First Lady (18 page)

“I don’t.”

“Okay, how about these?” He approached a display of black bikini panties.

“How about not.”

He held up a black demi bra. “Let’s negotiate with this.”

She burst out laughing. “You like black underwear, do you?”

“There’s just something about the way it looks on a fair-skinned woman.”

That sent a sizzle right through her. She made a dash for the Jantzen cotton briefs.

“You’re one cruel woman.”

What was she going to do about him? Cornelia Case was so insecure about sex that she wouldn’t do anything. But Nell Kelly . . . Nell just might have the guts to take a chance.

As she paid for her purchase, she realized she had enough money now to go off on her own again, but a solitary adventure had lost its appeal.

They were leaving the department store when she spotted Lucy charging toward them, her eyes alive with excitement. “I’ve been looking for you guys everywhere. Come on, Nell. Hurry!” She grabbed the packages from Nealy’s hands, shoved them at Mat, and began dragging her forward.

“Wait! What’s going on?”

“You’ll see.”

Nealy looked back at Mat, but he was retrieving one of the packages she’d dropped. She let Lucy pull her, pleased by that fact that she was acting like a normal teenager instead of a hostile burnout.

“I already signed you up. But you’ve gotta tuck in your maternity top so you don’t look pregnant. And, hurry! Ohmygod, they already started.”

“Signed me up for what?”

“This is so cool.” She dragged her toward the center of the mall. “First prize is a TV. It’ll be great in Mabel.”

“Lucy!”

“
Hurry!
”

A crowd had gathered in front of some kind of platform where music blared, and a group of people wearing numbers were lined up. “Wait a minute. I’m not going a step farther until—”

“Here she is.” Lucy pushed Nealy toward a young woman with a long, dark ponytail. She was carrying a clipboard and wearing a plastic smiley pin.

“You just made it.” The woman stuck a tag printed with the number eleven on Nealy’s shirt. “You’re our last entry. Who is it you think you look like?”

Dumbfounded, Nealy stared at her. “What . . .”

“She looks like Cornelia Case!” Lucy exclaimed. “Anybody can see that.”

Only then did Nealy spot the banner hanging above the platform.

N
EALY FELT ALL
the blood draining from her head. “Lucy, I’m not doing this!”

“Too late. It cost me ten bucks. And I want that TV, so you’d better win!”

“We have one more contestant,” the announcer exclaimed. “Step up, Number Eleven! Your name is . . .” He glanced down at the card the woman with the clipboard had handed him. “Brandy Butt?”

“I made that up so your ex-husband couldn’t find you,” Lucy whispered as she pushed Nealy toward the steps.

“Don’t be shy. Come right on up. ”

Everybody in the crowd had turned to stare at her. Her limbs felt numb and her fingers icy. She thought about running, but that would only make her more conspicuous. Her legs were wooden as she found herself mounting the three steps.

Why had she let Mat take away her padding? The others were standing in a ragged line. She took a place at the end and willed herself to become invisible, but the crowd was regarding her curiously. She was going to murder Lucy.

“Brandy, tell us where you’re from?”

Her voice quivered.
“¿Qué?”

“Where you’re from? Where you live?”

“No hablo ingleés.”

Lucy shot her a murderous glare.

The announcer gave the woman with the clipboard a helpless look. Lucy called up from the bottom of the steps, “She’s from Hollywood, California. And you can’t kick her out of the contest because I already paid ten dollars!”

“We won’t kick her out, young lady,” the announcer said in the unctuous voice of the microphone-infatuated. He turned back to Nealy. “Who is it you think you look like, Number Eleven?”

“¿Qué?”

“She looks like Cornelia Case!” Lucy exclaimed. “The First Lady!”

“How about it, ladies and gentlemen?”

Gooseflesh broke out all over her as the crowd applauded.

“We’ve got a real contest going here, folks. Who are you going to vote for? Because it’s time to pick our finalists.”

