Gorilla Beach (28 page)

“Grab your bags. When I took a cab to Will's place, I remember passing a cheap hotel with a vacancy sign. We can park there until we come up with a plan.”

“The plan before the plan?” said Gia. “Fine. Whatever. Is it far? These bags are heavy.”

“Fifteen minutes, tops.”

Two hours later …

“Where is this place?” whined Gia. “My feet are gonna fall off.”

Bella was hopelessly lost. She'd think they were going in the right direction, then she'd lose her bearings. Every wrong turn had them circling deeper into the heart of the grime district.

Gia said, “Wasn't there an Atlantic City serial killer a few years ago? He attacked tourists who'd wandered off the main strip? Or am I just making that up?”

The slums of Atlantic City weren't as bad as, say, parts of Harlem or Bed-Stuy. But,
damn,
these mean streets gave Newark a run for its money (meaning, you'd best run, son, before someone took your money). They hoofed past a bombed-out building with shattered windows and heard something crash inside. A pack of
wild dogs stormed out of the building, barking and snarling. Gia stepped over broken bottles in her platform heels, while Bella sidestepped gutter puke.

A garbage can fell over behind them, the clatter echoing in the alley they'd mistakenly walked down. Bella felt a presence behind her. Spinning around, she saw a moving pile of rags. A homeless man. He was crawling out of a makeshift cardboard-box shelter. He wore filthy pajamas, as if he'd rolled out of bed and kept rolling through a mile of filth. His face was so dirty, Bella couldn't guess his ethnicity. The matted black hair hadn't been washed since the Bush administration. Bush the elder.

“Stop right there,” he said, his voice hoarse from disuse.

“Is he tan or gross?” whispered Gia.

Bella wasn't looking at his face. She had eyes only for the rusty kitchen knife in his right hand.

“Money, phones, cards, Pods. Throw 'em on the ground.”

“We don't have money,” said Gia. “
Duh!
That's why we're in funky town.”

“Drop the bags,” he growled. “Now!”

Bella did as she was told. Her parents had lectured her many times on how to handle a mugging. Just throw your stuff and run like hell. Only problem: Their backs were to an alley wall. The only way out was around or through the mugger, who, by the look and smell of him, was a drunk or an addict. No one could stand the stench if he weren't massively wasted. His habit made him unpredictable.

“Karate-chop him,” whispered Gia.

If he weren't holding a knife, Bella would have already wheel-housed him to the ground. She'd sparred with and crushed dudes twice his size at the gym. But they weren't loco junkies with sharp weapons.

“Just do what he says,” whispered Bella.

“But my clothes. What's he gonna do with a Lycra halter dress?” To the mugger, she said, “Honestly? You don't want my stuff. It won't fit you. It's tight on me, and I'm a Smurf.”

He took another step toward them, his odor strong. “Just do it!” he yelled.

“Fine,” said Gia, dropping her bag on the ground. “Jerkoff.”

Bella's reflexes were primed to react. Instinctively she assumed a ready-position fighting stance. The mugger noticed and seemed to hesitate. But then he took another step toward them.

“It that your real hair or extensions?” he asked, waving the knife at their heads. “I can tell it's a weave. Human hair, or synthetic?”

“Were you a stylist in a former life?” asked Gia.

“Human hair or synthetic!”

Gia said, “It's human hair. Who do you think we are? A pair of cheap bitches? Hooker, please.”

“I want it.”

“Tough,” said Gia. “You can have my clothes, but you're not taking my hair. You know what I paid for these extensions?”

“Yeah, I do,” he said, grinning a rotten smile. “I can sell the hair for more than your trashy dresses.”

In a flash, the mugger rushed toward them, knife out. It was the single most terrifying moment of Bella's life. She'd stared down raging bullheads in bars and fought off a date rapist in a hot tub. But this guy was desperate, fearless, with nothing to lose. The crazy look in his eye distracted Bella and she waited two seconds too long to react. Gia heaved a trash bag at the guy and ducked. Bella unfroze in time to crouch protectively over Gia.

The sound of barking echoed in the alleyway. “Get away!” shouted the mugger.

