Death by Tiara by Laura Levine

a talent scout or two in the audience. Remember! Today, Alta Loco. Tomorrow, Hollywood!”
    A vigorous round of applause filled the air as the pageant moms looked around the room for hidden talent scouts.
    “For our first contestant,” Eddie was saying, “let’s all give a big hand to Betty Lynn Wallis, from Tustin, California, who’s going to play Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata on her banjo!”
    At which point a pretty young thing in a sequined tuxedo pranced out on stage and began playing Beethoven on her banjo, missing notes with wild abandon.
    Poor Ludwig was undoubtedly spinning in his grave, but Tex the car dealer seemed to be enjoying it enormously, his eyes riveted on Betty Lynn’s sequined chest.
    And so it went, one wacko act after another.
    Not content to merely sing or dance, the teen queen wannabes (or, more likely, their moms) had felt compelled to jazz up their acts with some rather quirky twists.
    One gal tap-danced to America the Beautiful . Another made animal balloons while roller-skating. And another (my personal fave) demonstrated the proper way to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
    Had there been any actual talent scouts in the audience, I’m betting they were gone soon after the peanut butter hit the jelly.
    At then it was Taylor’s turn.
    “And now,” Eddie crooned from the mike, “the song stylings of a peach of a gal, Miss Taylor Van Sant.”
    Taylor came sashaying out in her Carmen Miranda costume, her fruit bowl headdress perched on her head, shaking her hips to a Latin beat Heather had pre-recorded for the contest.
    Frankly, I was surprised to see her perform with such gusto. I’d just assumed she’d sleepwalk though the whole thing, eager to get it over with.
    I was beginning to think that Heather was right, that maybe Taylor actually had a shot at winning the grand tiara.
    That is, until she opened her mouth.
    That’s when reality hit the fan, big time.
    Taylor Van Sant was a gorgeous girl who looked quite fetching in a fruit bowl headdress, but alas, she couldn’t even begin to carry a tune.
    “ I’m Taylor Van Sant and I’m here to say, ” she began to sing, in a voice that could shatter glass at fifty paces.
    “What did I tell you?” Heather nudged me with pride. “Sings like an angel!
    A Hell’s Angel, maybe.
    Up on stage, Taylor was still caterwauling:
    “—I want to be teen queen in the very worst way—”
    From a few rows behind us I could hear Luanne guffawing, “You can’t get much worse than that!”
    Heather whirled around in her seat and hissed, “Shut up, you skank!”
    Taylor continued to assault our eardrums, singing so badly, poor Tex was unable to focus on her cleavage.
    At one point, Elvis, nestled in Heather’s lap—no doubt thinking he was listening to the sounds of a dog in heat—let out a love moan in reply.
    Thankfully, Taylor seemed oblivious to her own bad singing and continued to belt out her tune.
     
Aye aye aye aye
Taylor’s so sweet
Aye aye aye aye
She can’t be beat
Aye aye aye aye
Goodwill she’ll preach
Aye aye aye aye
Taylor’s a peach!
     
    Then, as rehearsed, she reached for a peach on her headdress, specially designed to be detachable, and tossed it to the judges. Unfortunately she tossed it with just a tad too much gusto, bonking Bethenny on the head.
    “Owww!” the former teen queen cried.
    “I’m so sorry!” Taylor cried. “Are you okay?”
    “We are now,” Luanne shouted out. “Now that you’ve stopped singing.”
    “Of all the nerve!” Heather huffed, whirling around to face Luanne.
    “I only speak the truth.” Luanne smirked. “Earplugs, anyone?”
    “Silence, ladies!” Candace raised an admonishing brow from where she sat on the sidelines. “Or your daughters will be penalized.”
    Heather and Luanne turned away from each other like two tomcats pulled apart in an alley. Meanwhile, Taylor was skittering off the stage, her headdress in her arms, darting sorrowful looks at Bethenny.
    “I