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  “Marcie, I thought you said you were gonna wear something appropriate,” she said.

  “And I thought you said you were running a legitimate business. Really? Seance matchmaking with Big Tony?”

  “It’s a Ouiga board, and we both know Helena was moving that little plastic window thing. She just wanted her dead husband’s approval to move on with her life. Is that a crime that I’m givin’ it to her?” She twirled her finger, pointing at my dress. “But, you gotta admit. You might need some help, honey. There is a fine line between trashy and classy…”

  “A line I’m not sure you’re qualified to draw.” I pushed my lips together. Two could play at this insult game. I couldn’t believe I was about to get a lecture on the difference between classy and trashy from a 60-year-old Barbie doll.

  “Honey, you’d better watch yourself. I should remind you. You are workin’ on a trial basis.”

  “This dress was yours,” I reminded her.

  “Five years ago, but I threw it out and moved on from it. That’s what you need to do too. You’re indecisive and you hang onto things for far too long. That’s always been your problem, especially resentment. Let it go. Life is too short to wear ugly dresses. Find a new one and don’t look back. That’s what I try to help people with now, with my matchmaking business. Moving on. Rediscovering and rebranding yourself…”

  I had no idea what she was talking about. I wasn’t even sure we were talking about a dress anymore. But somewhere, underneath yards of strategically placed ruching, my stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten yet. While my aunt blabbed on about relationships, I ran the possibilities through my head:

  I was pretty sure I still had a squishy “survival kit” granola bar left in my glove box, unless I ate it last week…or I could maybe raid my aunt’s cupboards, but that skinny woman probably only had crackers and club soda…

  “Who’s hungry?” a familiar voice said, interrupting my thoughts. I looked up. My aunt’s long-time friend, George, was fumbling his way through the door, carrying a pink box of donuts. I bolted from the couch like I was going to tackle him. I hugged him “hello,” snatching the box from his hands.

  “Is this Lu Lu’s bakery?”

  “Of course. “When I heard you were starting today, I said, ‘I’m going to bring Marcie’s favorite.’”

  I kissed George’s cheek. “Thank you, George! I was just about to wipe lint off a cough drop and make do.”

  He didn’t say anything. His steel gray eyes focused solely on my dress. I pulled my skirt down a little, setting the box on the nearby coffee table. The smell of chocolate mixed with sweet glaze mixed with totally fried-goodness. Perfect. Salivating a little, I looked up.

  They were both staring at me now.

  “Yes,” my aunt said to George as she blew out a candle and cleaned up her Ouija Board, “that is the dress I wore once, five years ago, and threw away. I told Marcie to dress differently, and apparently that meant pick something from the trash…”

  Flakes of glaze fell off my donut when I bit into it, falling all over my dress, and George handed me a napkin. Every Barbie needed her Ken, and George was my Aunt Mabel’s, if Ken was a graying distinguished gay guy in his 60s, carrying about 30 pounds more than he should be. They’ve been best friends since my aunt married his brother, Chris, about 35 years ago. Her second husband. She claimed George was the one good thing to come from that evil marriage.

  Watching me spill all over myself, my aunt grabbed the large digital camera from off the smaller of the two desks. “I should make you my next makeover project.”

  George sucked in a gasp. “Yes you should. Great idea.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “I was just telling you about it when George came in, remember?” she said, like I had been listening. “I help people rebrand themselves. I partner with local businesses to help my clients with hair, makeup, fitness, goal setting, personal shopping, you name it. It’s not just finding a match that people come in here for. When people lose a relationship, it can be a whole self-esteem thing.”

  George shot me a knowing smile. “Yep,” he said, sitting down on my aunt’s bright pink couch. “You know what that’s like. Divorce’ll make you crazy… or uh… a little unstable.”

  She snapped a picture of me while I was chewing. “We’ll go shopping after work. Meanwhile, just hide behind the desk today. Answer phones, hand out questionnaires, take credit cards, and read up on the business. But whatever you do, don’t talk to clients too much and don’t let them see that dress.”

