Calamity Jayne And The Trouble With Tandems Part 42

Whoop! Two handfuls of cake pelted Candice Keller.

For the next thirty seconds, all I saw were arms flailing and cake flying. I looked around, waiting for someone to pop out and yell, "You've been pranked!"

So. Didn't. Happen.

When all the available ammo had been exhausted (The vendor had quickly covered his other wares.) and my king cake reduced to crumbs, the battle was over.

Candice fished a hunk of pastry from the gaping crease of her cleavage and my mom pulled frosting from her hair.

Me? I was still trying to wrap my head around what had just transpired. And mourn the loss of my king cake.

"There is a bit of good news!" I said, as Taylor and I helped brush the cake from my mother's s.h.i.+rt and hair. "Jessica got the plastic baby. The next cake's on her."

"Oh, my lord," my mom said. "What is wrong with me? What have I become?" my mother said. "This is awful!"

I patted her on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, Mom. She threw the first piece," I said, trying to console her. "You're not becoming anything. You were provoked."

"Oh, my G.o.d!" she shook her head and looked like she'd just eaten an entire king cake. "I'm becoming your grandmother!"

I looked over at Taylor. I had nothing.

"Come on, Mom. Let's get you cleaned up," Taylor the wise said, taking charge, when a sudden commotion upstaged the soulful sounds of a strolling saxophone.

"Oh, my G.o.d! Help! Help me please! Someone help!"

We turned. And stared.

Tiara, sobbing uncontrollably and looking like she'd been pulled through a thicket the wrong way, clothes dirty and ripped, hair every which way and loose, ran to Keelie and grabbed her in a bear hug.

"Oh, thank G.o.d! Thank G.o.d!"

"Tiara?" Keelie said. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, G.o.d! Someone attacked me, Keelie! Someone tried to abduct me! Oh, my G.o.d. My G.o.d!"

Keelie stroked Tiara's hair and looked up, catching my eye.

Beware the masks of Mardi Gras," her tarot cards had said. Danger lurks where you least expect it.

I wondered if Keelie was thinking the same thing I was.

Oh, the voodoo that you do.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

Thank G.o.d for my mother and Epsom salts. The improvised sitz baths had done wonders for my...er, disposition. And the blessed, cooling relief came at the perfect time-the longest leg of the bike ride-eighty, tortuous miles-and then it was all downhill from there.

Literally.

Iowa City (home to the University of Iowa Hawkeyes) was the final host city. We'd leave tomorrow morning and head south to the Mississippi River and the end of the line.

Hallelujah and pa.s.s the inflatable doughnut seat cus.h.i.+on.

The host city has experience with the party scene due to the college town located there. I felt certain the community would pull out all the stops to provide a celebration worthy of their learning inst.i.tution's past rankings as "most partying school."

In short: the beer would flow.

There would, however, be partying of a very different type in the small town of Riverside. (Yup. Captain James Tiberius Kirk's Riverside.) The tiny town located just south of Iowa City planned its own Star Trek fest that would include a carnival featuring out-of-this-world rides (flying saucer, rock-o-plane, s.p.a.ce planes, moon-bounce inflatables, etc.) games where you could show off your phaser accuracy, and the big finale, the costumed street dance-the uber-stellar event touted as "your chance to party in the birthplace of the most famous Star Fleet captain." Van Vleet had hailed it as the party event of TribRide.

I shook my head.

I could see it now. Everyone dressed as the Trekkie of their choice, jiving to "s.p.a.ce Jam" and attempting to do the moonwalk.

Initially I hadn't been all that gung-ho about the stopover. But since I still hadn't had my turn at the helm, the back seat had little choice but to go where the front one went.

And surely there had to be something blog-worthy at such a spectacle.

We made decent time getting to Riverside. The weather and humidity had inched down from the previous sweltering conditions. Mid-eighties and a slight breeze? Sold!

We dismounted near the town square.

I stared. If I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't believe it. Iowa's rural countryside had turned into Star Trek's version of Comic-Con.

"Welcome to Riverside, earthlings. Future home of Captain James Tiberius Kirk."

I turned. A rather short, chunky Vulcan and his tall, skinny female counterpart, greeted us.

"Thank you, uh, er, Mr. Vulcan," I said, doing my own Vulcan hand sign right back at him. (I'm lucky. I can do it without having to use my other hand to separate the fingers.) "I am Sarek. Spock's father. This is Amanda, my wife. Spock's mother."

Oo-kay.

"Hey...there," I said and nodded at them both.

"It is a lovely day here in Riverside. I wish you and your companion enjoyment during your respite here," Spock's mother said.

"And I, too," Sarek concurred. "Live long and prosper, earthlings," he said, giving us the 'V' sign again.

I turned to Van Vleet.

"What was that?"

"Role-playing, of course. This is gonna be hilarious. Talk about YouTube fodder."

I looked over at him. "Wait a minute. Is this just another story to you? I thought you said you were a Star Trek fan."

He shrugged. "Who doesn't like Star Trek?" he said. "And any reporter worth their byline knows it's always about the next story, Blondie. No matter what."

