Crazy Bitch (Bitches and Queens) (8 page)

Grateful for Zachary—yes, but surprisingly
resentful as well. Willow could not stop her wandering feelings. Whenever she
looked at him, she thought,
If it wasn’t for you, I could be happy.
It
wasn’t true, of course it wasn’t true, and she felt terrible as soon as it
popped in her mind, which probably explained why she answered the way she did
when he asked the last question she ever expected to him ask.

It happened after dinner one
evening before he left to go to his latest gig. When he got down on his knees
in front of her, Willow’s first thought was that maybe his contact fell out
again, but no, his eyes were fine. He pulled out the twenty-dollar ring he had
bought at a local pawnshop and asked her to marry him.

“Really?” she questioned in
disbelief.

“Really,” he asserted. “I want
you to be my wife, my partner in life.”

Willow hesitated for only a
moment before voicing her concern. “Are we really the marrying type?”

“We make our own rules. We
always have. You and I belong together. The only thing that changes in your
last name.”

Willow Bell,
she
wasn’t sure she liked the sound of it. It sounded like something you might find
at a Home and Garden Expo—a sort of ivy with tiny, white blooms. She couldn’t
help but think,
If nothing changes, why are we doing this?
Zachary,
still on his knees, looked up at her with his soulful brown eyes. His
expression yanked at her heartstrings, and she knew she couldn’t tell him no.

“OK,” she mumbled, hardly
sounding like an enthusiastic soon-to-be bride.

“Awesome,” Zachary said and
reached for her hand.

She wasn’t expecting it to fit,
almost hoped it didn’t, but it wrapped around her ring finger perfectly.
Wearing someone else’s lost dream didn’t feel promising.

Hannah was waiting for her the
next day at work, which was odd because lately she hadn’t come in until around
noon. Instinctively, Willow hid her left hand behind her back.

“We’re going out this morning,”
Hannah announced.

“We are? Where?”

“A very dear friend of mine is
getting married soon, but his bitch-of-a-fiancée can’t find any dresses she
likes. I told him about your work, and they decided to give you a try,” Hannah
explained.

Good Lord, what was it with all
this wedding stuff? Is fate trying to tell me something?

“Wedding dresses aren’t my area
of expertise,” Willow cautioned.

“If you’re not up to the
challenge, I can cancel. I just thought you might want to try your hand at
something that wasn’t a thong, garter, or held together with a piece of string,”
Hannah scoffed.

“No, I’ll go, but if she is
that picky, I don’t expect to come up with anything she likes either.”

Later when they were inside the
ultra-posh downtown condominium, Willow kept thinking there was something very
familiar about Kate and Sam. She was certain she had seen them both somewhere
before. Hannah was her bitchiest, but Willow was slightly relieved she wasn’t
her only target. Apparently, she couldn’t stand Kate, and the feeling was
obviously mutual. Willow tried to stay out of the way of their claws.

Sam seemed pleasant enough but
very hard to please. Of the two, he was more opinionated about what constituted
the perfect dress for Kate. He was so verbal at one point Willow thought,
Geez,
what’s with this guy? Is he gay or something?

Kate must have been a mind
reader because she chuckled quietly and then whispered so softly that only
Willow could hear, “I thought the same thing when I first met him. And no, he’s
not, just very fashion conscious.”

“All right, so you’ve told all
the things you don’t want. Maybe, it might help if you tell what you do want,”
Willow suggested.

“Have you ever heard of
Emmaline Watkins?” Sam asked.

What fashion design student
hadn’t?
Emmaline was an icon of haute couture wedding dresses. A
few of her dresses were displayed in the Smithsonian, not to mention the
traveling collection that made its way to every major museum across the globe.
The daughter of a millionaire, she married an energy magnate before her career
launched short after the second World War.

