Get Ready for War (30 page)

Spencer rolled her eyes and shifted in her seat. “How about this: screw the itinerary. Let's talk about where you were this weekend. And why you kept sending me to voice mail instead of telling me that you were with your bestie-boo over there.”

I smirked. “So that's what this is really all about. You're jealous, just like I said you were. Poor little Spencer, lost her best friend again. Now she doesn't know what to do with herself because no one else likes her. Face it, Spencer. You're jealous, always have been; always will be. I'm everything you'll never be.”

“Exactly. Something you finally got right. You're everything I would never want to be. You're lonely and miserable, sitting up in your big mansion feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Oh, never that, sweetie. Feeling sorry for myself isn't what I do.”

She laughed. “But lying is, I see.”

I waved her on. “Whatever. Think what you like. Like I said, you're jealous.”

“Jealous?!” Spencer screeched. “Of what? You? I don't think so.”

“Oh, you think? Oh wow . . . I didn't know that. I had no idea you possessed thoughts. Amazing. You're a crazy, jealous mess, Spencer. It's mighty funny how you didn't have a problem waving that note in my face when you and Rich had your secret little meeting in the bathroom last Friday. And you thought it was all about you. Well, guess what? It's not. You don't own Rich. She can have more than one friend”—I leaned up in my seat—“and it is possible for her to have two. But guess what, sweetie. I'm number one, and you're number two. And that's how it will always be. Now live with it.”

Spencer jumped up from her chair and lunged at me. I glanced around the café and spotted onlookers pulling out their phones to get up-close footage of what happened next.

“I'm sick of you trying to get in the middle of my friendship with Rich.”

Rich frowned. “Ewww. Holdup. I know I'm the flyest of them all, but all this fighting over me isn't cute. Both of you are sickening. And, Spencer, I don't why you have to get all jealous and crazy. You act like you own me. You're not going to be invited to every party. That's just how it is. Don't you have other friends? I didn't say anything when you were chopping it up with Heather.

“It's only one of me. And you two can't be arguing over me. I keep telling y'all, you can't be fighting over me. Geesh. It's annoying. I mean, I know I'm the queen of the clique. But, my God . . . even a queen can't be split in two. There are four days out of the week I can give you, so the two of you can split that down the middle. You two work it out. From where I'm sitting, why can't we all get along? And stay on task.”

Spencer slung her celery sticks across the table. “You know what, Rich, shut your fat trap. Enough of you and your selfish ways. I don't need to split anything other than your face. If you want to hang with this monster, then rah-rah . . . do you. I don't have to be your friend. Nobody has time to sweat you. I have more important things going on in my world, other than you. And if you were a friend you'd care. But you're nothing but a two-faced, chubby little slut who likes to hang around with monsters. And, no, Rich. You don't have two friends; only one. So both of you gnomes can kiss the pink insides of my Massengill garden!”

She grabbed her things and stormed off, leaving Rich with her mouth dropped open. And mine with a secret smile.

“S
pencer, darling . . . wake up, my love . . . Rise and shine.” I heard the voice as the drapes opened, and snapped up in bed, yanking my eye mask off. It was Kitty.

Kitty!

Standing over me wearing an orange one-piece Dolce & Gabbana bodysuit that had a plunging neckline, she held a serving tray in her hands.

I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes to the sunlight flooding the room. The 18-carat floating Chopard diamonds dangling from her ears and wrapped around her wrist practically blinded me as I frowned, staring her down.

“I brought you breakfast, dear,” she said, placing the tray in front of me. She lifted the lid. There was a piping-hot Belgian waffle smothered in strawberries, blueberries, and coconut shavings, lightly drizzled with warm honey; one scrambled egg with cheddar cheese; two sausage patties; and a glass of orange juice.

I felt under par! One, because I was looking at Kitty first thing in the morning. Two, because I didn't like sausage; well, heehee . . . not sausage from a pig, cow, or any other four-legged animal. But that was beside the point. The point was, the smell of Kitty's Clive Christian perfume and that fried animal meat were making me sick. Then seeing the imprint of her puffy slice of yeast pie in that getup she had on was all I needed to toss my guts up right there on the spot. She was an old, horny, saber-toothed tiger who needed to be chained up in a cage.

I eyed her. “
You
cooked this?”

She waved me on. “Oh, don't be foolish, Spencer; of course not. I had this delivered from that darling little breakfast bistro you've always loved.”

I rolled my eyes, shooting her a disgusted look. “I haven't eaten there since I was twelve, Mother. Remember, the year you shipped me off to Switzerland? And if you paid attention, you'd know I don't eat meat. I don't drink orange juice in the morning. And I only like hard-boiled egg whites. And what is all this mess slopped up on this waffle? You must think I'm some pig, hunting truffles.” I shooed the plate away from me. “Yuck! Get this mess out of my sight. Now what are you doing here?”

