The Phantom of Oz Page 18

  “Is Babette here?” asked the Scarecrow.

  “No,” said Desirée. “She’s getting ready for her party.”

  Madison pulled on her mom’s arm. “You’re not still going to that, are you?”

  “Are we sure she’s not here?” I asked. “This stunt does seem like the kind of thing—”

  “If Babette was here, she’d be tweeting about it.” Dorothy joined us onstage. “We all know that. But she’s not. Instead she just tweeted this.” She held up her phone and we crowded around. There on the tiny screen was a photo of Babette at a bar.

  With her arm around Candy.

  Chapter 38

  Under a Very Dangerous Spell

  As soon as rehearsal ended, I called Arrestadt and told him about Babette’s warning to me, her latest Tweet, and Madison’s unexpected bubble tour. “Shit. Not another accident,” he said. “I’m about ready to sacrifice a munchkin if I thought it’d appease the ghost.”

  I bet I knew which one.

  “Let me check out Babette’s Tweet. I’ll call you right back.” He was as good as his word. “That photo was taken before Candy’s disappearance,” Arrestadt said when he rang me back. “I’m sure of it.”

  The picture looked like it had been taken in a bar. I’d have to examine it more closely later.

  “I don’t think it’s suspicious. It’s just Babette’s way of keeping the buzz going, making sure Candace is on everyone’s mind and in their newsfeed.”

  Dang. I was hoping Babette was hiding Candy and was going to spring her on the public with a big PR stunt. Maybe she still would. “That means Candy’s still missing. I did find evidence she was in the spring room, but that could’ve been anytime. I think.”

  “You think it could’ve been anytime?”

  “That, plus I think it was evidence. A MoonPie wrapper. But I can’t find it.”

  “I don’t think it’s important. Candace told me she’d been down there. Probably doing her eating in secret.” He sighed.

  That made sense, but Uncle Bob had taught me to trust my intuition, and my gut told me Candy was in trouble. “I don’t feel good about this. I don’t think the accidents are connected to Candy, and she’s been gone since Sunday night. I think it’s time to call the police.”

  “No.”

  I waited for an explanation. Nothing.

  “Why not?”

  Still nothing.

  “Okay, I’m making an executive decision here. I’m going to hang up and call—”

  “Wait.” A sigh on the other end of the line. “Babette asked me to keep Candace’s disappearance private.”

  “And you agreed because...?”

  Another sigh. “Babette carries lot of weight in Hollywood. “

  Arrestadt was a famous director. Babette was a reality TV star. Something wasn’t right.

  “She’s...friendly—extremely friendly—with a producer who has a script...”

  “That you want to direct.” Sheesh. Did this entertainment business never get any easier? Always someone holding an apple in front of you.

  “It worries me,” said Arrestadt, “that Babette wants to keep this quiet. She’s usually all over any chance for publicity like flies on...well, you know.”

  I was half listening to him, my brain distracted by my apple thought. It wasn’t quite right; there was an error in that image somewhere.

  “I think she really believes that Candace is her meal ticket,” said Arrestadt. “God, I hope not. It’d be the end of Candace as we know her.”

  Ah. It wasn’t an apple that people dangled in front of suckers. It was a carrot. But no, the image remained in my head: a hand offering a juicy red apple as a lure.

  “I think she must be worried that whatever has happened to Candy would be the wrong kind of publicity.”

  That tore me away from my internal movie. “Really? Isn’t all publicity good publicity?” I could see the headlines. “You know, ‘New It Girl Kidnapped,’ or ‘New It Girl Tries to Escape the Limelight,’ or ‘New It Girl—’”

  “‘Arrested for Possession of Drugs,’” finished Arrestadt. “And it would be especially bad if a celebrity was getting her those drugs.”

  “You’re not talking about yourself, are you?” I almost hoped so.

  “No,” Arrestadt said, and my mind completed the image it’d been searching for—Snow White and a witch’s hand, holding out a poisoned apple.

  “What do you know that you’re not telling me?” I asked Arrestadt.

