Nice Girls Don't Live Forever

Page 7

“Courtney Herndon is the head Courtney,” Courtney Barrow whispered. “She’s been the chamber president for the last four years.”
Did she just say “head Courtney”? There was a Courtney hierarchy?
“Courtney!” my guide exclaimed. Several women throughout the room turned to us, realized we were referring to someone else, and went back to their wine. Courtney Herndon gave me an appraising look and a thin smile.
“This is Jane. She runs a bookstore where the porn shop used to be!” Courtney Barrow squealed. “Isn’t that interesting?”
“Super,” Courtney Herndon said, though her voice gave the distinct impression that she couldn’t give a rat’s ass.
“Are you from the Hollow originally, or are you a transplant like us?” Courtney Barrow asked.
“I’m a native,” I said. “What do you mean, ‘transplant’?”
“Oh, well, we all married boys from the Hollow.” Courtney Herndon snorted derisively, as though she did not appreciate being uprooted.
Courtney Barrow smiled fondly, ignoring Courtney Herndon, as she said, “My husband, Gary, told me he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, so I just followed him home. Same with all of the Courtneys. None of us really has to work, but we’re self-starters. Except for Lisa over there.” Courtney lowered her voice and nodded toward a strawberry blonde in a suit even more conservative than mine. “She runs her family’s accounting firm.”
“Well, that explains why I’ve never met most of you.” I turned to Courtney Herndon. “Courtney, what do you do?”
Courtney Herndon stroked back a stray blond curl. “I do home demonstrations for women interested in cosmetic products. I do home parties, makeovers, special kits.”
I nodded. “So, it’s like Mary Kay?”
Courtney H’s jaw twitched as she hissed out, “No, it’s nothing like Mary Kay !” She turned on her ice-pick heels and stomped toward the wine table.
“All right, then.”
“Mary Kay asked Courtney H to resign because her sales tactics were too aggressive,” Courtney Barrow whispered, a conspiratorial grin tilting her lips. “She would point out a flaw and then recommend a product to fix it. Only, Courtney can be really, really … honest sometimes. And some customers complained. So, Courtney sent the customers letters to tell them why they were wrong … and then Mary Kay’s corporate offices filed the restraining order.”
I stifled a laugh. “Who’s she working for now?”
“She says she’s an independent contractor.”
“So she’s mixing up her own makeup in her basement? Given the restraining order, that can’t be—”
Courtney Barrow lowered her voice even more. Even with vampire hearing, I’m sort of surprised I could hear her. “She’s still selling the Mary Kay stuff. She had loads of it when she quit. You know, your upline always tells you that you can’t sell from an empty wagon? Well, she took it seriously. She has enough lip plumper to sink a cruise ship. She just takes off all the packaging and replaces it with her own stickers she prints at home.”
“That is both brilliant and deranged,” I whispered back. Courtney Barrow giggled again, which was becoming less annoying.
She nodded to a tense blonde in the corner, who seemed to be scanning the room over and over, searching for some sort of infraction. “That’s Courtney Ahern, the one who’s crazy about the carpet. This house used to belong to one of her in-laws, but she persuaded her husband to give the tenants the boot and renovate the place for our headquarters. But now she’s paranoid one of us will do something to ruin the house’s potential resale value.”
“What does Courtney A do?” I asked. “Sell something that’s nothing like Amway?”
Courtney Barrow guffawed. “I’m going to like you!”
“Oh … good.”
Courtney Herndon stood, cleared her throat, and silenced the room. The various Courtneys filed into the meeting room, where we were directed to cozy tea chairs instead of the usual folding monstrosities. I sat through the approval of the minutes, the agenda, and the pledge. I came up with my own identification system for the Courtneys as they debated the proper color scheme for the annual business directory. Courtney Barrow, the only one who’d bothered to be friendly, was “Nice Courtney.” Courtney Herndon was “Head Courtney.” Courtney Gordon, who appeared to be some sort of sycophant/enforcer, was “Toady Courtney.” Courtney Ahern was “Coaster Courtney.” I couldn’t come up with a better-fitting nickname for Cankles Courtney and felt a little bad about it. I moved on to picking which chamber member I would eat first if we were stuck on a desert island. I settled on Courtney Jensen, or “Fitness Courtney,” because it was obvious that woman hadn’t even seen a carb in years, and high-protein diets give blood a rich, oaky finish. I’d almost nodded off when I heard my name being called.
“What?” I almost shouted, bolting upright in my fancy laced chair.
“It is Jane, right?” Head Courtney demanded. “You’re the new member?”
“Er …”
Head Courtney’s smile tightened as the other ladies tittered. “We were just discussing the Fall Festival charity for the animal shelter.”
This was so much worse than being caught sleeping in math class. I nodded and slapped on my “pleasant face.” On my right, Nice Courtney sat frozen in her chair, a Stepford smile pasted on.
“Now, Jane, I think it would be a great idea if you gathered together the prizes for the games? Normally, we solicit donated items from businesses in the community. And since you’re new, you probably have all kinds of contacts that we haven’t even thought of yet!”
