Best Staged Plans (25 page)

“ ‘Before shooting,’ ” she read, “ ‘have your tank inspected. The valve of a CO2 tank holds up to forty-five hundred pounds per square inch of pressure. If you accidentally unscrew it, it will become a dangerous rocket that might become airborne and kill people. This is serious and has resulted in the deaths of several unfortunate players and the occasional innocent bystander.’ ”

“Okay, that’s it.” I started taking the stuff out of our cart.

“Bummer,” Denise said. “It was such a good fantasy. It got me through some really rough stuff over the years.”

I shook my head. “They sure know how to take the fun out of violence.”

We pushed our cart to the next aisle.

“Nerf guns are cute,” Denise said. She unhooked one that looked just like a sniper rifle, except that it was bright yellow and purple.

“We wouldn’t even have to go into the hotel,” I said. “We could just set up on a rooftop across the street.”

Denise hooked it back on the display. “We have to be careful. I think this one might violate the Geneva Convention.”

I grabbed a Super Soaker off the shelf. “Luke used to have one just like this. Actually, he probably still does.”

Denise picked up a hot pink plastic gun. “Aww,” Denise said. “A bubble gun.”

“That’ll get their attention,” I said.

She put the bubble gun back and picked up three plastic jars of bubbles.

“Is that it?” the woman at the register asked.

Denise handed her a credit card. “What else could we possibly need?”

CHAPTER 36

W
E WERE SITTING
in the hotel parking lot, and Denise was blowing bubbles out the passenger window. She’d been doing this nonstop since we’d left Bass Pro Shops, leaving a trail of bubbles in our wake as we drove across Atlanta. My only hope was that she’d run out of bubbles before she started hyperventilating.

I turned the key in the ignition and lowered the window on my side.

“You okay?” I asked.

There was just enough light to see her shrug. “I should have bought that bubble gun. It had a nice heft to it.”

She put her bubbles in the cup holder and opened the car door.

About a million stars lit up a sky that was the color of my mood ring on a bad day. I kept time with Denise as she walked a lap around the parking lot in sandals designed for neither speed nor distance.

She stopped at the Dumpsters. “This is where she was sleeping?”

“Yeah,” I said.

I bent down and slid out a corner of Naomi’s cardboard mattress.

“I kind of want to know what it feels like,” Denise said. “I mean, can you imagine being out here all by yourself? And trying to sleep?”

Out on the street a horn beeped, cutting into the dull crunch of traffic.

I unfolded one flap of the cardboard.

Denise took a step back. “Careful. These sandals were really expensive.”

I didn’t say anything.

“God, I am so going to rot in hell for that.”

“Okay,” I said, “send Naomi a pair of the same sandals. And say three Hail Marys.”

“Done.”

I slid the cardboard back. We walked through the alleyway and out to the street.

“So,” I said, “what’s the plan? Once we have a plan, you’ll feel so much better.”

Denise turned and started walking away from the hotel. “Okay, new fantasy. We score some pot.”

“Ha,” I said. “Right.”

Denise’s heels clicked along the sidewalk. “I’m serious. You just have to go up to the first people we pass who look high and ask them if they know where we can get some.”

“
Me?
Why do I have to ask?”

“Because I’m a lawyer. I could get into a lot of trouble.”

“And I couldn’t?”

“You’re in a creative field. It’s expected.”

“But you can represent yourself. Come on, you’re stalling.” I grabbed Denise by the arm. We executed a legal U-turn and headed in the direction of the hotel.

“And then,” Denise said, “once we’re high as kites, we just march right into the hotel and start knocking on doors until we find them.”

“Right,” I said. “What do we say when we knock?”

“Candygram,” Denise said in a fake voice.

I totally cracked up at the old
Saturday Night Live
reference. So did Denise. We laughed and laughed, in that hysterical way we all used to laugh in high school. A couple crossed the street to avoid walking by us. We leaned against the corner of the hotel for support. When one of us would start to wind down, the other would rev us up again.

“ROTGLMAO,” Denise said. “No wait, I think it’s ROTGAMLO.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “How can you ass your laugh off?”

That set us off again.

“Cleaning woman,” Denise said in the same fake voice.

