head. Suck it up, buttercup. You wanted this.
Soldiering past the migraine, Madison turned “on.” Shifting into her celebrity persona, she took the pen and notepad they offered. “Thank you so much for watching. I appreciate you more than you can know. Who should I make it out to?”
“May June,” the woman said, turning her badge around so she could read it. May June Barton, certified nursing assistant. She was tall and stocky and had a tattoo on her wrist that said House Boss, the name of Madison’s old YouTube show.
Holy crap. In her head, she flashed to Kathy Bates in Misery, spouting I am your number one fan as she crippled James Caan with a sledgehammer.
Then she heard Shelley’s witty voice in her mind whisper, Stalker adjacent. Did Shelley still love the word adjacent?
May June chattered like a spider monkey. “The hospital said I was born at eleven fifty-nine P.M. on May thirty-first, but my daddy’s watch said it was midnight, June first, and my daddy, who never admits he’s wrong, insisted his watch was right and the hospital screwed up. Hence the double name.” May June lowered her voice to a whisper. “My mama always gives me a secret present on May thirty-first, before my June first birthday party.”
“How creative of your parents,” Madison said. “And you’ll be having a birthday soon. Congrats.”
“Creativity runs in our family. That’s why we love the Create It Yourself Network,” she said. “And we love your show most of all.”
“I love the network too,” said the second woman, dressed in various shades of pink from head to toe, including a mauve beret, a blush-colored blouse, a Barbie DreamHouse–pink miniskirt, and bubble-gum-colored pumps. “Especially your show. The program on year-round door wreaths literally changed my life.” Pinky clasped her hands together in front of her heart. “I mean totally changed . . . My. Life.”
“Um . . . you’re so welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
Pinky twirled her finger at the notebook May June had given Madison. “Could you just tear a page out of her book and sign it for me, too?”
Madison almost wrote to “Pinky” but stopped herself in the nick of time. “What’s your name?”
“Blenda.”
“My goodness. What another brilliantly creative name. It’s no wonder you two are such good friends,” Madison flattered.
“Blenda’s not as creative as May June. My dad’s named Brent and my mom is Glenda. Mash ’em together and you get Blenda. Like in a blender.” She giggled.
“Imagine if your dad’s name had been Spike,” Madison said.
May June’s eyes got wide, and she poked Blenda in the ribs with her elbow with a loud laugh. “Oh, oh, you’d be Splenda!”
“Aren’t you just the wittiest thing!” Pinky . . . Blenda . . . enthused, clutching the autographed paper to her chest.
“I’m glad you ladies got to meet Madison,” Darynda intervened. “But we have a family member upstairs we need to check on. If you’ll excuse us . . .”
“Are you her manager?” May June stepped across the threshold of the elevator to keep the door from closing as Madison and Darynda got in.
“No,” Darynda said. “Just a family friend. I’m sure you ladies understand that Madison needs her—”
“Who’s sick?” Blenda asked. “Is it one of your sisters?”
May June splayed her hand over her chest. “Is it Shelley? Is she back? Did you guys make up? Does she have some terrible disease?”
“Don’t tell me it’s Gia!” Blenda did the prayer hands again. “I’d planned to hire her to teach kiteflying for my son’s fifth birthday party next month.”
Startled, Madison tossed Darynda a how-do-they-know-this-stuff expression.
Darynda shrugged. “Small-town gossip.”
“We’re not gossips,” May June said, as the elevator door bumped her in the butt and then retracted. “We won’t tell a soul. Promise.”
“It’s my grandmother,” Madison said. “She’s got brain cancer, and she’s dying. Happy now?”
That wiped the salacious look right off their faces; they mumbled apologies and words of sympathy and May June got out of the way fast, and Blenda did prayer hands and bowed as the elevator door shut tight.
Madison sank against the wall, closed her eyes.
“I don’t think the snark earned you any brownie points with your number one fans.” Darynda punched the elevator button for the third floor.
“Not even sympathy points for a dying grandmother?” Madison pried one eye open.
“You embarrassed them.”
“If the shoe fits . . .”
Darynda shook her head and murmured in a disappointed voice, “You know, Madison, sometimes you remind me exactly of your mother.”
Chapter Four
Gia
UNBALANCED BORDERS: Borders of different widths resulting in an asymmetrical