iGo to the Prom

It was closing in on the night of the Junior Prom at Ridgeway High, and while the twins and their partners were excited, Carly Puckett was apprehensive. A lot had changed since she and Sam had gone to Ridgeway. Years had gone by. Attitudes had changed. People had changed. That said, Carly still had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that her babies weren't quite ready to take that big a step.

"Mom! You're overreacting… we'll be fine!"

Ashley was always headstrong. She was Carly's little mini-Sam.

"Maybe, but I think I'm not… and even if I am, not only did your Mama and I pay for your prom expenses, rent a limo, plan for dinner, but we also…"

The stubborn blonde butted in.

"…Yeah, I know, but why can't we go out after Prom?"

Carly knew what her daughter was getting at. There would be no post-Prom hotel rooms for anyone living under her roof. She shot her little girl a stern look. Twenty years with Sam, she hoped she'd learned a thing or two.

"How well do you think you'll be able to dance with that compound fracture Mama gives you if you go to one of those post-Prom parties?"

Ashley stuck out her bottom lip. She had inherited Sam's ability for Boo-Boo Lips. Carly chuckled. Her little tomboy prettied up nicely. She couldn't find anything she liked until recently – until she had gotten roped into helping her aunt and uncle with some cleaning. Melanie Benson was happy to give. It was what she did best.

She had fallen to pieces when she'd seen it – the slinky red dress that Melanie had worn on her first date with Freddie – back when he first thought her a figment of his sheltered, Carly-centric imagination.

The little blonde let out a childish squeal. She'd fallen in love with it.

She twirled. Carly smirked.

"God, you look like your Mama…"

MEANWHILE…

Television crews began setting up in the main ballroom of the Parker-Nichols Hotel. Sam had arranged things exactly per Shelby's instructions. The champion paced, muttering briefly to the blonde before taking her seat in front of her microphone and place card.

"…This shit was easier fifteen years ago, Sam…"

Sam Puckett, seated immediately to Shelby Marx's right, smiled and patted Shelby gently. Her hand came to rest out of view – below eye level an Shelby's inner thigh.

"Y'aint in Kansas anymore, Champ…"

Sam's message was personal and two-fold. It was Sam's personal opinion that her old friend may have bitten off more than she could chew, jumping back into the professional fight game, having been retired over fifteen years – nearly three times the length necessary to be considered 'washed up' or 'way past your prime' in this sport. Secondly, Sam knew the champion well enough to know that the her own take on 'The Wonderful Wizard of Oz' would resonate with the champion. A child at heart, it was her favorite book of all time.

The questions started. It was run-of-the-mill, prefunctory, crap. Shelby sat there, nodding and smiling, preening for the cameras for a moment or two, taking it all in again. She enjoyed this, but at the very same moment, she was bored. Her mind was elsewhere. Her mind was on her wife and daughter. Wendy, of course, being Wendy, was probably fussing over Megan and tonight's Prom.

"…Shelby, any nerves coming out of retirement after this long?..."

"…Shelby, what's your strategy for the fight?..."

"…Given your history, what's your prediction for the fight?..."

"…Shelby…"

"…Shelby…"

"…Shelby…"

A new question shocked Shelby Marx back to life and awakened the long-slumbering beast within. One second was all it took – one second, one second and one second only.

That voice. She would know that voice anywhere. It was the voice of the Devil himself.

"Come on, Shelby… I asked you a question…" the voice from the far back corner of the room asked. Shelby's voice was stone cold dead. She was The Terminator. You didn't survive her life without turning yourself into a machine.

"I heard you…"

Sam knew something was wrong. Shelby had taken her hand beneath the table in a grip that Sam hadn't felt in almost two decades – since Carly gave birth to the twins.

"Come on, Shelby… it's a simple question…"

She screamed.

"SECURITY!"

They didn't have time to respond. Sam Puckett had planned for everything. Two of Uncle Carmine's very best collectors – reserved for those… those clients who failed to pay – snatched the man up by the neck. This was a sin of the most greivous order. He would certainly pay.

Before being forcibly removed, the man got in one parting shot.

"Why won't you let me see my granddaughter?!"

The room fell silent. Sam Puckett did her part, snatching up a microphone.

"THIS PRESS CONFERENCE IS OVER! NO FURTHER QUESTIONS…"

Shelby was in shock. The blonde – her forever friend – had vaulted the table like a gymnast and had torn off through the door, down the hall, and off into the night, before Carmine's men took more of Jack Marx apart than the King County Medical Examiner could put back together for identification.

MEANWHILE, AT BUSHWELL PLAZA…

The families had mutually agreed to meet at Bushwell Plaza, for various reasons. Carly had wanted to stop by and see her brother, so far as she remembered, back in the throes of bohemian, artistic passion with Veronica, his longtime on-again-off-again girlfriend. She was fairly sure that they were in it for keeps this time. When she had heard from the girls that David's date had just moved in to Bushwell, it had been a shock. When she'd heard that they had moved into an apartment on the eighth floor, it had knocked the wind out of her, to the point where the girls thought she would go all sheepy for a moment.

Carly led a small convoy which included Wendy, the twins, Megan, Bridget, and David to the door marked 8-H. It would be an awkward meeting, indeed.

MOMENTS LATER…

The girls had introduced their parents to David's new lady-friend, Trina Shapiro, who was a bright, bubbly transplant from Los Angeles. She smiled brightly and hugged him, not caring that their were adults in the room. He was boy-pretty – that level of attractiveness just beyond handsome, like her Uncle Beck.

She apologized, hearing her parents fussing at each other from the other room.

"CAT! REX WANTS TO KNOW IF YOU'VE SEEN HIS GOOD JACKET…."

A familiar little-girl sounding voice yelled at him from elsewhere in the house.

"IT'S ON THE THINGY!..."

Trina Shapiro blushed. Her parents were so embarrassing. She spoke loudly, but didn't yell.

"Um…. My date and friends are here… Please don't be weird!…."

She turned to Carly and Wendy, speaking in the polite voice that she took with the grown-ups in her life.

"Hi… please come in…"

She motioned for everyone to come and sit. She let her fingers linger in the handsome boy's palm. She loved being around him.

Trina fussed, just the way her mother always did. They were both prone to huffiness.

"Mom! Daddy! Come on and be nice…. We're gonna be late for the Prome!"

Megan Marx, looking dapper in her borrowed tuxedo, chuckled. She thought the new chick was an airhead.

Carly, being a good mom, touched the pretty little girl on the arm, speaking in her perfect, well-honed 'Mom' voice.

"Um… Sweety… it's the Prom…" Carly proceeded to mouth the word phonetically.

"No it isn't… at my old school, it's the Prome…"

Carly shot Wendy Marx a sidelong look. She knew this girl's parents had to be an interesting pair.