Chapter Three
With Friends Like These
The door of room 104 flew open and a naked girl ran out. A professional broadcast quality camera, a hideously expensive telephoto zoom lens, and the latest in computer image enhancement left not a shred of doubt that the girl was Daria Morgendorffer. Clad only in a few lo-res modesty pixels, she ran to a white station wagon and heaved a toilet tank lid through the driver's window, then opened the door and bent way over to reach something inside. A few modesty pixels appeared and hovered around her bottom like strange square butterflies.
In the darkened family room of Schloss Morgendorffer, the real live Daria lowered her face into her hands and groaned. "That's gotta be breaking some privacy or indecency law. Can't you sue someone?"
Helen looked up from her notes and winced in sympathy. "I'll research the case law as soon as I can get to some law books, but it looks like they're just barely within the indecency laws here. As for privacy, if you're involved in a news event, you don't have much. Remember the footage of that little Vietnamese girl running down the road, her clothes burnt off by napalm? They still show that, and they don't even give her a blurry spot."
Daria looked back up at the TV with the look of one robbed without hope of recourse. "So my ass belongs to the ages now, is that what you're saying?"
"I'm afraid so, sweetie."
"And your perky little... uh... front, too," Jane added.
"I hate you. Oh, and thanks for coming over. Want a soda?"
"Don't mind if I do, amiga. And don't mention it, even though I did break a nail on a reporter's face getting in."
Daria rose from the sofa. "You want something, Mom?"
"Not right now, thanks."
When Daria returned, Jane accepted her can of soda and asked, "So, have you thought about what you're going to do for school outfits now?"
Helen looked up. Daria said, "What do you mean?"
"Well, your customary figure-hiding, boy-repellent outfit is as obsolete as the Maginot Line. It no longer has a purpose."
Daria scowled. "Maybe I'll get some of those outfits like the Tuareg women wear. You know, black and baggy, a hundred yards of material, nothing showing but the eyes?"
Jane chuckled. "Hang it up, Daria, it's a lost cause. Everyone, and I mean EVERYone, knows now what a hottie you are. That cat is definitely out of the bag." She gestured to the TV, where Daria was shown futilely trying to gain entrance to the motel room, until Trisha Gupty brought her a bath towel from a maid's cart, and she managed to cover herself scant seconds before the first police cruiser arrived.
"Have I told you lately that I hate you?" Daria groused. "All that effort trying not to look like meat on the hoof, shot to hell. Now I'm just a fresh lamb chop for the wolf pack. Or rather, dork pack." She buried her face in her hands again.
Jane put a hand on her shoulder. "It was a noble sacrifice for a good cause, amiga. That's the bravest thing I've ever seen anyone do. I'm proud of you, I'm proud to be your friend, and if you weren't wearing those killer boots, I'd hug the crap out of you."
A bitter chuckle escaped Daria. "At least one part of my outfit still works."
Helen smiled at the good-natured badinage between Daria and her friend Jane, and thought again how blessed she was to have a daughter like Daria. She picked up the remote and switched channels. "Let's see if it's any better, or worse, on the other channels," she said as she brought up the volume.
"...USABS News has learned that, far from being a drug deal gone sour, as was first believed, what we are seeing here is actually the last act of a kidnapping drama. The male suspect, whose name is being withheld pending charges, allegedly kidnapped the two young children, whose names are being withheld because they are minors. An undercover policewoman, posing as the childrens' babysitter, is delivering the suitcase full of money that you see here to purchase the childrens' freedom. It is against police procedure to reveal the identities of their undercover operatives, but our source has informed us that the policewoman's name is Dora Mortenfurter. Watch now as a carload of undercover policewomen from the vice squad, disguised as prostitutes, stumbles onto the scene and 'queers the deal', as the undercover cops say."
"No, stupid, those are prostitutes disguised as high school students," jeered Daria.
"And your source is an idiot disguised as a moron," cackled Jane.
