Schuyler Square Day 43 Tiffany Gets Ready for the Ball and Blackmail

“I’m not going.” Tiffany stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror that hung in her bedroom. “I look like a blimp.”

“You do not!” Rosanne lied. “You look lovely, Tiffany.”

Tiffany reached for a Dorito. She knew Rosanne was just trying to be nice but it wasn’t helping. Anyone not carrying a white cane could see that Tiffany looked awful in the bright blue dress Aunt Mavis had chosen for her. Studying her reflection more carefully, Tiffany decided she didn’t look like a blimp. She looked more like a giant sized Papa Smurf, especially with the stupid hairdo Aunt Mavis had insisted she get. How could she have been so dumb as to listen to her aunt. You'll look beautiful with ringlets, Tiffany! You'll be the belle of the ball! When, Tiffany wondered, was she ever going to wise up and stop listening to her relatives?  Especially when they seemed so hell bent on embarrassing her. “I don’t see why I was invited to this stupid ball anyway. It’s a fundraiser and I’m not about to contribute to it. I'm too young to go anyway, and I don't have a date.”

“Buying your ticket is your contribution,” Rosanne explained. “Just about everyone in town is going. Your aunt has worked very hard on this party. Your cousin Tyler will be there.”

“Tyler! Who cares if Tyler's going! Tyler's a creep. Are you going?” Tiffany asked, looking at Rosanne out of the corner of her overly made up eye.

“Yes, I am.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said just about everyone in town was invited,” Tiffany remarked. “Even the hired help.” She usually wasn’t quite so snotty with Rosanne but she didn’t seem to be able to help herself. Tiffany was seriously miserable. Not only did she look like a mess in the ugly dress Aunt Mavis was making her wear, she was also upset that in spite of her latest diet she hadn’t lost so much as a single ounce. That might be due to the fact that she was only sticking to her diet during daylight hours. So far her theory that calories didn't count in the dark was proving to be a big bust. Then there was her blackmail scheme. She hadn’t been able to get her aunt alone for more than a minute or two to drop her bombshell about seeing Aunt Mavis with Officer Van Husen making out in her aunt's car or sneaking into that crappy motel. Tiffany was getting pretty miffed about that. She needed a car of her own and if she couldn’t blackmail her aunt into buying her one, she didn’t see how else she could swing it. The money from her mother’s estate was all tied up and all she got was a measly allowance that barely saw her through the first weekend of every month.

"Um...is your nephew going?" Rosanne's nephew, D.J., was seriously hot. If D.J. was going to be there that would mean he'd see Tiffany looking like Papa Smurf on a bad hair day. Tiffany knew she'd die if that happened.

"No, D.J. couldn't afford a ticket. If you won’t be needing anything else, Tiffany, I’m going to leave. I need to get ready for tonight too.”

Tiffany could just imagine how long that would take: twenty-five minutes tops and that included  stopping at Kmart to pick up her dress and a new fake nail kit. Thank God she hadn’t been born poor. Tiffany knew she’d never have been able to stand it. "Thanks for helping me, Rosanne."


Rosanne didn't respond but Tiffany had the feeling that she'd ticked her off. She'd make it up to her somehow.

“Aren't you ready yet?” Aunt Mavis asked, sweeping into the room on a cloud of perfume.

Tiffany’s eyes began to water. “I'm not going.” What was the point? D.J. wouldn't be there. No one she liked would be there, including her own family."

Mavis stared at her, her eyes sweeping up and down over Tiffany's rotund figure. “What did you say?"


"I said I'm not going. This is your party, Aunt Mavis. You don't need me there."


"I want you to be there. This is a family affair."


Tiffany returned her aunt's icy stare. "Good choice of words. 'Family' and 'affair.' That reminds me--what's Officer Van Husen's wife wearing to the party tonight?"


"What are you blathering about, Tiffany? How should I know what Officer Van Husen's wife is wearing?"


"I don't know. Just asking." Grabbing the bag of Doritos, Tiffany finished it off and then brushed her fingers together in the air.


“Honestly, Tiffany, do you have to fill your mouth every single second? Can’t you think of something to do that would keep your mouth so busy that you wouldn’t be eating all the time?” Aunt Mavis snapped.

“Sure,” Tiffany agreed. “How about talking? Cuz there’s a thing or two I want to go over with you. Unless you're not in the mood to talk because I'd be glad to stay home and talk to myself.”


Mavis's mouth formed a thin line. "You really are the most revolting child. I think it would be a very good idea if you stayed home, Tiffany. We'll talk later."


"You bet we will," Tiffany promised.

Schuyler Square Day 41 Chelsea Wants Revenge

What did her husband see in that woman? Chelsea Van Husen had been asking herself the same question over and over: what did Peter see in Mavis Schuyler? Staring across the well lit expanse of the We Dye For You Salon, Chelsea studied Mavis covertly.

OK, she was pretty but she was also well past 40, maybe even 50. Her body was still in good shape but the woman had seen a lot of miles and it showed. So what was the attraction? It sure couldn’t be her personality. Everyone knew that Mavis was about as warm as a fish. Chelsea just couldn’t understand why her husband, loyal, kind Peter, was fooling around with someone like Mavis.

Or maybe she did. It had to be the money. Chelsea had seen the clothes Peter was suddenly wearing, things he claimed to have found on the clearance rack at Sears. No way. Cashmere sweaters? Shoes made out of leather so soft that they felt like butter? Silk boxers? He must think she was stupid.

Well, Chelsea might not be the brightest bulb in the box but she was far from stupid. She had figured out that all of those meetings between Peter and Mavis weren’t exclusively about the Policeman’s Retirement Ball pretty quickly. Following the two of them around town had proven her suspicions. They made her sick—going to the Hilton so brazenly and then to the County Line Inn. They must think the whole town was stupid and blind.

The problem was: what should she do about it? Chelsea didn’t want a divorce. She didn’t make enough at Schuyler Industries to live on and without Peter’s salary she’d wind up either with a roommate or in a shelter within a couple of months. No, she’d way rather be a widow than a divorcee but that didn’t seem to likely either. Peter was only 40 and in extremely good health. Her only option left was to get rid of Mavis Schuyler once and for all.

 “You look like you’re deep in thought.” Sandra, the salon’s owner, commented.

“Just wondering if I should dye my hair. I think Peter might like me as a blonde.”

Chelsea saw a flash of pity in Sandra’s eyes. Like everyone else, Sandra must know how desperate Chelsea was feeling these days with her husband planking the First Lady of Schuyler Square. “You’d look very pretty as a blonde,” Sandra said, “but do it for you, not your husband.”

Oh, yes. Mavis Schuyler had to be eliminated. Chelsea had endured enough humiliation to last several life times. And then some.