Cupcakes, Diaries, and Rotten Inquiries: A Romantic, Comedic Annie Graceland Mystery, #6 Page 5

  I went along with it because while everything is usually about me—today was actually a little about Annie. More specifically, it was about trying to de-stress Annie, who was so wound up after yesterday’s events with Mack, I could practically see the energy zipping off her like mini-sparklers on the fourth of July.

  Grady’s jeans were rolled up to his knees. One foot soaked in the warm waters of a pedicure bowl while an energetic, silver-haired woman scrubbed his other foot with a pumice stone. He wriggled a bit and yelped. “Ouch! Sorry!”

  “You no like?” she asked.

  “I like fine. What is your name?”

  “Tina. You want foot massage? Five dollar extra for ten minutes.”

  “No thanks. Just a pedicure,” he said.

  Tina frowned and scrubbed his calloused heel more aggressively. He winced and peered at Annie who sat at the mani-pedi station next to him. Her feet also rested in a bowl of warm water, while an older man massaged her shoulders. Her eyes were closed and her head lolled onto her chest. “Next time we go to Groom in We-Ho,” Grady said. “The techs at Groom aren’t mean.”

  “One person’s mean is a another person’s dream,” Annie said. “Witness the success of Twilight and it’s fan-fiction inspired love-child, Fifty Shades of Gray.”

  “I did not understand the Fifty Shades thing,” Julia said as a nail tech applied a clear base coat onto her fingernails. “Hot sex with a guy who wants his woman to walk behind him to show respect? I don’t think so.”

  “Hello!” I stood up from my rickety chair and strode into the middle of this pathetic hellhole. It was filled with shrines to gods I was not familiar with. It was stuffed with enough vinyl and fake flowers to launch a full-blown allergy attack from all the dust if I were still living. But I wasn’t, and yet I needed to speak up now and stop being a victim.

  “It’s me, Dr. Derrick Fuller. I am requiring a bit of manly grooming. I fear I’m being discriminated against simply because I’m dead. I would hope that someone in your beautifying community might be able to spend a little time trimming my errant eyebrow hairs, and perhaps touch up my cuticles.”

  No one in the entire joint looked at me except for Annie, who eyed me and lifted one eyebrow. “Seriously?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m discovering that no one cares about your rights after you die. It’s a disgusting way of profiling people and I simply won’t have it.” I stomped my foot.

  Annie shook her head. “A little to the left, please,” she said to the masseur. “I have this nasty knot where my shoulder meets my neck. It’s from all the stress. Derrick, no one can see you except for me, and other dead people. I understand your frustration, but this is a tall hurdle to vault over.”

  Grady’s foot flew out of the pedicure bowl, kicked Tina’s shin, and sprayed water across her face. “Derrick’s here?”

  Tina scooted away from him, frowned, and wiped her face with her sleeve. “You no like Tina—you simply say so.” She shook her finger at him. “No violence!”

  “My sincerest apologies. I do like you, Tina,” Grady said. “I’ve changed my mind. Can I please have the extra foot massage for five dollars?”

  “Ten dollars,” Tina said.

  “Fine, ten dollars,” Grady said.

  “Nice sucking up,” Annie said.

  “Very good!” Tina scooted back in, grabbed a plastic bottle, squeezed lotion onto his shins, and dragged her hands down the front of his legs to his feet.

  “Where is Derrick?” Grady glanced around the salon and peered right though me. “What is his frustration? Can I help him soar over his hurdle?”

  “Oh, for God’s sakes, Grady.” Julia stared at her nails, mesmerized as the tech applied her signature poppy red polish. “Why are you overly-intrigued with that man?”

  “Because he’s a ghost!” Grady said.

  “Annie talks to plenty of ghosts,” Julia said and then coughed. “I mean hosts. Besides, he was a hack when he was alive, and now he’s an afterthought. He’s no longer relevant. No one cares about dead Derrick Fuller.”

  Do you see what I mean, Diary? The disrespect for the departed is rampant.

  “I care. I’m writing a murder mystery about a ghost,” Grady said, “and the psychic who falls for him. It’s part paranormal comedic mystery with a side of horror.”

