Chapter 34
Saturday morning, Greene household
T he day of the party dawned bright and cheerful, California’s unrelenting sunshine a false backdrop for the day. Dread pooled in Gabby’s stomach like battery acid. She took a shower, Spanxed in her muffin top, and slid on her shoulder holster over a plain black tee. Extra cartridges, she strapped to her ankle. Compared to the hardware everyone else carried, the dart gun was a training bra.
Downstairs, Granny was the only one up, brewing coffee and doing her stretches. “Can you even touch your toes, Gabby? You need some exercise, sweetie.”
“Spanx is more efficient.” Just strap in the fat and go.
Granny shook her head. “You know I was in the Olympics. Not one of you took after me.” She shook her head in disappointment. “I’m working on the kids, though.”
Unfortunately, that was true. Out of everyone in the house, Granny was the only one who could perform a cartwheel. If she ever recorded herself, she could be famous on TikTok.
Gabby changed her tone, stopping short of taking Granny’s hand and looking into her eyes. “I’m worried about today. I have that party and—” She exhaled a shaky breath. “I’m worried it might not go well.”
“It’s a party, Gabriella. Aren’t those supposed to be fun?” One of her drawn-on eyebrows raised an inch as she said, “Is that hunk who came over still giving you trouble?”
“Eh, it’s worse than that.” She wanted to tell Granny everything, but the truth caught in her throat. If Granny approached Mischa or called the cops, the whole thing might blow up. Still, in the silence between them, Gabby was pretty sure her grandma understood, maybe not the details, but the seriousness of the situation.
Like it was gospel, Granny said, “Just serve more liquor. That always works.” She placed her hand on Gabby’s, and in a firm voice that contrasted with her paper-thin skin and blue veins, stated, “Don’t worry, I’ve got the house covered. I defected from the USSR and Shady Acres Nursing Home. Whatever it is, I’ve got it.”
When Gabby asked, “Is that why you’re with Burt?” Granny just laughed.
Before Gabby left, she made one last stop in the bathroom. The minute she did, she shouted, “Lucas Daniel Taylor, get your butt in here,” before mentally slapping herself for saying the word “butt,” which would only encourage him.
Lucas had drawn stick figures with big round butt cheeks all over the wall by the toilet. The artwork was subpar, and Lucas was clearly immature, even for his age.
Lucas walked into the room unrepentant, until he saw the wall. His eyes went big, and he started laughing hysterically.
“Lucas, this is not funny.”
“It was supposed to be invisible,” he said. “I did it with my spy pen.”
He also wasn’t good at reading directions. “Lucas, give me the pen. It’s mine now. And I want this clean before I get home.” She choked up a little at the threat. Hopefully, she would be coming home.
After she pocketed the pen, she gave him a hug and kissed the top of his head. “Love you, Lukie.”
Before she left the house, she slipped on her granny’s necklace, not for luck, but to remind her that she came from a line of women who could do anything. Gabby squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. It was half-assed plan or bust.
The Velvet Underground Speakeasy was as fabulous as it sounded—booths tucked into corners, dim lighting, and an ornate bar with a mirror surrounded by carved figures of Bacchus. It looked like a place where secrets would be kept. Kramer wasn’t there yet, still moving slowly after his garage fire. Carmen was bellied up to the bar flirting with a bartender, and Fran was bustling around doing things Gabby didn’t even realize needed doing. Justin, coming as Betty Danger for the evening, was on his way.
“Thanks for the help, Fran. I really appreciate it.”
“My pleasure.” Fran laughed at herself. “You know I like to get involved in everything. Some have even said ‘over-involved.’”
Was that an apology? At the very least, the self-awareness was endearing.
Fran looked around at the club. “I was worried—I mean the theme seemed a touch off—but I have to hand it to you, Camille. This is going to be a night to remember.”
Gabby had almost forgotten that Fran had accused her of stealing office supplies just yesterday. In retrospect, that seemed almost silly, and the least scary thing that had happened to her this week. And really, she had been trying to steal something, so Fran wasn’t wrong.
“I’m sorry I snapped at you yesterday,” Gabby said.
Fran set down the projector and really looked at Gabby. “And I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions about office supplies. I’m pretty sure it was Carmen.” She shook her head in Carmen’s direction.
“Nah, Carmen couldn’t care less about office supplies.”
“Maybe I should drop it,” Fran said, in one of those gratifying moments of unexpected growth. Gabby almost teared up.
Fran might be a pain, but there was no one more competent and reliable. In a different world, Gabby could have been her friend, following a lot of needless rules about office etiquette and helping to police expired yogurts in the break room fridge. Every friendship came with its own oddities. Instead, tonight would be the last time she’d see Fran, just when they’d overcome their first disagreement.
