Free Death of a Domestic Diva by Sharon Short Page A

Cherry turned me around, and at last I beheld myself in the mirror, I got very, very happy.
    No, that’s not quite putting it strongly enough. I was in a state of bliss because I had been transformed, all by one cut, perm, and dye job. Thanks to my new hair, I was popular and beautiful and smart and successful and hip and right on and cool and with it and all those great things I’ve never been and never knew I wanted to be until I saw how I looked in that moment.
    The Forelock from Hell was no more. My hair was a soft strawberry blond, short and perky and wavy, curling around my ears. I even looked like I’d lost about half of the twenty extra pounds I’ve been carrying around for the ten years since my high school graduation.
    I hugged Cherry. I floated in bliss out of the door—as if even my tattered robe and Tweety slippers had been transformed by a fairy godmother’s wand into a power suit. I felt tall, thin and beautiful, and ready for the Tyra Grimes Home Show . No, I felt ready for more than that. Why stop at just being a guest on the Tyra Grimes show?
    Why not have my own show? The Josie Toadfern Stain Removal Hour of Power —no, no, the Josephine Todeferne Cleanliness-Is-Next-to-Godliness Show . I could have sponsors. Spinoffs. My own production company, even. Yes, I was suddenly caught up in the very madness I’d tried to escape.
    But then I stepped out into the brilliant bright light of that spring day in Paradise, and reality hit. Thanks to Billy Toadfern himself, who had reappeared in Paradise, right in front of my laundromat—with his very own effigy of Tyra Grimes.

5
    Billy’s big, hairy, naked belly bounced in keeping with his back and forth marching in front of my laundromat. Billy carried a homemade wooden cross on which he’d put his Tyra Grimes T-shirt—armpit sweat stains and all. At the very top of the cross, he’d put a Halloween monster mask—green face, warty nose.
    A crowd had gathered around Billy, blocking the doors to several establishments besides mine—Tony’s Pharmacy, the Antique Depot, Grunning’s Watch and Shoe Repair. The gathering wasn’t friendly. Everyone was shouting at Billy to shut up and go away.
    Still, I could hear Billy over everyone else. “The devil has come to Paradise! You think you’ll find fame and fortune with Tyra Grimes here, but mark my words, she brings trouble!”
    I ran toward Billy and the crowd—never mind that I still had on my robe and Tweety Bird nightshirt and slippers—hoping to get Billy to go up to his apartment. I looked around for Winnie and Owen, but in my moment of need, they were nowhere in sight. Owen would be at the Masonville Community College by now. And Winnie was up in my apartment, I supposed, getting ready for Tyra’s “soirée.” Lord only knew where Tyra and Paige—who I still hadn’t even met—might be. I looked around for someone who might help—and saw Lewis Rothchild.
    He was the only one not shouting at Billy. His expression was a curious mix of satisfaction and grimness, his smile a half-grimace. I veered over to him.
    â€œDid you put Billy up to this?” I demanded.
    â€œNo. Somehow he’s figured out that Tyra is evil all on his own.” I was about to ask what that was supposed to mean when a little girl, Haley Gettlehorn, started tugging on my robe and Lewis’s pants.
    â€œWe came out of the laundromat to see what the ruckus was,” Haley was wailing, “and somehow I got lost from Mama, and—”
    Before I could say anything, Lewis knelt down next to her. His smile changed, all at once, to one of genuine gentleness—a most amazing transformation. Then he said, “I bet if I put you up on my shoulders, you can spot her. How about it?”
    Haley nodded. Lewis hoisted her up onto his shoulders, stood, and in a second Haley clapped and pointed. “There she is! I see her!