I shook my head. It was the "no matter what" part where my compet.i.tor and I parted company. Unlike Drew the Shrew, "anything goes" was not the code of journalistic ethics I wanted to go with.

"Here." He thrust the bike in my direction. "You babysit the beast for a change. And make sure you secure it so it isn't stolen."

I grabbed the handlebars. "I'll keep our transport safe from Romulan raiders, sir!" I clicked my heels. "You can count on me."

Van Vleet muttered a dismissal Star Fleet would throw the book at him for and walked off. Meanwhile, I texted my own earthling mother to find out where she'd parked the shuttlecraft and slowly made my way there, pa.s.sing the Intergalactic Marketplace that, in addition to various alien species on parade, featured food, beverages, souvenirs, and the a.s.sorted wines and spirits. I stared at the replica of the U.S.S. Riverside near the square, making a mental note to get a selfie of me with the s.p.a.cecraft.

I spotted Kenny Grey's now familiar van and his small, canopied kiosk, but no sign of the artiste at his booth.

"Permission to come aboard!" I called out, pus.h.i.+ng the bike up to the RV and propping it near the door. "h.e.l.loo! Anybody here?"

The door opened. Keelie Keller stepped out. Her hair pulled tightly back at the crown in a ponytail, Keelie wore the little red mini dress that signified you were either yeoman or communications officer.

"There you are!" She said. "We've been waiting for you!"

"We?"

"Your mum and me."

"Oh?" I frowned. Keelie was hanging out with my mother again?

"Show her, Jean!" Keelie urged.

Jean?

"Show me what?" I asked, feeling the same level of anxiety I'd felt before opening any "gift" from my brother, Craig.

"Ta-da! We give you Yeoman Janice Rand!" my mother announced and stepped out, holding another red Star Trek mini dress in one hand and what looked like a Longaberger basket made of blonde hair in the other.

"What-I? Who?"

"The boots are inside!" Keelie said. "Your mum helped with sizes."

My eyes must've done a the-h.e.l.l-she-did number, because my mother shook her head.

"Said information to be held in the strictest of confidence, right Keelie?"

"Oh, sure. Of course," Keelie said. "It's just between us girls. Come on! Come on! Clean up and get into your costume! This is going to be so much fun!"

I stared at her, confused.

"Where's Tiara? She'll make a much better Yeoman whatever her name is than I will," I protested.

"No, she won't. I can't trust Tiara anymore. First, it was the deal with Jax at the covered bridge. Now the cops think she made up that story about almost being abducted."

I blinked.

"What? Tiara lied about the kidnapping? She made it up?"

Keelie shrugged. "Manny said some things didn't check out, so I don't know what to think."

"Where is Mr. Bodyguard, by the way?" I asked.

Keelie looked a bit sheepish. "He had to take care of something. I was supposed to stay in the bus until he got back, but I kind of sneaked out.

"You and Tiara have been best friends forever," I tried again, because it was true and because I so didn't want to squeeze into a mini dress and woven wig and parade around the square in the role of glorified maidservant. (Although I must admit, the boots intrigued me.) "I can't deal with Tiara right now," Keelie said, dismissing my protests. "So go on and get dressed, Tressa, and let's paint this town red!"

Hopefully not as in "expendable" red.

I said it before, and I'll say it again, red is so not my color.

Feeling railroaded, I nevertheless grabbed the togs from my mother. As I pa.s.sed, she whispered that there were clean undies in the bathroom. I only hoped she'd picked up a pair that wouldn't show those unsightly panty lines.

I balked when I spotted the black Spanx. I downright revolted when I saw the black panty hose sitting nearby.

No way, Mr. Roddenberry wherever you are. No flippin' way.

Panty hose and I share a tattered and torn past. Consequently, I avoid them whenever possible. And on an eighty degree day? That seemed reason enough for going the natural route-well, until I checked out legs that had gone too many days without seeing a razor.

"Nubs Central," I muttered, running a hand down my leg.

"What's that, Tressa?" my mom said.

"Nothing, Mom," I said, drawing a bead on the hosiery. "It's gonna be like this," I said. "You're going to cooperate. You are going to slide all the way up, including the all-important crotch area, and you're gonna stay where you belong, and you're going to do it all without a fight. Do we understand each other?"

"Tressa, who are you talking to?" My mother asked.

"I'm on the phone!" I lied. My mom already had enough problems. No sense adding to them with a daughter who threatened control top panty hose.

I took my quickie shower, patted dry, and dressed. Boots in hand, I stepped out of the trailer and took a seat in a nearby lawn chair.

"Hey! Where's your wig?" Keelie asked.

"I really don't think I need it. Yeoman Rand had blonde hair, right? I have blonde hair. So, why do I need a wig?"

"Because, silly goose, the woven beehive hair is Yeoman Rand's trademark. It's what sets her apart. Makes her distinct. Without it, you're just another blonde Yeoman."

I grimaced. "A blonde Yeoman who won't pa.s.s out due to heatstroke!"

Keelie grabbed the wig and plopped it on my head. "Sometimes beauty is painful," she said. "Surely you've endured waxes. Besides, you don't have to wear it that long. Just long enough to stroll around Riverside a bit."