Froggy Style (10 page)

“G
et your hands off her and face me like a man, you . . . toad!” a voice growled above me.

I leapt up, knocking Lollie off the bench and onto the floor. Neither I nor the guy I assumed was her assassin boyfriend, Spindle, spared her a glance, each of us bent on sizing the other up.

The guy wasn’t anything like I’d thought Spindle would be. Not even a little bit. The guy was furry, for frog sakes. Everywhere. From his claws to the tip of his elongated nose. What could Lollie possibly see in him? I glared down at Lollie, who was trying to get up off the straw coated floor without much luck.

“So you’re the guy,” I said, stabbing my finger in Spindle’s direction. Anger vibrated through my body. Not only had he attempted to kill my bride, but he’d ruined my very first indiscretion as a soon-to-be-married frog prince.

Spindle grabbed my offending appendage and shoved me away from him. “Don’t you dare point your finger at me.”

Our waiter squealed again, ducking under the table next to the bar. The rest of the patrons looked on with something akin to excited horror, like the look on Miss Muffet’s face when along came a spider that sat down beside her and said, “Hey, baby, whatcha got in the bowl?”

Taking a steady breath, I considered my options. As much as I wanted to pound Spindle into a puddle of mush, I needed his cooperation in not murdering my fiancée more. On the other hand, beating him into a pulpy mush appealed to my sense of fair play, if not my designs on his girlfriend’s body.

Sometimes it was so hard being a noble prince like me.

Before I decided whether or not to act, the matter was settled for me. Lollie jumped between us, jamming her hand into her lover’s sternum. “Damn it, Oliver,” she said. “We’ve been through this time and again.”

Oliver? Who the hell was Oliver? With as many lovers as Ms. Bliss had, she was bound to live up to her name. “Wait a minute. He’s not Spindle?” I yelled once my fantasies involving Lollie settled. “You’re not Spindle?” I faced the wolf-man Lollie called Oliver. “What the hell’s going on?”

Lollie answered, her glare fixed on the hairy guy in front of me. “Oliver is the proud owner of this restaurant,” she began, only to be cut off by the wolf.

“Five-star restaurant,” he corrected.

She nodded. “And sometimes he takes offense to certain criticisms offered by clients at this fine dining establishment.”

“Pedestrian criticisms by unrefined palates like yours,” Oliver said, motioning my way. His tone suggested that I ate flies or something, which I had, but not for many years, if one didn’t count the motorcycle ride over.

I laughed without humor. “Are you kidding me? All this,” I gestured around the wind damaged room, “was because of a few burnt ribs?”

“Burnt?” He took a threatening step forward, his claws scratching against the stained floor. “Why you . . . I trained with Gram-mam-me, one of the finest pastry chefs in the world—”

Lollie gave Oliver a shove, sending him falling back a step. “In all fairness, Kermit, you did order them well done.”

The little piggy stuck his head out from beneath the table. “He certainly did.”

“There goes your tip.”

The piggy flipped me off.

“Listen,” I said to the wolf growing bigger and madder before my eyes, “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sure you’re a hell of a cook—”

“Chef!”

“Fine. Chef.” I grinned, sneaking a quick glance at Lollie. She winced as if she knew what I planned to say next. “But come on, how hard is it to BBQ a rack of ribs?” I asked. “It’s not like it’s architecture or something.”

Lollie groaned. But the sound was lost to the crazed growl emanating from Oliver. He started with a huff, which quickly turned into a puff, and then the restaurant exploded around us.

P
icking straw and barbecued little piggy out of my hair, I staggered from the elevator to my hotel suite, images of Ms. Bliss, who’d just dropped me off at the hotel, flickering through my mind. She was a distraction I didn’t need. I wanted her. A lot. But I wasn’t quite ready to jump into full-on frogitude for thirty seconds of Ms. Bliss.

Besides, I’d made a commitment to Sleeping Beauty. Yeah, I’d also hired someone to kill her, but princes made mistakes. After all, she was my One. Nothing could or would stand in the way of our union, barring her death at Spindle’s hands, of course.

I unlocked the door to my suite and shoved it wide. Exhaustion hung on me like the emperor’s hand-me-downs. And what did I have to show for it? Nothing. I hadn’t found Spindle, and I had a pounding headache the size of London’s bridge, and to make matters worse I think Lollie’s friend Oliver gave me fleas.

