Chapter 20: Rate My Beach

I approached the white van with the Larry Karry production sticker on it, not sure how to feel about the sudden and heartbreaking appearance of this slap in the face. Positive that all of my hopes and dreams died abruptly with the appearance of Missy Prince. Red beret, bleach blonde hair, perfect nails, perfect everything.

What had I done leaving her to manipulate Larry into giving her a show of her very own? "Reese! I was hoping I'd see you here." Missy's smile was anything but happy. Unless

happiness had a smirking and nasty edge to it with a full on dose of disdainful superiority. Oh wait, I was talking about Missy. This was her happy. "Larry says hi, by the way."

"What the hell are you doing here, Missy?" Maybe I should have tried to muster some kind of clever come back or slick response to hide the truth. That I hated her and Larry and my entire life so much right now I could scream. Instead, I did the best I could not to crumble into a pathetic ball of weeping childlike regret and let bitter resentment win.

I just wasn't in the mood to be the bigger person.

"I think it's pretty obvious," she said. I mustered enough empathy to feel bad for the guy behind the wheel of the van. The guy who Missy kneeled on like he was furniture instead of a person so she could lean out the driver side window, with the megaphone hanging from her hands, that ridiculous red beret smashing down her perfect blonde hair. No she did not look cute. No, she did not look beautiful. No. "Larry got me a gig on this hot new show. I'm directing!" She might as well have just cut my wrists right there and left me to bleed out on the pavement of the parking lot. "See? This is my directing ensemble." She made some vague gesture to her flowered sundress, production van, the beret.

I was going to die from the sheer envy eating me from the inside out.

"Yeah. I see." If we had been alone, if there had even been the remote possibility of me getting away with it, I would have murdered her then and there. Smacked her over the head with her megaphone until her eyes rolled back in her head. Choked her with her long, blonde hair. Cackled maniacally over her passing. Instead I had to stand there and imagine myself doing those things instead of actually being able to do them.

"Isn't this the best job ever?" She seemed clueless to my hurt. Or was enjoying it so much it added to her perk. Unlike Vine, Missy's excessive excitement was a sign of her growing delight at the discomfort of others. Not a genuine bone in her body. "I mean, imagine me ending up as director of my own show."

Yeah. Just freaking imagine. Choke.

She giggled and bounced a little. I watched the guy behind the wheel wince, his face tightening into a thundercloud of darkness and dread and anger that matched my own. Good to know I wasn't the only person she pissed off on a regular basis.

"Yeah." That was about all I could pull from the depths of my churning, burning soul and the hell I'd fallen into. "Awesome." Because I really meant it, didn't I? Sure I did.

"Well." She batted her lashes, coy smile brilliantly cutting. "Lovely chatting, but I have to run." At least there was that blessing in my world of despair and defeat. She was going away before I could show the kind of weakness I knew she had to be waiting for. No way was I giving her the satisfaction. I'd crawl into Carol in a minute and have a good cry in private. "Great to see you!"

It was impossible not to roll my eyes, to picture again my hands around her throat. I backed away while Missy lifted her megaphone, aiming it at a cluster of young people crossing the parking lot toward the beach, yelling into it at top volume. "Come to the beach! Be on my show! Rate My Beach is here to make you a star!"

They glanced our way, laughed, waved. No, my head was not down. No, I was not retreating in failure and jealousy as she beamed at them.

I stepped away because I just didn't want to get run over. Yup. "Stop the van, Hank!"

The driver hadn't even moved yet. Hank didn't glance my way, his irritation growing by the moment as his forehead bunched, bald head shining in the sunlight beaming through the window, dark eyes slits of annoyed silence. But I felt his pain, a kind of kinship and solidarity for those who suffered under the figurative and literal weight of who Missy Prince was.

"Oh, Reese. How utterly rude of me." And here was the truth behind her appearance, why she hunted me down-and she had, I was positive of that-why she'd come looking for me and pinned me down here with her stupid need to show me she was better than me. "You're here on this little Island for a reason too, aren't you?" If I could have ended her life with my gaze, I would have cut her in two. "Larry told me you have a new job."

I knew she was fishing. Faking friendship like she always did so she could get the upper hand. We'd lived this song and dance on and off in the last year. I'd been stupid enough to trust her in the beginning. But ever since Larry brought her on, ever since that initial fake friendship attempt of hers turned into a flip of power from me to her, I knew better than to trust that smile, those bright blue eyes.