  “I don’t know anything,” he said. “But Candace’s behavior has changed since she met Babette. I’m pretty sure she was, uh, binging and purging for a while, but lately...” He trailed off.

  “Go on.”

  “She hasn’t been using the bathroom as often, she’s not ever hungry, and she’s full of energy, really hyper, not sleeping much.”

  “And you suspect Babette is behind the switch?”

  “Google Babette Firman and eating disorders,” he said. “I think you’ll see why I’m worried.”

  I hung up and did so. Yikes. The Queen of Mean came down especially hard on people with bulimia. “It’s gross,” she was quoted as saying. “Barfing up your food? Could you get any more disgusting? Besides, all that vomit rots their teeth and makes their breath smell like dog puke.” And then she said something particularly interesting: “With so many other ways to lose weight, why would anyone stoop to that level?” When the reporter questioned her about the “other ways,” she replied, “There’s a magic pill for everything, sweetie.”

  Arrestadt obviously thought Candy had turned from bulimia to Babette’s magic pills. I did too. But why did he think the drugs were illegal? I called Pink. “Anything more on that blue pill I gave you?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “It looks like it’s a big thing. A bunch of them coming in from Albania. Some new sort of diet drug ring.”

  “Really?

  “No, not really. You asked me to look into it on Monday. Donuts and charm only go so far.” He chuckled. “You are the most gullible person I’ve ever met.”

  “Yeah, thanks. Hey, could diet pills be illegal drugs?”

  “Depends on what’s in them. Amphetamines, methamphetamines, heroine—they can all make you drop weight. And yeah, those are illegal.”

  I had a thought. “How about Botox parties? Are they legal?”

  “Don’t know why they wouldn’t be. It’s a legal substance.”

  “Even with a doctor from Mexico?”

  “As far as we’re concerned, it’d be like hiring a Mexican bartender, as long as the guy was certified to administer the stuff.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ll call you when I know more about the pills. And, hey, you’re not thinking of going to that...party, are you?”

  “Nah.”

  Good thing he couldn’t see I had my fingers crossed.

  Chapter 39

  Horrible, Unparalleled and Repulsive Ugliness

  I couldn’t believe I was actually going to go through with it. I took a deep breath and knocked on the hotel room door.

  “Who is it?” came a voice from inside.

  “It’s Gorgeous,” I said. Madison had overheard the secret password from her mom.

  A woman opened the door. “Come on in,” she said. “We’ve already started, but there’s room for one more.”

  The room was full of chattering women and a few men. They lounged on chairs and sofas in the large suite. I didn’t recognize any of them, though all of them had fake tans and too-white teeth and…Ivy. Listen to yourself. For God’s sake, they’re all here because they’re unhappy with their bodies. Probably all actors. Probably just like you.

  Wow, this judgment thing went deeper than I thought.

  “Why don’t you grab some food while you wait?” The woman who’d gree
ted me gestured to a sideboard laden with dishes. It was not laden with food, unless you counted carrots and celery sticks, and…ooh, little baby corn. There was also a copious amount of alcohol, but I grabbed a Perrier (and a few baby corns) and sat on the edge of a chair. I scanned the room for Candy, in case Babette was hiding her. If she was, she had done a pretty good job.

  Babette was standing in the center of that room, leaning over a woman in a chair. A black-haired man in a white lab coat stood next to her, beside a small table holding vials and syringes.

  “What about those lines?” Babette pointed at the woman’s face. “Or should I say crevices?” She brayed a laugh, throwing back her head and nearly knocking herself off her red cowboy boots. Must’ve been into the tequila.

  “Babette.” The woman in the chair was Desirée. I’d recognize that sex kitten voice anywhere. “We all can’t have your perfect skin.”

  Babette’s skin was far from perfect, but her butt must have been awfully soft, all those people kissing it all the time. Ooh, that was mean, Ivy. I really didn’t like the person I turned into around Babette.

