Getting Lucky (The Marilyns) (19 page)

“I see.” Will looked at Lucky. “How come I wasn’t invited?” He felt left out.

“Come on. Like you would have let us burn your gavel. You loved that thing.” She pulled him to her in a little hug. “It went up quickly. Don’t worry, it didn’t suffer too much.”

“Glad to hear it.” He nuzzled her cheek. “Next time you decide to burn something of mine, do me a favor and invite me to the ceremony. I deserve to plead its case.”

“That’s so sweet, but no. Not gonna happen.” Lucky smiled up at him.

When she smiled at him like that, he’d agree to let her burn everything he owned. She had her arm around him and was making plans that involved him and the girls. His life couldn’t get much better than this.

“Mama, we need your help ASAP.” Lucky banged on the door of Mama Cherie’s trailer.

“Hold your horses,” Mama yelled from the other side of the door. “I’m coming.”

She answered the door in a fire-engine-red Lycra miniskirt and a silver sequin tube top with “Lover” written across the chest in red sequins. If Santa had naughty, way-past-middle-aged elves, Mama would be their leader.

“Whatcha need? I’m kinda in the middle of something.” Mama smiled and did her best to block the door.

Lucky peeked around her. A GoPro HD camera sat on a tripod filming the bed. The deep purple satin cover and hot pink sheets were rumpled.

“Oh my God! You’re not making your own adult videos again, are you?” Lucky shook her head. “I know for a fact that YouTube banned you for life.”

“Some people are so touchy. Girls With Toys got close to a billion hits before YouTube took my channel away. Narrow-minded bastards.” Mama folded. “My fans were so disappointed. It’s hard to keep up a good fan base when you can’t post new material.”

“Is that what you’re doing now? Interacting with the fans?” Lucky choked down the vomit burning the back of her throat. Mama had been born without modesty and, some would say, taste—she loved her body and wanted lots of other people to love it too. When it came to men, Mama wasn’t too discerning. All she required was a penis, a pulse, and proof that he was between the ages of eighteen and two hundred.

“If you dropped by to interrogate me about my hobbies, I’m busy.” Mama stepped back and would have closed the door, but Lucky held it open.

“Mandy needs help with flirting. There’s this boy at school—”

“Marek.” She nodded. “I’m your girl.” She glanced down. “Let me change into something a little less comfortable and meet you in the kitchen in ten minutes.”

Lucky knew that when Mama said she was putting on something less comfortable, it meant underwear. Lucky swallowed hard to keep the contents of her stomach in her stomach.

“Sure.” Lucky turned around and headed back to the house. If Mandy wanted to learn the fine art of flirting, Mama was the logical go-to person. She’d taught Lucky, Betts, and Charlie all about flirting and how to handle men in general.

Mama might be slutty, but she knew men … lots of them.

Ten minutes later, Mama sauntered in on six-inch silver-and-red-rhinestone-bedazzled heels and holding a faded green spiral notebook with Mama Sutra written on the front in black block letters. Lucky grinned. This was Mama’s secret love manual filled with sage advice, raunchy details, and stick figure drawings that would make a porn star blush.

She walked right up to the kitchen table, produced a ruler that had been tucked into the back waistband of her miniskirt, and opened the Mama Sutra. “Let’s begin.”

With the ruler, Mama pointed to the oath written on the front page. “She must take the oath before gaining access to all the knowledge in this book.”

“I think we can dispense with the oath.” Lucky slid the book over and closed the cover. “I’m not sure I want her taking it.”

“No oath, no lesson.” Mama was firm.

Mandy reached across the table, snagged the book, and slid it in front of her. She opened the cover and silently read the oath. Her eyes turned huge. “Cool.”

Lucky tried to grab the book, but Mandy scooted it out of her reach. She flipped to the middle, and her eyes got even bigger. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“You can’t just flip to the middle. That’s like opening the Bible in the middle and trying to figure who Jesus is.” Mama read over her shoulder. “Oh, that’s not hard, but balance is key. I did it twice last week.”

This time, Lucky did manage to grab the book and close it. “Flirting only.”

She glared at Mama. “You can teach her the rest after she turns twenty-one and has watched the most graphic natural childbirth show I can find.”

Watching the miracle of birth was the best birth control in the world.

