Beauty Queens Part 33

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

It was a fine day of blue, cloudless skies and unhurried winds. The sort of day that inspires confidence in the state of the world. If Taylor had been back home, she would have considered it a perfect tanning day and gone for a fresh coat of color. But she had more important things to think about just now. She had work to do, and as she worked, she hummed an old show tune. It was a song she had used in a previous pageant, a song about how you couldn't get a man with a gun, which was silly - of course you could get just about anything with a gun! But it calmed her to sing it now as she attached the red, blue, and white wires to the statue of Miss Miss.

Heavenly stars, but she'd had a busy few days! After attacking the guards, she'd relieved them of their weapons and buried them in a shallow storage pit beneath Our Lady. The trip wires had not been easy to rig. She'd had to go deeper into the jungle to find vines that were strong enough, and she'd had to make sure they were low enough to the ground so as not to be seen. One wrong step and that person would be hoisted high into the trees to dangle by a foot until they pa.s.sed out or Taylor felt merciful, whichever came first. Probably the pa.s.sing out. She'd dug two deep holes. These she covered with leaves and branches and marked with tiny crosses so that she would remember not to step there. But oh, there was so much to do still. It was just like getting ready for pageant time, and it filled Taylor with a happy sense of purpose. Ever since getting shot by those darts, Taylor had had a teensy bit of trouble organizing her thoughts. That's what lists were for. When Taylor competed, she always made lists. They were very helpful. She made one now in her head. It went like this: Melt down jewelry for arrowheads Dig pit Surveillance Construct bows Practice!

Interview portion Projectile launch/avocado mask Rea.s.semble AK-47 Construct bomb Moisturize Yes, lists were essential if you were going to be a serious compet.i.tor. And n.o.body was more serious about competing than Taylor Rene Krystal Hawkins.

"Miss Texas, who's got her wires crossed," Ladybird Hope cautioned. She'd changed into a sarong and put a flower in her hair, which was, of course, just perfect.

"Oh my stars!" Taylor rethreaded the wires. She shook her head at her clumsiness. "That's almost like wearing red for evening gown. Everybody knows the judges like pastels."

"Amen." Ladybird Hope peeled a banana. She had a French manicure. "You're gonna need a what next, Taylor?"

"An accelerant."

"That's my girl."

Taylor opened the jar of Lady 'Stache Off cream and put it in position. Under the label, the jar had a small radioactive symbol. "There. This Miss is ready to greet her subjects."

Ladybird Hope patted Taylor lightly on the back. "I'm so proud of you, Taylor. You really are a Miss Teen Dream."

"Just hearing that from you, Ladybird, well, it's like I've already won." Taylor's eyes misted with tears.

"None of that, now. Save the tears for your victory walk. Otherwise it looks premature and the judges will think you're c.o.c.ky. Or emotionally unstable. Or premenstrual. None of that will get you a crown."

"You're so right. Buck up, Miss Texas." Taylor dabbed at her lashes with her knuckles. Then she tested the digital watch she'd taken off the guard's wrist. It was a standard issue military timepiece and it counted down just fine.

"It's a whole new world of pretty. ..." She sang the Miss Teen Dream theme song as she worked. She clicked the watch into place and closed Our Lady, smoothing out the wrinkles on her sash. With that, the sculpture was not only beautifully accessorized, she was fully armed.

"Who messes with Miss Teen Dream?" Ladybird Hope asked.

"n.o.body," Taylor answered. She smeared mud and tree sap to camouflage her face and arms till she seemed an outgrowth of the island. She almost sensed the black s.h.i.+rts before she saw them on their way to the beach and the other girls.

"I think they might be messing with our pretty. What do you think we should do, Miss Texas?" Taylor whispered. She wasn't sure if she'd said it aloud or inside her head. It was hard to tell the difference anymore.

"A Miss Teen Dream doesn't rely on others to solve her problems. She tackles her issues head-on, with a smile and a wave," said her other self.

Tears filled Taylor's eyes. "You're so right."