I gasped for breath. “OMG, I think I just peed my pants.”

“God, what else did they used to say in those
SNL
skits?” Denise said. “Oh, I know.”

She knocked on the air in front of us. “Fire Department.”

“Open up,” I said in a low voice. “There’s been a complaint that sparks are flying in this room.”

Denise stopped laughing.

“Sorry,” I said. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“Come on,” Denise said. “Let’s just get out of here. We can go pretend we have the munchies or something.”

I looped my arm through hers. “You have to confront him. You’ll feel so much better once you get it over with. And besides, I want you to meet Naomi.”

Naomi peered over Ponytail Guy’s glasses as she opened the door for us. I had to admit they looked better on her than they did on Ponytail Guy. Or me.

I introduced her to Denise. Denise gave her some bubbles.

“Thank you,” Naomi said. She hugged the jar of bubbles to her chest.

There were only two chairs at the small round table, so I sat on the edge of the bed.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

Naomi pushed the glasses up to the top of her head. “I’m getting there. I’m hoping we’ll be ready to start taking reservations sometime next week.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean you.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I think it’s all just hitting me.”

Denise reached over and put a hand on Naomi’s forearm. “You have to call your kids.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I should have asked you before I told Denise.”

“That’s okay,” Naomi said. “I used to tell my best friend everything, too.” She closed her eyes. “I know I have to call them. I just want to get on my feet first.”

Denise’s hand was still on Naomi’s arm. “Listen, I’m a lawyer. I specialize in family practice. I’ll make the first contact for you and explain what happened. It’ll make it easier on both sides.”

Naomi looked over at me, then back at Denise. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” Denise said.

“I’ll pay you,” Naomi said. “It might take me a little while, but I’ll definitely pay you.”

“Not necessary,” Denise said. “You’ll do a favor for me one day. Or you’ll do something nice for someone else.”

Naomi’s eyes filled. “Thank you.”

“Do you know if Josh is here?” I asked.

Naomi nodded. “I think I heard him come in about an hour ago.”

“Was anyone with him?”

Naomi shrugged. “I heard a woman laughing.”

“Perfect,” I said. I pushed myself off the bed. “Come on, I’ll go with you.”

Naomi held the door open for us.

“Be right back,” I said.

“Yeah,” Denise said. “This won’t take long.”

Denise and I walked silently through the hallway.

Just as we reached the elevator, the door opened, and Melissa walked out.

CHAPTER 37

“C
UT IT OUT
,” Denise said. “I can’t believe he told you I was just his lawyer.”

“Oh, wait, he also said he was your son’s godfather,” Melissa said.

“My son.” Denise shook her head. “Like I’d let him near my son if I had one. What a snake in the grass.”

Standing across from Denise, Melissa looked like a younger, blonder version of her. They were even wearing almost the same outfit. Skinny jeans. Nice jackets. Funky scarves. Edgy sandals. What was up with men dating the same physical type? Did they lack imagination, or was it encoded in their DNA that a woman with a certain height/build/hair and eye color was potential mate material? If something happened to me, would Greg grieve for an appropriate length of time and then go looking for Replacement Me?

A wave of anxiety rolled over me. I reached for my BlackBerry. In the night-light of midtown, I could see my lack of messages without even putting on my readers.

I tucked the BlackBerry back into my shoulder bag. “He didn’t have pizza with you and your husband and your three kids last week?” I asked.

Melissa shook her head. “I’m divorced. Josh has never even met my kids. My life’s a mess right now, but I’m not stupid.”

“How long have you been seeing him?” Denise asked.

“Ha,” Melissa said. “Which time? Josh has this eerie way of knowing when I’m vulnerable enough to sleep with him again, but not quite available. Does that make sense? I mean, we’ve been through this like eight times since college. The minute I want more, he’s gone.”

Nobody said anything.

“I would have stayed away if I knew he was involved with you,” Melissa said.

“Thank you,” Denise said. “But you’re not the problem.”

“Thank you,” Melissa said. “I think he just makes me feel young.”

“That’s funny,” Denise said. “He makes me feel old.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “He makes me feel just right.”