Bella peeked over Gia's head. Two stray dogs were attacking him. They tore at his pajama legs, ripping the already frayed fabric to ribbons. The mugger's scream meant the white blur of a dog
had bit into flesh. He tried to kick away the small dogs, but they kept coming at him. One had springs for legs and jumped up, snout open, to bite the guy on his wrist. The knife clattered on the ground.

Seizing the moment, Bella squared off to do a classic spinning high kick, landing it on his jaw. The mugger collapsed in a heap, out cold.

As soon as the enemy was down, the dogs stopped barking and biting. They sniffed the mugger's motionless body, then turned their attention toward Gia and Bella.

Gia was jumping up and down, clapping. “That was incredible, Bella! You nailed him!” Gia knelt down, her arms open, and made kissy sounds to the dogs. “Our little heroes! Come 'ere.” The dogs pranced over to her and accepted vigorous rubdowns.

Now that the fur had stopped flying and Bella's pulse was returning to normal, she could see how tiny the dogs were. If she had to guess their breeds, she'd say one was a Pomeranian, and the other a dachshund. Bella had heard tragic stories about people adopting purebred dogs, and then, when they couldn't handle the responsibility or training, they drove to parks or faraway neighborhoods and dumped their pets on the street. She wondered if that could have happened to these two.

“Are you sure you want to touch them?” asked Bella. “They're probably covered in bugs.”

“These dogs just saved our lives. After a bath, they'll be little princesses. Er, let me double-check that … yes, two princesses. Look at this little wiener dog! And this fur ball! Adorable. They're ours now. We owe them, big-time.”

“Are you sure?”

“I'm sure,” said Gia. “Come on, danger babies. Get us out of here.”

Just like that, the dogs showed them the way out of slime city. The cousins followed the dogs for a few blocks and came to a
main road. A block farther along, they could see the ocean, which meant the boardwalk was nearby.

“You see?” said Gia. “The puppies know what's up.”

“But we're right back where we started.”

“Wrong. We went out sad and alone. And now we're mommies to Pretzel and Kookah.”

“Only you could sugarcoat a mugging,” said Bella.

“My shot glass is always half-full.”

“We're still broke with nowhere to go.”

“Meh. I say we're the two luckiest bitches in AC. The
four
luckiest bitches.”

The dogs barked affirmatively.

Bella laughed. “Pretzel and Kookah?”

“The wiener is Pretzel. And the fluff ball is Kookah.”

“Makes sense.”

Music. Gia's cell was playing Kaskade. “Phone! Maybe it's Ponzi, calling to give our money back.”

Bella snorted. “You're delusional.”

Gia checked caller ID. “Maria?” she answered.

“I need you,” cried the newlywed. She could barely speak. “You have to come back to Seaside, immediately.”

“What's wrong?”

“Stanley moved out,” sobbed Maria. “We're getting a divorce.”

“It all went to
hell, that's what happened!” ranted Maria, a soggy tissue in her shaking hands. The wedding portrait of her and Stanley hung on the wall behind her. It looked awesome. Gia felt kind of bad things didn't work out with Will, the artist, and Bella. But Gia put that out of her mind for now. Also, the travesty of Ponzi. And that she and Bella nearly got mugged a short while ago.

Gia had never seen Maria look this bad, not even blind drunk, sprayed with whipped cream, and falling down the stairs at Karma. Maria was so upset, she didn't complain about paying the cousins' $100 cab fare from AC. Her blond hair hadn't been flat-ironed in days, her permanent French manicure was cracking, and—the sign something was seriously wrong—Maria was pale. Well, her version of pale, which was like a normal person after a week in Bermuda. But if Maria was a shade lighter than latte, she might as well be naked.

“How long has Stanley been gone?” asked Bella.

“Since I called you.”

“Two hours ago? Does he even know he's been kicked out?”

Maria said, “When the door crushed his nose, he got the friggin' message.”

“Did he cheat?” asked Gia. Impossible. He had a face and body only Maria could love.

The five of them—Maria, Gia, Bella, Pretzel, and Kookah (the dogs had already had kitchen-sink baths)—sat on the couch in the living room. The bungalow had changed so much since Gia and Bella had lived there last summer. Maria and Stanley had renovated the original house from floor joists to roof, as well as annexed the house next door, doubling the number of bedrooms, bathrooms, and living space.