“What made you decide on the mob theme?” Fran squinted at the speakeasy.
“That was the party planner, Betty Danger. I have to admit I wasn’t supervising very closely.” Understatement of the year. She’d just said “you decide” to every question. She’d fallen into a mob theme the same way she’d fallen into a lukewarm marriage and an undercover job. Really, this was a moment she needed to learn from. Take action. Make decisions.
Just then, Betty Danger walked in. Betty was dressed to the nines as the mob boss’s best girl, Judy Garland meets Susan Lucci.
Before Betty had a chance to yell, “Gabby motherfucking Greene,” at top volume and expose her true identity in the most sensational way possible, she ushered Betty into a private booth.
In a hushed voice, Gabby said, “I need to tell you something. And look at your legs! It’s not even fair.”
Betty Danger’s legs went all the way up.
“Don’t make me blush, darling.” Betty wiggled all the way into the booth and whispered, “Tell me what’s going on,” she said conspiratorially. “I knew something was up this week. Besides Burt’s penis.”
Gabby grabbed Betty’s hand and leaned forward. “This isn’t going to make any sense, but I really need you to call me Camille tonight. I can’t explain why.”
Betty leaned back to get a good look at her friend. Whatever she saw must have satisfied her. “Okay… Camille . That’s nice. What’s your last name?”
“Walker. Camille Walker.”
“ Walker? ” Betty narrowed her eyes and then just threw up her hands. “I think you could have done better than that, but okay.” She gave Gabby a “this isn’t the end of this conversation” look and said, “I’ll roll, but you better dish over cocktails this weekend.”
Gabby smiled ear to ear. “You’re the best. Thank you.” Her best friend’s only enemy was boredom—the mob wouldn’t even faze her.
“ Camille , before the guests arrive, you should change.”
“Change?” She had planned to wear yoga pants and a black turtleneck and just blend into the background.
“You’re the host, Gabs. You have a part to play.” She pulled a garment bag off the back of a chair. “Plus, I brought you something.”
“You know I need to be comfortable tonight.” She needed to wear something she could run away in.
“Don’t worry. This will be perfect.” Betty unzipped the bag to reveal a pair of high-waisted, pin-striped black slacks with a pair of suspenders and a white collared shirt.
“I change my mind. That’s cute.”
“Of course it is. Don’t forget your lipstick.” Betty waved her off. “Go get changed.”
With her bold red lip and girl gangster costume, Gabby looked like the star of a black-and-white film.
When she tried to weasel away without any eye makeup, Betty put her hands on her hips. “ Camille , I don’t know what you’re up to, but what I do know is that you need to fully inhabit the role you’re playing. If you don’t believe it, no one will. Wear the costume, walk the walk, talk the talk. This eyeliner”—she held up the tube of liquid liner—“isn’t about enhancing your natural beauty. It’s about becoming.”
Gabby sighed. So much drama.
“Have you read Michelle Obama’s book?”
She hadn’t. Justin had loaned it to her like a year ago.
Betty waved her hands as if to keep from crying. “In the words of the most righteous bitch of the twenty-first century, ‘If you don’t get out there and define yourself, you’ll be quickly and inaccurately defined by others.’”
Gabby didn’t point out that Betty was literally dressing her up like a doll.
“Stop smiling. I’m trying to give you a bold, smoky eye.”
When Betty finished, she stood back and nodded in approval. “Go get ’em, tiger.”
Being a wife and mother had taught her a lesson that being a double agent had really hammered home. Gabby Greene needed to rescue her own damn self. It had only taken her until thirty-eight to learn that lesson.
Betty Danger sashayed into the center of the room and snapped her fingers in the air. “Okay, everyone. Let’s get to work. We have one hour to be party ready. I want it to look like an episode of The Sopranos in thirty minutes, but a classy one. This ain’t the Bada Bing, baby.”
“Who is the entertainment tonight?”
“Me and some of the other queens. We’re going to tone it down and channel Nina Simone. You’ll love it.”
“Perfect.” Gabby had to admit that having Betty’s crew, all six-foot-something badasses in heels, was comforting.
“You over there,” Betty said loudly in the direction of… Gabby did a double take. It was Markus. She hadn’t even noticed him arriving.
Markus smiled at Gabby and held out his hand. “Marshall Townsend. Nice to meet you.” Marshall, the name she’d given him the other night.
“Nice name,” she said, her voice sweet but with a tinge of “I see what you’re doing here.”
