Howard had become The Roaming Romancer of Rustic Woods, Virginia. I had lost him to skanky tramps on the prowl for handsome, lonely husbands.
While deciding whether to answer Bunny’s question or land a hard fist onto her pretty, plump, collagen-injected kisser, a cell phone started to ring. It was coming from Roz’s sweater.
“Get that, will you?” She was still patting Bunny’s back.
I slipped the phone out of her pocket and took a quick peek at the caller ID. It was our friend Peggy who was joining us for pedicure day.
“Hey,” I answered, hand on my hip and grumpy frown on my face.
“Ciao, baby,” she answered back in her usual bouncy tone. Peggy is a woman who embraces people, ideas and cultures with a passion. She converted to Judaism before marrying Simon Rubenstein, then after honeymooning across Italy, my red-headed, fair skinned, Irish-descended friend took to the Italian culture as if she’d been born into it. She often forgets that her maiden name was O’Malley, not Minnelli. Like most Italians, Peggy has a vivacious joy for life.
“I’m just leaving my house,” she continued, “You want I should drive around and pick up you two lovely Signoras?”
“Come on over, but we’ve encountered a bit of a . . . problem,” I said.
“Problem? Please tell me you haven’t found more monkeys!” She was laughing.
“Not monkeys. Bunnies.”
Just then Bunny started wailing again.
“What was that?” Peggy asked.
I circled around and lowered my voice. “Just get over here. You can see for yourself.”
“Be there in a flash.”
Peggy lived two streets over on Dogwood Blossom Court. She would probably be in my driveway before I could dial the zoo to tell them I’d found their lost cuckoo bird.
Meanwhile, Roz, the ever wonderful and patient mother, patted and cooed and eventually soothed the unstable Bunny. I looked at my watch. Twenty after eleven. Forty minutes until our appointments. We still had time to wrap up this fruit cake, whip her home in Peggy’s van, tear off to La Voila Day Spa, and plant our tooshies into those cozy massage chairs with just seconds to spare. Sweet Tangerine Spice Ultra-Ultimate Pedicures could still be ours. There is a God.
Peggy’s green Town and Country van turned into the driveway.
“Okay,” I said, turning back to Roz and Bunny. “Here’s the plan. Bunny, you need rest. You come with Roz, okay? We’re going to take you home. Is that okay with you?”
She nodded. It was a slow, sort of half-nod, but I was taking it.
“Roz, stay here with Bunny for just a minute, I’m going to convince Peggy to help us take Bunny back to her house.”
I popped over to Peggy’s van. She had rolled her window down. I didn’t waste any time. “Here’s the scoop: Bunny Bergen ran over a rabbit with her Jag and snapped. Meltdown. She came looking for Howard. I’d kill her, but we don’t have time—I want my pedicure. If we can take her back to her house in your van, we can still make it to La Voila in time—you game?”
Peggy didn’t answer, just stared at Bunny. Admittedly, it was a lot to throw at a person all at once.
“Peggy—they’re Ultra-Ultimate Pedicures. Ultra. Ultra. They’ll soak our feet in that warm wax, then rub them and scrub them until we’re almost asleep in those womb-like chairs. Remember what it was like, before kids? When we had money to throw away on luxuries? We can’t miss this. I’m all for leaving her here, but Roz has this whole Mother Teresa thing going on . . .”
“Yeah, get her in the van. Do you have the gift certificates?”
“I’ll get them. You help Roz.”
Peggy helped Roz guide Bunny into the back seat while I ran into the house and grabbed my purse and the ever precious gift certificates. I locked up the house lickety-split.
By the time I got back Peggy was in the driver’s seat buckling up and Roz and Bunny were seated awkwardly on the middle bench. I hopped into the front passenger seat.
Bunny’s house was less than a minute away. With just some extra gas to the engine, we could be there in no time, then on our way to Heaven.
“Come on Peggy,” I said. “I feel the need! The need for speed!”
Peggy put her gear shift into reverse and we were on our way.
Roz rolled her eyes. “You and your Shot Gun quotes. Do you think we should be leaving her alone?”
“First off, it’s Top Gun,” I corrected her. “Don’t you EVER watch movies?” It was