Days later, I was still fuming.
“Oh, come on.” Maggie followed me through the palace to the great banquet hall. “Don’t be mad.”
“Urrrgh,” I growled at her as I hustled to stay three steps ahead while carrying a party tray of banana pudding. I used to want to be just like her, but now I absolutely hated her. “Listen, Maggie. All my friends will be here soon, and I don’t want that—that man, crashing my book club again.”
She said he won’t.
“I mean it, Maggie. Keep Wayne away.”
She said she would.
But I had my doubts.
BOOK CLUB IN 30 MINUTES.
Hurrying ahead, I stepped onto the golden carpet for the first time and had to pause a second to survey the enormity of the room. Overhead, heavy vaulted mahogany panels, opulent crown molding, hand-painted floral trim, and candle chandeliers made the ceiling feel heavy, oppressive. On the walls, traditional Bavarian patterns highlighted each and every nook and cranny, creating visual chaos. To the left, stained glass windows let in glints of afternoon sun. To the right, recessed entries hid in the shadows. Standing candelabras and gold damask benches surrounded the perimeter. And a stage with crimson columns and arches awaited behind a gigantic wooden table at the far end of the room. I felt like an insignificant speck in this monumental space. And by gigantic wooden table, I meant that the dining room table was so big that Jesus Christ himself could’ve eaten the Last Supper with all his disciples there. When I finally set my pudding down, the jumbo dessert pan turned into a tiny spot on the wide expanse of solid mahogany.
“There isn’t a tablecloth in the world big enough.” I sighed. “I wish we at least had a runner or something.”
“I could make that happen,” Maggie offered, “easy.”
“Go away. I don’t even want you here.” I glanced down at my bad-girl clothes, then at hers. “Ugh, we look like cheap twins.”
“Wow, you really are angry,” she said as she poked the meringue of my pudding. Then she sucked her finger suggestively and eyed me up and down. “Mmm, delish.”
She was right. “I still can’t believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“That this quickie version tastes exactly the same as if I’d spent hours baking. Recycloning food feels like cheating.”
“Banana. Bah. Nan. Nuh. It’s all the same, Cookie.”
“But is it cheating?”
“Cheating? Who cares!” She leaned in to whisper in my ear, “Nobody owns you anymore. Make your own rules. Banana is banana is banana.”
“Maybe.” I wasn’t convinced.
(I don’t think you’re getting my meaning.)
Maggie dipped her finger into my pudding, then slid the sweet cream across my bottom lip. “I wasn’t complimenting your dessert.”
“Goddamn it, Maggie!” I swatted away her hand and wiped my mouth. “I don’t like to be made fun of.”
I’d had it!
Her sexy taunting.
Her constant erotism.
Her blatant exhibitionism.
“It’s just sex.” She giggled, then sucked the rest of the pudding off her finger. “It’s supposed to be fun. Unless you’re rage-fucking. That’s great too. Have you ever rage-fucked, Cookie?”
I scurried over to a sideboard tucked in an alcove. God, I hated confrontations. I felt all jittery—sweaty. Why did she have to push me like that? I grabbed a stack of dessert plates from the credenza and set the china on the end of the table. The dishes seemed to disappear just like my dessert. And I wondered if maybe I should find another place to stay.
“Wow, you really are pissed off.” Maggie smiled provocatively. “Good for you.”
“You should’ve told me.”
“Told you what?”
“That Wayne’s your boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend? Oh, he’s way more than that.”
“Damn it!” I shouted, “will you please shut up about sex?!?”
“No, I meant it. I’m glad to see you finally standing up for yourself.”
“Great, then how about you drop the sex-kitten act and make yourself useful for once?”
“Sure, how?”
“Help me get ready for book club. My friends will be here soon. Do not ruin this for me, Maggie.”
“Okay. What do you want me to do?”
“Get the silverware.”
“Sure thing, Cookie.”
Maggie fetched a flat case from the credenza and placed it on the table. Then she flipped open the brass latches of the walnut box and lifted the lid. Inside, red velvet dividers held polished silver forks, dessert spoons, and butter knives in a gorgeous display.
Stop the presses! Did Maggie actually listen to me? And she didn’t make any smart-ass comments, not even a funny face or an eye roll. I told her to do something, and she just did it. Amazing!
She asked me if a setting for eight would be enough.
I smiled and told her yes, and thank you.
“Anything else?”
“Serving spoons? Tongs? Napkins?”
“Absolutely,” Maggie said as she got to work.
Now that was incredible.
“Can you set out cups and saucers too? You know, make it look nice.”
“Sure.” Maggie nodded over her shoulder and kept working.
IT’S TWO O’CLOCK.
My phone dinged twice in the back pocket of my jeans—a text message from Paula:
We’re here!
I’ll be right out.
I was so excited to see Paula that I ran back through the palace and heaved open the heavy door. From the top of the stairs, I could see all my friends marching single file toward the castle. They’d all walked here, and they were right on time.
Goosebumps. I got goosebumps.
It was the way they moved—the weird, mechanical way they walked.
In step.
Synced up.
Left.
Right.
Left.
