“I told you not to call me that,” Melanie said, not bothering to look up at her.
“God, what is your freaking problem, Melanie?”
Her head snapped up, her brown eyes crackling with something dangerous. Tennyson glanced around like perhaps she’d dropped down into a movie set and something alien might come bursting out of Melanie’s torso. The woman looked blazing-eyes possessed.
“You want to know what my problem is? You really want to know?” Melanie hissed, narrowing her eyes. “It’s you. You’re my problem, Teeny.”
Everyone at the table played at being statues, their eyes wide.
“What?” Tennyson asked, making a confused face. “What now?”
“What now? You. You’ve always been my problem. Wherever you go, bad things follow. You’re like a fucking plague that kills everything in its path. It’s been like that from the very beginning. You destroy everything with your big ideas, your grand plans, your over-the-top ridiculous-ass exploits. Everything you touch falls apart.” Melanie had stopped with the low, hissing modulation. Her voice had risen to a full roar, and everyone in the place stopped talking and stared at their table.
“What are you talking about?”
Melanie uncurled her hands from the table, her mouth drawing back to reveal her clenched teeth. She picked up the red bingo dauber and launched it at Tennyson’s head.
Tennyson threw up her hands at the last minute, deflecting the marker. She may have squealed. “Stop it! What is wrong with you?”
“Think I wouldn’t find out about what you told my husband, you stupid, meddling whore?” Melanie shouted, coming around the table.
People gasped at the language, but Tennyson didn’t have time to catch the shock on their faces because suddenly Melanie’s hands were wrapped around her throat. She felt the chair tilt, and they both pitched backward, slamming to the floor. For a brief moment, she was free. She started scrabbling back, but Melanie was quicker than she looked. She shoved Tennyson down and straddled her.
“Why did you tell him to leave me? Haven’t you done enough to me?” Melanie was screaming now, wrestling against Tennyson’s hands, trying to get to her face. Tennyson pulled her arms up to ward off further attack while twisting her body, trying to free herself.
“Stop,” Tennyson yelled, turning her head.
“Why do you hate me so much?” Melanie yelled.
Tennyson paused at that, withdrawing her arms to look at Melanie. Her old friend took advantage and slugged her. Melanie landed a good one on Tennyson’s cheekbone before Tennyson turned away, bucking her hips in an effort to get Melanie off her.
“I didn’t do anything. Mel, stop. You’re acting crazy.”
With that, Melanie fell off and rolled into a ball, sobbing. “He’s leaving me. He’s leaving. You told him to do it.”
Bella reached beneath Tennyson’s armpits and lifted her. Tennyson slapped at the drag queen’s hand. “No. Let me go. I’m fine.”
“Sugar, I’ve seen a lot of drama in my life, but this beats it all,” Bella said, steadying her.
Tennyson pressed a hand against her cheek and looked down at the woman curled into a ball issuing big body-racking sobs. A keening wail came from Melanie, a sound that was almost feral but heartbreaking at the same time.
Dropping to her knees, she placed a hand on Melanie’s shoulder. “Mel. Come on. Stop.”
Jolie looked at her husband. “Call 911. That was totally an assault.”
Emma skidded onto the scene, her mouth open and obviously at a loss. Tennyson held up a hand to Jolie. “No. No police. It’s just a misunderstanding.”
Ginger clacked over with a tat-tat-tat of her platform shoes. “What in the hell is going on? We don’t allow this kind of bullshit up in here.”
Tennyson looked up from where she kneeled. “I’m sorry. Uh, she’s not feeling well. A death in the family and a lot of stress with the wedding. We’re going now. If there are any damages, send me the bill. I gave Bella my information earlier.”
Ginger flipped her wig over her bronzed shoulder. “Don’t think I won’t do that. ’Cause I will. That chair is broken. Broken. Now y’all get on and take this woman out of here.”
“Mel,” Tennyson said, jiggling Melanie’s arm. The woman had curled into the fetal position and hadn’t stopped sobbing during the whole conversation. “Come on. We have to go.”
Melanie sat up and pushed Tennyson’s hands away. “Don’t touch me. I hate you. I fucking hate you.”
Tennyson drew back, not understanding what had just happened. Her cheek throbbed, and everyone still stared at them. She stood, moving backward away from Melanie and the absolute hatred in her old friend’s eyes. Melanie had said Kit left her. That couldn’t be true. He’d said that . . . he’d essentially said that he understood what he needed to do.
Oh. God.
Surely, he hadn’t thought Tennyson meant . . .
But maybe he’d taken it that way. Maybe Kit had taken her apple analogy and punted.
Emma managed to get her mother up and out the door, the bridal party trailing behind her, all looking worried and completely bamboozled about what had just occurred. Tennyson kept stepping backward, her hands shaking, her body joining in on that chorus.
Kit had left Melanie?
And he’d obviously told her it was Tennyson’s idea.
“Well, shoot, I guess I ain’t gonna get those chicken wings after all,” Frank said, completely unaware that Tennyson was still in the room. He slapped Jason on the back, and they moved back to the table and their forgotten bingo cards. The drag queens started up the music and assumed their vampy positions. The world started turning again.
Tennyson bumped up against a jukebox and reached out a steadying hand so she didn’t buckle under the emotion swamping her.
Tennyson never cried because she was too tough to cry.
But at that moment, everything she’d claimed to be left her, and all that was left were the saltiest of tears.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Melanie lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. She’d painted it last February, a clean white that reflected too much light. The muted gray had been a better choice, but she’d been obsessed with “a bright, clean white” because she felt like that would project what her life was—streamlined, pure, and full of light.
She was obviously a dumb ass, because right now she’d have to paint that ceiling black. Or at least a dark charcoal.
“Mom?” Noah stood in the doorway of her bedroom.
Melanie glanced at her bedside clock, which read 1:32 a.m. “Hey, honey, what are you doing up?”
The Xanax she’d taken had made her woozy, but she still couldn’t sleep. The images of the day kept circling through her mind. It had started fine—she’d had the bump of sadness and two cigarettes in the kitchen garden—but she’d been looking forward to the evening. She’d never been to a drag queen show before and thought the idea Emma’s girlfriends had come up with was fun. Plus, they had the rehearsal and wedding to look forward to. Marc had done an amazing job with the little time he’d been given, and he hadn’t gone too far over budget. Even better.