In seventh-grade Ancient History, we learned that the Greeks and Romans believed strongly in portents and omens. Like if a blackbird flew overhead, they took that as a bad sign and called off their mission, went home, got cozy by the fire, and settled in to read a good wax tablet or scroll or something.
They had the right idea. We were innocently walking through the lobby on our way to Madame Tussauds when I saw Alyson and Veronique coming toward us. At that moment, I should have turned on my heel and picked up the first wax tablet I could lay my hands on. What worse omen could there be but the Evil Henches? Especially Evil Henches who were wearing bright orange Ultrasuede tops about the size of my palm (not counting the single shoulder strap on Alyson’s or the halter ties on Veronique’s), miniskirts that were only slightly larger, and matching boots with fringes and beads. Yes, BEADS. Both of them. Because you wouldn’t want to be out on the town like that alone.
Although if I’d left, I would have missed Roxy saying, “But what is Pocahontas wearing if they have all her clothes?”
And Tom saying, “No one told me Thing One and Thing Two were going to be here.”
And Polly saying, “Ack! I think I just went blind!” Which, all taken together, wasn’t just MasterCard. It was MasterCard Platinum.
You see why I love my friends.
Except for this one tiny problem: Tom is like crack cocaine to Alyson and Veronique. They can’t get enough of him. One glimpse and they go crazy.
He makes them so high that they almost forget they hate me on general principle, hate Roxy for being prettier than them, and especially hate Polly, because even to the Henched Ones, it’s clear that Tom entertains a special tender feeling for her. Almost makes them forget, but not quite. Still, they go out of their way to be nice to Roxy, because they think it will make Tom like them. Polly and me they largely ignore.
Veronique started waving frantically at us, as if we could have missed the love children of Pocahontas and Destiny’s Child parading through a casino, and they were breathless when they reached us.
“OmygodTommyTomTom hi!” Veronique screeched, throwing her arms around him.
Alyson took a more sophisticated approach. She blew one of her world-class bubbles—bright orange. Thank God she’d coordinated her gum with her outfit—and said, “Hi, Tomás. When did you blow in?” Alyson believes that since Tom and Roxy’s parents are from Mexico, his name must have some kind of accent in it, which she alone, of all people on the planet, pronounces correctly. This, it turns out, is totally not true. But it is fun to watch her do it, so none of us corrects her.
Then she turned her bubble prowess on Roxy. “Hi, Roxána,” she said, massacring yet another name. “Wow, I really like your necklace-slash-choker.”
“Thanks,” Roxy said, fingering the purple dog collar. “My mother brought it back from Paris-slash-France. Everyone there is wearing them this year.”
“For real?” Veronique asked. “What does that tag mean? Bubba?”
“It’s the brand. The best kind.” Roxy likes to lie and, unlike Tom, is super good at it. Some might think this is a vice, but I think it’s a real talent when used on the right people.
“Hi, Allie. Hi, Vera,” Polly said, calling them by their least favorite nicknames.
Alyson turned toward Polly and squinted. “Oh, um, Polly. Hi. I didn’t notice you there. You just, like, blend in with the decor.”
Little Life Lesson 23: Before making a snide comment about someone else’s outfit, check to see if you’re wearing knee boots with fringe. If you answer yes, drop it. Just do.
Unaware of this important lesson, Alyson felt she’d scored big and refocused her attention on her main man. “How long are you hanging around, Tomás?”
“Yeah, do you need a room?” Veronique asked. “We’ve got some extra space in our bed. It’d be totally Visa,” she added with a wink.13
Tom swallowed hard, thanked the Evil Henches, and quickly explained that he and Roxy had gotten a suite, and also that we were on our way to Madame Tussauds, but he’d look out for them later.
Ah, what a dreamer, that Tom. Veronique said, “Right on! See you later, TomTomgator.” But Alyson jumped all over going to Madame Tussauds as if it were an extra-credit paper she could use to raise her grade point average above mine (never happen, short girl), saying, “Check it: Veronique and I were just saying we wanted to go there! We’ll slide along!”
“Totally!” Veronique said, and they flanked Tom on either side and dragged him up the escalator.
“Check it?” Roxy repeated as we followed behind them.
“Totally,” Polly said. “Let’s slide.”
I think the Evil Hench Trolls must have been pummeling Tom’s shapely calves with their fringe beads all the way to Madame Tussauds, because when we caught up with them at the entrance, his face was looking pained. Or maybe it was just their company.
It was five o’clock, half an hour before my assignation. Our plan was for everyone else to go in ahead of me, scout the place, and assume reconnaissance positions. Then I would enter as though I was alone, and head to Mohammad Ali.
Saying “I’ll see you inside,” I turned toward the moving walkway that led to Sephora. I needed a new blush brush, obviously, and Polly had given me a list of things to buy that might compensate for my “absurd packing notions.”14
“Aren’t you coming in with us, Jas?” Veronique wanted to know.
Polly said, “She’s meeting someone.”
Alyson frowned in the middle of the bubble she was blowing. “You have a date? With what?”
Ooh, good one. Too bad about the FRINGE BOOTS.
Polly answered for me. “Jas has an admirer.”
“Probably some geek.” Alyson reasserted her grasp on Tom’s arm, said, “Well, we don’t have to wait,” and clickity-clacked on her Hench claws into the museum. Okay, she didn’t, because she was wearing boots, but she could have.
“Check y’all later, homies,” I said to Roxy and Polly, and then bolted down the moving walkway before they could make faces at me. I could hear Polly saying, “Oh no you di-in’t just say that, girlfriend,” behind me as I went.
Sephora is a really good place to kill time, but it is more fun when Polly is there bossing me around, so I got back to the museum early, went through the Rat Pack room and the Hollywood Celebrity room and was standing in front of Mohammad Ali by 5:20. I know it’s not right to show up for a date too early and look all eager, but I couldn’t stop myself. And it wasn’t just that I missed Polly’s shopping assistance.
It was that I wanted to know exactly what part Jack played in all of this. Badly. Because I was really hoping it wasn’t the villain.
That’s what I was thinking about when all the lights went off and the shooting started.