Polished Off (34 page)

“And our final contestant for tonight’s evening gown competition—Rachel Whitley,” Jodi announced.

Rachel appeared. Stunned silence.

Beside me, Stella gasped.

“Oh, my,” breathed Mom.

Marty turned his head to find me, both brows raised comically, a look of unholy amusement on his face.

“That is too cool,” Jessica said, leaning forward. “Can I have an outfit like that?”

“No,” her father and mother said together.

With a huge grin on her face, Rachel swayed to midstage. A sleeveless black leotard with a scoop neck hugged her torso while a skirt—a tutu, really—of black netting drifted over a pair of black tights that disappeared into Converse high tops. Black, of course. Her nails gleamed black and kohl rimmed her beautiful eyes. Fingerless black lace gloves covered her arms to the elbow. For a moment, the grape-colored tips of her heavily gelled hair made me wince for the perfection of the cut I’d given her, but then I grinned. This was vintage Rachel.

Sporadic applause sounded around the auditorium until Althea stood and began clapping strongly, giving Rachel a standing ovation. Rachel looked over and smiled gratefully as the rest of us surged to our feet and smacked our hands together. It hurt like hell, but I clapped louder than I ever have.

Rachel waved as she trotted offstage and Jodi said they would tabulate the judges’ scores and crown Miss Magnolia Blossom in ten minutes. Feedback squealed from the microphone and people covered their ears.

“She didn’t wear my pink dress,” Stella said mournfully.

“Oh, get over it, Stel,” Althea said. “She’s not a pink kind of girl. She’s just trying to be true to who she is.”

And I knew from the look in her eyes that she was wondering how much of her true self she had sacrificed to be who Kwasi thought she should be. I thought that we might see her clad in J.C. Penney separates the next time she came into the salon.

“I’ll bet Jessica can wear that dress one day,” Mom consoled Stella, leaning across me to smile at the girl. “Maybe to a prom. It would look gorgeous with your coloring.”

Jess smiled back, bouncing in her seat as Jodi came back, an envelope raised high in one hand. For once, she didn’t have the clipboard. “If the contestants will please join me on stage,” she said and waited while the five girls filed out and stood, holding hands, in the center of the stage. Their expressions ranged from nervous to complacent.

“These five young women are our finalists and I and the whole Miss American Blossom staff congratulate them on their accomplishments.” She beamed and led another polite round of applause, setting the mic to screeching again.

“Now, without further ado . . .”

Thank goodness. I was tired of ado.

She named the fourth- and third-runners-up, the girl whose name I couldn’t remember and Morgan. Rachel was the second runner-up. As she accepted a bouquet of yellow roses and left the stage, only Brooke and Tabitha were left in the spotlight’s glare. I noticed they weren’t holding hands anymore.

“Drumroll, please,” Jodi tittered, and a recorded drumroll reverberated through the room.

I inched forward on my chair, finding myself chanting mentally, Let it be Brooke, let it be Brooke.

Jodi went through the rigmarole about the first runner-up taking over if the winner couldn’t fulfill her responsibilities, yada-yada, and then said, “The first runner-up is Brooke Baker.”

Brooke kept her head high as she left the stage with an armload of flowers, but I glimpsed the searing disappointment on her face. I knew she’d find the money for vet school another way, though. She was the kind of woman who made her own luck, who found a way of turning an apparent loss into a win.

I was still looking at where Brooke had disappeared behind the curtain when Jodi crowed, “And our new Miss Magnolia Blossom is . . . Tabitha Dunn!” Tabitha did her best to look stunned as Jodi secured the rhinestone tiara on her head. She slapped her hands to her face and even squeezed out a tear or two, but the smugness shone through.

Oh, well. Sometimes losers win big. It wouldn’t surprise me if Tabitha ended up with the Miss America Blossom crown. I hoped it worked out better for her than it had for Audrey Faye. I kissed Mom’s cheek; hugged Althea, Stella, and Jess; nodded at Darryl, and went to congratulate Rachel. I bumped into Marv on the way, carrying microphone cables draped over his tattooed arms.

“Marv! What are you doing here?”

“Running the lights and sound. I’ve gotta keep my hand in until the theater’s rebuilt.”

“You’re rebuilding?” Given his negative attitude toward the theater, the news surprised me. “I thought you wanted out from under it.”

Rubbing his fleshy nose, he said, “Me, too. Until it burned. I couldn’t believe how sad it made me to see the bricks all blackened like that. So, I’m rebuilding. If I’m lucky, maybe the fire got rid of the mice. I should reopen by next summer. I’ve already got a production of
Waiting for Godot
booked in. It’s one of my favorites.”

I congratulated him and caught up with Rachel in the hall. She was talking to a good-looking blond kid she introduced as Braden after giving me a hug. If the look in his eyes was any indication, he appreciated the real Rachel; he didn’t even glance at Tabitha when she swept by in a fog of roses and triumph.

“Stella’s not, like, totally upset about the dress, is she?”

“No,” I said with a smile. “She understood.”

“Great!” Rachel beamed. “Let me change and we can go,” she said to Braden.

He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “Why don’t you just wear that? You look great.”

Nice kid, I thought, as another high school-aged girl with waist-length brown hair elbowed her way past a clump of people and stood in front of Rachel and Braden, arms akimbo. She quirked one dark eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d do it, Whitley, but you kicked butt.” She lobbed something metallic toward Rachel, who snatched it out of the air. A key ring. “One week, okay?”

“Thanks, Shannon.” Rachel jangled the keys victoriously as she and Braden headed off for whatever after-pageant celebration they had planned.

“Ready?” Marty’s voice sounded behind me.

I turned with a smile that got broader as I studied his elegant figure in the well-cut tux. His closeness made my tummy do loop-de-loops.

“Well?” he prompted.

“I think I just might be,” I said.

My mischievous tone kindled an answering smile that curved his lips and lit his brown eyes. “We are talking about dinner, right?” The look in his eyes said he hoped we weren’t.

I tucked my arm in his. “Among other things.”

Pour oil or place cocoa butter in a medium bowl. Add coffee grounds and salt or sugar. Mix well. Use to exfoliate arms, back, chest, etc. by massaging gently into skin during or just after shower. (If using during shower, ensure you have a wide enough drain to wash the coffee grounds down.)

Measure Epsom salts into small bowl. Add baking soda and crumble together, mixing well with your hands. Add 6-8 drops of your essential oil. Don’t overdo it or your bath salts will dissolve. Mix well. Using gloves, mix the food coloring into the bath salts, making sure the color permeates the mixture evenly. Transfer to a glass jar with tightly fitting lid. Use within two weeks (or they lose a lot of their scent). To use, add a handful of salts to the tub while the water’s running.

 

TRESSED TO KILL
POLISHED OFF