Love, Lex (6 page)

Hedda Hopper, who never barked started, to yap and yap.

“Turn around. Place your hands above your head.” One cop
said to Vive and another to Taddy.

I gasped and covered my mouth in shock. That threat to call
her lawyer didn’t go over well. Officer Gotti stalked over and took Hedda from
Vive’s hands. She started screaming.

“What for?” Taddy asked. She was much calmer than Vive. “Why
are you arresting us?”

My heart sank. Was this over the drinking?

A policeman cuffed Taddy, then Vive, and lastly their limo
driver. He filed them up against the white line on the road. 

Another cop approached me, pointed at my bags, and asked,
“Miss Easton, are those your things?”

“Yes. Someone please tell me what this is about.”

The cop’s face wrinkled, perhaps out of confusion about my
question. Ford walked up and stood beside him as he asked, “Why don’t you tell
us where you were coming from and where you’re headed to?”

So I did. Well sorta. I told them Birdie and I had a
disagreement and I’d packed up my stuff and left.

“Did you start a fire on your way out?”

“A fire?”
Oh no-no-no. “In the bathtub, I burned a
dress with some photos. It was nothing.”

“Hands up. We’re arresting you for arson. You have the right
to remain silent.” His Miranda warning continued.

“You can’t be serious. Nothing happened.” I figured Kelle
had probably called the police making this a bigger deal than it really was. 

“Your
little fire
caused a rather large explosion.”

“What in the heck are you talking about?” Taddy shouted.

“Nothing has blown up except for your career. Just wait till
my daddy’s lawyer hears about this.” Vive screamed.

“Miss Easton, we have you and your friends on video at the
parking garage loading up that limo and leaving the building.”

“When did transporting good fashion become a crime? She’s
moving in with me. And we’re going to Paris tonight. Now, give me my fucking
dog back,” Vive spewed, as she wrestled with the handcuffs. 

The cop ignored Vive and spoke directly to my face. “Shortly
after you drove away, most of your mother’s penthouse exploded.”

“No.” My legs felt weak and my head heavy. I dropped to the
ground and sobbed. “Where’s my mom? Is she okay?”

“She’s being treated at Manhattan General,” a policeman
replied, as another one lifted me to my feet. Before I knew it, I was in the
back of their sedan being taken to the police station and charged with what
exactly, I didn’t know. Vive, Taddy, and their limo driver were arrested as accomplices
and taken in another car.

Like the daydream, hot-cop fantasy I’d had moments ago, my
hands were tied behind my back and I was restrained by the law. But unlike my
wet imagination, Officer Gotti Alessandro-Vollero-Gotti stood on the side of
the road, next to Vamp, and held Hedda Hopper in his arms as I left him behind.

All I could think about, all I had promised myself I’d never
think about again not after what had happened earlier was Mom.

Was Birdie alive? What about Kelle? Had I killed them both?

Orange
isn’t
the new black.

“By the seventh grade, the lack of parental guidance in our
lives had become obvious. So Lex, Vive, and I had made a best friend pact. No
matter where our lives led, we’d have each other’s back. Even in jail, charged
with a felony and facing more years than ever imagined, we’d stick together,
right? Tell that to Vive!” —Taddy Brill, emancipated minor from the Austrian
Royal House of Brillford, future glamizon, and overall diva.

Worse Than Reality TV

Manhattan Detention Complex (The Tombs)

Mom and Kelle didn’t die. No bones broken. Not really.

However, I did add a number #11 to the list of worst moments
of my life. Totally. It’s being arrested with my BFF and VBF on FDR Drive under
the suspicion of arson and quite possibly—wait for it—attempted murder.
I
know!

“I should have never set fire to that dress and those pics.”
I muttered to Taddy who stood next to me in the cell against the far wall.

The second they’d locked us in here we’d retreated to the
corner to prevent the other inmates from gawking at us. I won’t even go into
detail on the howling they’d done. Naturally those had been for skinny Vive and
toned Taddy. “Sooie,” was all I got followed by several oink noises. 

Curled up in a snit sat Vive being all dramatic. Her driver
had been sent to another holding area down the hall and was charged along with
us.

“Did you know Birdie’s oxygen facial tanks were under the
bathroom sink and in the towel closet?” Taddy asked, crossing her arms in
disbelief.

“No. I thought she’d kept all her anti-aging stuff in her
own bathroom.”

Apparently, the nitrous oxide canisters were also stored in
her bedroom, kitchen, and out by the bar.

“How come the place didn’t explode when Birdie caught that
cashmere sofa on fire with her crack pipe a few weeks ago?”

Scratching my shoulder, I remembered Taddy had helped me
clean up the mess. “The Fire Marshall thinks it was the shower curtain which
transferred the fire from the tub to the wallpaper. He said once the bathroom
caught fire the rest of the place was toast.”

“I refuse to believe anything that Fire Marshall says,
especially since he thinks you did this on purpose. What was the word he used
again?”