Mama glared right back. “Fine.” She let out a long, frustrated breath. “But she’s wearing the wrong shoes. Flirting is nuanced and requires high heels.”

They all looked down at Mandy’s ratty black ballet flats. They’d bought lots of new shoes for Mandy but no high heels.

“Then off to my closet we go.” Lucky gestured to the upstairs. “I have all the high heels needed for proper flirt training.”

In the back of her mind, a little warning bell chimed. At one time, she’d had all the shoes needed for flirt training—for anything—but now, the pickings were beyond slim. She’d kept some of her very favorite pairs, but Mama would notice the lack of quantity. Reality pressed down upon her shoulders. The lie she’d been living was about to come to a screeching halt. In her stomach, butterflies ricocheted off each other in a demolition derby of nerves. Everyone would know. Her fingers shook.

It was fourth grade all over again. The year before her mother died. Back then, she’d lived in Houma, Louisiana, with her mom in a rusted-out single-wide on Bayou Black. The trailer had smelled like cat piss and desperation, but it hadn’t mattered. Her dad had run off, leaving them alone. No one yelled or got drunk and smacked her around.

On her ninth birthday, she’d gotten a brand new pair of white canvas tennis shoes. The first new pair of shoes she’d ever had. Lucky smiled at the memory. They’d been a little too small, but she hadn’t cared. She’d been so proud of those damn shoes … all clean and white. She remembered looking forward to wearing them to school the next day.

That night, two men had pounded on the RV door and told her mother that they had to get out because her father had lost their home in a poker game. All Lucky’d been able to take were the clothes on her back. Every day for the next week, she’d had to go to school in the very same clothes because she hadn’t had anything else. The taunts from the kids hadn’t touched her, but the pitying glances from the teachers had made her feel completely worthless.

It was about to happen again. As soon as she opened her shoe closet, Mama would know the truth, and then she’d pity Lucky. In her heart, she knew it shouldn’t matter, but that little girl who’d never gotten to wear those new white shoes resided deep in Lucky’s soul.

Anxiety mounted with every step. It wasn’t just pride that had made her keep her situation a secret, it was shame. She’d been without for most of her childhood and should have known to save for a rainy day, but she hadn’t. The thought hadn’t occurred to her. When she’d married at eighteen, she’d been young and naïve, but that was almost two decades ago. Hadn’t she learned anything?

Lucky kept her eyes on Mandy, who’d been through so much in her short life. The girl had lost her parents, her home, and the only life she’d known. She didn’t bitch and moan about her lack of shoes. She was strong and independent.

The loss of some shoes didn’t seem so bad. Lucky could brave a little humiliation. Her pulse settled. How bad could it be? Besides, someone was bound to find out about all the stuff she’d sold. Maybe she could lie and tell them she’d donated most of her shoes and clothes to charity.

More lying would only make it worse. Lucky felt small and petty. Here she was worrying more about what her friends would think if they found out that she’d been flat broke, and Mandy was mending an old dress so she would have something to wear to a dance. Perspective was a nasty bitch. Lucky wanted to kick her own ass. It was past time for her to come clean. “Mama, there’s something I need to tell you.”

She opened her mouth to confess, but nothing came out. Why couldn’t she say it? What shame was there in finding herself in a bad situation, using the resources she had at hand, and supporting herself? She hadn’t asked for help, she’d done it all on her own.

That knowledge did almost nothing to pacify the little girl inside who’d had a lifetime of pity. Was it pity to see someone in need and help? Had any one of those well-meaning teachers ever made fun of her? No, they had offered her a conveniently brought extra sandwich or some running shoes that their daughter had outgrown or some jeans that just happened to be her size. Not once had they asked questions or belittled or made a production of their help. They’d looked out for her…. That wasn’t pity, it was kindness.

Hadn’t she been appalled by the girls’ genuine suspicion of kindness?

“I need to be up front with you. Before this Bravo deal, I’d been selling my things to make ends meet. I should have asked for help, but I didn’t. I’m sorry.” Lucky hung her head. It was out. Wasn’t confession supposed to be good for the soul? She took stock … nope, no change. Her soul was exactly the same as it had been ten seconds ago.

Mama slung an arm around her shoulders. “Duh. Who do you think SEXYMAMA69 is?”

“What?” Lucky glanced up to find Mama smiling at her. SEXYMAMA69 was one of her best customers. “I don’t understand.”

