Peaches Monroe: The Return of Ursula (Short Story) (4 page)

“But it hasn’t even been ten minutes. Don’t be silly. He didn’t see you. He’s over there talking to Connor, and he’s not even looking this way.”

“But he looked right at me. Right in the eyes. And he was so angry, he couldn’t stand to look at me another second.”

“He probably saw your sexy curves, and then looked away when he remembered he’s married, and only has eyes for his beautiful blonde.” Mitchell scanned the room. “Do you think they have coffee in here somewhere? I swear I smell coffee and chocolate.”

“Yeah, you do smell coffee and chocolate. It’s coming out of every pore in my body, because I’m sweating my peaches off right now.” I grabbed him by the arm. “No more joking around. We need to get out of here.”

From behind us came a stern female voice, “Yes, you do need to get out of here.”

We both turned around to find our least favorite security guard standing with her hands on her hips.

She was backed by two burly men, also in security guard uniforms.

After the security guards hauled us off, Mitchell and I sat in a small, gray room that looked exactly like a prison cell. There was a sink and toilet in the corner, without even a curtain for privacy.

There was no other furniture in the room, so we sat on the cold, concrete floor with our backs against the wall.

I rubbed my wrists. At least the woman had taken off the plastic cuffs before they tossed us in.

“They can’t hold us like this,” I told Mitchell. “This can’t be legal.”

“Don’t panic. I’m getting friendly with the cute security guard. The next time he comes in to check on us, I’ll turn on the charm, and we’ll be out in a jiffy.”

I groaned. “That’s what you said two hours ago.”

“And it would have worked, if you’d kept up the Ursula accent, but then you had to go and tell them you’re married to Drake Cheshire.
The vampire
. You actually told them you are
Mrs. Vampire Drake Cheshire
.”

“You know I meant to say Dalton, but I got mixed up.” I leaned forward and slapped my forehead repeatedly. “Oh, why did I have to leave my damn purse and ID and phone back in your car?”

Mitchell pulled out his phone and checked the screen. “Still no service, anyway.”

“But having my ID would have helped. They might have heard of the name Peaches Monroe, and they’d believe me if they saw some ID.” I slapped my forehead some more. “When my father finds out about this, he’ll laugh. When I was a kid, he always accused me of being ‘prone to whimsy.’ And here I am again. In trouble, as always.”

“Peaches, I like your father, but you’ve got to let go of that label he gave you. So what if you didn’t grow up to be an engineer like he wanted? You’ve got a line of underwear named after you. And you’re more fun than a dozen of anyone else.”

“I’m so sorry I dragged you into this.” In a quieter voice, I mumbled, “Even if you did mastermind the whole operation.”

He got to his feet and brushed the dust off his jeans.

“That’s enough pouting,” he said. “No more sad face. I’m getting us out of here. Give me a boost and I’ll climb out through the transom over the door.”

I stood and looked at the narrow opening above the locked door. It was the only way out of the windowless room, unless you were a dead goldfish going for your final swirl.

“I think I’ll fit,” he said.

We both stared at the tiny window. I certainly couldn’t have gotten through that squishy rectangle, but Mitchell is compact and has almost no booty at all.

“Let’s try,” I said glumly. “You should at least save yourself.”

“Don’t look so sad. I’m not leaving you, Peaches. I’ll unlock the door from the outside.”

“It sounded like they used a key to lock us up. We are in a prison cell, after all.”

“I’ll go to the car, get your purse and ID, and come back for you.”

“But then everyone will know. Dalton will be so mad. No, you save yourself. I’ll stay here and wait until the cops come and take me.”

I leaned against the door and made a foothold for Mitchell with my hands.

Mitchell stepped onto my hands and grunted as I lifted him up. It was a tight fit, but he managed to get his body through the transom. I listened as he dropped down, cat-like, on the other side. The door handle jiggled, but the door didn’t open.

“Just as you suspected,” he said through the door. “I need a key. I’ll go steal one, and I’ll come back and free you.”

“You don’t have to do that. You’ll get caught again, and they’ll chain you to the sink in here. Go home, Mitchell. Save yourself. I’ll call you from jail and you can bail me out.”

