Call Me, Poppy

  My friends at Columbia University would ask me when we started school in a few weeks, “Lex, you skinny bitch, did you finally go to Birdie’s cosmetic surgeon and get a li’l lipo?”

  And I’d be all, “Nope. I did a new weight loss program.”

  Then they’d ask, “What’s it called?”

  “The Prison Diet.” Not!

  Ugh. No effin’ candy. This was torture.

  “I cannot believe we’re wearing these get-ups again.” My attempt to loosen the bunching of the pants which collected between my thighs and somewhat up my bum…failed. I didn’t need a yeast infection. I could only imagine what the infirmary here was like.

  “What is this color called? Safety Orange? Does it have a name?” Taddy sighed.

  I made one up. “Neon nectarine.”

  Poor Vive, her body had nearly gone into convulsions when we’d changed. I could see why. It was the exact same color and scratchy fabric we’d worn for six solid months while in juvie. Gawd, now my skin started to itch.

  Taddy grabbed at my arm, and we tried to make eye contact with Vive. She’d been ignoring me since we’d arrived. “Let’s watch some TV.”

  Together we walked up to the edge of our cell and faced out through the bars. There were two cell blocks on the left and one on the right. I held my breath for a second waiting to see if any of the other inmates would shout at us.

  No oink-oink noises. They were all glued to the TV. The evening news played on the monitor in the hall across from us. Guess who was the main lead-in story? Moi.

  I almost got ill just from watching. But I, along with everyone else in their cells, remained in full attention as if it was nothing shy of a reality show gone amuck.

  “So much for Daddy avoiding having the Easton’s appear as freaks on TV.”

  “Oh Jesus. This is worse than I thought—” Taddy covered her mouth.

  Not only was the news cray-cray, possibly nuttier than that reality program Taddy and I had watched last week called The Anna Nicole Show on E! Entertainment, we just looked simply insane.

  “Seems the camera caught everything on video, except for Kelle buffin’ Mom.”

  “Do the police know about that?” Taddy asked.

  “No. Just you and Vive. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “Yeah. It’s one thing to be accused of blowing up a house. You can live that down. But your high school sweetheart screwing your mom? Not so much.”

  “Exactly.” I nodded. I’d already lived my childhood in Birdie’s shadow. I didn’t need to go into my adulthood in the same fashion.

  I rested my head on Taddy’s shoulder and watched.

  According to the news reporter, a helicopter had shot an aerial view of the accident.

  “How on earth did they record this?” Taddy asked.

  “The reporter just said that a TV crew was nearby covering a traffic jam by the Holland Tunnel. The pilot reported seeing a fire from Birdie’s terrace, and they panned their cameras over. Just my flippin’ luck. Right?”

  The network featured the explosion in slow-motion, freeze-frame and my personal favorite…pause. They kept playing it over and over again.

  Wrapped in a Mylar spa robe, Birdie had stood on her balcony, lighting a cigarette.

  “Is that a joint?” Taddy asked in an ironic tone.

  “Probably.”

  Birdie had puffed for maybe four to five seconds then—poof.

  “No. Ohhh no!” Taddy shouted at the TV.

  A massive fireball had blasted Birdie from behind, sending her svelte figure across the street.

  “Watching this is so surreal,” I said faintly. An all-too familiar feeling of humiliation seeped in to haunt me from my past.

  My fears turned to annoyance when the inmates laughed and sang the lyrics to Birdie’s hit song, “Lucifer’s Mistress.”

  “I can’t watch anymore.” Grabbing at me, Taddy buried her face.

  Mom had landed on a patio table on the next building over. From the looks of it, the neighbors had a lush garden terrace to help break her fall.

  “Lord, that must’ve hurt like hell,” Taddy said.

  “Especially for Mom, she’s nothin’ more than skin and bones. She doesn’t have my caboose to land on.” I rubbed my bum trying to find the humor in this. Birdie would be fine. At least that’s what we’d been told.

  Taddy glared sternly. She hated when I poked fat jokes at myself, never mind the fact that I always found a “funny” at the most inappropriate moments.

  It was my way of coping. Humor, candy, and motorcycles had become my anti-depressant concoction over the years.

  On the TV, all of the penthouse’s windows blew out.