"They're slowly getting the story straight," Helen said, changing the channel. "It always takes them a while, especially with a complicated story."
This channel showed Daria in the car, the first glimpse of the children, and the kidnapper first emerging from the room. Helen shivered and rubbed her arms. "Every time I see you facing that horrible man, my blood just runs cold. Why on earth did you let yourself get pulled into such a dreadfully dangerous situation?"
"Like I said, Mom, I did it for Tad and Tricia. The kidnapper heard them call my name, and saw me running to tell the Guptys as he was driving away, so he demanded that I bring the money. Maybe he thought I'd be easier to dominate, or maybe he was mad that I raised the alarm so soon and had some thought of punishing me for it, I don't know. I accepted because I thought I had a better chance of recovering the children than either of the parents."
"Well, events proved you right, and the Guptys are hugely grateful to you for rescuing their children."
"I'll say. Did you manage to talk them out of selling their house and offering me the money as a reward?"
"Yes. I think they were just going to mortgage it. They've probably calmed down by now, but you can't blame them for feeling that way."
Daria sank back into the overly soft sofa back. "I guess. I just don't feel comfortable mixing money into it. All I wanted was to save Tad and Tricia. I'm as happy as they are that I managed to do that. I don't want any money for it."
Helen smiled a big motherly smile. "You make me so proud, Daria. I must have done something right raising you."
Daria glanced over at her mother and smiled a little in return. "I think you did. But no more hugs, please."
"Speaking of Guptys and money," Jane interjected, "Where did they get all that cash on such short notice?"
"It was from a fund raiser last night. They were going to put it in the bank this morning; that's why they wanted a babysitter," Daria replied. "Oog. Now you've got me thinking about what would have happened if Quinn had been here and taken the job."
Helen got a sort of haunted look. She shivered and hugged herself.
"A truly frightening thought. What sort of fundraiser?"
Daria shrugged. "Don't know. They didn't tell me."
"It was for the American Heritage Museum of Decorative Lawn Art," Helen replied. They intend to build it on the site of the old slaughterhouse south of town. Mrs. Gupty told me Congressman Sack is pretty sure he can slip an appropriation for it into the next budget."
Jane looked sick. "I'm sorry I asked."
"I thought their front yard was the Museum of Decorative Lawn Art," said Daria.
"You could say that," Helen said with what looked suspiciously like a smirk. "That and their garage. I think their motivation is that they want to clean out their garage, but can't stand to throw any of the stuff away. Don't tell anyone I said that."
"Well, I'm certainly glad I was able to save the start-up funds for such an historic project from that awful kidnapper," Daria deadpanned.
Helen glanced up, and her gaze fixed on the foot of the stairwell. Daria turned and looked. Quinn, on sock feet, had catfooted down the stairs and was approaching, eyes on Daria, looking uncomfortable.
"I, uh, I've been watching television upstairs. The news coverage of the, uh, incident."
"You and about half the planet, I expect," Daria grumped, turning back toward the screen.
"I..." Quinn winced and wrung her hands. "I feel awful."
Daria turned her head partly back toward Quinn and regarded her skeptically from beneath a lowered brow. "You do?"
"Every time I see you try to turn that knob, and knock, and call for someone to open the door, I feel like it's me out there, all naked and alone and locked out, and I know how you must have felt, but at the same time it's like I'm back there huddled in the bathroom with the others, and I hear you knocking and twisting the knob and I want to let you in, but I'm too scared to even get out of the bathroom, much less go and open the door 'cause I don't know what's happening out there, and I just feel like such a rotten little coward..." Quinn's voice note crept higher till it was almost a squeak, and she was on the verge of tears.
Daria somehow felt she should be standing for this, so she got to her feet. "I can understand that. Panic is contagious, and you certainly had plenty of carriers to catch it from."
"You must have felt just awful, standing out there all alone and nuh-, nu-,"
The corner of Daria's mouth turned up minutely. "Actually, I think the worst part was the Miss Nude Lawndale Teen pageant."