  Don’t talk too much. Don’t let anyone actually see you. Quasimodo got more respect, and he had a hunchback.

  “And did you park in my driveway?”

  “Yes,” I said, knowing what was coming next.

  “Go move it. You’ll have to find a new parking spot from now on.”

  “But you know I can’t parallel park!”

  “You’re a big girl. Learn. And make sure you park at least a block away. I can’t have my high-end clients seeing you drive away in a wrecked-up, dirty car.”

  I got up and limp-stomped my way dramatically across the room like I had a hunchback, which was a surprisingly comfortable way to walk in a tight dress.

  Unbelievable. The woman with the huge red lips above her garage was worried my minivan might give off the wrong vibe. Okay, so it had a few dents and I never washed it…

  “And wear this,” she added, handing me the cardigan from off her desk chair. “In case my neighbors see you. They already think I’m runnin’ a brothel, if you can believe it.”

  Even though I knew I shouldn’t tell her about the “hussy comment,” I did, and she laughed.

  “Oh that’s just Earl,” she said. “He’s one of those men in life who’ll quote scripture to a hooker with a 20-dollar-bill in his hand.”

  I had no idea what that meant but I was pretty sure I was the one being offered the 20 in that scenario. I wrapped myself in the cardigan and searched my purse for my keys.

  George pulled the blinds up on the main window. “Look, Mabel, I know you hate it when I bring up my evil brother, but I had to talk to him about Mr. Rules and Regulations over there.”

  “You mean you talked to Chris about Earl? What’d he say?” my aunt asked, letting out a heavy sigh. She tossed her hardly eaten donut into the nearby trash, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. I could tell she hated this conversation. But I didn’t mind at all. In fact, I slowed my hunchback limp-walk down so I could hear the whole thing before I left.

  “What’s he talking about,” I asked.

  My aunt sat down at her desk and opened her laptop. “Nothing. We need to get back to work.”

  George turned to me. “Earl is giving your aunt a hard time, snooping into zoning laws and such…”

  I knew it. My aunt never thought anything through well enough. At least she had George, or Chris, rather, to help her out of whatever mess she’d gotten herself in. Chris was a lawyer.

  George continued. “And I’m afraid I was right. You’re gonna have to take down the sign and limit your clients to two or three a day, max.”

  My aunt’s fingers mindlessly reached for her necklaces. “Two or three max? That is really gonna hurt my business.”

  “And stop calling it a business,” George interrupted. “This is a club. You are not zoned for a business. Keep things quiet.”

  “So there’s nothing I can do about my crazy neighbor harassing me and my clients?”

  “You mean the friends in your club? They’re not clients.”

  My aunt let out another sigh, her fingers wrapped so tightly around her dangly necklace, the tip of her pinkie was starting to turn purple. “Oh, that Earl. He makes me so mad. He’s only doing this because of Judith, and everybody knows it.”

  “I know,” George said. “But that’s not going to matter to the zoning board.”

  A smile formed across her face as she chuckled to herself like a second-grader with a secret. “Still, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

  “Do what?” I asked.

  “The real reason Earl’s so upset is because I set his gorgeous ex-wife, Judith, up with an amazing hottie. You’ll meet them soon. They’re on their way over.”

  “Gorgeous ex-wife? Why would anyone marry your hotheaded neighbor in the first place?” I asked. “Gold digger?”

  George shrugged. “Who knows,” he replied. “But she wasn’t a very good gold-digger if she was one. Rumor has it, she didn’t get a thing from the divorce, not even from the business. Some sort of embezzlement scandal or something. Sometimes, life just keeps throwing you lemons, and all you can do is suck them up.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  I COULD HEAR the fight halfway down the block when I finally got back from parking my car three blocks away and around the corner. Loud thumps and smashing glass came from the converted garage, and I tried peeking through the window to see what was going on.

  “Hussy! Did you think I wouldn’t find out? I’m taking you down! I’m taking you all down!”

  Even though I couldn’t see much, I had a pretty good idea who was yelling. There was only one person in my life right now who used the term “hussy.”