  The video footage cut to the highway with the headline, “Alexandra Easton Flees.” And there we were—Vamp and me behind the Farnworth Firewater company limo, heading north toward the Upper East Side.

  “We’ll never live this down.” I started to understand the severity of it all. It’s one thing to hear you blew up a building, it’s another to watch your mother fly across the street as Linda Carter in Wonder Woman.

  “Not in this town.” Taddy cried. “We should’ve enrolled at Pepperdine. Imagine, we could be unpacking our Malibu apartment right now.”

  I clapped my hands together.

  “What in the heck are you doing?” Taddy asked.

  “Prayin’.”

  Dear God- Jesus- Buddha-Universe-etcetera,

  Let me start by giving praise. Thank you for letting Birdie live. To say I feel like crap would be a gross understatement.

  I know everything happens for a reason, but you’ve stumped me on this one. I can’t for the life of me figure out what’s your master plan. Tell me already!

  Was it because you didn’t want Kelle to have my Lady V? That’s gotta be it.

  Well, I hope you have someone better in mind. Scratch that. Kelle set the bar too low. Anyone would be better than Kelle Sterling Dolley.

  Except for maybe Mr. Malhon, the homeless man who’d been booked for lifting a shopping-cart from K-Mart right before Judge Calabrese saw our case.

  Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against street people. It’s just Mr. Malhon had defended that the buggy was his late wife reincarnated. Apparently she’d come back from the dead taking the shape of a steel frame with four wheels.

  Please no one mental for me the next time around, okay?

  Let’s forget my Lady V for a second. We need to discuss more important matters, such as my friends. This summer as you know, the girls had returned to New York to start over.

  Ya gotta help us here. We need you to get those charges dropped. We have college starting soon. And for the first time in our lives, we understand the importance of focusing on our grades, not on boys or social stuff.

  Amen

  PS…please have the guard bring me peanut M&M’s or Skittles? I’m having sugar withdrawal. Big time.

  “Amen,” I said out loud.

  “What did upstairs have to say?”

  “No one was home. I left a message.”

  “I hope God has your number darling.” Taddy nodded for me to look back at the TV.

  Reporters stated Birdie was conscious and doing okay. Due to the flame retardant fabric in the bathrobe, which had protected her vital organs, Mom had only suffered second degree burns on her extremities. She’d heal with a nearly full recovery.

  None of this was news to us. We’d heard it all during our arraignment. However, we didn’t have the visuals till now. Thank you Channel 2. The graphic videos put everything into perspective.

  Taddy hung her freckled face between the bars. “Today takes the craptastic cake of all craperrific cakes. It’s right up there with the day I found out my Dad wasn’t really my birth father.”

  Speechless, I nodded, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I remembered back to the summer Taddy’s life had turned to rodent dung. We were like thirteen.

  If anyone had thought the Easton’s were unfit parents, they
should’ve met the Brillford’s.

  Holy Hannah, her folks were horrific.

  Take Cruella de Ville, slap Taddy’s cheekbones on her face, and deck the diva in a St. John knit suit, and tah-dah you’d have—Countess Irma, formerly known as Mother.

  That was of course until Taddy’s emancipation. Now we hadn’t a clue as to what the Brillford’s were up to. All I knew was they’d given Taddy a settlement for her college tuition and told her they never wanted to talk to her again. Can you believe it?

  Taddy flipped her long red hair to one side. “Dare I say, this incident is right up there with the time we went to…juvie.” Quickly Taddy’s green eyes locked with mine.

  We winced in unison knowing better than to speak the J-word in front of present company.

  “Don’t say that.” Sitting up, Vive finally spoke.

  Earlier, Vive had almost lost her mind when Judge Calabrese had read over our juvie records. His computer had dug up the Connecticut murder of Sanderloo. He’d let us know we’d be tried this time in an adult court.

  Distraught wasn’t the right word for Vive’s emotions today. Outraged, yes that’s it. If it wasn’t for us being handcuffed, Vive probably would’ve gotten up in Judge Calabrese’s face and struck him with his own gavel. I’m serious! Especially while the judge blabbered on and on about what bad teenagers we were. Oh and get this, Judge Calabrese had the kahunas to say he was Birdie Easton’s biggest fan. Can you believe him?