"Huh?"
"Locked in the bathroom naked with four of the prettiest girls in Lawndale. I left before the winner was announced , but I'm pretty sure it wasn't me."
Quinn made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Oh, Daria, can you ever forgive me?"
Daria looked down at her boots. "Yeah, Quinn, I ca- aack!" Quinn had closed the distance between them in an eyeblink and was hugging her fiercely.
After Daria had managed to untangle herself from Quinn, Helen said, "You know, Daria, Jane has a point. There's really no point in you continuing to wear that same outfit all the time."
Daria shot her a sideways look. Helen had never liked Daria's favorite outfit. "Well, actually there is. It would say, 'Hey, it's the same old me. I haven't changed.'"
Helen looked disappointed. "Oh, Daria..."
Daria thought about going to school Monday morning. What she wore wasn't really going to make much difference. What would make the difference was what every news program on TV was showing over and over. 'If it bleeds, it leads,' went the newsman's rule of thumb. If its hoo-hahs were hanging out, even better, she thought bitterly. Sex sells. She was bound to be the talk of the school. What kind of talk? Admiring? Congratulatory? Maybe. Suggestive? Boorish? Lewd? Probably. Stupid? Absolutely. Lots of stupid.
Daria looked down at her rather short black pleated skirt. It was an integral part of her look, and she liked it. On the other hand, a skirt wasn't the best choice to face a crowd of overstimulated high school boys in. She considered her boots. Keep the boots, definitely. Without them, she'd feel both naked and unarmed, and she could definitely picture situations in which they'd be very useful.
She said, "On the other hand, I wouldn't mind wearing jeans for a while, as long as they're not skin-tight. But I don't have anything to wear with them. These shirts I wear with my outfit don't go with blue jeans, and the few t-shirts I have are pretty old and faded."
"You're welcome to borrow any of my tops, Daria, and I'll help you pick some out."
"That's nice of you, Quinn, but all your tops are a pretty snug fit on you, and I'm pretty sure they'd be too tight on me to wear out in public. I like my clothes to be looser fitting."
"I have some polo shirts that will go with blue jeans," said Helen. "I think there are a few that won't be too big for you. Would you like to try them on?"
Daria stood up. "Yeah, sure."
"Uh, well, I guess I'll be going," said Jane.
"No, come on up, Jane. Bring Trent and the band. I totally lost my modesty this morning at the Dew Drop Inn."
"Daria!"said Helen.
"Sorry. That was uncalled for." Daria paused at the bottom of the stairs. "Really, come on up. I'm just a little bitter. I'll get over it. Someday. Probably."
-o0o-
Daria slipped the bathrobe off and pulled on her sleeping clothes. A long hot shower had alleviated some of the stress of the day, and the quiet clutter of her padded room was a restful haven of normalcy. As her computer's noises told her that it was completing its bootup sequence, she sat down at her desk to do a little writing. On an impulse, she launched her browser to see if she had any email. Yes she did, seven. She logged into her account, half-dreading that some reporter had found her email address. No, apparently not. Three were spam, one was from Amelia, and three were from Aunt Amy. Oh, damn, she must be frantic. She'd probably tried to call several times, but Helen had turned the phone off. Feeling guilty for not thinking of Amy sooner, she opened the last one.
It read:
Daria!
They just started showing the computer-enhanced footage, and I'm positive now that it's you. Are you all right? Are those kids all right? Whose kids are they? And what's the deal with Quinn and those other girls? One channel says you're hookers, one says you're dope dealers, one says you're undercover cops, and some of the other channels are just downright silly! PLEASE tell me what's going on!
Amy
Daria smiled a little as she started to type, and soon she had produced a brief summary of the day's events, answering most of the questions she thought Amy might ask, and sent it. As an afterthought, she copied it over into her diary file. A little extra typing converted it into an acceptable basic diary entry, although it still needed sarcasm and snarky comments. On impulse, she checked her email account again, and sure enough, there was an answer from Amy. She opened it.
