She came around the bed and grabbed him by the arm. “Quick!” she said. “Under the bed.”
Rick dropped to the floor and tried to squeeze beneath the boxspring but he was too big.
She shook her head. “Nope. Too narrow.”
He stood up again.
“Here,” she said, pulling him over to a wardrobe which stood against the wall, “get inside.”
She opened the cabinet and pushed him in among the clothes and hangers, but the door wouldn’t close.
“Nope,” she said, pulling him back out. “Too small.”
“Why don’t I just stand in the corner with a lampshade on my head?” he suggested sarcastically.
“Too obvious.”
She looked toward the window.
“I know... climb out the window. You can stand on the ledge.”
“Are you nuts? I’m not going out there!”
“Hilda!” the man bellowed from behind the door. “If there’s somebody in there with you I’ll kill the son-of-a-bitch!”
Rick climbed out the window. Cursing, he inched his way along the ledge.
Hilda scooped up his clothes and threw them out after him; they sailed down, landing on the dome of the ballroom, attracting the attention of a few people who looked up, which was just what she wanted.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Rick asked, exasperated, clinging to the wall.
“I can’t have my husband finding your clothes! Now, don’t worry, I’ll get rid of him. Just stay put!”
“Like, where else would I go?”
...gonna fly now...
Hilda went to the door and opened it.
“Darling!” she said loudly. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting... I was in the bathtub.”
A burly man in a Marriot maintenance uniform smiled and held out his hand.
She reached into the pocket of her silk robe and handed him a hundred-dollar bill.
Outside the window came a terrific crash, following shouts and screams.
Hilda ran to the window and looked down.
Below, on the ballroom floor sprawled Rick; he looked like a baby bird in a nest of glass.
“Sweet Jesus!” said the maintenance man, now standing next to her. “You didn’t say anything about anybody gettin’ killed...”
“How was I supposed to know he was going to fall?” she said, stunned. “I just wanted him exposed.”
“He’s exposed, all right,” the maintenance man said, looking down. He pointed a thick thumb at himself. “I’m outta here, lady,” he said. “I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.”
And he left.
She stepped back from the window, into the shadows of the room. “It was just a harmless prank...”
Heather returned to the ballroom just in time to join the group of her classmates who were gazing up through the glass dome, giggling at something. She joined in the laughter, at the sight of the naked man doing an ungainly tightrope act on the ledge of the floor above. Her laughter caught in her throat, however, as she recognized Rick, and then the group’s glee turned to gasps as Rick fell, and they jumped back, as he crashed through in a shower of glass fragments.
She rushed to him.
Even before she knew if he was dead or alive, she bent near him where he lay, sprawled in a pile on his clothes and shards of glass. Those around saw only concern on her face, but her whispered words to her husband were: “This is the last time you humiliate me... I want a divorce!”
He could only manage a moan.
Later, she turned her back on him, as ambulance attendants arrived to tend to her husband’s cuts, and walked regally away.
She was a queen about to be crowned, after all, with a court to attend...
Hilda stood with her friends in the ballroom and watched as ambulance attendants carefully transferred Rick on to a gurney. Now that it was apparent Rick’s injures weren’t life-threatening falling on top of his clothes had kept him from being shredded — many of the spectators were snickering and laughing.
Jennifer walked up to Hilda. “You did that on purpose,” she said acidly. “You set him up!”
“He set himself up,” Hilda responded flatly.
There was a pause, then Jennifer blurted, “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“Stick around...”
A screech filled the room — feedback from the P.A. system — as one of the reunion committee members, a tall, lanky sandy-haired man, spoke into the mike at the edge of the dance floor. “Everyone... please go back to your tables. In spite of this... unfortunate accident... the hotel will allow us to continue with our evening.”
People began to return to their chairs. Several of the waiters were clearing away the last of the glass.
“I have the results of the ballots filled out during dinner,” the committee member continued, holding up an envelope, “and the woman named Reunion Queen this evening will preside over tomorrow’s pig roast.”
A hush fell over the room.
He opened the envelope. “And the Reunion Queen is... Hilda Payne!”
Instantaneous squeals came from several tables, followed by loud applause.
Near the front, in a prominent position she’d taken, Heather stood amid her classmates, shocked; then she joined in, clapping, too loudly, her face frozen in a smile not even she believed.
Hilda walked slowly up to the microphone. She smiled and nodded at Heather, whose glazed smile seemed about to crack. Another classmate handed her a bouquet of red roses, and placed a small rhinestone tiara on her head.
She looked out over the audience: a sea of smiling faces.
“Thank you,” she said, as the applause waned. “I think it’s fitting that the girl who won The Ugliest Pig Contest at the prom fifteen years ago, be asked to preside over the pig roast tomorrow...”
A few people laughed, but mostly, the smiles vanished.
“That’s the problem with pranks,” Hilda continued, “you can never be certain of the outcome...”
The room was deadly quiet.
“I’ll deliver this tiara, and these roses, personally... you see, I’m not Hilda. I’m Linnea. And before my elective surgery two years ago, my name was Lenny.”
Hilda sat in a wheel chair by the window in her room at Fairview Nursing Home. Beyond the window was a breathtaking view of colorful flower gardens, rolling green hills and a sky as blue as a robin’s egg. But she did not see the scenery, her eyes remaining placid and dead — nor did she appreciate its beauty, for her mind was less than a child’s.
“How is she doing today?” Linnea asked the nurse, a matronly woman with a kind face. They stood just outside the doorway.
Linnea had long ago stopped inquiring if her cousin’s condition had improved since the attempted suicide; there was no reversing brain damage caused by carbon monoxide poisoning.
“She’s been a little restless,” the nurse answered. “I can’t help but think it’s because you’ve been away.”
The nurse looked at the bouquet of roses and the tiara Linnea held in her hands. “She can keep the flowers,” the nurse instructed, “but after you’ve gone, we’ll have to take away the crown. I’m afraid one of our more agile guests might ‘borrow’ it. You understand.”
Linnea nodded.
“We’ll hold it in the office.”
The nurse turned and left.
Linnea entered the room. “Hello, Hilda,” she said softly, gently touching her cousin’s arm.
The woman’s body jerked a little, and the pupils of her eyes moved back and forth, like an infant’s trying to make sense of its world.
Linnea sat in a nearby chair.
The afternoon sun streaming in the window moved in a slow arc across the room, as Linnea spoke in a soothing voice, telling her cousin all about the reunion.