Page 2 of All That Glitters
Preston froze, looking like a comically perverse statue. The blonde’s eyes opened wide with panic. “Your wife?” she whispered, and he gave a short, terrified nod.
“Preston?” The voice came again, more insistent this time.
“Yes, dear...?” Preston called back, his tone artificially bright as he scrambled to remove the leather mask and frantically looked around as if a suitable explanation might materialize from thin air.
“Preston, honey. The door’s locked,” his wife said, her voice hardening with suspicion.
“It is? How odd.” Preston’s voice cracked with nerves. “I was just...”
The doorknob jiggled violently, followed by determined pounding. “Preston, you open this door right now!” Mrs. Jordan’s voice had lost all pretense of patience.
Preston grabbed Bambi by the arm and dragged her toward the closet where Tony was hiding. “Coming, honey. Be right there,” he called, trying to conceal the panic in his voice.
“What’s that noise? Is someone in there with you?” The pounding intensified.
“Uh, no, dear. Of course not,” Preston stammered. “Just finishing up a screenplay.”
The closet door swung open, and Preston shoved Bambi inside. She stumbled backward, brushing within inches of Tony, who held his breath and pressed himself further into the corner. The blonde collided with hanging suits, her perfume a cloud that threatened to make Tony sneeze.
“Be right there,” Preston hissed before shutting the closet door.
In the dark confines of the closet, Tony found himself sharing oxygen with a terrified starlet. He could feel her trembling, hear her shallow, panicked breathing. Through the sliver of spacewhere the door hadn’t fully closed, he watched the unfolding disaster in the room beyond.
“DAMMIT PRESTON! YOU OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!” Mrs. Jordan’s voice had escalated to a roar.
Preston hurriedly closed the closet door, then hobbled across the room, yanking up his pants as he went. “Coming, dear. I’m coming,” he called, his voice artificially cheerful.
He opened the bedroom door with the sheepish expression of a child caught stealing cookies. “Aw, there’s my little boofy cakes.”
Tony would have laughed if the situation weren’t so terrifying. In the doorway stood a formidable middle-aged woman, her highlighted hair perfectly coiffed, designer loungewear immaculate, and a shotgun clutched in her manicured hands. Her expression could have curdled milk.
“Don’t you ‘boofy cakes’ me,” she snarled. “You’re up to something, Preston Jordan. It’s written all over your face.” She stormed past him into the room, her eyes scanning every corner. Preston noticed the whip still in his hand and quickly hid it behind his back, smiling weakly.
“Honey? Maybe you should put the gun down, and the two of us talk about this,” he suggested, his voice quavering.
In the closet, the footsteps grew closer. Tony could feel his heartbeat in his ears, pounding so loudly he was certain everyone in the house must hear it.
“No, dammit! I’m through talking,” Mrs. Jordan snarled. “Now you tell me where she is.”
Bambi’s breathing quickened beside Tony. She backed further into the closet, clearly trying to disappear into the hanging clothes, when suddenly she bumped against something solid. She turned, her eyes widening as they met Tony’s in the dim light filtering through the crack in the door. A strangled sound escaped her throat.
Outside, Preston was still attempting damage control. “Dear, there’s nobody here but us. Now put down the gun before someone gets hurt.”
Mrs. Jordan’s footsteps approached the closet. Through the crack, Tony saw her raise the shotgun, aiming it directly at the door. “Is this where she’s hiding?”
And that’s when Bambi lost it. She let out a bloodcurdling scream that echoed through the closet and into the room. Before Tony could react, she flung the closet door open and bolted out, crashing directly into Mrs. Jordan.
The impact sent Mrs. Jordan staggering backward, the shotgun swinging wildly upward. BOOM! The weapon fired into the ceiling, sending plaster raining down on them all.
In the chaos, Tony saw his chance. He dashed out of the closet, colliding briefly with Preston. Their eyes met for a split second, just long enough for Preston to get a good look at this intruder, then Tony tore past him and out the door.
Tony raced down the hallway, the sounds of domestic warfare erupting behind him.
“Nobody here but us?!” Mrs. Jordan’s enraged voice echoed down the corridor.
“Honey, wait! I can explain,” Preston pleaded.
BOOM! Another shotgun blast. And then the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. Tony guessed Preston had also decided to flee.