Daria,
Well, isn't that just like a dumb Morgendorffer; bringing a toilet tank lid to a gun fight! ;) Seriously, kid, you scare the crap out of me sometimes, and that's not easy to do. I'll have to return the favor someday.
She skimmed down through most of it, and stopped at the last paragraph.
As to what you can do about it, that's a tough one. Probably not much. But remember the old wheeze 'When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.' You can't get your anonymity back, but you can take advantage of your notoriety. Many people who suddenly have fame (or infamy) thrust upon them write books. Maybe you could do that. Think about it.
Your favorite aunt,
Amy
Smiling, Daria shut down her desktop and headed for bed, but a thought stopped her. She peered out into the hallway, but no light showed underneath her parents' bedroom door. She sat back down at her desk, grabbed a small notepad, and wrote: Ask Mom how to find out what time the SSW camera crew called 911. Satisfied, she turned out her light and eased into bed.
-o0o-
Daria sat up in bed, managed to find the floor with her feet, and performed her customary early-morning exercise routine of stretching, scratching, blinking, rubbing, and yawning. Feeling much invigorated, she staggered briskly to the door and down the hallway toward the bathroom. Her keen senses detected a pronounced dimness of the light this morning.
Morning ablutions completed, Daria shuffled back down the hall to her room. Ah. Now she remembered. The dimness was due to all the curtains in the house being closed, and that was due to the media circus that had laid siege to Schloss Morgendorffer yesterday.
Daria peeked through a tiny gap between the curtains at the end of the hallway. Hmm, perhaps not a circus this morning, but there was definitely still a media carney out there.
Having dressed enough for lying around the house, Daria proceeded downstairs to breakfast. The television was off, for which she was grateful. The rest of the family was already up and working on pancakes and sausage. Seeing that there was a plate at her place and more pancakes and sausage available, Daria poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down to a round of good-mornings.
After a couple of bites of pancakes, Daria looked around her. Helen was wearing her 'my family all gathered 'round the table' smile and Jake was forted up behind the Lawndale Sun-Herald. Quinn, having eaten about a quarter of a pancake, seemed to be running an experiment to see how far a wedge of pancake could be dragged through lite syrup before it disintegrated. Her expression seemed to indicate that she was deeply saddened by the results so far.
Daria sighed, took a swig of coffee, and said, "Quinn? You all right?"
"Oh, yeah. Sure, why wouldn't I be?" Quinn replied, not looking up.
"Because you had a rough day yesterday, same as me?" Daria ventured, watching for clues.
"Well... hardly the same as you," Quinn said, taking her frail craft on another transit of the syrupy sea. Helen looked from Quinn to Daria and back to Quinn.
"Pretty much," Daria replied. "We were both captured by an armed and desperate criminal, both herded into that crummy little motel room at gunpoint, both forced to strip... by the way, thanks for the, uh, help... both locked in the bathroom. One difference is that I got in the last lick against him, which gave me a feeling of accomplishment. You didn't get that. You got treated horribly and frightened half to death, and you didn't get a chance to do anything about it. That would make me feel pretty rotten."
Quinn put down her fork and looked up at Daria. "Yeah, exactly! He pointed that gun at me and ordered me around and treated me like a, a..."
"Prisoner? Hostage? Animal? Piece of property?"
"Yeah, exactly!" Quinn said again. "And I kinda felt like I deserved to feel rotten, because of the way we barged in and could've gotten you and the children killed, and then I kinda felt like I didn't have the right to feel rotten because I didn't do anything to help, and that made me feel even rottener! That sounds really stupid, doesn't it?"
"No, that actually makes a lot of sense, which is kind of scary when you think of it," Daria said, smiling a little. Quinn hesitantly smiled back.
"Well, first of all, you shouldn't feel bad about barging in and putting us in danger. We were already in danger, and it was the kidnapper's fault, not yours. I guess you guys saw me driving that strange car and talking on that cell phone, and followed me to find out what was up."