Melissa whipped her head around.

“Kidding,” I said. “Sorry.”

We strolled our way back to the parking lot.

“So now what?” Denise said.

“We could cowrite a blog about him,” Melissa said.

Denise shook her head. “Too much work. And he’d probably love the attention. We could send out his obituary. At least that’s just a one-shot deal.”

“I know,” I said. “Call him and say you both want to sleep with him. And then you handcuff him to the bed and give him a full body wax.”

“You should have thought of that while we were out shopping,” Denise said. “No way am I going to another store at this hour.”

“We could sneak in and replace his shampoo with Nair,” Melissa said. “He has this thing about his full head of hair.”

“More shopping,” Denise said.

I pointed to Josh’s silver Corvette. “That’s his rental car. I’m just saying.”

Denise and Melissa were already rifling through their bags.

What they lacked in artistry, they made up for in energy. I held Melissa’s key chain flashlight so they could see what they were writing.

I’VE GOT YOUR NUMBER: 0
Denise wrote in red across the windshield.

“Wow,” I said. “That’s the thickest lipstick I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s actually a Sephora rouge stick,” Denise said. “Great for traveling.”

I DO
NOT
HAVE PMS, I’M JUST OVER YOU
Melissa scrawled in liquid eyeliner on the passenger window.

“OMG,” Denise said. “Don’t you hate when men attribute real issues to hormone levels?”
YOU SUCK
she wrote in Sharpie on the roof.

Melissa drew an arrow on the windshield.
THIS HORN BLOWS AND SO DOES THE DRIVER
she wrote in a really nice shade of lipstick.

I put on my readers with the hand not holding the flashlight and leaned closer to the windshield. “Ooh, what color is that? I love it.”

Melissa turned it over to read the label. “Laura Mercier Amaretto. It’s a little more money, but it’s worth it.”

NO, WE DON’T NEED TO TALK
Denise wrote on the back windshield.
WE NEVER NEED TO TALK AGAIN
.

I HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT. ANYTHING YOU SAY WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU
she wrote beside it.

STUPID IS AS STUPID DOES AND YOU DID
she scrawled.

She moved around to one of the back passenger windows.
OH, THE FUN YOU’RE GOING TO MISS
.

She put her rouge stick away. She took out a tube of mascara and drew a goopy picture of a hand with the middle finger extended.

Melissa and I looked at each other.

I put my arm around Denise. “Come on, let’s just hair mousse his door handle and get out of here. There’s a great tapas bar down the street.”

Denise handed me the mascara and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “Good plan. Revenge makes me thirsty.”

“Wait right here,” I said. “I just want to invite Naomi to come with us.”

“
THAT WAS FUN,
” Denise said. “Well, not the most fun I’ve ever had in my life, but I mean, fun given the circumstances.”

I put on my blinker and moved over a lane. “Josh might be an idiot, but I have to say he’s got good taste in women.”

“Yeah, I was hoping to hate her, but I liked Melissa a lot. And she was awesome when she called him from the tapas bar.” Denise lowered her voice to a sexy drawl that sounded just like Melissa. “ ‘Hey, sugah. Just wanted to let you know your girlfriend Denise and I are waiting for you in the parking lot.
Naked
.’ ”

“Ha,” I said. “I bet that got him out there. I probably should have submitted my staging bill first, though.”

“Don’t worry,” Denise said. “He’ll pay. He knows who your lawyer is.”

“Oh, wait. Maybe I should be more worried about Naomi. You don’t think he’ll take the car trashing out on her, do you?”

Denise picked up her bubbles and put them down again. “No way. She’s probably the only woman in Atlanta still speaking to him. And it’s not like he’ll want to sell the hotel until the market turns, so my guess is he’ll just pack up and move on to the next thing. We’ll keep in close touch with her to be sure. Melissa said she’d call her, too.”

Once the graffiti party was over, I’d had to fight to keep my thoughts from drifting. I wanted to be there for Denise, for Naomi, even for Melissa. But a part of my brain seemed to have plans of its own. At the tapas bar, I’d kept my BlackBerry on the booth beside me like a date, and twice I thought I heard the first notes of “Do You Want to Dance?”