Maria said, “No other woman. It's even worse. He tried to turn
me
into another woman. He doesn't really want me. He wants a wifey to sit around the house, rolling fresh pasta, looking classy. Someone like Donna Lupo.”

Bella said, “I thought you wanted to be a wifey.”

“I did, at first. I looked at those women and thought they lived the good life. No jobs. No responsibilities. Spending all their time buffing and polishing themselves, wearing the right clothes, the right shoes, drinking the right wine. But that's not me. I've been wrong my whole life! Three times divorced. A high school dropout. Not saying I'm proud of those things, but that's who I am. The only thing I ever did right was run Tantastic. I was good at that. I was happy having my own business. Don't look at me like that, Gia. I know I was lonely. But you can't expect every part of your life to be perfect at the same time. You'll always have troubles. Before I got back together with Stanley, I had one major problem—no man. Now I've got no job, no true friends—present company excluded—and I'm bored out of my freakin' mind talking about clothes, recipes, and plastic surgery. Stanley expects me to cook dinner for him—every friggin' night! And if we eat out, forget pizza at Three Brothers or nachos grandes at Spicy. We have to go to the right restaurants with the entire Lupo crew. I'm sick of being right! I wanna be wrong again! If I have to wear fur in this heat again, I'm going to kill myself.”

Gia stroked Pretzel's back, making her purr. “This hot dog
thinks she's a cat. Honestly, Maria? When I saw you at the Cowboy Club at your bachelorette party, I didn't recognize you. I was like, ‘Who's that bimbo talking with Maria's voice?'”

“I thought, if a little change was good, then a lot of change was even better,” said Maria, pressing her face into Kookah's soft fur. “But now I regret it all. The face, the hair, selling Tantastic, marrying Stanley. I'm not me anymore. I'll take the loneliness if I can just be myself again.”

“You can go back,” said Gia.

“How?” sobbed Maria. “I sold the salon and gave up my apartment. Stanley owns this house. I threw him out, but, legally, he can evict me anytime.”

“You're married,” said Bella. “Doesn't that make half the house yours?”

“He owned the buildings before we got married.”

Maria really was up shit creek without a plunger. Gia's parents split of five years ago was still fresh in her mind. She remembered the war waged over candlesticks that no one really wanted. They had seventeen years' worth of possessions and life to divide and dismantle. Maria and Stanley had been married only three weeks.

“I've got the wedding money, but that's it,” said Maria. “It's in a joint savings account.”

“It's something,” said Gia. “First thing we need to do is dye your hair back to lethal brunette. And your skin is scaring me. Second stop at Soleil for a myst. Then we shop for new clothes at the Toms River Mall.”

“I might need a bigger size,” Maria said. “I've gained ten pounds in the last month.

“I hate to have to give the reality check,” started Bella.

“Then shut up,” said Gia.

“New hair and clothes are superficial changes,” said Bella. “Maria's real problem won't be fixed that easily.”

“She can't function with flat blond hair! She needs her pouf to think. It'll double her brain capacity.”

“Makes sense,” said Bella. “Let's go.”

For dinner later, the
five bitches celebrated their successful shopping day at Spicy, a Mexican restaurant on the boardwalk in Seaside. Pretzel and Kookah had new outfits, too, matching silver jumpers and rhinestone-studded collars.

“When I grow up, I wanna be a cougar like you,” said Gia to the restored Maria. “God
damn,
woman. You look as hawt as last summer, minus ten years. You've got a glow tonight, and I don't mean bronzer.”

Maria stroked her freshly dyed hair, radiating joy. “I feel like myself again. Thank you both, so much. You're my real friends. Those plastic bitches don't care about me. Only you two really understand.” So much for joy. She started blubbering, mascara running.

“Jeez, Maria, get a grip,” said Bella.

“Are you hormonal?” asked Gia. “You haven't had a cocktail yet or I'd say you were in weepy-drunk mode.”

“I need a shot,” said Maria, rallying. “Waitress! Tequila emergency!”

The waitress came over to their table. “Round of margaritas. Rocks. Salt,” said Maria. “A nachos grandes con carne with a side of beans and rice. A couple chicken tacos, hard tortilla, and some chimichangas, too.” Turning to the girls, Maria said, “What are you guys having?”