"Yeah."
"Nothing wrong with that. Something was fishy and you wanted to find out what. You could just as well have showed up just in time to save our lives as how it worked out. I wish you hadn't showed up right then, but it's not your fault that you did. And he pulled his gun on you before you had time to figure out what was going on."
"Hmm, yeah, I guess you're right. But I still feel bad about hiding in the bathroom while you went charging out the door to save the day."
"Heh. Well, if all five of us had grabbed for the lid at the same time, or even both of us, it wouldn't have been helpful. And you had no way of knowing that he hadn't knocked me cold and wasn't waiting to shoot the next person who stuck her head out the door."
"So you're saying that I didn't really act so badly that I should be ashamed of myself."
"Right."
"Huh. Well, I guess I do feel a little better, but I think I still feel kinda bad."
"Well, you were captured by a vicious kidnapper, threatened with death, forced into a sleazy motel room, forced to take all your clothes off while he watched, and locked in a bathroom. I'd say you're entitled to feel not-so-great about that. You've got no reason to feel guilty, though."
"Hmm, yeah. Thanks, Daria," Quinn said. She smiled a little and turned her attention back to her plate.
Daria was about to get back to her own long-neglected pancakes when she got the feeling that she was being watched. Looking up, she discovered that both her parents were staring at her. Helen looked over to Quinn and then at Jake, and said, "Let's get ready and go to church this morning."
Jake stared back at her for a couple of seconds, then said, "Yeah, good idea. Finish your breakfast, girls."
Daria didn't object.
-o0o-
Bad day at School
Daria Morgendorffer looked glumly out the window of her mom's SUV at the quiet Lawndale neighborhood, and the sidewalk she used to walk to school on with Jane. Walking was pretty much out of the question for the time being, so she'd reluctantly called Jane and told her she'd meet her at school. Turning to look ahead again, she groaned as she saw more news crews ahead.
"Damn! They're here too!"
"You knew they would be. At least they're staying off school property."
"Yeah, but I've still got to get through them. Think you can help me with that?"
Helen studied the situation ahead. "It'll be my pleasure." She eased up to the semicircular drive, then leaned on her horn and revved her engine. The media jumped and scurried for safety.
Daria smiled at their discomfiture. "Thanks, Mom. Remember to check on that 911 call."
"Okay, sweetie. Have a good day."
Not much chance of that. "I'll try."
Daria disembarked from her mom's red SUV. It suits her so well, she thought, as she turned toward the school entrance. Needs a machine gun turret, though. She was immediately confronted with the smiling, or leering, face of Charles Ruttheimer III.
"Ah, the lovely Daria Morgendorffer, my favorite action hero! Perhaps if I'm lucky, you'll save my life someday!"
Daria's customary deadpan non-expression changed very subtly, into something more alarming. She cut the interpersonal space between her and Charles by two-thirds. "Well, perhaps today is your lucky day, Charles, because I'm going to tell you two facts that just might save your life this very day. Fact one: I am very unhappy about that video footage of me that every news channel in the world has been showing for the last two days. Fact two: the last man that I became unhappy with personally is still in the head trauma ward at Cedars, and hasn't regained consciousness yet."
"Bu-but I didnt..."
"Yes, I know you didn't say anything about that footage or my appearance in it...yet. And that's good. A word to the wise is sufficient, they say." She glanced around at some of the other students, many of whom were watching her. "Too bad there's such a dearth of the wise around here. Good morning, Charles."
Daria turned reluctantly toward the clump of students between her and Lawndale High's main entrance, and began to walk. The volume of background mumbling rose, but not the intelligibility. Then some senior boy she didn't know said, "Hey, Running Bare! Going to streak across our parking lot today?"
He was shoved aside by another senior, whom Daria vaguely recognized as being on the football team. "Shut up, asshole," he said. "Hey, Dora, what say you and me go out for dinner and a movie tonight? I'll take you to a way classier motel than the Dew Drop Inn, one that has lots of adult channels!"