  “No. Way.” Annie’s head snapped up and she jabbed her index finger toward me. “Let me fill you in on the horror part. That would be the repercussions that rain down on you like fire and brimstone if you include a character in your novel that resembles me. Because if you’re writing anything about me—I’ll have your ass on a silver tray with a collection of those Lucky Buddha statues for sale on the counter next to the acrylic nails and the fake carnations.”

  “It has nothing to do with you,” Grady hissed.

  “Fine,” Annie said. “Let me read your pages.”

  “I haven’t edited them yet,” Grady said. “Trust me on this.”

  “I’ll read them,” Julia said. “I’m a lawyer. If I see any overt similarities I’ll tell him to shut it down. Chill, Annie. I bet you haven’t even heard from Mack today. He’s probably busy sleeping off his massive hangover after hitting the strip clubs with his buddies from the used car convention.”

  “You’re right,” Annie said. “I don’t know why I let him get to me. The final straw was the tickling.”

  “When are you going to see Raphael?” Julia asked. “He can help calm you down with something more fun than a neck massage.”

  “I was supposed to see him tonight, but apparently, there’s some kind of pressing detective business he has to attend to. Another possible homicide.”

  “Who’s the vic?” Grady asked.

  “I don’t know,” Annie said. “Even if I did know, I’m not telling you because you’ll just put it in your novel.”

  Grady sighed. “Look—”

  “No, you look,” Annie said. “I’m sorry if I’m being overly sensitive—again—but I need to relax right now. And by the way—the mani-pedis are my treat. A thank-you for rescuing me yesterday.”

  “You can’t afford that,” Grady said.

  “I got a promotion. I can afford it this week. No arguments. Cocktails after this?”

  Julia glanced up at the large, dusty wall clock. “It’s four. Cocktail hour starts somewhere around here, very soon. Count me in.”

  “Me too,” Grady said. “Hey, let me leave the tips.”

  “Cool.” Annie pulled her wallet from her purse.

  And just like that, Dear Diary, I was ignored—again. I was never ignored when I was a living, New York Times best-selling, self-help author.

  Tina pulled Annie to the side and whispered into her ear. “Incense smoke curling up next to the Buddha shrine. Means a spirit’s prayers are being heard in the Afterlife. I hear the spirit say your name. Do you know the spirit? Does the spirit still wander the earth and want to pass? I have strange feeling the spirit wants a foot massage. Do you think Tina is crazy?”

  Annie stared at the plume and shook her head. “No. But I wouldn’t be giving any foot massages to that spirit. You might catch something.”

  Lucky Buddha, indeed. I’ll be returning to this unsanitary, psychic haven in the dingy strip mall in the near future…

  My best,

  Dr. Derrick Fuller, Ph.D.

  Chapter 15

  Don’t Budge Me

  Annie

  Dearesht Diaries,

  Shhh. I have a confession. I’m a little tipsies. It doesn’t happen very oftens, but it happened today. DON’T BUDGE ME! Pleaz.

  Today was the bestest day I’ve had in a whiles now. Mack didn’t Face me even once. Jul and Gradyyyyy and I hung out for couple hours. Had super relaxing neck emsaaaage and pedicure. I have pretty pink sparkly polish on my toes. Bummer no sexy time with Raphael because he’s super busy investivitagating another dead guy. All the freaking dead guys rain on my parades. Why don’t they just go aways?

  Got a little ner
vous about Grady’s story. Don’t want him always using my life for material. Julia pomised she’d read his stuff and ix-nay things about me. I twust er. So besides seeing Dr. Dare super-on-the-ick Fuller—today was yummy. We went for a few, maybe a few too many, half-priced Happy Hour cocktails at Daddy-O’s Bar and Spill.

  I really liked that spiced Apple-tini. Yum. No—Iz did not drink and drive. I am super opposed to drunken driving. Grady, the love that he is, stayed sobers and chaperooned us home.

  Nows I’m home and I fed Theodores, the most gorgeous cat in the world, gave him a little nip on his scratchy pad, and I’m going to changzies into my comfy, fleezies pajamas with the long-sleevzies because there is a definite chill in my apartment. Hang on while I dig my sleazy PJs out of the pedar chest where they’ve been resting most of the year…

  Okays -- I’m backs! I grabbed a bag of salt and pepper Kettle Chips—sustenance—no food since breakfast and turned on TV: Law and Order SVU reruns. My favvvvorite! Love Livia. So smart that one. Ack! Theodore jumped up on my lap and is now treading his big, fat paws too close to my private girlie parts. I luff him, but not in that unnatural way.