What else could go wrong?

A cloud of smoke materialized in front of me, followed by the telltale form of my irritating fairy godmother. “Yoo-hoo, Johnny,” Elly called, stumbling forward. “I’ve been looking all over the place for you.” She punctuated her statement with a loud belch.

I bowed low. “As you can see, madam, I am here. At your service.”

Her wand lashed out catching me on the back of the head. “Don’t be smart with me, Johnny.” She hiccupped. “We’ve got trouble.”

Rubbing at my head, I glared at the woman entrusted with my happily-ever-after, if not my life. Her dress was stained with gin, her silver hair a mess, and her stockings hung around her bulging ankles.
You get what you pay for,
I thought, cursing my father and his penny-pinching ways.

Elly conked me with her wand again. “Are you paying attention?”

I yanked the wand from her hand and jabbed it in her direction. “If you hit me with this one more time . . .”

Her icy eyes narrowed. “You’ll what?”

Taking my time, I sauntered to the balcony, pushed open the window, and causally tossed the wand out of the window. For a second it hung in the air before spiraling downward and smashing on the Cin City strip below.

Elly gasped. Her hand clutched at her heart. Her pudgy face grew as pale as Snow White after the pregnancy test turned pink. She staggered a few feet and then fell to her knees, wheezing for breath.

I rushed over. “Oh God, Elly,” I said catching her in my arms. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Whap! Her fist smashed into my nose followed by the edge of a shorter, stubbier wand with a glittery tassel on the end. “You think that’s my only wand?” She patted her silvery hair. “You’re so naïve.”

I staggered to my feet, poking at the wound on my noggin. A small bump formed underneath my silken locks. I sat down heavily on the bed. “Listen, Elly, I have enough problems as it is without having you buzzing around. So what is it that you want? Cash?” I pulled out my wallet, only to realize Karl hadn’t returned my freshly laundered funds yet. “I’m tapped out at the moment, but I can call the concierge for a loan.”

Elly cleared her throat loud enough to rattle the windows. “I don’t want your money, Johnny.” Her eyes locked on my wallet with blatant greed in direct contrast to her words. “How is the wedding planning going? I can’t wait to walk you down the aisle. I bought the perfect dress this afternoon. Cost you ten grand, but it’s well worth it, you’ll see. It’s made of the finest troll hair—”

I winced, hating to disappoint the only motherly figure I’d ever known. “Better save the receipt,” I said.

Elly’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What did you do, Johnny?”

I blinked up innocently. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Don’t go all charming on me, mister.” She stomped across the room, stopping a few inches away, and glared down at me. “I repeat, what did you do?”

I patted the seat next to me. She rolled her eyes, but sat down, waiting for my tale to begin. For a long moment I said nothing. The air conditioner cooled the stale hotel room as hundreds of people gambled away their futures in the casino below.

“Well,” she prompted when I stayed silent.

Taking a deep breath, I took a gamble of my own. “Remember my friend RJ . . .”

“W
hat am I going to do with you?” Elly paced in front of me, yet her tiny fairy godmother feet never touched the ground. Rage kept her afloat. “How could you let this happen? I mean, really, you’re a frog prince.”

“I know.” I hid a small smile.

“How many times have we been through this?” she asked. “A hundred? Two?”

“I know,” I repeated, louder this time.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Hiring a nonunion killer is like playing pinochle naked with a semi-erect fairy.”

I swallowed the bile pooling in the back of my throat at her graphic picture. “I think you mean playing Russian roulette with a semiautomatic weapon.”

“You wish.” She tapped my ear with her wand before resuming her pacing along the plush carpet. Elly twirled in my direction, sending a bolt of static electricity shooting from her wand. I ducked, narrowly avoiding being barbecued by the errant strike.

“I never liked that girl,” said the fairy godmother banned from forty-five out of fifty states, barring a pending hearing in MaryHadALittleLand.

“What girl? Sleeping Beauty?”

“No. Not her. The other one.” She tugged at the collar of her gown. “The one you’re playing hide the tadpole with.”

“What?” I swung to face Elly. My chest burned with righteous anger. How dare she? Damn it, I’d stayed faithful to my intended. So far. “I’m not fucking anyone, let alone Lollie Bliss.” I counted to five to calm down before I lost control and said something I’d regret. “You old drunken crone!” Oops. Should’ve counted a little higher.

