Planting her hands on her slender hips, the petite woman asked with an irritated tone, “Then what now? I can’t keep track of all the drama lately. I’m so sick of everything turning into World War III so the person at the bottom of the heap can get the spotlight back and I own a drama channel, for Pete’s sake.” Then she flapped her hands. “Anyway, spill the tea already.”
I found myself almost nodding my head and agreeing. Yeah. Spill the tea, Amazon Lady. But then I caught myself as shame crept along my cheeks in hot patches. I shouldn’t be eavesdropping.
And yet…
Amazon Lady flapped her hand, her nails bright and shimmering. “Ugh, right?” she said on a deep cackle. “It’s always something. Especially with these two, but this time, it’s a lot bigger than snatching a look or some promo op. Rumor has it, Ames is going to accuse Mitzy of stealing his deal—”
The crowd moved quite suddenly, and the entire room shifted again toward the front of the hall, leaving me standing with two mini sandwiches, a dry mouth, and no tea to spill in Coop’s lap on a feud between Ames and Mitzy.
I managed to almost make it back to our table, where I saw Coop, her eyes drawn to the front of the hall.
When I looked ahead and saw the reason the throng had suddenly begun to move once more. Mitzy’s assistant—I believe her name is Margot—had entered the large room by way of a gauzy curtain behind a podium at the front, microphone in hand.
“Heeey, Glitzy Ditzies!” she crooned, her voice sweetly southern as she waved to everyone. “Y’all ready for the one, the only, Glitzy Mitzy?”
The crowd began to clap excitedly, everyone pushing into everyone else to get as close to the podium on the dais as possible.
Margot, a pretty woman of probably no more than twenty-five with dark auburn hair and a smart pantsuit, smiled and winked before she said, “Then give it up for Glitzy Mitzy—everybody’s favorite makeup diva!”
The crowd went wild, clapping and screaming, even stomping their feet as Mitzy—whose last name was Cavanaugh—stepped out from behind that gorgeous confection of lavender and silver curtains, her ebony hair long and flowing down her back like a dark river of silk.
Coop’s body virtually shivered with all the joy she couldn’t express. It was in this moment I wished she were able to emote. This was tantamount to her first taste of idol worship and actually meeting Mitzy was a big deal. My idol had been Britney Spears. I know, I know, idolizing Britney is a bit warped in light of her struggles, but tell that to my pre-tween self.
I “Hit Me Baby One More Time” in my mirror with my hairbrush probably more than any set of parents should have to endure, but I loved her back then, and still have her on my playlist to this day. So I understood what Coop was going through right now, yet unable to fully express.
She gripped my arm and stood on her tiptoes as Mitzy took the microphone from her faithful assistant, Margot, with a warm smile and beamed at the crowd.
“Sqa-ueeeeeeee!” she belted out to them with a wave, coming around the podium to reach down and shake hands with some of the people packed up against the dais like sardines. “Hello, my lovely Ditzies in fa-bu-lous Portland, Oregon! Thank you for such a wonderful welcome. Are you ready to serve up some party realness with me?”
Everyone squeed madly in response, and some of the younger girls even cried.
Now, here’s the thing about my Britney obsession. I loved her, but probably not enough to cry. Mitzy’s fans reminded me of the craze the Beatles stirred. There was shouting and sobbing and a lot of runny eyeliner as a result of her entrance.
As she chattered excitedly into the microphone, two bulky men brought out a couch for her to sit on in lavender vinyl with silver pillows. She settled herself on it as Margot directed anyone with questions to line up at the microphones they’d placed sporadically in the crowd and at the floor under of the podium.
Mitzy looked gorgeous, of course. She’d worn a light purple dress that flowed about her knees with a high empire waist, square neckline, and long bell sleeves. Her nails, painted to complement her dress, were stark white in comparison, with some sort of purple design on them.
She crossed her ankles, the flash of her sparkly silver platform shoes catching the light, which happened to match her glitter eyeshadow in silver that enhanced her round, deep chocolate-brown eyes.
And so began an hour-long Q&A, but it was hard to hear much of the A portion of the Q&A, because every time Mitzy spoke a single word, the crowd erupted in screaming adulation. They became so loud, she got up a time or two and took the outstretched hands pleading with her to acknowledge them in order to quiet them down.
I left Coop to discuss her idol worship when Mitzy took a quick break and decided to once more go hunt down something to drink, while the crowd was gathered at the front of the room, waiting on Mitzy’s return.
Spying a table with what looked like bottles of water, I sauntered across the room, my mouth drier than dry, my eyelashes really beginning to bug me. As I went, I took pictures with my phone so I could document this auspicious event for Coop in case she became too enraptured and forgot to do it herself.
I scurried to the table and grabbed a bottle of lukewarm water while some bored waiters and waitresses stood by, watching the table with half an eye and very little interest, except for one elderly gentleman who winced every time the attendees did Mitzy’s signature squee.
I have to say, I was right there with him. Their battle cry was starting to become a little obnoxious.
Upon Mitzy’s return, her fans rallied again, and the squees became
