Dark Chocolate Demise (19 page)

Mel glanced up at the camera blinking at them from its perch atop the shelves in the corner.

“Tony didn't wire the place for sound, did he?” she asked.

“No,” Angie said. “More accurately, he said he didn't.” She glanced at the bakery door. “They'd be in here by now if they heard us planning, don't you think?”

“Probably,” Mel said. She glanced inside her industrial mixer. The bowl below the beaters was empty, but she switched it on anyway. She gestured for Angie to join her. “Let's talk by the mixer just in case.”

Mel leaned close as Angie outlined her plan. She supposed it was mental, but when she saw the dark circles under Angie's eyes, and the bald spot on her head, she knew her friend was driving herself slowly crazy. How could she not help her gain peace of mind?

“Don't you think it's highly suspicious that Tate just let me go like that?” Angie asked for the third time as they strode through the mall with Marty and Oz dragging their feet behind them like two prisoners of war.

Although Tate had been okay with the girls' night thing, when it came out that Mel and Angie were headed to the mall, suddenly Marty and Oz demanded to shadow them. Mel supposed they should be grateful that they didn't have all of the brothers trailing after them.

“You made it clear you were mad at him,” Mel said. “He's probably relieved that you're doing a girls' night so he can recover from getting his butt chewed all day.”

“It's his fault,” Angie said. “Telling me what I can and can't do. You see where I had to nip this before we got to the ‘until death us do part' portion of our relationship, right?”

“Absolutely,” Mel said. “And I'm sure once Tate has enough time to think about it, he'll see the error of his ways, assuming he forgives you for this.”

“I wasn't planning on telling him until our fifth or perhaps our tenth wedding anniversary,” Angie said. “Besides we'll be in disguise; it'll be okay.”

“Oh, here's a store for party girls,” Mel said. She turned and looked at Marty and Oz. “We're going to buy underwear, you coming?”

It was hard to say what turned a brighter shade of red: Marty's bald head or the part of Oz's face that was visible beneath the fringe of hair he wore over his eyes.

“We'll wait out here,” Marty said and Oz nodded in agreement.

Mel hooked Angie by the elbow and dragged her into the shop, which sported tiny dresses and very high heels in the window.

The salesgirl who approached them looked like she was twelve and had raided her mother's makeup case and jewelry box. Her hair was bright pink, her lipstick purple, and she was wearing a neon green minidress and white stiletto-heeled go-go boots.

She studied Mel and Angie through suspicious eyes as if she felt they might be too old or too fashion backwards to appreciate the store's merchandise. Mel had no worries that Angie would set the girl straight in a matter of moments.

Angie fished through her purse and pulled out her VIP pass to Roach's party.

“We're Mel and Angie, we own the Fairy Tale Cupcakes bakery, and yeah, I'm the Angie that Roach wrote the hit single about,” Angie said. “Now we've been working all day and need to get dolled up for his CD release party which starts in about half an hour.”

“Oh, my god, you're her?” The girl grabbed the VIP passes and looked from them to Angie and back.

“I have two extras for you, if you can work some magic on us,” Angie said. “As in we need to be unrecognizable.”

The girl squealed and informed them her name was Tracy and the other salesgirl was Paula and they would be happy to relieve Angie of her extra passes. Tracy looked like she might swoon, but she shook it off and the next thing Mel knew, she and Angie were being shoved into the fitting room with an armful of skimpy dresses.

“Try them all on,” Tracy instructed. “I'm going for shoes. I'm looking at sizes seven and ten, correct?”

“Nine and a half,” Mel said.

Tracy gave her a dubious look but Mel refused to look away. She was a nine and a half, most of the time. Mel tried on the dresses. She chose the only one that covered her butt—barely.

“I can't breathe,” Mel said. She pulled back the curtain and stepped out of the room. She was wearing a pewter gray lace sheath dress that was so snug she was afraid to inhale too deeply.

“You?” Angie said. “Check this out.”