"Of course I'm right," said her other self. "I wrote the book on right. Silent Somersault?"

"I think so, yes."

When Taylor had won Miss Dustbowl County, she'd wowed the judges with her signature gymnastics move, the Silent Somersault, a series of revolutions that happened so fast, no one could hear her feet and hands touching earth. Now she flew in a beautiful blur of spandex and sequins, a girlish ninja star arcing through the air. And when she brought her feet down on the men, snapping their necks like cheap drugstore straws, they never heard a thing. Carefully, quickly, she pulled their bodies into a nearby ravine.

"Cover 'em up good," said the other Taylor from her perch in a tree. "They'll come looking. And take their walkie-talkies, too."

Taylor nodded, but secretly she worried that the judges wouldn't like this. It seemed a little overt. She might lose a point or two and have to make it up in swimsuit or talent. But it had to be done.

With a heavy sigh, Taylor examined the hands that had done this thing, her hands, as if seeing them for the first time. The long, slim fingers. The mud-caked knuckles. The strip of pale skin on her fourth finger where her sweet sixteen ring had been. She turned her hands over and over, palms to backs, backs to palms, marveling. She bent her fingers to inspect her nails and the frown returned.

No. This was all wrong. What had she done? When did this happen?

"Oh, no," she said as her eyes filled with tears. "I broke a nail."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE.

The next morning, Duff found Adina by the lagoon tending to the fis.h.i.+ng lines. His eye was swollen and purplish, and Adina wished she could feel some satisfaction that Mary Lou's punch had been so effective, but she only felt the pain of betrayal.

"Adina. Can you just stop for a sec and listen to me?" he said.

"I'm working. You'll have to deal." She expertly repaired a section of the line that had been nibbled by fish.

"I'm sorry," Duff said at last. "I never meant to hurt you."

Adina allowed a small "ha!" She kept her focus on the line as she blinked back tears.

"I don't blame you for hating me."

"Gosh, it's so nice to have your approval," Adina growled.

Duff dug at the sand with a stick. "The producers asked us to keep personal blogs to attract a fan base. Sinjin was the most popular, of course. I couldn't think of anything to say. I mean, I'm just a bloke on a boat trying to figure out who I am and what I want to do." He offered a small, apologetic shrug. "Anyway, I was reading about Casanova, and something clicked. I settled on that persona and started blogging about my supposed conquests. I was getting more hits a day than the other chaps, and the producers were talking spin-off show and ... I just didn't know how to stop." Duff waited for Adina to say something. When she was quiet, he said, "I'm really, really sorry. I'm a messed-up guy. But I do really like you, Adina. I didn't lie about that part."

Adina's mind was tempted with flea-market promises: He's only lost. Confused. Wounded. You could save him. Change him. Make him. It would hurt a little. Maybe a lot. And then he would love you forever. And his love would prove your lovability. She remembered what her mother said the day Johnny, husband #3, moved the rest of his guitar collection into the rented U-Haul and drove it away to live with a Hooters waitress named Fragile. Her mother had curled her hair and put on a fresh coat of lipstick and stood on the porch, watching the U-Haul's shadow clawing along the street. Adina waited for her mother to throw her coffee cup. Call him a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Do a little dance. Instead, she said softly, "What's wrong with me?" Adina had hated her mother for saying that. And she hated that some part of her asked the same thing now.

Don't cry, she told herself, and yanked hard on the fis.h.i.+ng line, stumbling as she dislodged whatever was stuck.

She screamed as the bloated body washed toward her.

"Something's not right on this island," Sinjin said between kisses, and Petra grew quiet for a moment.

"Was that a double entendre?"

"No, luv. I'm serious. That girl - the barmy one ..."

"Taylor."

"Yeah. Ahmed said she was wearing a man's black s.h.i.+rt. Where did she get it?"

"Maybe it was in her luggage all along?" Petra said, but she didn't really believe it.

Sinjin mulled it over. "Say, you're not, like, a competing show designed to give our show a hard time? Like a Survivor Versus Survivor concept? And you're the surprise we have to figure out. Like you're really the Sirens who lure us off course and we have to resist you."