Daria shrugged off her backpack, a move which drew several pairs of eyes to her chest. "Woah, nice pe--uunh!" Her suitor said, as he folded up. He'd never seen the knee that felled him. In a continuation of the same move, Daria swung her backpack around by one strap and caught the oaf who had made the streaking comment squarely in the side of the head. He staggered several steps sideways, then also went down. Taking advantage of the distraction, Daria ducked and shouldered her way through the remaining students and through the school doors.
Charles Ruttheimer III watched open-mouthed as the crowd parted to let her pass. "Rrowrrr! Ferocious!" he commented sagely.
In the gaggle of news crews standing just off school property, Eufaula Downing lowered the scope-sighted parabolic mike and said to her cameraman, "Wow. I got the audio, Joe, did you get the video?"
Joe sighed with irritation and kept rolling tape. "Of course," he said shortly. "Keep recording, just in case."
-o0o-
Daria put her tray down opposite Jane's at their usual lunch table. "Damn! I thought science class would never end! Barch seems to have an endless lecture on female superiority that she just cuts a chunk off of to fit the time available."
"What amazes me is how she can work it into any day's lesson plan," said Jane. "What was today's class supposed to be about, again?"
"The outer solar system, I think. It wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't used me as an example so many times. I felt like one of those specimens in the bottles of formaldehyde. I have a lot more sympathy for Chuck now."
"DeMartino was cool. He just smiled and gave you a thumbs up."
"Yeah. Why couldn't O'Neill have done something like that?"
"Ha! The last time he was cool was when he got lost in the blizzard on that camping trip. But this was the first time I can remember him making himself cry and run out of the room."
"He seemed to be trying to make some point about me overcoming adversity. I don't know if it was how close I came to being shot that he couldn't deal with, or the fact that I ran outside naked."
'We may never know," Jane smirked. "Last time I walked by Manson's office he was still blubbering."
"Uh, Daria?" The two friends looked up at a boy standing at the end of the table holding his lunch tray. "Hi, I'm Will Nodoff, in your math class. I was um, wondering if you'd like to go out with me sometime."
A muscle twitched at the corner of Daria's eye. She said, "It's nice of you to ask, Will, but this is kind of a bad time for me. I'm sure you understand."
"Uh, yeah, okay," he said, "Thanks, Daria."
"Hey, he's kind of cute," Jane said as he moved off.
"No, he isn't, and neither were the twelve before him."
"Well, he's not ugly, exactly."
"Exactly."
Jodie came up to the table. "Hi, mind if I join you?"
"Why, am I coming apart?" Jane replied. Daria groaned.
"Sure, have a seat. Maybe you'll appreciate my humor better than gloomypuss here."
Jodie put her tray on the table and sat next to Jane. "Well, I can't guarantee that..."
"Hey!"
"So how are you doing, Daria? How's fame treating you?"
"Oh, about like Monica Lewinski, although I'm not enjoying it as much," Daria replied, poking at her squash casserole.
"Come on. If I'd saved two children from a kidnapper, I'd be proud as hell of it."
"Oh, I am. It was the right thing to do, and I'd do it again. He was going to kill them, I know he was. The problem is that my rescuing Tad and Tricia from the kidnapper seems to completely escape most peoples' minds, and all they remember is me running across the parking lot of that sleazy motel naked. Even worse, I'll bet you half the boys in this school have that whole sequence on videotape, and the other half are trying to get it. And when they get it, they'll watch it over and over and over, till the tape wears out."
"Hey, not Mack!"
Daria looked up. "No, not Mack. And not Ted DeWitt-Clinton. His family doesn't own a TV. But name me another boy you're pretty sure doesn't have a copy."
"Uhh... hmm. That's a tough one. But look, I want to interview you for the Lowdown. It's your chance to tell your story your way, without the visuals. What do you say?"
"Jodie, maybe now isn't the best time..." Jane said.