He glanced over her shoulder at Betty Danger and shook his head almost imperceptibly, his frustration palpable.
Gabby smiled and held out her hand like she hadn’t heard him. “Camille Walker. I’m Mr. Kramer’s personal assistant. And this is—”
Flirty to the max, Betty introduced herself. “Danger, Betty Danger.”
Gabby rolled her eyes. “Stop flirting. You’re married.”
Betty held out her hand dramatically to be kissed and dismissed Gabby’s reprimand. “I’m in charge here tonight.”
Markus practically choked on his own spit. “You’re in charge?”
“Yes, of the whole operation. I’m LA’s premier party planner,” Betty announced with no shortage of confidence.
If only she knew how much she’d pissed off everyone with this particular plan.
Markus flashed an “is she for real?” look at Gabby, who confirmed, “Betty is number one.”
“Marshall,” Betty said, angling for something by the tone of her voice, “can I bother you for some… assistance?” She gave him an up-and-down. “I see you have plenty of muscles.”
So did Betty for that matter.
Markus looked like he was biting down on his tongue, hard. Gabby tried not to laugh. After all of Markus’s whining that Betty couldn’t be at the party for national security reasons, here he was stuck doing her bidding. Gabby could watch this all night.
“What do you need?” Markus asked, sounding like he was ready to get this over with.
“Could you be a dear… there are some heavy boxes in my car. Could you carry them in?”
“Fine.”
“Oh, and first, can you hand me this vase? I can’t quite reach it.”
It was Markus’s turn to give Betty an up-and-down. Betty was taller than Markus, especially in her heels.
Markus handed her the vase unceremoniously and barked at Gabby, “Camille, why don’t you come help me with the boxes?”
Outside, Markus took a deep breath and slowed down. “I need a minute to catch my breath.”
“Sorry Betty was bossing you around.”
He laughed. “She would not make it as a government employee.” After a pause, he said, “It’s not her. This is my first field op since losing Darcy.” His voice almost powered down at the end. He could barely get the words out.
“That wasn’t your fault, Markus.” Gabby couldn’t explain why, but it really wasn’t his fault. Darcy had been a double agent, doing double agent things. There was no way Markus could have protected her from something he didn’t know was happening. Assuming he wasn’t also a double.
“She was my partner, my best friend.” He looked at her. “Now it’s you. You’re only here because of me. I argued for you. I trained you.”
“Markus.” Gabby looked at him. “I appreciate all of your support more than I can say, but I am my own woman. I chose to accept the job. I chose not to quit. I am responsible for my own decisions and the risks that I have taken. I don’t need you to take that on for me.”
Funny, but she might as well be talking to herself regarding the kids. They were their own people. She needed to let go just a little. How many times had Granny told her that roots-and-wings proverb? It took this for her to finally get it. “There is a saying about parenting. You need to give your kids roots and wings. I think you are in the same position. You taught me hand-to-hand combat skills, and you have to trust that I can use them.”
He gave a light chuckle. Admittedly, it was a bad example. They both knew Gabby was not the one to bet on in a fight.
With a confidence she only started feeling after Betty helped her with a costume change, she said, “And you did a damn fine job. Look at me.”
Markus gave her a glance that made her feel like a morsel he would be more than happy to gobble up. “That’s part of why I don’t want you in a dangerous position.” In a voice like butter, he said, “I like you, Gabby Greene.”
“I like you too, Markus. That’s why I gave you a coffee card and not Valentina.”
He laughed and said, “I knew that. I liked your little excuse about me being your main teacher, though.”
“And I thought I got away with that one,” she said.
“You look… nice, by the way.” He might have said “nice,” but from the look on his face, he meant more.
Gabby took a deep breath and stepped into the darkness of the speakeasy like she was diving into the deep. She greeted guests while Lady Eleganza Le Tuck crooned along with the piano, ice cubes clinked in glasses, and the hushed murmurs of conversation filled the room. Justin had knocked it out of the park, and he’d been right. Everyone loved the cheeky theme. The password and secret back room—the guests were relaxed and enjoying themselves.
Sergei Orlov, a man with a narrow frame and slicked-back hair, made a beeline for Kramer the minute he arrived. Innocuous and talking about financial things she’d always ignored, Sergei and Kramer could be Phil and any of his partners. Just like tonight, her life had hinged on what Phil had been doing too, and she hadn’t paid attention. She wouldn’t make the same mistake this time.
It was time to enact her half-baked plan.
With the party just starting to simmer, Gabby stepped outside to make a call on the burner phone Smirnov had given to her.
“Smirnov, I have the codes. I’ll text you my location.”