“Just because you didn’t ask doesn’t mean we didn’t help. We all have our issues, and yours is asking for help. I’ve known you since you were fourteen. Don’t you think I’d notice when something was wrong?”

Mama was SEXYMAMA69. How had Lucky missed that?

“But … Betts and Charlie?” She swallowed. “Do they know?”

“Remember CHUCKINHEELS and BABYMOMMA02? I’m kinda disappointed that you didn’t figure it out.”

All the subterfuge seemed like a huge waste of time now. Everyone knew…. Shit, she was the only person who hadn’t accepted that she’d been down and out.

She’d been a fool … and given up some of her most prized possessions.

“Those … you are my best customers.” Lucky shook her head. “Wait, who’s WABROCKS101?”

Lucky knew the answer as soon the question was out of her mouth. “WAB … Willis Arturo Brodie … Will.”

Crap. He knew too. Now her humiliation was complete … or was it? She didn’t feel particularly humiliated; in fact, she felt relieved at not having to hide it anymore. Her friends hadn’t bought her things because they pitied her but because they loved her and wanted her to be okay. Could that have also been the motivation of those well-meaning teachers?

Pity and coming to someone’s aid weren’t the same. One was all about noticing a need while the other was about taking care of it. Deep down, she felt that little girl slide on those white canvas shoes, step out of the darkness, and let it go.

“So where’s all my stuff?”

“The things I bought are in the Airstream. I don’t know about everybody else.” Mama’s eyebrows twitched. They would have done more except for the Botox holding them frozen in place. “I’m keeping the Judith Lieber.” She winked. “I did sleep with Steven Tyler, so I more than earned it. That man can do more with his pinkie than most men could do with their entire body.” She fanned herself. “Good times.”

Lucky clamped her hands over her ears. “Stop talking!”

“You are such a prude. I bet you only wear white cotton underwear.” Mama shook her head. “All that money spent at Frederick’s of Hollywood on making sure you had proper undergarments and you end up as a white-cotton disappointment. Why do I even bother?”

“I don’t think you can use the words ‘proper’ and ‘Frederick’s of Hollywood’ in the same sentence.” Lucky checked the impulse to pull down the waistband of her low-riders and prove that she wasn’t a white-cotton disappointment, but that would have given Mama lots of satisfaction. “Why are you so interested in other people’s underwear?”

“Underwear is the window into the sexual soul. It has many stories to tell. What you choose to wear close to your skin says a lot about you.” Mama was as serious as she ever got.

“Underwear stories. Sounds like an HBO series.” Lucky grimaced. “I don’t want to hear any stories told by dirty underwear.”

Mandy nodded in agreement. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Help me, Jesus.” Mama shrugged in desperation. “I am surrounded by white-cotton disappointments. What is the world coming to?”

Lucky put an arm around her. “You must persevere. We’re counting on you to turn our white-cotton ways into raunchy, red, crotchless Satan panties.”

Mama squared her shoulders. “You’re right. I have work to do.”

“Are you two always like this?” Mandy looked from Mama to Lucky and back again.

“Yes.” Lucky nodded. “And no. Wait until Charlie, Betts, Mama, and I are all in the same room. It’s life-changing.”

“And loud,” Mama chimed in as she put an arm around Mandy. “I’m counting on you to spice things up. Without me, Lucky and her friends would always drive five miles under the speed limit, never return clothes after they’d worn them, and never get thrown out of a bar. They’re just sad-sack blobs of vanilla pudding, waiting for me to sprinkle on the fun.”

“I guess all of that Botox has paralyzed your brain.” Lucky hip-bumped Mama, who passed it on to Mandy.

“You’re probably right, but my face is pretty damn wrinkle-free for a thirty-four-year-old.”

“Stop counting your age in dog years.” Lucky looked at Mandy. “You’ll be happy to know that insanity in Mama’s bloodline seems to have begun with her mother and ended with her.”

“Excuse me. I’m thirty-four. My driver’s license proves it. Wanna see?”

“Really?” Lucky shook her head. “Most people get a fake ID so they appear older. Leave it to you to get one so you can claim to be younger.”

“It is an official government document, so therefore, it must be true.” Mama smiled.

“So were the arrest warrants during the Salem Witch Trials. Do you really believe all those people were doing the devil’s work?”