Kitty huffed, snatching the tray from me. She walked over and set it up on the round marble table I have over in the corner. “Fine, Spencer. Be an ungrateful little snot this morning.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Mother, it's too early in the morning for your antics. I wanna know why you aren't in New York with your precious TV show, or swinging from the chandelier with your boy toy. Or have you tired of him already?”

She ran her fingers through her crinkly hair. Her sleek bob was growing out and was practically brushing her shoulders. “I came home late last night, darling. I couldn't bear being out on the East Coast another night, knowing what's been going on here with you. So I had Charlie gas my jet and bring me home. I'll work from my studio here in L.A. until I can figure out how to clean up this mess Vera's created.”

I blinked.

“W-w-what exactly do you mean, Mother? Surely not that you'll be here . . . with me!”

I held my breath, feeling myself ready to burst into tears!

“Yes, my darling!” she exclaimed. “That's exactly what I mean. I told you when you had that godawful meltdown over that Anderson boy that I was going to selflessly put my life on hold to raise you the right way. So, here I am. Starting today, I'm going to whip you into shape.”

“What?!” I shrieked, jumping out of bed. “Oh, no the ricketycrickety hell you won't! If you even think about putting your hands on me, I will do you in real good, Kitty. I will clean your lunch box. And I mean it! I'm sixteen, not six. And I'll be damned if you'll ever whip me and try to ruin my shape. What kind of hateful woman are you, wanting to whip me? I promise you, Mother. I will chop your hands off in your sleep if you dare!”

She stared at me with a blank look on her face.

“Don't look at me all crazy, like you don't understand a word I'm saying. I don't want . . . no, I don't
need
you here. I've been doing fine on my own. And I don't need you coming up in here disrupting my life, trying to be something you don't know how to be. Now, where's Vera at?”

She walked up on me and grabbed my hands. “Oh, Spencer, darling, don't be like that. Stop with all the threats. Look at this as an opportunity for you and me to renew our mother-daughter bond.”

I snorted. “Renew? Ha! The only thing you can renew is your passport to hell. Now I wanna know where Vera is.”

“I fired her,” she pushed out nonchalantly.

My heart leaped into my throat.

“You did
whaaat
?”

“You heard me. I fired her.”

Right there on the spot, I died inside. Kitty had taken her diamond blade and sawed it into my spirit. Once again, that selfish joy-killer snatched away someone else who I cared about and who cared about me. And in the process she reopened an unhealed wound. The loss of my first two caretakers, Esmeralda and Solenne.

My lips quivered. Then without warning, tears sprang from my eyes.

I dropped down to my knees and wailed, “Whyyyyyyy? How could you do this to me? Fortheloveofallthingssweet-sourandsassy . . . Why, Kitty? Do you hate me that much?”

“I gave her rules and things I wanted instilled in you and she failed. And when you fail to do your job, you are dismissed. So cut the theatrics, Spencer. And get up off your knees before they end up all black and rusty. I do know how much you love being down on them, but now is not the time for show-and-tell. Vera will be fine. I gave her two-years' severance pay and told her that her services were no longer needed. I'll give her a good reference and she can go ruin someone else's child's life, but her work here is done.”

“You call Vera, and you hire her back!” I yelled, crawling over to my chaise and pulling myself up. “Right this instant!”

“I will most certainly not! You are stuck with me. And you better hope like hell that I enjoy mothering you; otherwise I am going to make your life a living hell.”

I blinked, then narrowed my eyes at her.

“By the way,” she added, tossing her hair. “Your father sold that little private island of his with all those wild birds on it in Hawaii for six-hundred million. He'll be transferring the money from the sale into another account for you.”

“I don't care about his money! I hate you! I want Vera back!”

“Well, too bad! You should have thought about your precious Vera before you showed me what a weak little girl you are. You better woman up, Spencer, dear. If you want me out of your hair, then you had better get with the program. Be the cunning, conniving, backstabbing, fearless woman I know you can be. Get me a scandalous story, dear. And I'll give you back your life. But, until then . . . it's you and me. So you had better buckle up and get used to it. Now, do Mother a favor and tell me what grade you're in again so I can have cupcakes sent to the school.”

I blinked.

“Oh, never mind,” she said, heading toward the door. “I'll have my assistant call Hollywood High and find out for me. By the way, I'm having brunch with Camille this morning to discuss doing a feature story on her in
Dish the Dirt
magazine. It'll be titled: ‘From Trash to Riches; The Rise and Fall of a Hollywood Star.' That country bumpkin has more skeletons in her backyard than a graveyard. And I want 'em dug up. In the meantime, it's time you make nice with that junkie daughter of hers. Toodles.”

 

The minute my cell rang, I rolled my eyes up in my head. Somehow I knew Kitty was behind this call. God, how I hated that woman! I took a deep breath, sighed, then answered as if I were a recording. “I'm sorry. The number you have reached has been disconnected to drug addicts and freaks. Don't try this number again.”

