul strode around the sofa and flung himself in
their leather chair. The long white ostrich feather that adorned his black pirate’s hat quivered with anger. “I assumed that Brett would be done with her sooner than this. I can’t believe he’s still parading her in front of Lizbeth’s nose. Something is just so wrong about all this. If I were half the pirate I should be I’d run him through with my trusty sword.”

Pinky sat across from him on the sofa of many colors and let out a long breath that she’d been holding in. “It’s just disgusting, isn’t it? I could seriously vomit watching them together. You’re going to have to keep an eye on her tonight. There is no other way to keep her from doing something extremely stupid. She cannot give her womanhood to Brett Nordquist. She’s resisted so far.”

“That’s going to be rather difficult, seeing as I’m supposed to meet Dani at this party.”

“Dani? Ditzy Dani? I thought you were through with her.”

“I had a moment of pity when she begged me to be her date.”

“A girl like that couldn’t get a date?”

“She thinks there is something between us and probably kept waiting for me to ask her, but
I never did. Then she waited too long and was dateless.”

“Did she get that assistant shoe buyer’s job?”

“Yes.”

“So what does she need you for?”

“Don’t know. All I know is I sense disaster in the air. You have to come with me. I’m just a guy. I can’t handle all this intrigue.”

“You can’t ask a seamstress to go to a costume party an hour before it starts. That’s cruel.”

“I bet you’ve got something in your closet. Go look.”

Pinky scowled at him, but she knew he was right. Their buddy Patricia was about to fall into the unscrupulous hands of Brett Nordquist and his school chums. They had to save her.

As Pinky went to scrounge up a costume, Paul thunked his head back against the chair, which pushed his pirate hat forward. He flung the damn thing off onto the floor. The distasteful, enraging sensation of seeing Brett put his lips on Patricia hung with him like bad wine; that bad, bitter taste in your mouth that lasts for days. Even knowing she hadn’t slept with him didn’t help.

At this very moment, he hated Brett Nordquist.

He and Patricia had finally gotten their own crazy night straightened out and, despite the amazing flashbacks of their lovemaking that haunted his every sleepless night, they’d done a good job of setting it aside for the sake of their friendship.

Paul heard a shriek of laughter from the downstairs vicinity of Pinky’s room and jumped up to see what new disaster awaited him. At least Pinky was still a brunette two minutes ago.

“Oh my God.”

“Shut up and zip it.” Pinky turned around.

Paul bent down to Pinky’s level and found the zipper pull. He slowly stuffed her into the felt-and-foam-and-feather creation. “Now turn around and let me see.”

She was a flamingo. Pinky the pink flamingo.

“Where the hell did you get this?”

“Remember that swimwear show we did last May with kids and all the cute dancing critters?”

“I only remember the women earlier in the show.”

Pinky thwapped him with her wing. “Dog.”

“Can you get around in that thing?”

Pinky waddled around. “Sure. The car might be a problem, but we’ve got your Volvo and that’s got a sunroof.”

“Okay, we’ll just stick your flamingo head out the sunroof and go rescue our friend.”

“I better pee first. It won’t be easy after this. Unzip me again.”

Paul sighed. He’d been such a brother to these girls. Until he and Patricia had changed all that. Things
needed
to change, though. And most of all with Patricia. He unzipped Pinky, who stepped out of her costume and stood there with pink tights and a tank top.

“Okay, give me five minutes. It’s not like my face is that noticeable through pink netting, but I’d like to at least look presentable in case I meet a nice boy flamingo.”

“Meet me in the living room.” Paul wanted nothing more than to go break up Brett’s plans. Or Brett’s legs, maybe. To think he’d sleep with Patricia in the middle of using her to make Lizbeth jealous made him want to hurt the guy.

But why should he be surprised about Brett wanting her? Patricia was beautiful. She’d been an angel in that white satin dress. It had hugged her curves in all the right places. He hadn’t been
able to take his eyes off her. He had to admit to himself he had serious feelings about Patricia—or some kind of feelings beyond the most-tender-and-amazing-sex-ever kind of feelings. Maybe he was just as bad as Brett.

When the Nordquists threw a party, they didn’t pinch pennies. Patricia stepped out of the limo with Brett and his old high school buddies and a few of their dates into a regular high-end harvest fair with some hauntedness on the side. This must be the work of professionals, she thought.

Patricia wondered what it would be like to be mistress of the manor, hiring party planners. She trailed past a dazzling entrance display of flowers, pumpkins, gourds, and vine maple lit with tiny sparkling lights.

Brett was still messing around with his jerky friends, so she stepped inside as the butler, or in this case Lurch the Butler from the Addams Family, opened the door for her. He was green and very tall.

“Good evening,” he said in the perfect Lurch voice.

“Good evening to you, too.”

“May I announce you?”

“Jean Harlow,” she answered.

“As I suspected,” he replied with his long drawn-out fake accent.

Patricia stepped in behind Lurch, temporarily forgetting about Brett.

“Miss Jean Harlow,” he bellowed.

She floated in, knowing there was hardly a soul here she knew. What the hell, that almost helped her feel less tense.

“Hello, Miss Harlow, I’m Mrs. Nordquist.” A pale creature resplendent in the beauty that money can buy, decked out in a Marie Antoinette costume, stood before her.

“Why, hello, you must be Brett’s mother. I’m his date, Patricia Stillwell.” Patricia held out her hand.

Mrs. N. looked a bit confused, but covered it up with a wave of her fan and a roll of her eyes.

“Brett’s getting his friends out of the limo. Not an easy feat.” Patricia laughed. My, she’d been bold to just introduce herself to her future mother-in-law like that.

Brett’s mother gave a dry laugh. “Ah, yes. You look charming, my dear. Do come in.”

Other people were starting to arrive, so Patricia moved to the side to wait for Brett. She waited,
and waited. She leaned on the marble entry table. She gazed into the mirror hanging above the table and was still startled to see herself as a blonde. Her Jean Harlowness made her all the more pale and ghostly, in her opinion.

In a moment of realization as she looked in the mirror Patricia realized how out of place she was. She’d grown up in a lower-end suburban neighborhood. The people were great, but the concept of opulence was far, far away. This was the big leagues. She shivered.

She tired of waiting for Brett and wandered down the smooth stone stairs to where the noise was. There was quite the crowd already.

She and Brett and his crew were late arriving because, of course, on the way here Brett and his buddies had to stop at the Metropolitan for a drink. Oh, they’d made quite the buzz in the crowded Metropolitan Grill with their costumes and all. She’d been elbowed and pinched a few too many times as they’d all crowded into that bar.

She rubbed her hip where one particular gentleman had taken a pinch of her flesh. But then she’d managed to elbow him in the gut pretty nicely.

So here she was. Alone. Brett still playing with his boys. A waiter dressed as a mime came by and handed Patricia a champagne cocktail. She took a sip and the bubbles tickled her nose. It was delicious.

Not that she needed another one without any food in her. She’d already had a Cosmopolitan at the bar. She nabbed another waiter who had a tray full of appetizers. Cheese, it’s what’s for dinner.

A sense of loneliness came over her. She drifted through the gypsies and ghouls, looking for someone with an original costume. A potato walked by and she followed him into a large room with a grand piano in the corner. Someone was playing the Alfred Hitchcock theme, and quite nicely, too.