Sour Grapes

caused her, the metal didn’t budge.
    “Help me! Please, please, help me!” she screamed behind the tape. But there was no one to hear her muffled cries.
    After what seemed like an eternity, the terrible pain in her lungs seemed to lessen just a little. Moment by moment, Barbie’s panic gradually began to subside, and she stopped her futile thrashing.
    It wasn’t so bad.
    Maybe she didn’t need to fight it. Maybe she didn’t need to escape.
    This darkness. The comforting, warm darkness, closing all around her... it wasn’t so bad.
    In the fuzzy recesses of what remained of her mental functions, Barbie Matthews was mildly surprised.
    Who would have thought it?
    This dying... it wasn’t so bad, after all.

Chapter

8

    J ust as Savannah had surmised, Atlanta was heading into the ladies’ room. And her wanna-be stalker, Frank Addison, was making a production of lighting a cigarette and studying a piece of impressionistic art on a nearby wall.
    As Savannah waited and watched, half-hidden behind a giant potted palm, several females came out of the rest room, including contestants, their mothers, and some of the Villa Rosa staff, as well as Catherine Whitestone-Villa.
    When Catherine passed the palm on her way back to the tasting room, she spotted Savannah. A look of concern crossed her face, and she walked over to her. “Is everything all right, Savannah?” she asked. “You seem... upset.”
    Savannah glanced over at Addison, who was still pretending to be absorbed by the painting. “Oh, sure. Everything’s just peachy. You go on back to your dinner, Mrs. Villa. I think your husband is beginning his speech.”
    “Oh, yes!” Her face brightened. “I don’t want to miss that. He counts on me to be in the audience.” She lowered her voice and whispered, “Tony’s actually a little bit stage-shy, if you can imagine that. Isn’t it sweet?”
    “Oh... sweet... very sweet, indeed.”
    As Catherine walked away Savannah resisted the urge to gag. Maybe she wouldn’t want dessert, after all—not even one helping, let alone two.
    But her nausea quickly changed to cold-blooded fury when Atlanta came out of the bathroom and was immediately intercepted by the horny Frank Addison. Although Savannah couldn’t hear what he was saying, it was easy to catch the drift of his conversation as he dug into his Brioni jacket pocket, produced a business card, and tucked it into Atlanta’s hand.
    Savannah was there in half a dozen strides. She was just in time to hear him say, “... anytime... love to hear from you... many things to talk about....”
    She wasn’t sure who was the more surprised, Frank or Atlanta, when she snatched the card out of the girl’s hand. She gave Atlanta a quick, businesslike smile, and said, “I’ll take that, and you can go back to your dinner, Miss Reid.”
    “But... but this... gentleman and I are talking,” Atlanta sputtered.
    “This gentleman and I have business to discuss, and you need to return to your table, Miss Reid... immediately.” She gave the girl a slight push toward the door, and Atlanta walked away, glaring at her older sister over her shoulder.
    “Dang, I’m gonna pay, big-time, for this,” Savannah muttered. She turned to Frank Addison, who by now was more angry than surprised. “What did you think you were doing there, Mr. Addison? I’m sure someone told you it’s against the rules for the judges to consort with our pretty contestants.”
    His face turned so red that his nose flushed purple. She half expected him to have a stroke right there in front of her but decided that was too much to hope for.
    “Consort? Who’s consorting?” he said. ‘The young lady dropped a piece of paper, and I picked it up and gave it to her,” he said with a sniff that was, no doubt, intended to sound indignant, but Savannah decided he probably just had allergies. “Boy, that’s what you get for trying to be a gentleman. You do a good deed, and somebody thinks you’re up to no good.”
    Savannah cast a withering glance down at the zipper area of his trousers. “Oh yes, I can see that your ‘no good’ is up. And that’s what bothers me. I saw the way you were looking at the contestants when they were traipsing across the stage. And I saw you follow that particular lady to the bathroom and wait for her to come out. And I saw you hand her your business card. And I heard what you told her about getting together later, so don’t try to bullshit me, Mr. Addison. I know