I lean over, asking Phoebe if she even wants to take part in this, but she nods instantly letting me know she’s all in.
“Three years ago I was Homecoming Queen,” Laura starts to explain. “That is, I was supposed to be homecoming Queen,” she adds cryptically.
I notice Phoebe’s face trigger recognition and she looks down at her feet, biting at her lip.
So she does know who this is.
“What happened?” My dad asks calmly, checking that everything is still recording.
“The morning of the Homecoming, I go to the local hairdressers. Deciding to get blonde highlights and to have my hair styled… by a professional,” she hisses, glaring at Phoebe, whose lower lip is trembling by now.
I rest my hand on her shoulder but it doesn’t seem to make much difference.
“Of course, I see this kid’s hair. Figure she must be a fucking expert. I mean, look at it! She’s got perfect fucking gold hair, don’t you?” she spits across to Phoebe again.
“Just stick to the facts, okay?” My dad reminds her.
“Well, I got my highlights alright. But Goldilocks here, for whatever reason, decides to fuck it all up for me, dying my hair god damned green. Green! My whole fucking head was bright green,” she shouts, breaking down again into sobs.
Listing off everything that’s gone wrong in her life, Laura’s convinced, she swears it all started on that fateful day when Phoebe obviously made a mistake with her hair coloring chemicals.
“It was a mistake,” Phoebe says finally. “I was so nervous about doing someone’s hair all on my own, I mixed the wrong chemical. A girl like you, the perfect girl who had boys dripping off her. I was scared to death,” she recounts.
But Laura’s not convinced. “You did it to spite me. All you fat kids were the same, always trying to dream up something to get back at us, the kids who were just normal. Nothing special about being pretty, Phoebe. It’s called being normal,” she hisses again.
“Alright, I’ve heard enough,” I tell them both.
“Like I said, Laura. If that’s your real name, this ends tonight. No more following Phoebe or me. No more impersonating realtors or being my assistant and changing deliveries. And definitely no more-”
There’s a heavy knock at the door.
A cop’s knock if ever I’ve heard one.
They announce themselves as police and I move to let them inside.
“So you did call the cops, after all, figures you fucking shitheads,” Laura snarls as I open the door.
“We’ve had reports of a disturbance,” I’m informed, and a couple of cops push past me, spotting the blond wig, IDs, and cash on the table.
“And it looks like we’ve found who we’re after,” they smile in unison, turning to the rest of us once they notice the recording equipment.
“Interrupting something?” One of them asks.
I leave that up to Phoebe, letting her know with a glance that we can share everything we have on Laura with them, or we can leave her to her own misery.
God knows it looks like she’s got herself in enough trouble.
“No,” she whispers. “Laura was just about to leave.”
“If anything else has happened we need to be made aware of…” the cop continues, but Phoebe’s done. I can see that.
“I am sorry, Laura,” she tells her stalker, following her to the door where they cuff and search her before taking her away.
“What’ll happen to her?” I ask the last cop to leave.
“Five to ten with her rap sheet. Maybe more if we subpoena evidence from you guys,” he smirks before tipping his hat and wishing us all a safe and good night.
I close the door behind them, leaning heavily until I hear the lock click.
Dad wastes no time in starting to pack up his gear before he tells me he might leave it for me to do instead.
“I hate to love and leave ya, but I’ve got a date,” he announces, checking his watch and puffing air out from his cheeks.
“A date?” I exclaim, wondering if I’m in the right apartment after all. Wondering if this is really my dad in front of me.
“That’s right,” he beams. “Oh! Can I use your city apartment tonight? I’m trying to make an impression,” he says, a matter of fact.
I choke down a laugh. “Of course you can. You’ve got the keys?” I ask.
“I can always let myself in,” he says with a devilish smile.
“Phoebe? A pleasure to meet you and your, err… baby,” he says, shaking Trixie’s little paw.
“Don’t be a stranger and I look forward to seeing you again soon,” he adds, jutting his head towards his laptop and looking at me.
“Pack it up carefully son, and make sure those cameras go back in their boxes.”
There’s another tap on the door and I groan loudly. “What next?” I ask the ceiling before swinging the door open.
“You again?” The old woman says, stabbing the air in front of me with a nail polished finger.