  With all of this in mind, being locked up had brought back painful memories. Ones we’d all worked hard to forget.

  “Well, it’s the truth, Vive. Today is karma from our past, coming back to bite us in the ass.” Taddy licked her thumb. The ink from when they’d fingerprinted us earlier was impossible to get off.

  “It sure is. I wonder if and when our bad luck will ever stop,” I grumbled.

  Here’s a side note, not to be said out loud in front of the girls. Blake and I should’ve never gone along with Taddy’s suggestion to bury Sanderloo’s body behind the school. If we’d come clean initially when it had happened, I bet our karma would be free and clear by now. Not stuck in this raining-poop-all-over-us-storm that we’re in right now.

  “Shut up, Lex. I’m talking to Taddy. I don’t wanna hear your bubbly voice for as long as we’re in here.”

  “Calm down, Vive,” Taddy shushed.

  “Once our bail posts, we’re outta here.” Vive got to her feet and pointed at me. “Call Eddie again and have his lawyer pay your bail. Use your father’s money to put you up at The Plaza Hotel.”

  Whoa! “Why? You said—”

  “I’ve been thinking. I don’t want you staying at my place. Mr. Shapiro suggested Taddy and I put distance between us and you. That’s what I’m gonna do, girlie.”

  Boy, this accident made her supportive attitude change. One second she was all, “move in with me, park Vamp on Fifth Avenue, Hedda can’t wait to see you.” Then the next minute I get a hotel suggestion. What the heck made her flake?

  “Viveca Farnworth!” Grabbing on to her narrow shoulders, Taddy bossed, “Simmer down.”

  Chewing my tongue, I couldn’t argue. Vive was off her rocker, as she should be. This was entirely my fault.

  She’d been pretty calm till the arraignment. Ah-ha! That was when her attitude started. I had to know so I asked, “Vive, what did Dick say earlier when he pulled you aside?”

  “Nothing. We just went over the fees with my father.”

  “Vive. What did he say?” Taddy cracked her knuckles.

  “Oh alright, if this goes to trail, Mr. Shapiro suggested that I ask you to take separate counsel from me and Taddy.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong. All I did was set the dress and a few photos on fire in the tub. I watched it burn out.”

  “Lex, your fire ignited Birdie’s oxygen facial tanks and sent her west of Broadway,” Vive snarled, bouncing her hand on her hip. “Then you hauled your entire closet in my Bentley to come live with us. Let’s not forget we are all booked tonight to leave the fucking country on Euro Airways. Think how this looks.”

  “Farnworth, stop it. No one died. Only Birdie’s unit was destroyed. And she’s going to be fine. We can’t misconstrue this or the prosecutors will eat us alive.” Lowering her voice, Taddy turned her attention back to me, and said, “Stick to the story we came up with.”

  The story was simple, denial.

  Honestly, as mentioned earlier, I was the world’s worst liar. Some girls could lie through their teeth about anything and everything I wasn’t one of them. I had to though, if not for me, for my friends. So I agreed to go along with whatever was needed to keep everyone out of trouble.

  “What-the-flip-ever.” Vive stomped her foot as if getting a second wind to argue. “Birdie screwed Kelle. This is her mess. Not ours.”

  “True. The only person at fault is Birdie. Not you or me. And I hope you’re not implying this is all on Lex because it ain’t. Not exactly, Vive this could’ve happened to us too. How many times have you burned your clothing in the tub?”

  “Don’t be a twat. I’ve never lit anything other than candle.”

  Around and around, Taddy paced in a circle fast enough to resemble an orange sherbet flurry.

  We’d officially gone stir crazy.

  Staring at these prison uniforms gave me a headache. The room shrunk another few inches. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” I gave them each a pleading look. Already I had apologized about two hundred times. So make it two hundred and one.

  “One good thing did come out of today, that’s for sure.” Taddy smirked.

  “Huh? What the fudge are you talkin’ about?”

  “Kelle Sterling Dolley got himself arrested too.”

  Hearing Kelle’s demise for the second time sounded better than the first. Unable to control myself, I smiled as rightfully so. Hello, he banged Mom.