  The man leaned close to Desirée. He was incredibly handsome, with olive skin, full lips, and wavy black hair. He looked more like a gigolo than a doctor. Was he a doctor? Would a real doctor do a party like this? “What do you think, sweetheart?” he said to Desirée in a Spanish-accented voice. “Just the forehead or do you want me to take care of those crow’s feet too?”

  “Let’s go for it.” Desirée’s voice didn’t sound as sure as her words. “Will it hurt?

  “Oh. My. God,” Babette said loud enough to be heard in the next county. “Your face is a work of art.”

  “Thank you,” Desirée said hesitantly.

  “And it wasn’t God who was the artist. For God’s sake, woman, don’t you think we can all tell you’ve had work done?”

  The man picked up a syringe and positioned the needle over Desirée’s forehead. I stood up to get a better view. The needle was nearly touching her face when...

  Bam, bam, bam! Someone pounded on the door. “Open up. Police.”

  The doctor jumped. The room burst into movement and noise.

  “Omigod, omigod.”

  “Is this illegal?”

  “Are we going to jail?”

  “Will everyone know?”

  I crept close to the door.

  “You are all a big bunch of pussies.” Babette was unruffled. “We’re not doing anything illegal. They’re probably just journalists who want a scoop.”

  “I’ll find out.” I peered through the peephole. “Uh, looks like police to me. Uniforms and all.”

  “They’re just scavengers.”

  “The police?”

  “Journalists. They’re just journalists dressed up like police.”

  “I don’t think they’d go that far,” I said. “I’m pretty sure that impersonating a police officer is a felony.”

  “Open up!” I jumped as they pounded on the door again.

  The doctor actually squealed. “Oh, for God’s sake, Miguel,” Babette said to him. “Go hide in the bathroom.”

  “Why should he hide?” asked Desirée. “You said this was legal.”

  “Botox, yes,” said Babette. “Miguel, not so much.” Then to his retreating back, “There’s a window in the bathroom if you need to get out.”

  “Aren’t we on the thirteenth floor?” he asked.

  Bam, bam, bam! “Open up!”

  I stood next to the door, waiting for a nod from Babette.

  “Okay,” she said once Miguel was safely out of sight. “Go ahead.”

  I opened the door. In strode Eden, Logan, and Madison. “The other boys bailed,” Eden whispered to me as she passed. “Big eighties dance party somewhere.”

  Babette looked mad enough to eat my face. “You said it was the police.”

  Logan, who wore mirrored aviator glasses, crossed his arms across his chest. “We’re the stupidity police.” He strode over to the small table next to Desirée and picked up two of the syringes, holding them in the air like two pistols pre-duel.

  “This is an intervention.” Madison walked over and stood next to her mom. I couldn’t read Desirée’s face.

  “We’re here to save you from yourselves,” said Eden.

  “And from that spawn of Satan.” Logan thrust his chin at Babette.

  “And we want you to stop—” Eden planted her feet and held out her hand like a traffic cop (or Diana Ross) “—injecting yourselves with poison.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” Babette sagged in relief.

  “Poison,” Eden repeated. “Botulism. Botox is made from botulism.” She picked up the syringe that Miguel had put down and squirted the liquid inside into the air. Everyone backed away from the fine spray, even though they’d been ready to put it in their bodies just moments before. “Botox paralyzes your muscles. Is that what you really want? A paralyzed poisoned face?”

  “It’s not so bad,” said a woman with a suspiciously immobile face. A murmur of assent came from the people in the room.

  “It doesn’t hurt,” said another.

  “You could even call it a feminist gesture,” a young woman added. “We’re taking back control of our bodies.”

  “Taking it back from who?” asked Madison. She turned to Eden. “Does that even make sense?”

  “Not to me.” Eden raised her voice. “Listen to yourselves. You’re rationalizing putting poison into your bodies so you can attain a false idea of beauty—”

  “Come off it, hippo,” said Babette. “You just wish Botox could cure that big ass of yours. Butt Botox.” She laughed.