Elly gasped as if I’d struck her with her own stupid wand. “How dare you, Johnny. After all I’ve done for you.”

“Done for me?” I gave a hollow laugh. “Done to me is more like it. Do you remember my first boy girl dance in the seventh grade?”

“Of course.” Her hands went to her face. “You looked so handsome in your—”

“Dress, madam.” My fingers curled into a tight fist. “You and your magic wand dressed me in a dress.” I blew out a harsh breath. “I was the laughingstock of the entire school. They called me the Frog Princess until my senior year.”

“Which made you the frog prince you are today,” Elly declared with a hiccup. “God help us all.”

 

After a long hot shower, I toweled off, Elly’s words festering in my mind. What exactly did she know about my relationship with Ms. Bliss and, more importantly, how the hell had she found out? A name popped into my head, but I shook it away. Karl wouldn’t betray me. Not to Elly. The two rarely got along, except when they joined forces to stop me from “doing something stupid.”

Shit!

I grabbed the hotel phone and quickly dialed Karl’s room. The phone rang and rang, finally clicking over to the hotel messaging center. “Call me,” I ordered, tossing the phone back in the cradle.

Just where the hell was Karl? Two nights in a row my supposedly “at your beck and call” servant was suspiciously absent from both my beck and my call.

Pulling on a pair of clean Dockers and a button-down shirt, I contemplated heading to the hotel bar for a light snack and a really large bottle of whiskey, but ultimately decided against it. I hated eating alone, which probably had something to do with my early tadpole development. I’d spent nearly eight years eating every fly-crusted meal alone.

I didn’t want to be alone.

Not anymore.

Reaching for my p-Phone, I dialed Lollie’s number, even though a voice said, “Bad idea, Johnny.” I kicked the bathroom door closed, silencing Elly.

The phone rang once.

“Vaniteuse residence,” a familiar voice answered.

My eyes narrowed. “Marvin? Is that you?”

“Yes, sir,” Sleeping Beauty’s butler said. “Did you call to speak with Princess Beauty?”

“Um . . . I . . .” Shit. What the frog was wrong with me? How could I have dialed Beauty by mistake? Talk about your Freudian slipper. I heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Glad you’re still alive.”

“What?”

“What?” Marvin echoed.

“You said, you’re glad I’m still alive. What’s that supposed to—”

He cut me off. “I said no such thing.”

“Marvin? Is that you?” Beauty jumped on the phone line, her voice husky from sleep. “Who are you talking to? I warned you about calling those 900 numbers on my phone.”

“I know, my lady,” he said.

“Beauty,” I said to gain her attention. “It’s Jean-Michel.”

Silence.

“Beauty?” I repeated, afraid she’d fallen to sleep.

“Who?”

“Your fiancé,” I yelled.

“Number twenty-nine? What do you want?” She paused. “Are you calling to end our engagement?”

“No.”

“Oh,” she said, sounding shocked and a wee bit disappointed, but I might’ve been projecting. “Well, what is it you want, then?”

Stay calm,
I told myself. After all, the poor princess had almost died that afternoon. It was bound to make her a wee bit irritable, if not downright bitchy. I cleared my throat. “Marvin,” I said. “I’ll take it from here.”

“As you wish, sir,” he said, hanging up the phone.

Once he cleared the line, I growled. “Mademoiselle, in the future you will refrain from speaking to me like a servant in front of . . . well . . . the servants.”

I could picture her eye roll, but she sounded contrite when she said, “I apologize. You woke me, and I’m always a bit . . . cranky when I don’t get enough sleep.”

“I see.”

Silence grew between us until Beauty broke it. “So, did you call for something?”

“I . . .” Shit. It wasn’t like I could admit the truth, that I’d dialed her number on accident while trying to make a date with a woman whose boyfriend I’d accidentally hired to kill her.
Think, damn it!
I ordered my brain, but low blood sugar and lack of sleep had taken its toll. Not to mention the dent in my forehead.

“Well, thanks for calling,” Beauty said. “I look forward to your next pearl of conversational wisdom. I do hope it’s soon,” she said sweetly. Before I could response, she hung up the phone, leaving me staring at the receiver, a small smile on my lips.