  Kelle wasn’t in the penthouse during the explosion. No siree. Apparently he’d taken off in his Ferrari shortly after we’d left. High and wasted, he got pulled over for DUI on Perry Street. Now he was in jail somewhere around here, probably sitting next to Vive’s driver. That was the tidbit of slammer gossip we’d overheard while in booking.

  “That’s not funny Taddy.” Vive bit her fingernail.

  “Vive, please stop worrying. Once Daddy gets here he’ll talk to Birdie and fix everything.” That was the biggest crock of monkey dung to come out of my mouth. But my family needed to take care of this, not the Farnworth’s.

  “Uh-huh.” Vive’s right eyebrow jerked up, perhaps suspicious of Dad stepping in to help.

  Over the years, he’d been MIA off and on, for as long as the girls had known him. Daddy wasn’t a bad father. He just wasn’t around. Like ever.

  “He’ll be here tomorrow, Vive. You’ll see.”

  “Isn’t that what you said about our graduation?” Vive sneered.

  Along with Taddy’s parents, Daddy didn’t make it to my graduation back in June.

  Don’t wanna talk about it.

  “Hey, at least Birdie attended.” Taddy defended.

  “And sober!” I added.

  The only peace of mind was Birdie hadn’t drank a drop our entire graduation week. She’d treated Vive, Taddy, Blake, and I to a nice dinner and had given us each gifts. The girls and I received Cartier jewelry. Blake had gotten a Rolex.

  An evening with sober Birdie was worth more than any baubles her money and fame could afford. I’d called her Mom out in public the entire week and not once did she snap at me.

  She’d shared her enthusiasm with a Manhattanite Times reporter and said, “I’m proud and honored to call Alexandra Easton my daughter. Today’s Avon Porter graduation is a hallmark of her youth. Her father and I are excited to see where her journey takes us all.”

  Pretty nice, huh? Her publicist may have written it on her behalf but I didn’t care. I’d taken her words to heart. Mom had never bragged about me before to anyone. It risked taking the spotlight off her,
but for whatever reason, that day she did.

  My eyes stung just thinking about it. Maybe that’s why I wanted to go on to college so badly. Four years of studying for a degree I’d probably never use was worth Mom’s compliments, at least to me.

  “And where’s Eddie now?” Vive asked.

  “Tokyo. His Asia manager said he got the news, cancelled his shows for the week and immediately boarded a flight coming back to JFK.”

  “I’ll believe Eddie when I see him.” Vive’s bloodshot blue eyes narrowed and she muttered uneasily, “Looks as though you’ll be spending the night at Riker’s.”

  In horror, Taddy gasped. “No, Lex won’t. She’s leaving with us. And Vive if Dick doesn’t spring her bail, I’ll forever hate you.”

  “Me?” Vive slouched back down on the bench. Crossing her skinny legs she asked, “Why?”

  Taddy’s lips thinned with irritation. “Ohhh…I don’t know. Perhaps it’s because you’re being a frickin’ hypocrite.”

  “No, I’m not.” Vive turned away from us and faced the wall.

  “We spent six months in juvie cause you killed your boyfriend—”

  “Don’t you dare throw that in my face!” Vive shouted over her shoulder. “Sanderloo was gay bashing Blake to the point of unconsciousness. I didn’t see you two stepping in to fend him off.”

  With a pang, I fired back, “That’s not fair.” I had tried to help. Or at least I thought I did at the time. One thing was for certain, I’d near peed myself when the fight started. Not because I was shocked. No. Sanderloo was a major a-hole and had always stirred up fights, but because I was terrified for Blake. Sanderloo must’ve been on steroids. His type of rage toward another human being wasn’t natural.

  “If I hadn’t stepped in, Blake would’ve died.” Vive turned back around to face us and fingered a clump of mascara from her eyes.

  “We know, Vive.” Taddy’s voice went up an octave.

  “Christ. It was an accident.” The color drained from Vive’s face.

  That’s what we’d always called it—the accident.

  “I still get the chills thinking about that night in the woods.” I thought back to how our nightmare had started.

  Sanderloo had accused Blake of coming on to him for sex, which wasn’t true, btw. He’d started beating on Blake. He wouldn’t let up. After a blow to the face, Blake had fallen. Ignoring Vive’s screams, Sanderloo had started kicking Blake as if he were a soccer ball. Vive had tried to get in between them but Sanderloo pushed her off.