“Strategic. Yup, he’s convinced I
strategically
placed the tanks around the apartment then lit a match. Honestly, I’m not that
smart.” I rested the back of my head against the cement wall. It was cold.

The jail’s air-conditioning made the place feel like a meat
locker one minute, then it would cut off for a while and we’d overheat. Just
when you couldn’t breathe, it would come back on again.

“Major geniusness when you think about it. But nah…you’d
never intentionally kill Birdie, would cha?” Taddy asked in a throaty voice.

“Trust me. If I wanted to, I would’ve done
it
a long
time ago. Mom and Kelle are both lucky to be alive.”

The State Prosecutor had to get a grand jury to agree on the
attempted murder charge which could take several days. The district attorney
accused Taddy and Vive of being my accomplices since they’d helped me get away.
He’d called this a high profile case and wanted to expedite our arrest.

A few hours ago, we’d all three been booked on an A-1
charge—Arson in the First Degree, a major felony, and if found guilty, we’d
face up to twenty-five years in prison.

Vive’s father, Mr. Farnworth, had shown up with his lawyer,
Richard Shapiro. Taddy and I called him Dick, because he was one. At Dick’s
suggestion, we’d pled not guilty during the arraignment.

Judge Calabrese had set our bail at forty thousand dollars
each.

Like everything in this town, the entire process happened
quicker than a New York minute.

Right now, we were waiting for the bail to post, which could
take a few more hours. Then I assumed we’d all go back to Vive’s place and hide
out till school started. The reporters were gonna feed on this story for weeks.

Knowing Mom, she’d probably use this window of opportunity
to release a new music single and sell the story rights to be turned into a
film. A Lifetime Movie popped in my head, one where I’d be played by Jessica
Simpson or Mandy Moore.
Ughhh.

“Taddy, if Mr. Farnworth doesn’t post our bail tonight,
where are they sending us?” Reaching up, I put my arms over my head to stretch.
The longer I stood in this cell, the more the space seemed to shrink.

“I heard a guard say we’d be transferred to Riker’s.”

“Where’s
that
?”

“In Queens. Darling, in less than one day, we’ve gone from
the penthouse to the big house, let alone from Manhattan to Queens. I’ve never
been to the boroughs before, have you?”

“Never…” Sure, I’d heard of this jail Riker’s. Wasn’t it
right up there with Alcatraz? The walls were certainly closing in on me. I
closed my eyes and tried not to panic.

“Well get ready, we’re going. Mr. Farnworth ain’t here,
yet.” Taddy hugged herself. “I’m starving. All of this stress is making me
hungry.”

It had to be sometime in the early evening, maybe five or
six o’clock. Aside from a serving of an American cheese sandwich on white
bread, which was thinner than a slice of toilet paper with a chunky layer of
what the guard swore was mayonnaise, we’d not eaten.

“Me too. I could sure use a fuck-it bucket right about now.”

Every time anything horrific had happened in my life, I’d
gone to Dylan’s Candy Bar and loaded up a bin with the best gummy candy and
chocolate money could buy. Then I’d stuff my misery and wash the goodness down
with a can of Yoo-Hoo. These prison bars prevented me from such necessities.

Hey now, wait a second. Forget the nappy nicotine gum. Maybe
jail
would be my new slim-down solution.

My friends at Columbia University would ask me when we
started school in a few weeks, “Lex, you skinny bitch, did you finally go to
Birdie’s cosmetic surgeon and get a li’l lipo?”

And I’d be all, “Nope. I did a new weight loss program.”

Then they’d ask, “What’s it called?”

“The Prison Diet.” Not!

Ugh. No effin’ candy. This was torture.

“I cannot believe we’re wearing these get-ups again.” My
attempt to loosen the bunching of the pants which collected between my thighs
and somewhat up my bum…failed. I didn’t need a yeast infection. I could only
imagine what the infirmary here was like.

“What is this color called? Safety Orange? Does it have a
name?” Taddy sighed.

I made one up. “Neon nectarine.”

Poor Vive, her body had nearly gone into convulsions when
we’d changed. I could see why. It was the exact same color and scratchy fabric
we’d worn for six solid months while in juvie. Gawd, now my skin started to
itch.

Taddy grabbed at my arm, and we tried to make eye contact
with Vive. She’d been ignoring me since we’d arrived. “Let’s watch some TV.”

Together we walked up to the edge of our cell and faced out
through the bars. There were two cell blocks on the left and one on the right.
I held my breath for a second waiting to see if any of the other inmates would
shout at us.

No oink-oink noises. They were all glued to the TV. The
evening news played on the monitor in the hall across from us. Guess who was
the main lead-in story?
Moi.

I almost got ill just from watching. But I, along with
everyone else in their cells, remained in full attention as if it was nothing
shy of a reality show gone amuck.

“So much for Daddy avoiding having the Easton’s appear as
freaks on TV.”

“Oh Jesus. This is worse than I thought—” Taddy covered her
mouth.