Daria said, "No. It's all right. A paper has to be timely. And I can't pretend it didn't happen, as much as I'd like to sometimes. Tell you what, Jodie. Write out the questions, or email them to me, and I'll email you my answers tonight."
"Thanks, Daria, I'll do that," said Jodie as she stood up.
Daria watched her walk away. "Does she ever eat, or does she just carry her tray around from table to table until it's time for another class?"
-o0o-
Daria closed her locker, then waited till Jane finished at hers, then they moved down the exit doors, with the afternoon sunlight streaming through. Then, ten feet inside the open doors, she stopped. They were waiting for her, she could see them outside. They would swarm around her all the way home, and she wouldn't be able to escape them or their endless questions.
Her mind sought for a solution. She couldn't call one of her parents away from work just to save herself from inconvenience, and she didn't have enough money with her for a cab. Her thoughts were interrupted by an oleaginous voice from behind.
"In distress, fair damsels? Your knight in shining armor offers his services."
She turned, knowing what she would see. Upchuck stood there, smiling his trademark smarmy smirk. She looked at him, thinking.
His smirk faded and he began to fidget under her deadpan gaze. "I just want to help," he said.
"Is your car here?"
"Yes indeed."
"Okay, bring it around to, um, the backstage auditorium entrance. We'll meet you there."
Daria peeked out the backstage door. Outside was a small loading dock with a set of steps at the end. Chuck's small econobox sedan pulled up at the bottom of the steps. He saw Daria peeking out. Looked around him, and motioned to her to come on.
"Come on, he's here," she said to Jane, and the two slipped out the door, down the steps, and into the car.
"Where to, ladies? Pizza Prince? My house for a soda? We have a pool, you know."
Daria sighed. "Not today, Chuck. If you'll take Jane home and then drop me on the opposite side of the block from my house, that would be nice." Daria crouched down in the floorboards and Jane, after a bit of thought, followed suit.
"So, uh, was your afternoon any better than your morning?" he asked.
Daria's muffled voice came from the back seat. "No. Phys Ed was actually the high point of my day because there weren't any boys around. I could tell some of the girls were talking about me, but they had the rudimentary decency to make an effort to hide it."
"The harridans. They're obviously jealous. You can straighten up now."
The girls returned to a normal seated posture. Jane said, "the excitement will wear off and everything will return to normal pretty soon."
"I don't know. You know what I kept hearing? 'What was she doing at that motel in the first place? She must be a whore or at least a slut." If they're so stupid that they can't understand that I was just taking the ransom money where I was ordered to take it, there's no hope for them."
"Well, if they're that stupid, you don't care what they think in any case, right? But I heard a lot of people saying that what you did was really brave."
"A lot of the guys said that, too," Chuck put in.
"That's not what they were mostly saying, though, is it?" Daria asked.
"Well..."
"Go ahead."
"Well, they frequently expressed admiration for your... excellent figure."
"To clean it up as much as possible without losing the meaning entirely."
"Some of them don't exactly have a way with words."
"So basically, the guys are mostly discussing my various physical attributes like I was on the block in a slave market, and the girls are calling me all the synonyms of whore because they're jealous that the guys are talking about me. Great. I think I'll just homeschool myself the rest of the way through high school. I can finish in a third of the time, take a long vacation, and start college early."
Just then, a cell phone rang. Chuck fished it out of his shirt pocket, flipped it open, and said "Hello." He listened for several seconds, then said, "Hold on," and pushed a button. He looked at Daria. "It's some woman named Abigail Huntington. She called me once before and wanted me to put you in touch with her. She's interested in your Melody Powers books. What should I tell her?"
Daria could feel little tiny hairs standing up all over her body. "Interested? In what way?"
"She's an editor at a publishing house. She called me after I mentioned your Melody stories to an interviewer. I hope that wasn't the wrong thing to do."