Well, I could ask Dick about that trunkload of pirated Knight Rider DVDs I gave him the year before …
“So, we’ll just put you down to head the prize committee.”
“It’s just my first meeting,” I said. “I don’t know if I’m qualified—”
Head Courtney’s eyes narrowed. “There’s no better way to get to know us better than just to throw yourself into the work. Really, it’s the best way to make friends here at the chamber, showing what a team player you can be. You do want us to think you’re a team player, don’t you?”
Why wasn’t my sister in this club? Seriously?
“I’m willing to help with—”
“Great!” Head Courtney cried, interrupting my attempt at shirking the games in favor of decorations or something less “commitment-y.” “Lisa will give you all of the information from last year.”
From across the room, Lisa rolled her eyes and shared a commiserating look with me. This was followed by a report from the jack-o’-lantern committee and the treat committee, who lamented the lack of volunteers for making gluten-free snacks. I had never so earnestly wished that I could die of natural causes. Boredom was a natural cause, right? After the game committee and the inflatable committee, I wondered whether there was anyone in the room who was not on a committee.
“Now, the planning committee has come up with a list of acceptable costumes. I know some of you older members like to get started on your kids’ costumes early.”
The oldest member in the room looked to be about thirty-five. And she did not look as if she took that as a compliment.
I raised my hand. “So, wait, this is a Halloween party?”
“No, if we call it a Halloween party, some families won’t come. So it’s a Fall Festival.”
“But we’re going to have pumpkins … and costumes … and candy.”
Head Courtney glared down at me. “Is there going to be a problem, Jane?”
There could be a problem. Believe it or not, vampires tend to hole up on All Hallows Eve and refuse to come out until the last trick-or-treater has been dragged home kicking and screaming. You’d stay home, too, if you were confronted with a holiday that parades around the worst cultural stereotypes pertaining to your particular species—bluish pallor, black capes, stupid accents exaggerated by clownish fangs—and presents it as “all in good fun.”
“Right, sorry,” I said. “It’s just that … is the chamber really supposed to hold fund-raisers?” I asked. “I thought the Chamber of Commerce was about community building and economic development, bringing in new employers—”
“Well, this is the way we run the Chamber of Commerce,” Head Courtney said through gritted teeth. “The Half-Moon Hollow Animal Shelter is a cause we’ve supported for years. Why, just last year, we collected five thousand dollars in cash donations.”
“People will just give you cash for the shelter? Without a carnival?”
Head Courtney’s disapproving sneer was now an all-out death glare.
“Right. Sorry,” I mumbled, staring down into my lap as a sign of submission.
For the rest of the meeting, I sat still and silent, just praying to get out alive. And I was incredibly angry with myself. Why the hell was I afraid of these women? If I wanted to, I could beat them all senseless, take their fancy foufou designer wallets, and make them forget I ever did it.
Not that I would ever do that.
4
The best way to show that you’re independent is actually to be independent. Develop outside interests, attend cultural events, anything to show your wayward vampire mate that you’re not sitting at home pining away.
—Love Bites: A Female Vampire’s Guide to Less
Destructive Relationships
I slunk up my front-porch steps, exhausted and in serious need of sedatives and/or lobotomy instruments. Andrea, on the other hand, looked cool and collected, stretched out on my porch swing, scratching my dog behind the ears, and sipping a tall icy beverage that I promptly stole from her.
“Hey!” she cried. “I used your best liquor to make that! And there wasn’t much to choose from.”
“It’s an emergency,” I told her between swigs of what I think was a daiquiri. Because of my sordid history with the demon alcohol and the inevitably humiliating results, I don’t usually imbibe. But tonight I was making an exception. I slumped onto the swing with Andrea and sighed. “Not that you’re not welcome here at River Oaks, but has it occurred to you that making yourself frosty cocktails while I’m not home is breaking and entering?”
“Yes, it did. But I was thirsty, and you left me your key ring to close up.”
“I’m way too trusting. Am I going to come home one night and find you taking a bath in my tub and wearing my clothes?” She arched her eyebrow, looking from her own stylishly cut silk blouse and slacks to my suit—which had been purchased by my mother. “Never mind.”
“I’m not going to go all single white female on you. But I do love this place. I still have a hard time believing you own a home with a name.”
“Well, for all of this, my sister is willing to sue me, steal from me, and have me audited. So, you might want to reconsider your whole romantic image of gentility.”
Andrea sighed heavily. “Why must you destroy my illusions? How was your networking?” she asked as I tried to beckon my dog. Fitz sniffed and rested his head on his paws.
“I’m not trying to say anything about sisterhood or women in power, but what a bunch of bitches.”
Andrea laughed and pulled a pitcher of daiquiris from behind the porch swing. She poured herself another drink, grinning as she said, “I thought you might feel that way. My boss at the gift shop used to complain about the meetings.”
“You knew?” I cried, chucking a cushion at her. “You knew, and you let me walk into that den of iniquity unprepared?”