I waited for his response, but there was only silence. He was already gone.

Without a watch or phone, it was hard to guess how long I sat in the holding cell by myself. It might have been twenty minutes, or three hours.

It was long enough that I moved on from fantasies about getting free. My dreams got scaled back, to fantasies about getting a pizza delivered through the transom window.

Time passed.

And then my fantasies got really weird. I started to think about kale, the green stuff that looks like lettuce but tastes like grass. If someone had sent a kale smoothie through the transom, I would have consumed it with gusto.

I was well into my kale fantasy stage when someone knocked on the door.

An austere male voice carried in through the open transom: “Are you two still in there?”

I was lying flat on my back, imagining I was part of a delicious kale salad with grated beets and arugula and goat cheese and radishes and…

“Hello?” he said.

I sat up. It had to be the kale delivery man, with the kale pizza I ordered.

“Are you the kale man?” I asked. My voice came out raspy from disuse.

The man spoke again, with an English accent, “Who’s in there? Are you the two people who crashed the set today?”

An English accent? I had a bad feeling it wasn’t the kale pizza I ordered.

I decided to switch back to my Ursula disguise, complete with my really bad accent.

“Hello, sir? It is only me. I am personal assistant for B-level actor. He stand in background and say peas-and-carrots-peas-and-carrots.”

“You’re not a stalker?” the English man asked.

“I am assistant. I used to clean house. I clean house real good, make tub clean so you can eat in tub. Then I meet actor. I put hand in pants and he say I do very good job.”

“What? Hand in pants?”

I slapped my forehead. The forced captivity and lack of nutrients had made me slip up.

I quickly corrected myself, “You know, how they say, with the dry cleaning. I go to cleaners. Do you know of this actress, Gwyneth Paltrow? Very pretty. I see her at dry cleaner when I pick up pants. That is my job. Personal assistant. Pick up dry cleaning.”

“And your name is Ursula?”

“Is good name, yes?” I got to my feet and went to the door. I pressed my cheek against the cool metal. “Hello, sir? Would you be having key to open door?” No answer. “Sir, please let me out, or I will be in big trouble with boss. He told me no, he say no come to his work today. I don’t know why he say no to me, but I have much time to think here in this prison.”

“I hear people do a lot of thinking in jail. Do you want to go to jail, Ursula?”

“No. I have enough thinking for today, thank you. I see now that B-level actor tell me these things because he knows what is best. I know that Ursula sometimes is not good girl. I do some things real good, but I make mistakes. Now I will listen to B-level actor. I will trust him.”

He didn’t respond.

“I will trust him,” I repeated.

I turned my face to press my other cheek against the cool door.

There were footsteps in the hallway, the sound of people approaching.

“It’s about time,” said the male voice, this time without the English accent.

A woman said, “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know.” Keys jingled. “The two of them looked exactly like these other two who got me fired from my last job. I guess I overreacted.”

“You were just doing your duty. I do appreciate everything you and the other security staff do to keep us safe. I’ll put in a commendation with your supervisor… if you can find the key and let my wife out of this disabled washroom.”

I stepped back from the door and ran over to the sink to wash the mascara off my cheeks. I still had the black Cleopatra wig on, and I decided to leave it because my real hair was a mess, and wouldn’t match my black eyebrows.

They were still outside the door, trying different keys. Was I hallucinating, or did the kale man say
let my wife out of this disabled washroom
?

I looked around the tiny room.

Holy melted marshmallows on graham crackers, of course I was in a washroom for the disabled. How could I have thought the studio had prison cells?

The door handle kept rattling.

Finally, the door opened.

Dalton stood there with the female security guard, and right behind them was Mitchell, looking sheepish.

“I am so sorry,” I gushed.

Dalton was still wearing his pale vampire makeup. He gave me one of his scary Drake Cheshire snarling expressions and hissed, “You should be sorry. Sorry for calling me a B-level actor.”

I tried to shrug and look adorable—as adorable as a girl can look after being locked in a disabled washroom for hours and hours.

I switched back to my bad Ursula accent. “Please, sir. I be good assistant. I go to dry cleaner. I listen to boss.”