  The door was ajar, and I looked inside. I was right. Earl was standing over pieces of broken lamp scattered across the rug by his feet. There were two other people I didn’t recognize, a very attractive brunette in her 40s wearing expensive jeans and a nice sweater, and a muscular blonde man. I guessed they were Judith and her hottie.

  “Hussy!” Earl yelled again as he swung a baseball bat wildly around.

  Even with her hair fluffed and her heels on, my aunt barely reached 5’ 3. She was no match for the lanky man with the baseball bat. Still, she reached for it. He pulled it th
rough her grasp. “Earl, they’re happy! Get over it and get out!” She yelled.

  Earl’s eyes bugged out larger. “Hussy! Leave me alone. This is between me and my wife!” In one swift motion, he sent the bat whooshing through the air, smacking the wall and the hottie’s hand in the process.

  My aunt picked up her phone. “Ex-wife, Earl. She’s your ex. I’m calling the police. This is outrageous! That’s assault! Are you okay, Dirk?”

  Earl raised the bat over my aunt’s head just as George flew across the room to try to stop him. The bat came down full force onto her desk, taking off a chunk of teak veneer. “I want to talk to my wife!”

  Judith screamed when the bat hit the desk, and Dirk wrestled the weapon from Earl’s hand. He went to strike the old man, but Judith jumped in front of him. She took the bat from her hottie and handed it back to her ex. “All right. Let’s just all calm down. Let me talk to him.”

  Grabbing Earl by the hand, they headed my way. Quickly, I ducked around the corner, snagging my dress on a Bougainvillea thorn as I practically dove into the bushes. They were talking in whispers, but I could still make out a little bit of what was being said.

  Earl gestured wildly with a small piece of paper, pointing to spots on it, shoving it in Judith’s face. Judith’s eyes scanned the paper. “Okay, I see the signature, but I’m not sure I get it,” she said. “What about the account they found… in your name? Can you explain that?”

  He waved his arms, his veins bulging again.

  Judith touched Earl’s cheek, and he seemed to calm down. The color in his pale face returned. Stuffing the paper in his pocket, he left and Judith went back inside.

  What was that all about?

  Now that the danger was gone, I came inside. I am not known for my bravery, and I almost see no shame in admitting it. If the going gets tough, I’ll be hiding in the Bougainvillea; thank you very much.

  I felt sorry for Judith, despite her good looks and designer stuff, a rare feeling for me. And I introduced myself as soon as I came in the door.

  Tears welled in Judith’s eyes, just enough to ruin the mascara that coated her false eyelashes. She eased herself onto the couch. “I don’t know what I was thinking, coming here. I’m sorry.” She looked at my aunt’s desk and the missing veneer. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  My aunt sat down beside her. “It’s not your fault.” She took one of the woman’s shaking hands. “Earl is the only one who controls Earl. Are you okay? What did he want to talk to you about?”

  “Oh, just the same old. He still loves me and misses me,” she said. “He didn’t take our divorce well, and oddly, he’s been trying to convince me he had nothing to do with the embezzlement, as if that’ll help. I was already leaving him long before that came out. Anyway, this time, he even brought proof, or so he said. He’s a sad, troubled man.”

  Dirk sat on the other side of Judith, wrapping a thick, muscular arm around her shoulders. “I think we’d better go.”

  “Thanks for all your help,” Judith said, getting up to leave. “I’m sorry about the lamp and the desk.”

  After they left, I helped my aunt pick up the pieces while George tried to glue veneer back onto her desk with some super glue.

  “You should call the police,” I said. “That man is insane.”

  “I know,” she replied. “Love will make you do crazy things in life, money too. But something tells me the craziest thing I could do right now is lose my head and call the police. I don’t need them snooping around my business until I get everything up to code.”

  “Business? You mean clubhouse,” George called out, correcting her. He held the edge of the veneer in place on her desk while the glue dried.

