Tales of a Drama Queen (23 page)

“Elle,” Neil calls from across the room. “It's Carlos. He says he forgot to tell you, your check bounced.”

Well, at least things can't get worse. Then I catch a flash of ginger freak-hair at the door.

“What are
you
doing here?” I say in horror. He's not due for days. Oh, God. He said I shouldn't do anything, and I'm doing
everything!

“Lucy,”
he says.
“I'm home.”

“Oh, do you live here?” Louis asks him. “I just came to get my stamps.” He holds out his hand to Merrick. “Louis Ferris. Elle's ex-fiancé. This is my wife, Lisa. And you are?”

“I'm…” he looks from Louis to me. “I guess I'm Merrick.”

He smiles at me, calm and centered, as the barrage continues. He's a comforting and familiar touchstone amid the craziness. And it hits me: Dingle's credit card receipts.

I uncrumple them from my sticky fingers. They aren't Dingle's receipts at all. Not only are the numbers all different, but the names are, too. Why would he have other people's credit card receipts in his pocket?

“—would somebody…” the Dingle pants. “Grab that…
fucking
…dog!”

“So the crème brûlée hospitalized you, but you didn't sue?” Joshua says to Louis.

“I had no idea her credit was so bad,” Neil says. “She told me she was an eclectic consultant.”

“SHUT UP!” I shriek.

The room quiets. Six pairs of eyes turn toward me. Seven, including Miu.

I glance at Merrick and say: “You might be wondering why I called you all here today.”

T
he next evening, I'm at Shika. Miu Miu is on her towel. Maya, Perfect Brad, Mr. Goldman and Monty are all here. Neil came along with some of the people from the argument group. And Merrick is here.

He came home two days early from New York. I asked why.

He said: “You know why.”

I've been tingling for a full day from those three little words:
you know why.

Haven't had a chance to do much more than tingle, though. I've been busy. Phone calls, mostly. Hey, you can't expect fame and fortune to be served to you on a silver platter with a watercress garnish. You've got to do it for yourself.

“So tell us what happened, Elle,” PB says.

“What makes you think I had anything to do with it?” I ask, as we all watch the old TV over the bar. “Maybe they just have excellent investigative reporters.”

Neil flares up about the state of reporting in the world today, but everyone shushes him as the TV says: “Up next, we have the local psychic who found Holly-Go-Lightly, the dog-napped puppy.”

“How
did
you know?” Perfect Brad asks again.

“Pillow talk, probably,” Maya says, with an evil grin. “You
know
she had a thing for that Dingle.”

“Maya!” her father says. “Elle's a good girl. She'd never do anything to be ashamed of.”

Universal groans.

“She wouldn't!” he insists.

“What I want to know,” Monty says, “is if you got the reward. The check cleared?”

I'm about to answer—it did, indeed!—when the segment starts. “Wait, wait! There I am—oh, God. I'm
fat.
I'm huge. You need a wide-screen TV to see all of me. Look at my neck! I'm a linebacker, I'm—”

This time I'm the one who's shushed, as PB turns up the volume. On TV, I'm standing next to Sally Ameson, in the YSL suit I got at the vintage store downtown. I went light on eye makeup, and used red matte lipstick. I think it works. I look vaguely old-world—and chock-full of the Gift. Oh, and I'm cradling the cutest golden retriever pup in creation. I had to fight Ameson for the privilege, but I've been tooth-and-clawing it so long, she didn't stand a chance.

“Do you like my suit? I wanted to wear a pillbox hat, but couldn't find one. Sort of a Jackie O meets Miss Cleo thing. Does my hair really
look
like that? Oh God, kill me now.”

I'm shushed again, as Merrick takes my hand under the bar. He squeezes it tightly. I tingle. But quietly.

“I'm just happy she's back where she belongs,” the me on TV says. “That's the most important thing. I hardly feel I deserve all this attention. It's all in a day's work for an intuitive counselor.”

“I nailed that!” I crow. I was afraid I'd call myself a psychic.

“You're a big fat liar,” Maya says. “All in a day's work.”

They shush her. Ha! Maya is shushed in favor of me. That's a first.

“—could hardly believe it when Miss Medina called,” Ameson says on TV. “As far as I'm concerned, she's an angel. An absolute angel.”

When she said that, I attempted to look angelic, but merely achieved a sort of colicky expression. The TV cuts to a clip of the Dingle being shoved into the back of a cop car as the anchorman wraps up the details of his arrest.

“That wasn't really Holly-Go-Lightly,” I say.

“The puppy you were holding?” Maya asks.

