Read Online Randall #01 - The Best Revenge by Anne R. Allen - Free Book Online
Authors: Anne R. Allen
Tags: humerous mystery
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head pounded. Her mother took Valium all the time, so she figured it couldn’t be terribly dangerous. She popped off the cap and took two.
Chapter 7—Making Guacamole
When Camilla woke up, the clock by her bed said 10:49. The noise around her was surreal. Electronic Devo grunts chugged in her ear, and hordes of humanity yammered outside her door. She forced herself out of bed and hoped nobody would walk in as she dressed. There was no lock on the door.
She knew she shouldn’t look like a “major wimp” for Jennifer’s TV star, so she put on a slinky little Bob Mackie gold slip dress with a plunging neckline. Her hair didn’t look as bad as it might have, even though it was limp from the hot tub. It had turned very blonde in the California sun. With some eye make-up, she managed to make herself look fairly human. Finally, she felt prepared to open her bedroom door.
She had to try about four times, but when she got it open enough to squeeze outside, the man who had been leaning against it gave her a nasty look—as if she had no right to be there.
She couldn’t believe how many bodies were crushed into the tiny living room. Was this really better than going back to Connecticut?
Yes. She thought of her mother’s call today and realized anything, even this, was better than going to that wedding.
Searching the crowd for a familiar face, she caught sight of Wave, perched on the back of the couch. She still wore her micro-shorts and beach top, to which she’d added a leather motorcycle jacket. She’d gelled her hair to look dark and spiky, and wore one huge, dangling black earring—a sort of a “Gidget Goes Punk” look. She was talking to a darkly handsome man wearing what appeared to be an authentic 1940’s pinstriped suit over a T-shirt printed with an advertisement for shock absorbers. Wave stared into his tanned face with unconcealed rapture.
As she made her way toward them, Camilla tried to picture the actors on “Darrell and Darryl” and wondered if Mr. Pinstripes was the famous star. But by the time she had squeezed her way to the couch, he’d gone.
“Camel!” Wave said. “Welcome to the land of the living. Awesome party, huh?”
“I’m not really awake yet.” Camilla was feeling not so much awed as squished.
“No problem. I’ve got your wake-up call right here.” Wave reached into her shorts pocket. “I saved enough for a few lines.” She put the glass vial in Camilla’s hand.
“Thanks,” Camilla said, trying to give it back. “But I think I’ll eat something first. Besides…” She smoothed the sides of her skimpy dress. “I don’t have any pockets.”
“Put it in your bra.” Wave’s attention moved from the vial to Pinstripes, who pushed his way toward them with a beer in each hand. He was amazingly good-looking.
“Is that him, the TV star?”
“Don’t be a doofus. That’s our garbage man. Jimmy.” Wave blew the man a kiss. “You probably don’t recognize him without his uniform. I invited him on Tuesday morning. He was throwing our cans in the neighbor’s yard again, so I told him he could do something useful for a change and bring beer to our party. Cute, huh?”
“Is he here—that actor Don-Jon?”
“Jon-Don. Yeah. Somewhere. But he brought his girlfriend. Jennifer’s totally suicidal. Especially since Mike hasn’t even shown up.” Wave smiled happily and turned to greet Jimmy the garbage man.
Acutely aware of the vial in her hand, Camilla decided to head for the kitchen. But the kitchen was, if possible, even more crowded than the living room. She pretended to fiddle with her dress strap and hid the vial where Wave suggested.
Being in the kitchen reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since morning. Fighting through the crowd to the refrigerator, she managed to open it a crack, but found nothing but a huge quantity of beer and a few bottles of wine. She took a can of light beer and inched her way to the cupboard in search
Chapter 7—Making Guacamole
When Camilla woke up, the clock by her bed said 10:49. The noise around her was surreal. Electronic Devo grunts chugged in her ear, and hordes of humanity yammered outside her door. She forced herself out of bed and hoped nobody would walk in as she dressed. There was no lock on the door.
She knew she shouldn’t look like a “major wimp” for Jennifer’s TV star, so she put on a slinky little Bob Mackie gold slip dress with a plunging neckline. Her hair didn’t look as bad as it might have, even though it was limp from the hot tub. It had turned very blonde in the California sun. With some eye make-up, she managed to make herself look fairly human. Finally, she felt prepared to open her bedroom door.
She had to try about four times, but when she got it open enough to squeeze outside, the man who had been leaning against it gave her a nasty look—as if she had no right to be there.
She couldn’t believe how many bodies were crushed into the tiny living room. Was this really better than going back to Connecticut?
Yes. She thought of her mother’s call today and realized anything, even this, was better than going to that wedding.
Searching the crowd for a familiar face, she caught sight of Wave, perched on the back of the couch. She still wore her micro-shorts and beach top, to which she’d added a leather motorcycle jacket. She’d gelled her hair to look dark and spiky, and wore one huge, dangling black earring—a sort of a “Gidget Goes Punk” look. She was talking to a darkly handsome man wearing what appeared to be an authentic 1940’s pinstriped suit over a T-shirt printed with an advertisement for shock absorbers. Wave stared into his tanned face with unconcealed rapture.
As she made her way toward them, Camilla tried to picture the actors on “Darrell and Darryl” and wondered if Mr. Pinstripes was the famous star. But by the time she had squeezed her way to the couch, he’d gone.
“Camel!” Wave said. “Welcome to the land of the living. Awesome party, huh?”
“I’m not really awake yet.” Camilla was feeling not so much awed as squished.
“No problem. I’ve got your wake-up call right here.” Wave reached into her shorts pocket. “I saved enough for a few lines.” She put the glass vial in Camilla’s hand.
“Thanks,” Camilla said, trying to give it back. “But I think I’ll eat something first. Besides…” She smoothed the sides of her skimpy dress. “I don’t have any pockets.”
“Put it in your bra.” Wave’s attention moved from the vial to Pinstripes, who pushed his way toward them with a beer in each hand. He was amazingly good-looking.
“Is that him, the TV star?”
“Don’t be a doofus. That’s our garbage man. Jimmy.” Wave blew the man a kiss. “You probably don’t recognize him without his uniform. I invited him on Tuesday morning. He was throwing our cans in the neighbor’s yard again, so I told him he could do something useful for a change and bring beer to our party. Cute, huh?”
“Is he here—that actor Don-Jon?”
“Jon-Don. Yeah. Somewhere. But he brought his girlfriend. Jennifer’s totally suicidal. Especially since Mike hasn’t even shown up.” Wave smiled happily and turned to greet Jimmy the garbage man.
Acutely aware of the vial in her hand, Camilla decided to head for the kitchen. But the kitchen was, if possible, even more crowded than the living room. She pretended to fiddle with her dress strap and hid the vial where Wave suggested.
Being in the kitchen reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since morning. Fighting through the crowd to the refrigerator, she managed to open it a crack, but found nothing but a huge quantity of beer and a few bottles of wine. She took a can of light beer and inched her way to the cupboard in search
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