  Eden’s face didn’t ripple. If anything, she looked beatific. “Listen to the beauty that lives within you,” shouted our fig-shaped Joan of Arc. “Not this ugly old woman.”

  Gasps all around, whether because of “ugly” or “old,” I wasn’t sure.

  Babette’s Botoxed face couldn’t move much, but it could turn purple, and it did. She stomped toward Eden, who stood her ground.

  “Mom.” Madison tugged on Desirée’s sleeve. “Please don’t do it. Let’s go home. Let’s just go home.”

  Huh. Desirée flinched each time her daughter said “home.” Madison must have noticed too, because she said, “Not even that. Let’s just go back to our hotel—”

  Crack! Everyone who’d been watching the mother-daughter drama turned toward the sound. There was a red stinging mark on the left side of Eden’s face. Babette stood, hand still outstretched, breathing hard. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

  “The devil?” Logan started for Babette. She turned to him and snarled. “Maybe,” she said. “At the very least you’re dealing with the authorized occupant of this hotel room. And if you don’t leave right now I’m calling hotel security.”

  Logan stopped and looked to Eden. “It’s okay, Logan.” She opened the door wide. “All right. Who’s with us? Come on, you gorgeous real people, escape this poisonous place, this old, ugly—” Babette recoiled at the words “—venomous creature while you can.”

  No one moved.

  “Mama, please?” said Madison. “I’ll stop asking to go home. I promise. You’re already the most beautiful lady I know. And Eden will make you some magic panties so you can believe it.”

  “The best magic panties ever,” said Eden.

  “Oh. My. God.” Babette collapsed onto a couch. She waved a limp hand at Desirée. “Would you just leave and take your godawful ugly brat with you?”

  Desirée obviously hadn’t had Botox. Her placid china doll face morphed into something beautiful and menacing, like that Indian goddess who eats demons. “You are the filthiest piece of garbage I have ever seen, and I’ve seen it all. I’ve lived in Hollywood for twenty years.” Desirée trembled with anger. “You are a...waste of space.”
>
  Babette laughed out loud at the flat insult. “A waste of space? Me? You, lady,” she said to Desirée, who had her arm around Madison, “should’ve had that abortion.”

  “Aah!” Desirée lunged at Babette, crimson talons outstretched.

  Logan grabbed her from behind. “Don’t give her the power,” he said. “It’s not worth it. Besides, she’ll get hers.” He pulled her toward the door.

  Desirée shook him off. “This isn’t over,” she said to Babette. Her voice was steady, but her eyes were burning.

  “So sue me,” said the she-devil. “Hey, you can use the money from your divorce settlement.”

  Madison looked at her mom, wide-eyed.

  “Oh, that’s right,” continued the evil witch. “You won’t get any. Too bad about that pre-nup. And too bad your husband didn’t dump you before you were all used up. You really should stay for some Botox, lady.”

  I couldn’t stand it anymore. I wanted to smack that smirk off Babette so hard her face would be halfway to Dallas before the rest of her caught up. I started for her.

  “Ivy.” Eden’s gentle voice stopped me. “Don’t. Karma will take care of this.”

  “And I’ll take care of you.” Babette waved at our group. “Don’t think I won’t. Now get out of here.”

  Chapter 40

  What Love Meant, And Hatred

  Someone shut the hotel door firmly behind us.

  And I didn’t even get a chance to look for Candy. “Well, that was a bust,” I said.

  “Yeah,” said Logan.

  “It was not.” Eden’s face still had that saint-like glow. “We saved one beauty.” She smiled at Desirée. “More will follow. Just wait.”

  Madison hugged her mom around the waist, burying her face in Desirée’s silk shirt. She looked about three.

  “Isn’t Madison a little young for this type of thing?” I whispered to Eden.

  “Never too young to stand up for what’s right,” Eden said. Then louder, “But we’d better get out of here before security shows up.”

  Three of us started for the elevator. Madison didn’t move, so Desirée couldn’t either. “Come on, sweetheart.” Desirée’s sex kitten voice had a new current of strength underneath, like a mother lioness. “Let’s go.”