The other ten contestants were a mixed lot: male and female, child, adult, one teenager. None of them resembled any celebrity she knew, certainly not like she did.

The announcer asked everyone to form a line along the front of the platform. Nealy’s feet felt as if they’d been dipped in concrete. He stepped behind the contestants. “Support your favorites with your applause, and don’t forget that this contest is brought to you by the wild and woolly WGRB-FM 1490!”

He held his hand over the contestants one at a time. Dread made her heart hammer. The lady with the clipboard checked the applause each person received on a small meter sitting at the edge of the platform. As he came up behind Nealy, she dipped her chin and tried to look like someone who only spoke Spanish. The applause was much too enthusiastic.

Finally the voting was over, and the woman handed a note with the results to the announcer. He glanced down at it.

“You’ve chosen our three finalists, and here they are!” He indicated a gaunt woman with bleached blond hair. “Miss Joan Rivers!” The crowd clapped. He moved to a potbellied elderly man with a full white beard. “Santa Claus!” More clapping. Inevitably, he stopped next to Nealy. “And First Lady Cornelia Case!” Big applause.

The announcer began a long-winded promotion of the radio station’s “wild and woolly” programming. Nealy kept her eyes on her feet.

“And now it’s time for our final round. It’s up to you, ladies and gentlemen, to select WGRB’s Celebrity Look-alike Champion!”

Nealy caught sight of Mat and Button off to the side. They seemed to be enjoying themselves.

“Let’s hear it for Joan Rivers, Mrs. Janine Parks!” A scatter of applause for Janine, whose plastic flip flops dampened the Rivers illusion.

“How about Santa Claus here? Clifford Rays!” The applause was much louder.

“And our final entry. Brandy Butt, First Lady Cornelia Case!” She tried not to wince as someone actually whistled.

The woman with the clipboard checked the meter, then called the announcer over to whisper in his ear.

He returned to the center of the platform. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!” Dramatic pause to heighten the tension. “The champion of WGRB’s Wild and Woolly Celebrity Lookalike Contest . . . and the owner of a brand-new nineteen-inch Zenith TV is . . .
Mr. Clifford Rays
!”

To her astonishment, the announcer began shaking hands with the potbellied, bearded man at her side.

She’d lost!
Stunned, she stared out at the crowd. Mat gave her a go-figure shrug, and Button clapped, mimicking the applause she heard around her.

A chill shot through her as she spotted a photographer lifting his camera. She ducked. Then she began sidling toward the edge of the platform.

“Wait a minute, Brandy. You’re our first runner-up. We have a prize for you.”

She pretended she didn’t understand and darted off the stage. People made way for her as she pushed through the crowd to Mat.

“Aren’t you going to claim your prize?” he said when she reached him.

“I just want to get out of here,” she whispered furiously.

His eyebrows arched in mock surprise. “Hey, I thought you only spoke Spanish.”

“Don’t be cute. I’ll meet you at the car.
You
can find Lucy; I don’t ever want to see her again! And let me have Button.” If the photographer spotted her, she could duck behind the baby.

“Gladly.”

As she took the baby from him, Button screwed up her face to protest. Nealy had already attracted far too much attention, and a screaming fit was the last thing she needed. “Don’t cry, sweetie. Please.”

Button screwed her face tighter. “Sit!”

Nealy turned toward the exit. “How does the piggy go?
Oink
. . .
oink
. . .” Just then Lucy came rushing toward them, a Black and Decker box in her hand, a scowl on her face. “What am I supposed to do with a freaking power drill? And Nell looks more like Cornelia Case than that old fart looked like Santa Claus. Why did you vote for him?”

Nealy stopped in her tracks. “You voted for him?”

He shrugged. “You’ve got to admit, he really looked like Santa. That beard was real.”

Nealy stared at him. “I don’t believe it. Two days ago you couldn’t stop talking about how much I look like you-know-who, but you didn’t even vote for me?”

“I had to vote my conscience.”

She was surprised she could still laugh.