"Uhh... no, I guess not." Daria held out a hand. "Let me talk to her." She took the cell phone, hesitated a bit, and said, "Hello? I'm Daria Morgendorffer. ...yes... ...yes, they're in the action-adventure genre... I've written fifteen or so short stories and two novels. ...'Blood Oath of Patriots' is the first, then there's 'Red Star Bleeding'. That one's in the middle of the second edit now. ...well, it'll take me some time to get them printed up and mailed to... Sure, I could email them to you in about an hour, I just have to get home, run the media gauntlet, and fire up the computer. ...Oh, I'd say it's between awful and horrible. Let me just write down your email address..." Daria pulled out a pen and her ever-present notebook and began to write. "While you're waiting, most of my short stories are on my website, quickly looked over her most recent version of Blood Oath Of Patriots and deleted a few notes at the end. Then she zipped the file and opened her email program. Typing a short email in the style of a cover letter, she attached the zipped file and sent it to the address Abigail Huntington had given her.
She was starting the more time-consuming task of cleaning up the Red Star Bleeding file when she heard the front door open and a babble of questions, followed by Quinn's "Leave me alone!" and the door slamming. Now she'll probably turn the TV on loud and channel surf till she finds something about clothes or makeup, she thought.
But Quinn called out, "Anybody home? Daria?"
Cripes. What does she want with me? Forget it, I don't want to know. I need to get this fixed up and shipped out.
Quinn was coming up the stairs. "Daria? Are you here? Can I talk to you?"
Why don't you talk to the fashion club? "I'm not home," she mumbled, so low she could barely hear it herself.
She could hear Quinn's footsteps in the hall. Closer she came. Step by step, inch by inch...
"Daria, I know you're in there. I can hear you typing."
Dammit. "Occupant has moved and left no forwarding address."
"Daria, I need to talk to someone. Come on, you're my sister."
"We're sorry. All your sisters are busy at the moment. However, your whining is important to us. Please wait in the hall until Mom and Dad beget another sister. Thank you."
Quinn opened the door and entered. "Ewww, guh-ross!" She came over to Daria's desk. "Geez, Daria, don't you do anything but fiddle with that computer?"
"I wish. Note to self: rig shotgun to bedroom door."
Quinn sat on Daria's bed. "Daria, you gotta help me! Today was the worst day of my life! People were saying all kinds of awful things about me and the rest of the fashion club, and I don't know what to do!"
"Really."
"Yeah! Some people said we were hookers and that guy was our pimp and he was mad because we were holding out on him!"
"Huh."
"Yeah! And then somebody else said maybe he was somebody else's pimp, and he was mad at us for moving in on his turf!"
"Hmm."
"Can you believe it? And then I heard Randy telling Corey that we were dope dealers and that guy was our supplier and we found out he was gonna try to rip us off so we hired you to rub him out."
"Goodness."
"But this is the worst! You're not gonna believe this! I overheard Imelda telling Brooke that she'd heard that we were all making porn at that motel, and we were buying Tad and Tricia from that guy to... Daria, are you listening to me?"
"You don't say."
"DAriaa!"
Daria slammed both her palms down on her desk, making Quinn jump. Swiveling around in her chair, she glared at Quinn and shouted "WHAT!"
Quinn cowered back in the corner, getting her boots on Daria's sheets, and wailed, "I just wanted you to help me! I was telling you about all the awful things they were saying about me, and you yelled at me and scared me..."
Daria took a deep breath and let it out in a gusty sigh. "Quinn, I'm doing something very important here. I have to get this manuscript cleaned up and shipped out as soon as possible. This could be my big break."
Quinn sniffed and wiped at her eye, where no tear had been visible. "But what about me?"
"It sounds to me like you have a PR problem. I know very little about PR. But Mom's legal firm has a PR expert on staff. Why don't you ask Mom if maybe she can ask their PR person?"
"Oh! Hey, that's a good idea! Thanks, Daria!" Quinn bounced out of the room.
Daria thought, Sorry about that, Mom, as she resumed her work.