10
Thinking about the fundraiser kept me up half the night, wondering how I was going to pull it off. My mind racing, I obsessed my way through the most logical choices:
We could sell parts from jacked cars.
Or incredibly ugly clothing.
We could send Crazy Jake out to photograph weddings.
Or rent out Delmar and Reggie by the hour. They had enough groupies waiting for them every day outside the gates of Monroe Street. I had no doubt we could make a few bucks.
The solution to my problem hit as most solutions do, right around three in the morning. That gave me the rest of the night to worry about my other problem-the one involving the dead secretary and her just-as-dead-but-not- gone boss.
Believe me, even though I was thinking fundraising, I hadn’t forgotten about either Lamar or Vera Blaine. I even had a plan. The next morning, dragging from lack of sleep but looking as good as ever thanks to a little under-eye concealer, a gold-colored organic cotton tunic that brought out the fiery highlights in my hair, and a pair of khakis, I arrived at Monroe Street with a bus schedule in hand.
After all, I couldn’t show up in my Mustang when I went to look for a used car.
I convened an early-morning meeting with my teammates inside the mausoleum, the better to keep Greer from sneaking up on us, or our fans outside the fence from catching wind of our plans. Waiting for everyone to get settled, I glanced around.
Big points for Absalom. He’d agreed to enter the mausoleum, even if he was plastered against the door. Of course, he’d brought reinforcements. He had a new, small voodoo doll clutched in one hand. It was dressed in leather, and its hair was the color of popcorn-buttery, light, and fluffy.
As soon as he sat down, Delmar opened his sketchbook and got to work drawing one of the architectural details inside the mausoleum. For all I knew, it was that dental thing Ella had talked about the day before. Reggie was leaning against the wall. Sammi looked bored and a little sticky in a white vinyl top, white vinyl shorts, and a sparkling headband designed (I’m sure) to look like a halo. It was a little too out there for me, but Crazy Jake liked it. He took a picture.
I tried for a smile and hoped to hell it looked enthusiastic. This was a tough crowd; they couldn’t be easily fooled.
“We’re going to do an art show,” I said.
When my brilliant suggestion was met with stony silence, I looked around at my teammates again. “Come on, I thought you’d all be a little more enthusiastic.”
“We would, if we cared.” This from Sammi, who pulled an emery board from a purse made out of a Cheerio’s box and got to work on her nails.
“We don’t know nothin’ about art,” Reggie said. “Unless you’re talking porn.” He wiggled his eyebrows. I pretended not to notice.
“What, we’re supposed to hang with some snooty art crowd?” Delmar was not happy even thinking about this. “You expect us to sip wine and walk around some stupid, stuffy art gallery and-”
“Now, now.” From his place near the door, Absalom quieted the protests. “Let’s hear the lady out,” he said. “She’s probably as crazy as a loon, but you never know.”
I thanked him with a smile. “My mom used to chair fundraisers all the time,” I told them. “You know, for my dance school when we planned a trip to New York to see the Rockettes, or for one of the medical associations my dad belonged to, or…” I waved away the rest of the explanation. I could already see that my teammates weren’t interested. Even with Absalom’s support, I knew I’d be in trouble if I didn’t get right down to business.
“I remember when she did a couple art gallery fundraisers. They brought in a lot of people and a lot of money. And you heard what Mae said yesterday, the rules state that the team that brings in the most money is going to get extra points in the competition. But Delmar, you’re right. The people who came to those art shows, well, they were a boring crowd. Which is why we’re not going to feature some artist nobody’s ever heard of whose paintings nobody likes anyway. Our art show is bound to be way more interesting than any tea Team One could host. Our art show is going to feature all of you.”
I waited for the shouts of triumph. The ones that would proclaim my brilliance.
When all I got was blank looks, I acted like it didn’t matter and went right on.
“Absalom, you make your voodoo dolls from pieces and parts of old cars, right?”
He looked at the doll in his hands. “Not always old cars. Sometimes, when we chop one that’s really fine-you know a Hummer or a Lexus-I like to do something a little special. This one’s got bits of the leather upholstery from a BMW 335i, see.” He held up the doll. “The hair’s made out of stuffing inside the front seat of an Audi Q7,” he said. “And the body-”
I stopped him with a look. It was probably best if we didn’t know any more details. “Sammi, you have your original clothing designs you could show off, and Delmar, you’ve got your drawings.”
“I have pictures.” As if to prove it, Jake took one.
“And me?” His arms crossed over his chest, Reggie’s chin shot out. I knew a challenge when I saw one, and I was prepared for it.
“I was going to ask you to be our curator,” I said, pulling out one of the art history degree words my parents had paid a bundle for me to learn and I’d never used. “You’re going to be in charge of designing the displays and figuring out how to put it all together.”
Utter silence.
Until Absalom breathed, “No shit!”
And with his official approval noted, the rest of the crew went right along.
“Can we sell our stuff?” Sammi asked. “I mean, if it’s on display and somebody asks-”
“I don’t see why not. And you can keep all that money.” I doubted it was how real art shows worked, but there was no way this crowd was going to cooperate otherwise. “We’ll make our money from the tickets we sell to people to get in to see the show. I know Ella will let us use space at Garden View for the exhibit, and she’s got lots of connections. We’ll get cheese and fruit and wine donated. It’s perfect.”
It apparently was. When they went out to begin the work of assessing the damage, then lifting and resetting the headstones that had been toppled over the years, my teammates were actually discussing the show and what they’d each do to prepare for it.
Did their unusual cooperation and good spirits make me complacent? Absolutely!
Which is why I wasn’t prepared when just a couple minutes later, I heard a scream that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
I raced into our section and found that Absalom, Reggie, and Delmar had beaten me to the fence. Jake didn’t waste any time. He was already taking pictures of Sammi, eye to eye with that cheatin’ dog, Virgil.
The screaming I heard was coming from Virgil. I didn’t recognize his voice because it was a couple octaves higher than any guy’s ought to be. But then, he had a good excuse. Sammi had waited for him to get nice and close, then reached through the fence and grabbed him by the balls. She wasn’t about to let go, either. The more he howled, the harder she squeezed.
There was plenty of commotion, what with Virgil’s wailing, Sammi’s triumphant shouts, the rest of the team’s urging her on, and our fans outside the fence cheering like they were at a football game. That would explain how Greer and her ever-present cameraman appeared out of nowhere.
They started filming the moment Greer realized there was murder in Sammi’s eyes and her face was twisted with anger. “You got a lot of nerve comin’ here and tellin’ me Carmela’s pregnant,” Sammi yelled. “Gee, Virgil, I don’t suppose you know who the kid’s father is, do you?”
In spite of his pain, Virgil managed a smirk. It was not a good strategy.
Sammi’s face went pale. Right before a color like fire shot up her neck and into her cheeks. Honest to gosh, it looked like her head was going to explode.
That’s why I moved forward and dared to put a hand on her arm. “Sammi-”