It was so unnatural. Each woman held her dessert in a traveling Tupperware container with both hands out in front and palms turned upward. And each carried her purse draped neatly over her right elbow. They looked like zombie housewives on parade. And to make matters worse, they were all dressed in their Sunday best, even though not one of these women had ever gone to church a day in their lives. New Stepford didn’t have a church.
Bile crept up my throat as they all passed the empty swimming pool without a second glance. Then, like good little domestic soldiers, one by one the women turned left at the bottom of the staircase and marched up the steps with big, phony smiles on their faces.
Suddenly, I wondered if I was being used as bait.
OMG, what have I done?
Wayne’s voice answered in my head:
YOU DID NOTHING WRONG.
I don’t want to talk to you. Go away!
I ONLY WANT TO HELP.
I don’t need you, Wayne.
I ordered the cloud, “Mute Internal Prompt.”
ILLEGAL OPERATION.
“Of course it is,” I groaned.
Soon, Paula stood in front of me, looking better than ever. It was almost like that crazy fish massacre had never happened at her house—almost. All my friends waited behind her in line.
SHOW YOUR FRIENDS IN.
Do I have a choice?
NOT REALLY.
With a fake smile, I said, “Welcome to the castle, everyone.”
Then I held the door open. Paula entered first, and like a good host, I took her dessert offering. Then we kissed on both cheeks.
Isabel stepped into the vestibule, gazed at the ceiling, and gushed, “Dios mío! It’s so. So. Es muy grandioso.”
Rita entered next, and when Chrissy walked in, my mood went totally sour.
I closed the door, and all I could say was, “Follow me.”
ALMOST THERE, COOKIE.
YOU ARE DOING GREAT.
I’m still mad at you, Wayne.
I led the book-club wives to the great banquet hall, and everyone gasped at the magnificence of the room, including me. The dining room table was absolutely stunning. A gorgeous embroidered runner spanned the entire length and elegantly draped over each edge. A huge centerpiece of stargazer lilies sat in a tall crystal vase atop the runner. Silver pedestals awaited each dessert. The tallest one already held my banana pudding. A crystal pitcher of ice water rested on a silver tray next to a perfect pyramid of stacked crystal goblets. Teacups with matching saucers sat next to silverware displayed in beautiful fans. Folded white linen napkin swans seemed to be swimming around the table.
Rita swooned, “This is positively breathtaking!”
I nodded and agreed, “Yes, it is.” And it was super creepy too. How’d Maggie have time to do all this? Where did she go?
My friends stepped up to the table and placed their desserts on a pedestal. And for the longest time everyone just stood and gazed at the room in awe. The awkward silence ushered in a fresh bout of anxiety. I simply didn’t know what to say or do next.
Then Maggie entered through a back door, stepped onto the singer’s stage behind the red pillars, and said, “Welcome, everyone.”
All my friends turned toward her and applauded while oohing and ahhing and smiling and nodding. At the same time, I stood in the middle of this bizarre sisterhood wishing I could suddenly not exist anymore. I just wanted to disappear. But it wasn’t the congregation that was killing me—it was Maggie.
YOU ARE FINALLY STARTING TO UNDERSTAND.
You set me up, Wayne.
NO. I DID NOT.
IT WAS MAGGIE.
She’d changed her clothes.
Now I was the only one wearing her renegade punk outfit. I felt like a fool with my red bra straps showing, midriff bare, jeans too tight, and head buzzed.
Meanwhile, Maggie was standing up on that stage looking like Miss Suzi Perfect. She wore a delicate pink floral-print dress. The kind with a perfectly tailored bodice, conservative neckline, and tasteful short sleeves. Her billowing skirt fell at a perfect tea-length above her ankles. Her now-long hair was swept up in a beautiful French twist. Her makeup was traditional and perfect. She had a flawless French manicure. And she wore pretty white Mary Jane heels with tasteful nylons—and I couldn’t believe it—a string of pearls around her neck.
“‘Spot a necklace? Choke the neck,’” I asked the cloud. “Isn’t that what Maggie said?”
Another perfect match returned:
SPOKEN DIRECTIVE FROM MARGARET ROUSER ON JUNE 11.
Good. Because I really wanted to choke the shit out of that bitch right now.
Maggie curtsied and said, “Thank you, ladies of book club.”
I wanted to vomit.
“Please help yourselves to dessert.” Maggie glided down the steps while gesturing toward the luxurious table like a game-show beauty showcasing a shiny new car.
My friends lined up, took a plate, and gathered their sweet samples.
But I rushed over, grabbed Maggie by the forearm, pulled her aside, and asked, “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Wow! Language. A lady doesn’t curse, Cookie.” She smiled and nodded at Paula like nothing was wrong. “I’m being a good hostess. Isn’t that what you want?”
“You look like a goddamn Stepford wife!”
“Perfect. And so do all your friends by the way. But you’re not mad at them.”
I grasped her necklace, made a fist, and twisted—
You () {
make (coffee);
}
And with that order, I immediately released her pearls. Then, like a hypnotized mental patient, I robotically said, “I think I’ll go and make everyone some coffee.”
And that was how Maggie took control.