To Mat’s relief, Mabel was ready to go when they reached the garage. “What about my picnic?” Nealy complained as they headed for the highway.

“Promise her she can have her picnic, Jorik, or she’ll complain all day.”

“You should talk, Miss Mall Rat,” Nealy countered.

“Girls, girls . . .” Mat’s sigh was long-suffering.

“I can’t believe you only won a power drill,” Lucy complained. “You should have tucked in your top like I told you so you didn’t look so fat.”

“I don’t look fat.”

“Trust me, Lucy,” Mat said. “She doesn’t look fat.”

“And why did you have to start talking Spanish?” Lucy slapped the drill down on the table. “I want to find one of those places where you sell stuff and get money back.”

“A pawnshop?” Nealy asked.

“That’s it! I want to go to a pawnshop. Maybe I can even get an old TV there.”

“You’re not going to any pawnshop!” Mat’s jaw was starting to twitch.

“Too much television rots your brain,” Nealy said.

“It’s not for me. It’s for Button. Don’t you know anything?”

“Apparently not. Why does Button need a television?”

Lucy gave another of her patented you’re-a-moron looks. “So she can watch
Teletubbies
like all the other kids her age. I guess you don’t care if she ends up flunking kindergarten or something.”

“Buckle up,” Mat growled. “And I don’t want to hear another word about pawnshops or Tele-whatever or anything else. Does everybody understand me?”

They all did.

Mat chose to cross West Virginia into Ohio on Route 50, a divided highway, but not an interstate, so Nealy knew he was still worried that the police might be looking for the girls. As lunchtime approached, the sky clouded over and it began to rain, forcing Nealy to abandon her plans for a picnic. They ate hamburgers instead as they drove through the wet, picturesque hills of southeastern Ohio, home of eight presidents, although Warren Harding had done such an abysmal job, Nealy didn’t know why any state would want to claim him.

Button remained relatively content just gazing at her beloved, but Lucy kept demanding that they stop at every strip mall, convenience store, and roadside rest area. Mat generally ignored her, which only made her more demanding. Nealy was beginning to suspect that Lucy didn’t want to get to Iowa, and that worried her.

She forced Mat to stop at a highway K mart and emerged with a couple of handheld games, as well as some books and magazines to distract the teenager.

“
The Hobbit?
” Lucy tossed it aside seconds after Nealy handed it to her. “That’s a kid’s book.”

“I’m sorry, honey,” Nealy replied with fake sympathy, “but
Ulysses
was out of stock.”

Since Lucy had no idea what Nealy was talking about, she could only shoot her a dirty look. A few minutes later, she flopped down on the double bed in the back with the offending book, and Nealy didn’t hear another word from her for the rest of the afternoon. With Button sound asleep in her car seat and the teenager occupied in the rear, Nealy leaned back to enjoy the scenery.

“I’m real sorry you missed your picnic,” Mat said.

“You’re not sorry at all.” She smiled. “And the weather looks like it’s clearing, so we can have a dinner picnic.”

“I can’t wait.”

“You’re so cynical about everything. Why is that?”

“It goes with my job.”

“I didn’t know cynicism was an occupational hazard for steelworkers.”

His eyes flickered oddly. “It comes and goes.” And then he smiled. “I enjoyed last night.”

She suddenly felt as awkward as a teenager. “I didn’t. You were completely out of line with that pillow.”

“You’ve got to admit you’re happier not wearing it.”

“You also leaped to all kinds of erroneous conclusions about my marriage. Not only that, you’re—”

A great kisser?”

She repressed a smile. “You’re all right, I suppose.”

He sighed. “I guess our styles just don’t match.”

“That’s true.”

“I like big, aggressive, man-sized kisses . . . the kind that make your toes curl. You, on the other hand, like wimpy, girly kisses that wouldn’t curl a hair ribbon.”

“Girly kisses?”

“Yeah, the kind of kisses little girls give to uncles who smoke cigars.”