Not only was the news cray-cray, possibly nuttier than that
reality program Taddy and I had watched last week called
The Anna Nicole
Show
on E! Entertainment, we just looked simply insane.

“Seems the camera caught everything on video, except for
Kelle buffin’ Mom.”

“Do the police know about that?” Taddy asked.

“No. Just you and Vive. Let’s keep it that way.”

“Yeah. It’s one thing to be accused of blowing up a house.
You can live that down. But your high school sweetheart screwing your mom? Not
so much.”

“Exactly.” I nodded. I’d already lived my childhood in
Birdie’s shadow. I didn’t need to go into my adulthood in the same fashion.

I rested my head on Taddy’s shoulder and watched.

According to the news reporter, a helicopter had shot an
aerial view of the accident.

“How on earth did they record this?” Taddy asked.

“The reporter just said that a TV crew was nearby covering a
traffic jam by the Holland Tunnel. The pilot reported seeing a fire from
Birdie’s terrace, and they panned their cameras over. Just my flippin’ luck.
Right?”

The network featured the explosion in slow-motion,
freeze-frame and my personal favorite…pause. They kept playing it over and over
again.

Wrapped in a Mylar spa robe, Birdie had stood on her
balcony, lighting a cigarette.

“Is that a joint?” Taddy asked in an ironic tone.

“Probably.”

Birdie had puffed for maybe four to five seconds then—poof.

“No. Ohhh no!” Taddy shouted at the TV.

A massive fireball had blasted Birdie from behind, sending
her svelte figure across the street.

“Watching this is so surreal,” I said faintly. An all-too
familiar feeling of humiliation seeped in to haunt me from my past.

My fears turned to annoyance when the inmates laughed and
sang the lyrics to Birdie’s hit song, “Lucifer’s Mistress.”

“I can’t watch anymore.” Grabbing at me, Taddy buried her
face.

Mom had landed on a patio table on the next building over.
From the looks of it, the neighbors had a lush garden terrace to help break her
fall.

“Lord, that must’ve hurt like hell,” Taddy said.

“Especially for Mom, she’s nothin’ more than skin and bones.
She doesn’t have my caboose to land on.” I rubbed my bum trying to find the
humor in this. Birdie would be fine. At least that’s what we’d been told.

Taddy glared sternly. She hated when I poked fat jokes at
myself, never mind the fact that I always found a “funny” at the most
inappropriate moments.

It was my way of coping. Humor, candy, and motorcycles had
become my anti-depressant concoction over the years.

On the TV, all of the penthouse’s windows blew out.

The video footage cut to the highway with the headline,
“Alexandra Easton Flees.” And there we were—Vamp and me behind the Farnworth
Firewater company limo, heading north toward the Upper East Side.

“We’ll never live this down.” I started to understand the
severity of it all. It’s one thing to hear you blew up a building, it’s another
to watch your mother fly across the street as Linda Carter in Wonder Woman.

“Not in this town.” Taddy cried. “We should’ve enrolled at
Pepperdine. Imagine, we could be unpacking our Malibu apartment right now.”

I clapped my hands together.

“What in the heck are you doing?” Taddy asked.

“Prayin’.”

Dear God- Jesus- Buddha-Universe-etcetera,

Let me start by giving praise. Thank you for letting
Birdie live. To say I feel like crap would be a gross understatement.

I know everything happens for a reason, but you’ve
stumped me on this one. I can’t for the life of me figure out what’s your
master plan. Tell me already!

Was it because you didn’t want Kelle to have my Lady V?
That’s gotta be it.

Well, I hope you have someone better in mind. Scratch
that. Kelle set the bar too low. Anyone would be better than Kelle Sterling
Dolley.

Except for maybe Mr. Malhon, the homeless man who’d been
booked for lifting a shopping-cart from K-Mart right before Judge Calabrese saw
our case.

Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against street people.
It’s just Mr. Malhon had defended that the buggy was his late wife
reincarnated. Apparently she’d come back from the dead taking the shape of a
steel frame with four wheels.

Please no one mental for me the next time around, okay?

Let’s forget my Lady V for a second. We need to discuss
more important matters, such as my friends. This summer as you know, the girls
had returned to New York to start over.

Ya gotta help us here. We need you to get those charges
dropped. We have college starting soon. And for the first time in our lives, we
understand the importance of focusing on our grades, not on boys or social
stuff.

Amen

PS…please have the guard bring me peanut M&M’s or
Skittles? I’m having sugar withdrawal. Big time.

“Amen,” I said out loud.

“What did upstairs have to say?”

“No one was home. I left a message.”

“I hope God has your number darling.” Taddy nodded for me to
look back at the TV.

Reporters stated Birdie was conscious and doing okay. Due to
the flame retardant fabric in the bathrobe, which had protected her vital
organs, Mom had only suffered second degree burns on her extremities. She’d
heal with a nearly full recovery.

None of this was news to us. We’d heard it all during our
arraignment. However, we didn’t have the visuals till now. Thank you Channel 2.
The graphic videos put everything into perspective.