Didn't stop me from wishing I could just beat her, even once. I glanced behind me, caught Vine watching, and winced. Knowing this time wasn't going to be my heroic rise to superiority. Having my mortal foe encounter any of the Lovely Witches would be all I needed. For Missy to find out I was making a documentary about crackpots that was going nowhere? I'd never, ever live it down. She'd use it against me the rest of my career. In fact, I could picture her hovering over me, both of us in the same nursing home, smiling that horrible, evil smile and asking me about the time I took a ridiculous job to make a documentary about make-believe and fakery.

Shudder. My life was just perfect.

"So?" She shattered the image, freshly shaped brows arching together as she allowed herself a tiny frown. "Chop, chop, time's a wasting. How's your little project going?"

I couldn't let her win. I should have turned and walked away and ignored her. Just not even try. Instead, needing to prove to her-and I guess to myself-I wasn't wasting my time, I made an attempt to defend my position. "Fine. Just working out some of the story points-"

Why did I even bother? Missy wasn't listening. I saw her glance at Vine, shrewd flash of understanding in her eyes, a sharp and nasty edge coming to her smile. "Okay, super! Have fun!" She turned toward her driver, the megaphone directly in his face. "Let's roll, Hank!"

Something inside me snapped. Like a rubber band shredded by too much pressure, a pane of glass no longer able to take the weight of assault. I have no idea where the pink, sparkly feeling came from, because my anger certainly didn't seem bright and shiny and glossy or feel like that particular shade of rose. But those sparking points appeared in my vision, all of my fury and frustration and irritation and annoyance and the other emotions I'd been battling since I arrived here aimed directly at the one person in the world who had managed to make my life miserable while pretending to be my friend. In that instant, Missy Prince became everything that was wrong with me and my entire existence.

I know it was coincidence, but the moment my intent to cause her harm flew from my psyche, Hank the driver reached up, grabbed the megaphone and threw it out the window. Missy gaped at him as he very carefully backed over her torture instrument of bellowing command.

Before shifting gears and deliberately driving forward again, the crunching sound of the bell of the megaphone giving me a great sense of satisfaction. And, from the look on his face, the feeling was mutual.

Missy's anger flashed, showing the real person for an instant. "That, mister, is coming out of your pay."

Such a funny thing, coincidence. Because the moment I opened my mouth to speak, Hank did to. The exact same words, at the exact same time.

"Totally worth it."

Missy didn't notice the symmetry. Instead, she smacked him with one hand. Hank twitched, like her blow broke him free of a spell. He glanced sideways at me, slightly startled, while the pink, sparkly feeling finally left me.

"Just drive, Hank." Missy sat back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest, that childlike and pathetic pout on her face I knew so well. I didn't get a chance to taunt her for it (any port in a storm) as much as I longed to, because Hank hit the gas and peeled out of the parking lot, heading down toward the beach. I stared after the departing vehicle with my heart at my feet, defeated feeling returning and positive the end of everything was nigh.

My life was over.

"Larry, you asshole." Helped a bit to lay some blame, though I knew it was on my shoulders, not his. "That was my job." It was, too. He'd been promising me my own show for as long as I could remember. Was my luck really that bad? That I had left at exactly the wrong moment? Just as my big break was about to happen? I turned back toward Vine and the Singing SandWitch truck, found her standing outside, all of her customers gone, as if she was waiting for me. With a sad but firmly kind look on her face.

It triggered an avalanche of self-flagellation I couldn't stop. "That right there, Vine?" I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder, at the departing van and the vile creature riding in it. "That is the story of my life. It's a shitty ass story, I tell you, and I'm tired of living it."

She came to me, hugged me, the keys to her business jangling in one hand. And I realized then she had locked up. Sent her customers away. For me.

No way. I was not going to break down and cry right here in the parking lot. Not.

"Don't worry, doll." She smiled like she meant it. "You are destined for greater things. Trust me." If only. But she wasn't convincing me so easily. If ever. "Let me buy you a drink, okay?"

So sweet of her. It was a beautiful day, bound to be busy for her if she stayed open. Instead she was taking time to comfort me. Would I do the same for her?

I just wished she wasn't so deluded. Maybe then I could find it in me to let the gratitude win.

Instead, I followed her across the parking lot toward the beachside bar, wishing I was anywhere but on Prince Edward Island.

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