  Brrr! Why’s so chillsies in my apartment, Diary? I don’t want to turn on the furnace. It will smell like burnt dust and I don’t want to have an allergy attack because I have to work tomorrow at my newly promoted job. Oh, God these Kettle Chips are so delish. Like—what do they have in them—crack cocaine? DON’T FUDGE ME DIARYS! I might be tipsies right now—but I’ve never had crack cocaine. Back to the important stuff: Law and Order.

  So, Livia is called to the scene of a crime in big New York park. Another dead guy lying in the bushes. Joggers deescovered his body. She will get them. She is sooooo smart. Hang on, Diary. I am actually shivering and all those little hairs on my arms are standing up. I have a little, warm blankie in my closet. Pink. It will match my toes. I gently push Theodore to the side. He blinks and looks irritated. Always the catitude. Be right back. Keep an eye on Livia for me. And that hot Latino detective played by whats-his-name the actor dude. So cute. I know I have a boyfriend. A girl can lust a little on the side.

  Oh nos, Diary. Something’s wrong. I feel kind of sick to my stomach. Just like when I catcidentally walk through Derrick or he gets too close to me. I hope I’m not coming down with the flu. I wrapped the warm blanket around my shoulders. I made myself a hot toddy in case I’m fighting a bug. (Besides, it goes well with my Kettle Chips.)

  And Diary, I know that you will—Ack! Oh nos! I’m hallucinating!

  Mack is sitting on my couch and rubbing Theodore’s head.

  Hang on. This can’t be right. Did I have tequila tonight? I only ordered Apple-tinis. Tequila makes me hallucinate. I know—I’ll just close my eyes, stop writing for a second, take deep breaths and everything will be fine. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

  Ack! He’s still in my apartment. There’s a big, fat, sooty tire imprint on his white dress shirt that also runs across half his face. Oh nos! He’s pushing himself off the couch and grinning as he lurches toward me—his arms outstretched like he’s going to try and hug me, or tickle me.

  “Rrrr! Annie Graceland!” He said, “Mack ‘The Man’ McManus is in your house!”

  Help me, Diary! HELP!

  Annie

  Chapter 16

  Worst Ex-Girlfriend Ever

  Mack

  Dear Diary,

  I used to think my ex-girlfriend Annie Graceland was kind of hot. Now I think she is kind of bat-shit-crazy.

  Do you realize I have been stuck at her place for almost a day now? After she screamed and nearly broke Mack’s eardrums, she keeled over onto her couch and slept it off—whatever it was—and I was stuck watching Law and Order reruns for hours while I petted her cat. When she finally woke up, she looked at me, blinked, screamed again, and then shuffled dejectedly into her kitchen where she downed some Advil and made coffee.

  I asked her to pour me a cup but she said, “No.” She muttered gibberish, sliced some bagels, stuck them in her toaster oven, called into work and fake coughed into the phone. She rasped that she was sick, probably highly contagious, and couldn’t make it in today. She flipped on Pandora and “Little Red Corvette” by Prince was the first song to play.

  I smiled because I knew what this was really about—she wanted to spend the day with me. We’d reminisce about old times, then get busy and catch up for real. She grabbed the bagels from the oven, dropped them onto a plate and slathered them in cream cheese. I said thank you, I’d love the onion one, hun.

  That’s when she pointed the knife at me and told me to shut up, leave her alone, or she’d stab me—even though it wouldn’t matter. She’s like the worst ex-girlfriend—ever.

  But what’s even crazier? I have no idea how I got to Annie’s place. Here’s what I do remember…

  Following the WEPOC banquet and awards presentation, a few of my new salesman buddies hit the Repeat the Beat Gentleman’s Club. Devin Dylan of Marina Del Rey, California Cadillac admitted that he was jealous that I beat him out for the #2 WEPOC slot. (He tied for #3). But over the course of several hours, Dev and me became pal-sies, bought each other a few rounds, and a couple of lap dances. We promised to FB and share tricks of the trade. I even confided in him the other reason I was in town.