“Yeah. Holly's all skinny and teenaged now. The producer insisted Sally substitute a more photogenic puppy for the story.”

“I'm not surprised,” Neil says.

“Okay,” PB says. “Now you
have
to tell us.”

Merrick smiles at me. He's the only one who knows the whole story. And it's just been a blur. It started with my epiphany during the fiasco in my apartment: all those credit card receipts. The golden retriever Dingle owned, the receipt from Ameson Kennels. And realizing that the Dingle was just a white-Mike Tyson version of Joshua.

I shoved Neil off the phone to speak with Carlos, my credit card expert. I called Spenser for Hire. Then Sally Ameson. Then the newspaper and local TV. Oh, and the cops got involved, too, of course. I had to let them take
some
credit.

I offer PB a mysterious smile. “It's the Gift, Brad. I am merely a tool in the hands of a higher power, which—”

I am hooted down. Anyway, I keep him guessing for a few minutes, then spill. My version is quite a bit more accurate than what appeared the next morning in the
Santa Barbara News-Press:

 

Quality veterinary care, and the psychic prowess of Elle Medina! Though I'm not sure about that “naked women dancing” quote. Surely they could have used something better. Still, it's the Sunday edition, and there's a color picture of me with Holly and Spenser.

When I told Spenser he'd get some credit for the collar, he forgave me for the lawsuit and offered me a “consultant's fee,” which I turned down. Well, I was getting the reward anyway, and it didn't seem right. I did get a great testimonial from Sally Ameson, though, for the ads I'm gonna run in the local paper.

In the meantime, Maya and Merrick have convinced me to reapply to graduate school in psychology. There are four schools that offer programs here in Santa Barbara, so I won't have to leave town, and I've decided maybe they're right, it's time to take myself seriously.

Carlos is trying to convince his bosses to reward me for stopping the Dingle scam, with a check in the exact amount of my debts. We'll see. He says it's a done deal, but I'm not counting on it. I don't have to. I'm counting on me.

 

I am feeding Miu when the phone rings.

“Elle, this is Nyla. You probably don't remember me, but—”

“Don't be silly! Of
course
I remember you.”

I'm not even surprised to hear from her. I had coffee with Darwin and Adele—well, Adele had herbal tea—and I gave them my phone number. They've referred a bunch of old clients to me. So I do phone consultations in addition to my regular appointments. I'm averaging eight clients a week. One hundred bucks a client. There's tax, of course, but I'm just starting out and work should increase once I get my degree and…well, you do the math.

“We got separated,” Nyla says. “Well, really, I left him.”

“
You
left
him?
”

“Temporarily. You know, I think he was taking me for granted. And I guess I was taking him for granted, too.”

“You sound pretty okay with it.”

“I'm really okay with it,” Nyla says. “I'm working at the bookstore, and we're dating. Getting to know each other again.”

I laugh. “And getting to know yourself, too, right?”

“It sounds stupid,” Nyla says, “but you know…I have a feeling it's gonna work. What do you think?”

“The cards tell me,” I say, “it's all gonna be okay.”

“E
lle! What are you doing here?”

“Bathing,” I say.

“How did you get in?”

“Neil.”

“I knew he'd abuse his key privileges.” Merrick tries to sound disappointed, but can't keep the grin out of his voice. “This is a terrible betrayal of trust.”

I smile as I sink beneath the bubbles in Merrick's bathtub. It's as good as my fantasy, soaking in a gigantic vat of steaming water overlooking the wide blue sea.

Merrick steps into the bathroom from the hallway. I like the way he walks across a room. I like the way his hand feels trailing though bubbles on my arm. I like the way his eyes crinkle when he notices the three-wicked candle. I like the way I don't have to pretend when he's around.

And I like the way his hair looks. Under the skylight I notice it's a natural dark brown.

“My niece finally got it right,” he says.

Oh, my. Ginger Freak-head has turned to Mahogany Adonis.

“Speaking of getting things right,” I say, glancing at the windowsills. “I see what you mean. They
are
different shades. You better get your painter back in here—they're ruining my bath.”

“I don't think so,” he says, his hand moving deeper into the water. “Because you know what I learned?”

“What's that?”

“The best things in life are always a little different.”

Hey! He learned that from
me.
I'm not only learning lessons, I'm teaching them. I tell him how wise I am.

He leans over the tub and I kiss him, pressing my wet body against his chest. A tidal wave sloshes over the edge.

“Whoa,” he says, laughing and drenched. “Settle down there, Medina.”

“I never settle,” I say, and pull him in.