  A jagged piece of lamp cut my finger as I tossed it into the wastebasket. I watched a red line streak across my pinkie. “So you’re just going to let your crazy neighbor continue to drop in whenever he wants with a baseball bat and scare your clients away… I mean the members of your club away?” I asked, sucking the blood off my cut.

  My aunt looked down at her rug as she searched for more lamp pieces. “Oh no. That man just messed with the wrong woman. He has no idea what connections I have, the people I know. Don’t you worry about Earl. I’ll handle him.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  WE CLOSED UP shop early, and I was ready to head home for some “me time,” which meant I was ready to cry into a pillow while I looked through a box of old photos. But tonight was going to be special because it was Mark’s weekend with the kids. So that meant I was going to add wine and reruns of Golden Girls into the mix. Somehow, though, I got talked into heading to the mall with Barbie and Ken to be their next makeover.

  I should’ve known shopping with my aunt and George was going to be more work than it was worth. George handed me a two-foot stack of jeans in every color and style, and I trudged over to the dressing room like a teenager asked to unload the dishwasher.

  “You can’t just take two pairs in the dressing room and think you’re gonna know what looks good. Isn’t that right, Mabel,” he said. “Uh… Mabel?”

  My aunt sat on an eggplant colored lounge chair just outside the dressing room. Her long blonde ponytail had fallen along the sides of her face as she buried herself in her cell phone.

  George hardly noticed. He scanned the store for more clothes to hand me. “We should’ve done this ages ago. And once we figure out what size and style you look good in, we’ll move onto shirts and nice work outfits. Isn’t this fun?” George said, hurrying off through the sea of organized sales racks and mannequins.

  In my tiny dressing-room stall, I picked up a pair of stiff dark blue jeans from off the pile, finally catching a glimpse of myself in the trifold mirror. No wonder my aunt’s face had fallen earlier. I looked hideous. I knew I’d gained a little weight since my mom’s death and my divorce, but seeing it under fluorescent lights in full-length glory was a little hard to stomach. And this dress showed every ounce of it. Lumps, bumps, and rolls I never knew existed. I pulled the dress over my belly, trying to figure out how to get it off without hurting myself. My dimpled thick legs smiled back at me in the full-length mirror. What in the world was I doing? I plopped down half naked on the little velvet stool in the corner with my dress still hiked along my midsection. Closing my eyes, I leaned against the mirror, not even caring that they probably never cleaned anything in this place.

  A tear rolled down my cheek, and I found myself rummaging through my purse, finally finding a tissue and my cell phone. There had to be a message I’d missed from the girls telling me how awful their dad’s girlfriend was… or ugly or mean. (I’d have taken any of those.) There had to be a message saying they needed me to drop everything and come get them right away. But there was nothing.

  “How’s it going?” I texted to Lilly.

  George texted back. “Great! Finding lots of good stuff!”

  Wonderful. I couldn’t even text right.

  I stared at the jeans I was still holding. I could already tell they were going to be awful. And I still had a too-tight dress I needed to somehow peel out of. I stood up again. Realizing there was no way out of this, I yanked the dress up over my back flab, hoisting and inching it over my shoulders. It scraped along my shoulder blade, but I almost had it… Riiiiiippppp!

  I suddenly realized I wasn’t alone in the dressing room. There was a knock on the door. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

  Great. A salesgirl.

  “It’s okay… I’m okay. The…uh… ripping sound was my own clothes, so…” I laughed, trying not to sound like I needed medical attention. “So, yeah, no worries. Totally fine. Thanks…” I held the door closed with my knee because there wasn’t a lock and my arms were still stuck in an upright position, poking out from the top of the dress that was hiked over my head. I grunted and sighed, and the salesgirl barged in.

  “Oh. My. God,” she said, slowly like she’d never seen humiliation before. “Do you need help?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. She propped her foot on the little velvet stool and began tugging at the dress. It ripped a little more, but didn’t really budge. This seemed to make her more determined than ever. Grabbing the bottom of the dress with both hands, she yanked it off my head, stumbling out of the dressing stall when she finally got it. She handed it to me. It was ripped most the way up the seam.