"Did you just make a reference to Greek literature?"

"I suppose I did."

"Totally crus.h.i.+ng on you in a Homeric way."

Sinjin waggled his eyebrows. "I fancy a bit of the Homeric way." Petra went in for a kiss and Sinjin stopped her lips with his fingers. "You're sure you're not some sort of creepy double agents connected with those black s.h.i.+rts?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Give us a kiss and make an honest pirate of us," Sinjin said.

"Oh my G.o.d! Adina just found a body," Nicole said, racing by.

"A body!" Mary Lou said, her heart beating faster. Could it be Tane? Was that why she hadn't seen him? She tried to put that thought out of her mind as she ran toward the lagoon with the others.

They dragged the body onto the beach and rolled him over.

He was wearing a black T-s.h.i.+rt. But other than that, there was no way to know who he was.

CLa.s.sIFIED.

THE REPUBLIC OF CHACHA.

13:45 HOURS.

The red phone rang and MoMo grabbed it quickly. "It is you, my dove?"

"Now, who else would it be, MoMo?"

MoMo smiled, then frowned. "When is MoMo to receive his weapons, Ladybird? Already, I have funneled one billion dertmaz into your account through secret means and killed everyone involved with the transaction. Also, you have said unkind things about The Peac.o.c.k in the press."

"Oh now, MoMo, you know that's just politics. Once I'm president, I'll lift the sanctions against your country."

"You are the femur of my inst.i.tution, Ladybird Hope. Long may you wave. When you are president, our union will set free the doves of entropy. When can we be together as we were in the hot tub here at Camp Peac.o.c.k?"

"Remember, MoMo, we've gotta keep that part a secret."

"We can't go on together with suspicious minds." MoMo giggled.

"That giggle is disturbing, MoMo. I've told you about that."

"I am sorry, my dove. It's just that I have been thinking about our agreement and making the amends to it." MoMo played the finger drum set he kept on his desk beside a bust of himself and one of General Good Times.

"You see, I have in my possession a very special video, which would make your election to president very difficult."

"I thought you destroyed that, MoMo."

"I hear you might get rid of the MoMo."

"Now, why would I do that?"

"I am thinking a June wedding. Is very nice in the ROC in June."

"MoMo? Have you been nipping off the crazy juice again? You and I can't get married."

"Why not? Is perfect way to solve all our problems. Will be like royal wedding, and our faces will be on plates for the peoples to eat from. And we could to have the situation comedy on television. Maybe with nutty neighbor who borrows our plunger and makes to ogle the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of our daughter all the time."

There was a moment of silence on the other end.

"Okie dokie, Peac.o.c.k," Ladybird purred. "First we do the arms deal and you secure The Corporation's rights in the ROC. Then we'll plan the wedding. Three days."

"I count the time like my hemorrhoids."

"TMI, MoMo."

"TMI to you, too, my darling."

Agent Jones had been summoned to the conference room. Urgent was the only word on his pager. Ladybird sat waiting for him on the flat-screen TV. She did not look happy.

"Agent Jones. Report on the girls."

"Um, no change. They're doing okay. In fact, they're proving to be surprisingly resourceful."

"Resourceful? You want to talk resourceful? Resourceful is being from a backwater town in Idaho and making it from Miss Teen Dream to Corporation stockholder to presidential candidate without letting your lipstick go cakey once, Agent Jones. Resourceful is trying to figure out what to do when your secret arms deal and your foolproof plan for gettin' elected go to H-E-double-hockey-sticks." On the screen, Ladybird Hope spray-painted an a.s.sault rifle with a stencil of her name in bubble letters.

Agent Jones stood with his hands behind his back. He knew from experience that silence was often the best offensive. In a moment, Ladybird inspected her stencil work and smiled. "I do love me some arts and crafts. Anyway. Me and the Board have talked it over, and it seems to us that we're missing a valuable opportunity here. Why just drill when we can take over the whole dang country?"