She stepped out of the cubby next to Mel's. She was wearing a bold red embroidered organza dress with a fitted top and a flirty skirt that was sure to bring Tate to his knees, if he ever actually saw her in it.

“Okay, I brought nine and a half and tens for you,” Tracy said as she joined them. She thrust two pair of strappy platform sandals in Mel's direction and two more at Angie. “And six and a half and sevens for you.”

Mel looked at the shoes. She really had no idea how the gladiator-inspired footwear was supposed to go on.

“Here, let me help,” Tracy said.

She knelt in front of Mel and opened up the straps for her. Mel put her right foot in and realized she couldn't even touch the ground with her other foot. The shoes made her well over six feet tall, but she figured it would make it easier to see over the crowd, which might come in handy so long as she didn't actually have to walk anywhere.

Tracy helped her with the other one and then stood back up to examine Mel's look.

“We need a dark lipstick and some eye makeup and you're good. Maybe we can add a pop of color to the hair, too.”

She then turned to assess Angie, who had managed her stiletto red suede pumps all by herself.

“Paula, I need an assist back here!” Tracy yelled to the front.

The other salesgirl came trotting to the back. She wore black thigh-high boots and a hot pink minidress. Her black hair was styled in a thick braid that she wore wrapped around her head. She looked Mel and Angie over and came to the same assessment that Tracy did.

“I got this,” she said. “Let me get my makeup bag.”

She came back with what looked like a small carry-on to Mel. Immediately, she began unloading flat irons, curling wands, lotions, powders, lipsticks, and some stuff Mel couldn't identify.

“Fake eyelashes?” she asked Mel.

“No, no thank you,” Mel said.

“No, really, those pale little brush things you've got going will not work,” Paula said.

“Gee, thanks,” Mel said.

“Lip liner,” Tracy said to Paula while she worked on Angie. “This one has a very thin upper lip.”

Mel met Angie's gaze over the girls' heads. She gave her a “what the hell?” look that made Angie's lips twitch, which was unfortunate because it caused Tracy to veer off course with the lip liner.

“Sit and close your eyes,” Paula ordered. Duly intimidated, Mel did.

Finally, the two girls finished working their magic and stepped back from Mel and Angie.

“Serious wow,” Paula said.

“Thanks,” Mel said. She had a feeling this was one of the more sincere compliments she'd ever received.

Mel and Angie staggered over to the mirror. Mel felt her jaw drop. She had to pat her face to make sure it was actually her reflection staring back at her. They both looked like their legs were seven miles long and their curves fit and flared in all the right places. Mel had more makeup on than she'd ever had in her life, and her blond hair had vivid pink streaks in it.

She reached up to touch it, but Paula smacked her hand away. “Don't worry, it washes out.”

Angie didn't have color in her hair. She didn't need it. Tracy had sculpted Angie's long, dark brown hair into a wavy mane of loose curls that neatly covered her bald spot. If she didn't know any better, Mel would have thought she and Angie were some freakish runway models in an haute couture fashion show. Crazy.

“Nice work, girls. We owe you,” Angie said as she handed over two of the passes to the Sewers party.

Mel paid Tracy for their dresses and shoes, cringing only a little at the cost. A glance in the mirror and she convinced herself that really it was all worth it. Even her own mother wouldn't recognize them.

“Okay, if all goes well,” Angie said, “we'll walk right by Marty and Oz and they won't even recognize us.”

“We're ditching them?” Mel asked.

“You know they'd tattle on us,” Angie said.

“Without even hesitating,” Mel said.

“Okay, so here's what we do,” Angie said. “We'll have the girls hold our clothes for us and then we'll sashay our way out the door. I bet we're long gone before the boys even realize it's us.”

“Sashay? Hobble might be the more accurate description of me in these heels,” Mel said.

“Come on, you just need practice,” Angie said.

Mel glanced in the mirror one more time before sending up a quick prayer that she didn't get arrested for indecent exposure.

“Okay, let's do this,” Angie said. She hooked her arm through Mel's and half dragged, half carried her out the front door.

