Evening Bags and Executions(88)

My weird feeling got weirder.

“Where’s your costume?” Muriel asked.

Oh my God—this was a costume party?

“Everybody has to wear a costume,” Muriel said.

How could it be a costume party?

“Mrs. Adams will lose her mind if somebody shows up without a costume,” Muriel said, bordering on all-out panic.

How come nobody told me I needed a costume?

And then I knew—Vanessa.

She’d taken the costume requirement info out of the file—just like she’d done with the other things. She hoped nobody would tell me and I’d show up without a costume, and look like a complete idiot—which is exactly what I looked like.

Total panic set in.

Where the heck was I going to find a Beatles costume now? The party had started; people were already arriving. What was I going to do?

And what would happen when L.A. Affairs found out I’d attended this high-profile event without a costume? Would they fire me?

But would it matter—after Sheridan blabbed to all of her important, influential friends about how the planner from L.A. Affairs had snubbed her costume requirement and put the company out of business?

“Oh, wait,” Muriel said, and heaved a sigh of relief. “That must have been your costume that was delivered for you.”

Okay, now I was totally lost.

“The garment bag,” Muriel said, pointing up the stairs. “I hung it outside your door.”

I nearly collapsed with relief.

“That other girl dropped it off,” Muriel said.

My anxiety amped up again.

“What other girl?” I asked.

“The one Jewel worked for,” Muriel said. “Vanessa.”

Vanessa had brought me a costume?

“She had on the most beautiful dress,” Muriel said. “A deep garnet red made of lace. She’s Julia Lennon, John’s mother—the woman who inspired it all.”

What was Vanessa doing here? This was my party. She’d dumped it off on me the very first day I met her.

And why was she wearing the most totally awesome costume imaginable?

Oh my God—this could not be happening.

I dashed up the stairs, grabbed the garment bag, and hurried into my room.

Vanessa had deliberately tried to sabotage me—again—by taking the costume info out of the file—then she’d brought me a costume?

I dropped the garment bag on the bed.

Why would Vanessa have done that?

I unzipped the bag.

Had she suddenly had an attack of conscience?

I pulled my costume out of the bag—white elephant leg pants, a white bell-sleeved jacket, a black blouse, and small, round eyeglasses with yellow lenses.

My mind sorted through all the characters I’d seen in every Beatles movie. I didn’t remember anyone dressed like this.

Then I pulled from the bag a huge, white floppy-brimmed hat and a wig of long, thick, frizzy, unkempt black hair.

I couldn’t recall ever seeing anyone on a Beatles album cover wearing this outfit.

But no time for that now. Vanessa was at the party, parading around in a fabulous costume, no doubt taking credit for all my hard work—well, mostly it was Jewel’s hard work, but still. I wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

I threw on the costume, took a quick glance in the mirror, and—froze.

My mouth fell open. My eyes bulged.

Oh my God. Oh my God.

Vanessa had stuck me in a Yoko Ono costume.

Crap.





CHAPTER 26


I wove my way through the crowd looking for Vanessa. I intended to blast her for all the crappy things she’d done—even if Yoko Ono putting the smackdown on Julia Lennon at a premiere Hollywood event made it on YouTube before midnight.

Judging by the looks I was getting from the guests, I didn’t think I could count on anybody for backup.

These partygoers—or maybe their personal assistants—really knew how to put together a costume. I spotted Sgt. Pepper, an old guy who was probably supposed to be Paul’s grandpa in A Hard Day’s Night, and Father McKenzie from “Eleanor Rigby.”

Another guy wore white face paint and a pale gauzy robe—I’m pretty sure it was his take on the whole Paul-is-dead thing—and next to him was a woman with long blond hair parted in the center whom I thought was supposed to be Cynthia Lennon.

A creepy man was carrying a hammer—no way did this guy look anything like Thor—whom I think was the serial killer mentioned in “Maxwell’s Silver Hammer.” The old couple Paul had sung about in “When I’m Sixty-Four” was there, along with Ed Sullivan, a clean-cut fellow in a suit who was probably Brian Epstein, and George Martin represented by a man with swept-back white hair, a loose tie, and rolled-up sleeves.

A group of partygoers had all dressed as blackbirds, somebody else had on a walrus costume, and several other people had on Nehru jackets and love beads inspired by the Magical Mystery Tour album.