Federal Pageantry

Chapter Five

Ziva tugged at her waistline of her skirt, the itchiness almost too much for her nerves. Ziva never got nervous about anything. Nothing. No way. She could be walking into a fire fight with only one round of bullets left and would not feel a single twinge of fear. But no. She was walking into a large hotel, no visible danger in sight, wearing six-inch stilettos, skin oozing Chanel No. 9 and feeling like her entire world was about to end.

She adjusted the satin sash that was draped across her body. In dark blue, the sash read "Maryland", the block letters solid and proud, the exact opposite of how Ziva was feeling. There was a tiny diamond-encrusted broach pinned to her sash that held a hidden camera. The rest of the team was parked a few blocks away, watching the live feed in that back of a van. Ziva was crossing her fingers that Tony wasn't there.

The large entrance to the hotel was framed by two open glass doors, held open by two expressionless bell boys with golden epaulets that glinted in the early afternoon sun. There was a man holding a clip board at the door, next to a long line of women in pastel dresses and similar sashes. Ziva was still quite far away from the door, so she took the time to assess her situation. All the women around her were wearing needle-thin, high--if not higher than Ziva's--heels so as long as she slipped out of her shoes quickly, she could take any of them in close combat. The man with the clip board seemed to be checking names on the guest list, so she should be able to get past him as long as she didn't hesitate when giving her alias.

When Director Shepard handed Ziva her new profile, Ziva had to fight the urge to scoff. Her alias would be "Nina Byrdsall" whose hobbies include Pilates with her girlfriends, baking low-fat cookies for her neighbors, and proper cuticle care. Ziva was pretty sure the director was joking. How air-headed do these girls have to be to actually like these things? She now knew that the director was definitely not joking.

"Checking in, Officer David, sound check, over," Gibbs' voice tickled the inside of her ear where her ear piece was wedged awkwardly. This feeling however was not new to Ziva, so she found it a little comforting.

"Loud and clear, Gibbs," she replied, pretending to fix the fake eyelashes she was wearing to hide the movement of her lips. "Approaching the main doors."

As she neared the entrance, the air smelled increasingly of hair spray. Ziva had to bite her lip to prevent herself from sneezing multiple times. She had grown slightly bored too, so bored, that she had memorized the hair of the girl in front of her, right down to the highlight of every blonde, curly strand. Ziva bit her lip again, this time drawing blood; her feet were killing her. The line seemed to take another step forward, so Ziva advanced too, being quite graceful, but not before her heel fell into a crack in the sidewalk. She stumbled forward, just barely catching herself before falling into the girl in front of her. Feeling the swish of air, the blonde in front of Ziva turned, her bow-shaped lips forming a perfect "o" when she saw Ziva's lip.

"Oh my God!" She exclaimed, her mascara-rimmed eyes bugging out. "What happened? Do you need ice?" The girl reached out to touch Ziva's face, and Ziva dodged it. Why do girls always feel the need to touch each other?

"I am fine, do not worry," Ziva said, touching her own lip gingerly.

"Don't forget, you're here to make friends, Officer David," Gibbs' voice sounded in her ear, no longer a comforting sound.

"She's hot." Tony's voice sounded far away, as though he was watching without a mic from the back of the van. Ziva's heart sank.

"Wow," the girl continued, her voice light and airy. "That's a bad bee sting,"

"Oh, it's not a-"

"There's no need to be embarrassed," the girl said, interrupting Ziva. The block letters on her sash read "Pennsylvania". The girl shook her head serenely. "I grew up in on my Dad's farm and there were just some awful beehives everywhere on the property." Ziva winced slightly, this girl was harmless, but she had a habit of talking really loud, even though Ziva was only an arm's length away. "I know some great homemade anti-swelling remedies that will help your lip, because trust me, I know how it feels to walk out on stage without my usual confidence because I couldn't cover up a blemish that showed up on my nose the night before." Ziva smiled warmly, this girl was proof that as long as someone other than Ziva did most of the talking, she could survive a couple conversations.

"I am Nina," Ziva said, taking a stab at making her voice light and airy like the girl's. Her voice ended up sounding really fake, but the girl seemed to buy it.

"Oh it's so nice to meet you," the girl gushed "my name is Riley." Her blonde curls bounced effortlessly as she beamed at Ziva, almost like she had just met her best friend in the entire world.

"So...Pennsylvania, huh?" Ziva prompted, gesturing to Riley's sash. What do you talk about with a living Barbie doll?

"Oh, yeah," the girl gestured a manicured hand to her sash, "I've been in pageant training my entire life. School was never my strong suit, so my mother enrolled me in some after school activities. Ever since I was old enough, I've been competing in the Miss America pageant, but I've never made it past the top ten. How long have you been competing?"

"Um," Ziva blanked. She had read the report on her cover at least eight times, she could recite it word for word as though her own history was written on those pages. But now, when she actually had to tell someone about it, her mind felt empty. She only knew two words, her name. "Since I was twelve." Ziva replied, mentally crossing her fingers that she had gotten it right. "But this is my first Miss America."

"That's really cool," Riley nodded her head. She seemed to do that a lot.

"Keep her talking, David, you need to get the inside scoop on the other contestants." Gibbs' voice came on suddenly causing Ziva to jump, but Riley didn't notice. She was too busy watching a butterfly that was perched on a nearby potted plant.

They were finally nearing the front doors, and Ziva could hear the man with the clip board calling out names. "Megan Brodie, Washington; Marie Claire Watson, Maine..." If everyone was as nice as Riley, maybe Ziva could survive this luncheon.