To Mel's relief, Oz and Marty were not right out front, which certainly made things much simpler. In fact, when Mel looked around, she saw them halfway down the mall, lounging in the massage chairs a vendor had set up. As Mel and Angie walked by them, Oz looked half-asleep and Marty had saliva glistening in the corner of his open mouth, which Mel noted was emitting snores.

Neither of them noticed Mel or Angie as they let the chairs work their magic on them. Mel took this as a good sign. The salesperson working the area did notice Mel and Angie, and Mel was flattered that he looked too dumbstruck by the sight of them to trot out his sales pitch. Then again, he may have been scared of them, hard to say.

“Okay, let's catch a cab in front of the mall,” Angie said. “The party is at the Black Dog Pub over on Mill Avenue in Tempe, so it's only about ten minutes away.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Mel said. As they rode the escalator to the lower level, she couldn't help asking, “How mad do you think they're going to be?”

“Eh,” Angie grunted. “Marty's always mad.”

“Let's send them a text telling them we went home,” Mel said. “So they don't panic and run all over the mall looking for us.”

“Once we're in the cab,” Angie agreed.

A cab was waiting right outside, and in minutes they were driving south on Scottsdale Road. While in the car, Mel used the time to text Marty and Oz that they'd gone home, as well as send a text to Manny about the boys seeing Scott kiss the blue-haired zombie woman, while gently suggesting he look at the video footage from the zombie walk again.

Mel tugged the hem of her dress down when the cab took a sharp right onto Curry Road and a left onto Mill Avenue. The dress was really not made for sitting. She feared she was going to have a celebutante crotch shot moment when the cab pulled up to the curb, so she made Angie get out first and used her as a shield.

The line into the Black Dog Pub circled the block. Angie had no issues with sauntering past the people queued up for entrance. She fished her VIP passes out of her bag and flashed them at the beefy, bald bodybuilder guarding the door. He gave them a warm smile and lifted the rope to usher them through.

Mel had to admit there was something very cool about the VIP thing. She could see where people got hooked on special treatment. How did one go back to normal life when they were used to having all doors opened for them? She thought maybe it was just better not to get used to it.

The pub was dark and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Purple neon lights illuminated the dance floor, which was heaving with a crowd of bodies all gyrating to the music being spun by a DJ in the booth up in the balcony above the main floor. The stage was empty but the Sewers equipment was there just waiting for them to charge onto the stage.

Angie was searching the room, looking for the blue-haired zombie or Roach. Mel did the same but had no luck spotting the tall, long-haired, tattoo-encrusted musician. There were several bars, lots of tables, and three levels to the pub. Mel looked up and saw that the balcony gave a nice view of the whole place.

Mel nudged Angie and pointed up. Over the music, she yelled, “I think we need to be up there.”

Angie nodded and together they worked their way to the stairs. Another large bodybuilder type was blocking the stairs. Angie showed their passes, and he studied the pass and then her face.

“Angie,” he said as if he'd been expecting her. “Go on up, ladies.”

They climbed the circular staircase to the level above. It was less crowded here, and Mel instantly saw two of the band members and the manager sitting on the plush couches that filled the long, narrow space. Their section was roped off from the rest of the loft that was packed tight with bodies.

Mel realized that a person could come up and shank her or Angie, and no amount of undercover security would be able to save them. The thought made her dizzy, and she grabbed Angie's arm and held her close. She would not let anything happen to her friend.

Angie had no such fear. She sauntered right into the thick of it, not hesitating and not breaking her stride until she stood right next to Jimbo, the band's manager.

He glanced up with a practiced smile until recognition kicked in. Then he scowled and snarled, “What are you doing here, Angie?”

“I came to see Roach,” she said.

“Haven't you done enough damage?” shouted the singer whose name Mel couldn't remember as he jumped to his feet, looking like he was going to square off with Angie. Not a great plan.

“Roach gave me passes so I came to see him,” Angie said. “If you have a problem with it, take it up with him.”

Jimbo narrowed his gaze at Angie as if he was thinking through this turn of events. “You know he didn't have anything to do with that shooting, don't you?”