According to legend, Emmaline
didn’t start designing wedding dresses until she could not find one she liked
for her only daughter. After the wedding, she was all the craze of high
society. She only accepted a few commissions each year, but each dress was hand
sewn. Some even said that entire weddings were planned around her schedule.

If Emmaline was what they
wanted, Willow was afraid she would disappoint them, but instead said, “Of
course.”

“Considering the bitch has been
dead for over forty years, you’ve missed the boat on that,” Hannah snorted
rudely.

“I’ve studied her work,” Sam
said.

Why doesn’t that surprise me?
Willow
thought to herself.

“Apparently, she began each
commission with an interview, or more of a conversation really. They might talk
for a few hours. She was trying to get a feel for what the bride really wanted.
Instead of just tossing ruffles and satin their way, Emmaline designed a custom
dress tailored to each bride’s specific tastes.”

“Yes, I’ve read that as well,”
Willow said.

“So, I guess what we’re looking
for is someone who will do the same,” Sam said.

Kate cocked her eyebrow in
challenge. “Notice how he used the word ‘we’re.’ It’s more like what Sam is
looking for. Honestly, I never even heard of her before a few months ago. He
probably won’t be satisfied until we find something that will look fabulous on
both of us.”

Willow suddenly realized where
she had seen the two of them before. Without thinking first, she said, “I know
where I remember you from. I did you on your birthday last year.”

“No,” Sam stated firmly,
looking very uncomfortable towards Kate. “No one did me on my birthday but
Kate. I swear, babe.”

“No, I meant I performed at your
party…” Willow corrected. Feeling suddenly guilty that she hadn’t mentioned her
former occupation yet, she glanced towards Hannah, who was watching her with an
ice-cold look of challenge. At that moment, Willow knew Hannah had known about
her past, probably from the beginning, but there wasn’t anything to be done
about it now. Besides, Willow wasn’t sure what it meant, if anything at all. “…only
you looked different then. Maybe it’s the hair?” Or the fact that he was in
full drag that night.

“I didn’t recognize you. You
look so different in…” Kate started, but suddenly stopped, “…well, without all
the makeup.”

Willow smiled because she knew
Kate had been about to say she looked different in clothes. Not offended, she
even teased, “I brought along my veil if you want to play later.”

“The fuck you did,” Hannah
hissed. “Now you understand why I had to fucking hound you about the
exclusivity clause. If I wanted a goddamn whore, I would have just hired one.”

“Jesus Christ, Hannah, I was
just teasing,” Willow growled in frustration.

“Coming on to potential
customers isn’t teasing. It’s just plain slutty rudeness,” Hannah spat.

“Hannah, it’s no big deal,”
Kate rushed, trying to deescalate what appeared to be on the verge of becoming
the next World War in the middle of her living room. Kate knew Hannah. She knew
she was a wicked bitch. She also knew that weren’t very many people who would
stand up against her when she was in middle of one of her fits, but Willow
looked like she just might.

“Sorry,” Willow groaned as she
waved her hands wide in frustration. “I was trying to alleviate an awkward
situation. I had my tits in her fiancé’s face last year, for god’s sake.”

“Just go get her measurements,”
Hannah said as she snapped her fingers impatiently.

“Don’t snap at me,” Willow
countered as she walked back with Kate towards the bedroom.

After the door was closed
behind them, Hannah turned and found Sam watching her carefully.

“What?” she hissed.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged
blandly. “Right now, I am trying to decide whether I am in awe or terrified by
how far you will go to get what you want. A stripper? You brought a fucking
stripper to my home? I thought you said your intern had real talent.”

“She does,” Hannah said calmly.
“Thank God. Otherwise, imagine the mess I would be in if her work sucked.”

Sam crossed his arms over his
chest and looked at her steadily. “What the hell are you doing, Hannah?”

Hannah walked over and pinched
his cheek playfully. “Nothing for you worry about, baby boy.”