The guard looked up at Dalton. “I don’t understand. Is this your stalker, or your wife, or what?”

Dalton answered, “This stalker is my wife.”

The woman shook her head, and then walked away muttering about crazy Hollywood people.

I ran out of the washroom and into Dalton’s arms.

He held me tight. “It was wrong for me to keep you at a distance. You’re my wife, and I love you, even if you are a stalker.”

My voice choked in my throat. “I can’t help it. You’re the person in my life who means everything to me.”

Mitchell cleared his throat. “Um, hello? I’m still here.”

“And Mitchell and Shayla,” I quickly added. “Plus my mom and dad and Kyle.”

Dalton pulled away just enough to look down at me, his green eyes bright and gleaming.

“I care about those people, too.”

Mitchell squealed, then declared, “Family hug!” He wrapped his arms around the two of us as far as he could reach and squeezed us in a group hug.

Dalton took us for a quick tour of the studio, then dropped us off at the main security office so we could get official ID badges. He kissed me goodbye and returned to the ballroom for more shooting of the same scene.

Mitchell and I got our ID badges, and then hit Craft Services, the catering division. We hit it hard.

We had just finished eating, and were at a table in the corner trying to stay out of trouble, when a confident-looking woman, tall and elegant, came over to introduce herself.

“Jamie Adair, executive producer,” she said. “Peaches Monroe, at last we meet.” She looked me over and pursed her bright red lips. “I prefer you as a blonde, just FYI.”

I introduced Jamie Adair to Mitchell. I called him my “best friend in L.A.,” which made him blush.

She joined us, and the three of us talked about the show.

Jamie is not just the executive producer of
One Vamp to Love
, she’s also Dalton’s aunt. She used her fairy godmother magic to get him an audition for the show, back when nobody else knew they were related. Dalton didn’t even know, because his mother’s side of the family had disowned them.

Jamie Adair was also the mastermind behind the whole plot to get me and Dalton married, which makes her pretty awesome in my book.

Someone came rushing over to the table to pull Jamie away. I stood to shake her hand again, and said, “Thank you for everything you’ve done for Dalton. You’re incredible. I’m completely in awe of you, and I am at your service, for anything you need.”

Her immaculate red lips curled into a sly smile. “Careful what you wish for.” She refused my handshake and gave me a quick hug instead. Then she hugged Mitchell as well. “You’re family now,” she explained, and then she walked away.

Mitchell stared after her. “I think I’m straight again, and I’m into older women with red lipstick.”

Mitchell and I watched the filming for hours. Thanks to my recent experience shooting a TV spot for a plus-size underwear line, I wasn’t surprised by how slowly things progress on set.

Connor, Dalton’s cousin who plays his vampire brother on the series, came over when he wasn’t needed.

“When’s Shayla coming to visit?” Connor asked. “I barely got to say hi to her at the wedding.”

Mitchell raised his eyebrows and cheekily said, “That’s not what I heard.”

I kicked Mitchell under the table. Connor quickly excused himself, which was for the best.

Around eight o’clock, Mitchell got a phone call from his roommate, with a drag queen emergency.

“Good grief, now what?” I asked Mitchell.

“Luscious Hilda Mae Sparkles needs her wigs. Don’t worry, you can keep that one for the night.” He winked. “She needs the red one, though, so I’m off.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek before leaving.

I stuck around, watching the actors and crew shoot the same scene, over and over. They finally finished at ten o’clock, and Dalton came over to me.

“Things don’t usually run so late, but one of the principal actors took a week off to get married.” He grinned, revealing pointy vampire fangs.

I let out a scream of alarm, because I hadn’t been expecting to see him with the vampire teeth, and we
were
alone in a dark corner, and… vampires are kind of scary.

“I totally got you,” he said with a serious face. He leaned in closer and flashed his eyes at me. “Now I’ll take you back to my vampire lair and make you my vampire bride.”

Fear and anticipation rushed through me, energizing every bit of my body, including Miss Kitty.

Vern brought the car and picked us up from the set.

The whole ride home, Dalton and I flirted with each other in the back seat, with him pretending to be a lusty vampire, and me pretending to be a lusty personal assistant named Ursula.