  I said my fond farewells to my salesman buddies in the parking lot of the club well after midnight. We promised to meet up again soon.

  Tubbie Parte’: the older, sassy, chubby stripper walked out of the side door of the joint and waved at us. “Enjoy the rest of your trips, Gents! Remember that Tubbie gives a WEPOC discount. Six dances for the price of five, offer good only during the convention.” We thanked her for her kind offer, but it was time to call it a night.

  Alone at last, I ambled to my rental car in the far corner of the open-aired parking lot and chanted, “I am number two! I am number two!” as I thrust my trophy up in the air. Speaking of rentals—of course I popped for a Caddie—WEPOC’s a class act and arranged an official discount for us out-of-towners.

  In the near distance, an inconsiderate, moron driver gunned a car’s engine. Why didn’t people understand that cars, like children, are sensitive souls? In the low glow from the streetlight almost half a football field length away, I spotted the source of the revving—a late model Caddie sedan.

  Yes, Caddies are tough old birds with shiny coats, but they too deserved tender love and care. The car’s driver flashed the brights, blinding me, and accelerated in my direction. I froze, startled, until I realized this baby was headed straight toward me. I stumbled to the right, heard the tires screech, felt a harsh impact on my stomach and hip that knocked me backward onto the ground and stunned me. Then my head cracked soundly on the pavement and I don’t remember anything after that moment until I ended up at Annie’s apartment.

  Where she is now holding me prisoner.

  Here are my complaints:

  Not only is she not feeding me, every time I try and leave her place I am stuck at the door or a window. Literally stuck. I simply cannot escape her jail. I would be fine with this if she wanted me to be her sex slave for a few days, but, oh no—she has spurned my advances enough times, that I don’t even ask anymore. Okay, fine. I still ask.

  Not to be totally whiny, Diary—then she gave me you.

  Annie thrust you—a black spiral notepad—into my hands and I watched as you sunk through my fingers into my legs while I screamed in terror. And instead of being soothing, like she used to be back in college, now she was just plain mean. She insisted that I needed to pick you up with the power of my ‘intention.’

  “What’s intention?” I checked my pants to make sure I hadn’t wet myself.

  “Willpower,” she said. “Like when you’re trying to con someone into buying a used car that you know is a lemon and they’re resisting your charms. And yet, you persist because you really want the sale.”

  “A-ha!” Apparently needing to pay my alimony, determinati
on, willpower and intention share similar DNA—just like first cousins. I shut my eyes for a second, thought about selling that car and—whoa! Like magic I pulled you, Diary, out of my lap and back into my hands. Now I’m journaling onto your pages, which is actually my next complaint.

  Nothing personal Diary, but why is Annie making me write in you? She says I need to channel and record all of my grief, fears, and memories so she can help me pass to the light. What light is she talking about? When I ask her that question, she just shakes her head, swears under her breath, and throws her hands up in the air.

  So I went for the tickle. But she seemed to sense my move, dodged to the left and evaded me. She grabbed a cupcake from her fridge and started munching on it in front of me. Didn’t even ask me if I wanted one. This was the final straw. “Mack’s just trying to have a little fun, Annie,” I said. “It’s been great catching up with you, but, honestly, you are disrespecting my boundaries.”

  “Me?” she hissed. “I’m disrespecting your boundaries?”

  “You’re keeping me hostage in your miniscule apartment with your adorable cat, but frankly, Mack needs to get back to his life. While it’s been simply awesome catching up with you after all these years (remind me never to friend on old girlfriend on Facebook again), previously owned vehicles don’t sell themselves, you know? I need to leave, now.” I walked the few feet toward her front door, determined to break through the invisible fence that surrounded her apartment.

  She plunked down on a stool at her kitchen counter and waved at me. “Have a nice trip.”

  I placed my hand on the doorknob. “Please call me if you ever need a pre-owned vehicle. I’ll always be the man who will get you a great deal.” I twisted the handle but it didn’t budge. “What in tarnation is going on here, Annie Graceland? Are you punishing me for dumping you for Bailey Bubeck? I’m sorry, I truly am, but there was gold in those hills.”