A few minutes later, Willow and
Kate emerged from the bedroom, giggling like a pair of schoolgirls. “Sam,
Willow’s fiancé’s band is playing tonight, and Willow is giving a special
performance. I want to go.”

Before he could respond, Hannah
let out an ear-piercing shriek, “WHAT!” She started to lunge towards Willow,
but Sam caught her waist and held her in place. “What the fuck is she talking
about? Only a few days ago, he was your boyfriend, and now Zach is your fucking
fiancé? And if you even think about performing again, I’ll fucking ruin your
name!”

“It’s not that kind of
performance,” Willow yelled back. “He asked and I said yes!”

“WHY? Why, goddamn you, why did
you say yes?” Hannah screeched.

Willow had never been good at confrontation.
If pushed, she would snap back, but when she was really angry, she cried. She
felt her eyes filling with tears, and the way Hannah was looking at her wasn’t
helping. Right then, Hannah loathed her. In Hannah’s eyes, she had just
committed the ultimate act of betrayal, and the worst part was—she couldn’t
even give her an honest answer. She didn’t know why she had said yes. Maybe
because since the subway, only the most significant moment of her life, Hannah
had been treating her like a piece of shit? That might have something to do
with it.

This whole conversation was
horrible, and Willow never intended to have it in front of two people she
barely knew. Kate had been so affable, and when she had started talking about
what she wanted for her wedding, Willow naturally started talking about what
she wanted as well. She never thought Kate would come out and spill the beans.
Considering the way Hannah had been treating her for the last couple of weeks,
she never dreamed she would react like this.

“Hannah, please,” Willow
muttered as she wiped furiously at her eyes. “I don’t even know why you care.”

“I care because it’s a fucking
joke,” Hannah spat and then tried to pull herself free. Turning her head, she
growled, “Get your fucking hands off me. It’s a goddamn farce. They have a
fucking open relationship! Zach fucks all the sluts he wants and then he leaves
his leftovers for Willow!”

“You’re a fucking bitch,”
Willow sobbed and then stormed out.

They weren’t his usual sort of
crowd. It wasn’t his usual sort of bar. It was the kind of establishment Sam
wouldn’t dare step foot in until he had at least four beers to clear out the
homophobic-filled air.
Hmm, what’s that scent? Ah right, little pierced gay
still in the closet.
Needless to say, he hadn’t wanted to come tonight, and
wouldn’t have, but he knew Hannah couldn’t stay away.

Earlier that day in his condo,
she had really scared him. They had known each other since they were both nine
years old, and he had never seen her behave like she had. He was afraid if he
didn’t come with her tonight, he might find her name in tomorrow’s arrest log,
or her face splashed across the internet—Supermodel Goes Berserk.

Sam tried to keep an open mind
about Willow only because Kate informed him that he should. Willow was young
and naïve, according to Kate. Young, yes, she was only twenty-one. Naïve, yeah
right, she was a fucking stripper. Maybe, in her tittie-bearing world, she had
never met someone like Hannah? But it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure
out that Hannah wasn’t what anyone would ever describe as emotionally stable.
She was a freaking time bomb, and Sam was terrified that Willow might just be
the fuse to set her off.

At the end of Z-Bell’s
performance, who were surprisingly talented considering their choice of venue,
Willow made her grand appearance. He had been dreading this since they stepped
in the bar. All night long, all he could think was,
Good Lord, please let
her have clothes on,
because if she was naked, he wasn’t entirely certain
he could hold Hannah back.

Throughout the entire show, she
had remained quiet and calm, which with Hannah wasn’t a good thing. He had
witnessed some of her most vicious strikes just after she had the same look in
her eyes. Her features, as still and timeless as a mannequin, only became
animated once Willow stepped out on stage and then she blinked in surprise.

Sam took one look at her pink
ballerina costume complete with a rhinestone tiara, and purple and yellow
striped legwarmers, and groaned in disgust. “This is who you sent to design our
wedding dress?”