Ronny reached out with a microphone in his hand and tapped it on Steve's chest. "Take off," he said. "Scram."
Then Ronny made the mistake of pushing Steve. Microphone curled in one hand, the other hand balled into a fist, he thumped Steve on both shoulders and shoved.
Steve stumbled, then grabbed Ronny by his shirt and backed him into the table. Several Ginny dolls fell over.
"Take your mic someplace else," he said. "Gretchen doesn't want your company."
People near Gretchen's table backed away from the two men. Others moved closer for better views.
Gretchen heard Nina's voice rise in the background.
"Steve and Ronny are fighting over Gretchen," she shouted.
"Let him go, Steve. Ronny's harmless." Gretchen spoke nervously, hoping the police officer she'd seen earlier was on the far side of the hall.
"You better listen to her," Ronny said. "Otherwise, you'll be the feature story on page one. I ought to file a complaint against you for battery. Page one, I'm telling you. That would increase circulation."
Steve didn't release Ronny's shirt. "Gretchen, should I remove him for you?" His eyes never left Ronny.
"I hardly know the man," Gretchen said. "And I don't want any trouble."
"What are you saying?" Ronny said, risking a glance at Gretchen. "Is that all I mean to you? A one-nighter?"
Gretchen felt like braining Ronny with her toolbox while Steve had him cornered and defenseless. Instead, she placed a hand on Steve's arm. "He's a creep," she said.
"Let him go."
Steve released Ronny.
Ronny made a big show of rearranging his clothing, then turned to the crowd that had gathered. He smiled crookedly.
"I'm taking statements over by that door," he said, pointing to a back exit. "Anyone see the whole thing, I'll be waiting to interview you. It's going to be a big story."
Turning to Steve, he said, "You're lucky I'm on a story that's about to blow this place sky high. It's going to be better than those old-time horror flicks about them dolls that come alive and start murdering people. Yup. Even better than killer dolls. Even better…" he motioned at Gretchen with his head."… than the story about what just happened here."
"Get lost," Steve said.
Ronny looked at Gretchen. "You'll be sorry you passed up a good thing."
Steve took a step forward.
Ronny scurried away.
"Boy, oh, boy," April said for the third time. "Two guys fighting over you. Wow. That was something."
"Just great," Gretchen said, squirting mustard onto a hot dog with one eye on her table. "My cheating ex-boyfriend and the biggest slime in town. How lucky can a girl get?"
The crowds had thinned at noon as most visitors filed into an attached room for fast-food lunches. The two puppies were exhausted from the morning's attention and napped inside their respective purses. Tutu curled up under a chair and snored loudly.
"Good thing Ronny was distracted by Steve," Nina said from her table. "Or he would have been after me."
"He has a petition going on the other side of the hall,"
April said.
Nina paused, a nacho close to her open mouth. "What kind of petition?"
"Ronny wants you thrown out of the doll show. He says all that dog hair can't be good for the dolls. Six vendors have signed already."
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Nina said.
April shrugged. "I just heard." She reached in a pocket of her enormous muumuu and grinned. "Here's the petition. It won't be circulating anymore."
"Someone's going to shoot Ronny one of these day,"
Nina said, grabbing the paper and reading the names. "I heard he went from table to table insulting the doll dealers with outrageous accusations and comments, trying to rile them."
"He'll do anything to sell papers," April said, working on her third hot dog and her second bag of potato chips.
"Even if he has to make things up."
"Don't I know it," Nina said.
Gretchen watched April eat. The woman would have to go to Curves several times a day to work off the huge quantities of food she liked to consume. No wonder she was broke. She spent all her money on unhealthy snack food.
Gretchen took a bite of the hot dog and avoided Nina's eyes, which reminded her of Tutu's when the schnoodle begged at the kitchen table. Nina was bound to fall off her vegan diet by the end of the day.
"At least Steve knows he has some competition," Nina said. "But Ronny? Gag me."
Gretchen stared at her aunt. "I really mean it, Nina. I'm not going back to Steve."
"Even if he wants to fly to Vegas for a quickie wedding?"
"Especially not then."
"Just checking to see if you changed your mind. I saw you talking to him. You seemed cozy."
Cozy?
"He's pressuring me," Gretchen said. "I don't want to talk about him."
Nina broke a nacho chip in half and nibbled. "I know why Detective Albright's helping out at the doll show."
Gretchen raised her eyebrows.
"He's working on his doll problem." Nina looked at April. "Probably for Gretchen's sake."
"He can ask her out anyway," April said. "Who cares if he doesn't like dolls."
"He's off duty today," Nina said. "And he's hiding from his soon-to-be ex. She'll never think to look here. He spends five minutes at a time walking the aisles, looking at the dolls, then he takes a break in the back room to recover."
"He seemed pretty uncomfortable when I saw him last,"
Gretchen said.
"And hot," April added. "As in sexy hot."
"I heard Matt's wife is a nutcase," Nina said. "His mother has plenty of stories to tell about her. Speaking of, here comes Blabby Bonnie."
Bonnie bustled up, her red wig slightly askew. "Gretchen, I'll watch your table for a few minutes. You have to go see the Boston Kewpie Club's table. You know Kewpies are my specialty, but even I haven't seen anything like their combined collections."
The Bostonians' table overflowed with Kewpie dolls. All had knobs of hair on their crowns and long wisps of hair tumbling over their foreheads. Tiny molded blue wings protruded from bare pink shoulders.
Most Kewpies didn't wear clothes. Some in the Boston collection wore scarves or sunbonnets and clutched bouquets of flowers or waved flags, and the rest performed their spirited deeds fully exposed for all to see.
"Kewpie is short for Cupid," Margaret Turner, of the sensible walking shoes, was explaining to a cluster of curious shoppers.
"This one…" Eric selected a Kewpie from the table.
"… is called Always Wears His Overshoes. And this one is a Kuddle Kewpie. Note the cloth face and soft body."
"I have a Kewpie Dog at home," someone said.
"That would be Doodle Dog," Margaret said. "Or Kewpiedoodle Dog. He was modeled after the original designer's Boston terrier."
"Who was the original designer?" someone asked.
"Ruby O'Neill," Milt Wood replied.
"No, it was Rosie O'Neill," someone else said, correcting him.
"That's right," Margaret said. "Her name was Rosie O'Neill. Let me show you a few more."
Several of the club's members wandered back from lunch. Gretchen, relieved that Steve was nowhere in sight, nevertheless kept a sharp eye out for him. Nimrod yipped from the purse on her shoulder. She took him out and cuddled him in her hands. Eric held up another Kewpie for the group. "Kewpie Carpenter," he said. "He uses the hammer in his belt to fix things."
"Here's a Blunderboo," Margaret added. "Note how he's rolling down a hill."
Gretchen considered the Kewpie in Margaret's hand. A far superior design to the one from Duanne Wilson's box. Much more detailed and of higher-quality material. More importantly, it was the real thing, not a badly botched reproduction.
"I have a reproduction Blunderboo Kewpie with me,"
Gretchen found herself saying to what had now become a large gathering of doll collectors. "It belongs to…" The box of Kewpies in her trunk would involve a long explanation she'd rather not get into. Why did she even mention it?