front page of the Los Angeles Times . Above her Hermosa High yearbook photo, a headline screamed: Socialite Bride Plunges to Her Death; Groom’s Ex-Wife Brought in for Questioning.
I read the story eagerly.
As I’d suspected, Patti’s death was no accident. According to the police, it was murder.
Someone had tampered with the balcony, loosening the bolts on the railing.
I gulped in dismay when I read that the cops had brought in Normalynne Butler for questioning. I could understand why they suspected her. Hadn’t she urged Patti in front of scores of witnesses to break her neck?
But as you and I both know, Normalynne wasn’t the only one who had it in for Patti. There was Eleanor Potter, Patti’s future mother-in-law. And Cheryl Hogan, her ex–best friend. Both of them KILLING BRIDEZILLA
107
hated Patti’s guts. And I was certain they were just the tip of the anti-Patti iceberg.
Besides, if Normalynne had been planning to kill Patti, why would she create a scene at the wedding, putting herself in the spotlight?
I thought back to the Normalynne I’d known in high school—a gawky kid, loping down the hall to her classes, smiling shyly when we passed each other. She never stood out—not until one fateful day in gym class. I remember that day—
along with the day they started selling Dove Bars in the cafeteria—as one of the highlights of my high school years.
I’d always hated gym. I hated our thigh-baring uniforms and our frizz-inducing locker room. I especially hated our gym teacher, Mrs. Krautter, who, I was certain, had been a gestapo commando in a former life. Or perhaps even in this one.
Her routine never varied. After leading us in a sadistic session of calisthenics, she’d divide us into teams to play the sport du jour. She’d pick two team “captains” who’d then get to choose their teams. One by one, names would be called, the good athletes getting chosen up front, the klutzy ones at the end.
But no matter who the captains were, one person always got picked first. Patti. Not because she was such a good athlete. She wasn’t.
But the toadies wanted to curry favor with her.
And the rest of us were simply afraid to cross her.
Just as Patti was always called first, there was one poor soul who was always chosen last: Linda Ruckle. Stocky and bow-legged, her round moon 108
Laura Levine
face dotted with acne, poor Linda was the object of Patti’s merciless scorn.
Whenever she wound up on Patti’s team, Patti would groan, Oh, no! Not Ruckle! , setting off a round a giggles from the Terrible Trinity. Linda would stare down at the floor, her face crimson with shame. And Mrs. Krautter never said a word.
I don’t know who I hated more at those moments: Patti or the teacher who should’ve known better.
Then one day, Mrs. Krautter picked Normalynne as one of the team captains. It was the first time I could remember her ever being chosen.
Normalynne loped out into the center of the gym. She and the other captain flipped a coin, and Normalynne won. She got to choose first.
She pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose and peered around at the assembled cluster of girls.
“For my first player, I’d like to choose—”
With a toss of her ponytail, Patti got up from where she was sitting, assuming she would be top pick as usual.
But that day, Normalynne was about to make history.
“I’d like to choose Linda Ruckle,” she finished in a loud clear voice.
Patti froze in her tracks.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
She stared at Normalynne through slitted eyes, the same look that had terrified all of us at one time or another.
A tense silence filled the air. Then Normalynne broke it.
“I choose Linda,” she repeated, defiantly.
She knew there’d be hell to pay, that somehow Patti would get even—and damned if all KILLING BRIDEZILLA
109
these years later, she hadn’t—but she went ahead and chose Linda anyway.
Now I’ve read about lots of courageous women in
I read the story eagerly.
As I’d suspected, Patti’s death was no accident. According to the police, it was murder.
Someone had tampered with the balcony, loosening the bolts on the railing.
I gulped in dismay when I read that the cops had brought in Normalynne Butler for questioning. I could understand why they suspected her. Hadn’t she urged Patti in front of scores of witnesses to break her neck?
But as you and I both know, Normalynne wasn’t the only one who had it in for Patti. There was Eleanor Potter, Patti’s future mother-in-law. And Cheryl Hogan, her ex–best friend. Both of them KILLING BRIDEZILLA
107
hated Patti’s guts. And I was certain they were just the tip of the anti-Patti iceberg.
Besides, if Normalynne had been planning to kill Patti, why would she create a scene at the wedding, putting herself in the spotlight?
I thought back to the Normalynne I’d known in high school—a gawky kid, loping down the hall to her classes, smiling shyly when we passed each other. She never stood out—not until one fateful day in gym class. I remember that day—
along with the day they started selling Dove Bars in the cafeteria—as one of the highlights of my high school years.
I’d always hated gym. I hated our thigh-baring uniforms and our frizz-inducing locker room. I especially hated our gym teacher, Mrs. Krautter, who, I was certain, had been a gestapo commando in a former life. Or perhaps even in this one.
Her routine never varied. After leading us in a sadistic session of calisthenics, she’d divide us into teams to play the sport du jour. She’d pick two team “captains” who’d then get to choose their teams. One by one, names would be called, the good athletes getting chosen up front, the klutzy ones at the end.
But no matter who the captains were, one person always got picked first. Patti. Not because she was such a good athlete. She wasn’t.
But the toadies wanted to curry favor with her.
And the rest of us were simply afraid to cross her.
Just as Patti was always called first, there was one poor soul who was always chosen last: Linda Ruckle. Stocky and bow-legged, her round moon 108
Laura Levine
face dotted with acne, poor Linda was the object of Patti’s merciless scorn.
Whenever she wound up on Patti’s team, Patti would groan, Oh, no! Not Ruckle! , setting off a round a giggles from the Terrible Trinity. Linda would stare down at the floor, her face crimson with shame. And Mrs. Krautter never said a word.
I don’t know who I hated more at those moments: Patti or the teacher who should’ve known better.
Then one day, Mrs. Krautter picked Normalynne as one of the team captains. It was the first time I could remember her ever being chosen.
Normalynne loped out into the center of the gym. She and the other captain flipped a coin, and Normalynne won. She got to choose first.
She pushed her glasses up on the bridge of her nose and peered around at the assembled cluster of girls.
“For my first player, I’d like to choose—”
With a toss of her ponytail, Patti got up from where she was sitting, assuming she would be top pick as usual.
But that day, Normalynne was about to make history.
“I’d like to choose Linda Ruckle,” she finished in a loud clear voice.
Patti froze in her tracks.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
She stared at Normalynne through slitted eyes, the same look that had terrified all of us at one time or another.
A tense silence filled the air. Then Normalynne broke it.
“I choose Linda,” she repeated, defiantly.
She knew there’d be hell to pay, that somehow Patti would get even—and damned if all KILLING BRIDEZILLA
109
these years later, she hadn’t—but she went ahead and chose Linda anyway.
Now I’ve read about lots of courageous women in
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