“Spencer, this is Heather . . .”

I blinked.
FortheloveofAlexanderGrahamBell... this trick really thinks I'm a voice mail. How stupid is that?

“Heather? Heather? Are you that cracked out that you don't know the difference between a machine and a human being? You need to get your life together and get back in school. Seems like your brain cells are dying by the minute.”

“Listen, don't hang up on me,” Heather said, sounding frantic. “I just need to talk to you, please.”

“Oh no, Miss Heather, I don't do Skittles parties. And I don't do you. And you do remember we're not friends, right? Never were; never will be. Your words, not mine. So why would I want to talk to you?”

“Spencer, you don't have to talk; just listen. Please.”

“Well, I don't know if I want to listen to any more of your party rants. So you listen to me, Miss Crack City. Since you like to rap and all, let me tell you what brought Heather down . . . schemin' on her friends . . . kickin' them down to the ground . . . you tried to play me . . . and I didn't like that . . . you ain't nuthin' but a bee in a trap . . . And, no, Heather, I'm not takin' you back . . . 'cause at the end of the day, you still wippity whack . . .”

“Spencer, why are you rapping?”

“Oh no, sweetie. You rang the bell for the battle when you rapped about me in your backyard. Threatened to have me tossed off property that you don't even own. You're
rent
ing, Heather. You don't own property, remember? You can't toss me anywhere. I should buy that bungalow and become your new landlord, then toss you off the property . . .”

“Spencer, are you ever gonna move past that?”

“What? Don't be trying to pack me up somewhere. Do you want your face clawed off? Obviously you need a good Mace-down to get your mind right, telling me to move past something. You haven't even apologized to me . . .”

“You won't give me a chance to. Every time I call you, you go off on me, then hang up. I've sent you flowers, I've written you. I even sent you a Chanel bag, and you know I don't really have money like that.”

“Well, that's too bad, Miss Crack-A-Lot. If you really knew me, you'd know that Chanel does nothing for me. You meant to send that package to Rich. I have style and grace. I'm not some shallow trampette who drops down for the nearest handbag.”

Heather chuckled. “First name Trampette; last name Man-eater.”

I giggled at her filling in the blanks of my joke about Rich. She was the only one I had told that to. And we had laughed over drinks for hours, the one time that she had stayed at my house when Camille had thrown her out. That was a fun night.

I rolled my eyes. “That was funny. But, anyway, she's my best friend. And I don't laugh at my friends. Or throw crack-laced baby aspirin parties and curse them out on microphones, either.”

“Spencer,
please
! The day that I hurt you was one of the worst days of my life. I messed up. I don't know any other way to keep saying I'm sorry. If you hate me that much, and don't want to be bothered with me, I will leave you alone.”

“Look, Flatty Patty, I'm not trying to make you feel bad, but I just want to make you face reality by torturing you. Make you feel how you made me feel. All the other girls hated you. London talked about how dirty and trifling you were. Rich called you all kind of cheesy-baked booga-boos. Rich cursed you out like a dog. Like a gutter dog. And I was there for you. I took up for you. And you gave me your extra-plump booty bags to kiss. All I ever did that might have been wrong was Mace you. And that wasn't anything close to what you did to me . . .”

“Spencer, my eyes were swollen for a week.”

“Oh, you wanna go there, Heather. You wanna bring that up. I thought we were supposed to move past all that. So you wanna get it skunked up again, huh?”

She giggled.

“Oh, you think this is funny?”

“No, I don't think it's funny. I miss you so much, Spencer. I messed up. All I want is my friend back. But if you don't wanna be my friend then I understand.”

“That sorrow card doesn't work either, Heather. So get your eyes up off the sparrow and look at the sunlight. And see your way out of jail first, before you try to make me feel sorry for you.”

“I'm not in jail. I'm in rehab.”

“Well, good for you, junkie. I'm impressed. Glad to see they cleaned up the streets. Now maybe they can collect Co-Co, too.”

She sighed. “Spencer. I miss you. I really, really, really, really miss you. And if you give me another chance to be your friend, I'll never betray you again.”

“Umm, you're five weeks late and a few thousand dollars short, because my life has changed, Heather. I've been going to church services with Rich. I've converted over to the Goddess of Desperation. So I'm saved now. And that's the only reason I'm thinking of having a forgiving heart toward you. But if I ever convert back to my old, nasty ways, I might turn on you, so you better watch your step.”

Heather sighed. “Glad to hear you've changed your life. And I want more than anything to be
your
friend. But I can't stand Rich.”

I gasped. “Now, Heather, I just told you to watch your step, and already you're high-stepping up the wrong path. Yeah, I used to hate Rich, too. Used to want to cut her belly fat out, but now she's lost a few pounds—not much, but enough so that her stomach isn't hanging over her designer belts—and we're friends again. Even if I had to set her straight yesterday!”