How Hard Can It Be

by Robyn Peterman

  “Yes,” he said proudly. “My seams aren’t as straight as they used to be, but I’m working on it.”

  “The messier, the better,” she spat, arching her back and pushing her bazoombas further out of the shadows and into the light.

  Crooked Jim gulped and tried not to puke.

  “Oh, oh, oh,” Joanne yelled. “Can I jump in here?”

  “Sure,” I said, wondering what heinous malady was about to befall the secret admirer.

  “Great,” she said.

  “What’s your name?” Crooked Jim asked.

  “My name is Eviline.” She smiled demonically. Her head spun around three times and Crooked Jim passed out from fear.

  “Goddamnit,” she shrieked. She got so pissed off she began to peel her skin from her body . . .”

  “Um, Joanne,” I cut in on her diatribe before she had Eviline in chunks on the ground.

  “What?” she asked, coming out of the violent part of her brain.

  “That’s really interesting and quite unsettling, but we should probably wait till the end of the book to kill her.”

  “Do we have to?” Her shoulders sagged and she looked so disappointed, I almost gave in.

  “Yep, we have to,” I told her gently.

  “Maybe she has nine lives,” she mused, “and we could kill her nine times.”

  “Joanne, it’s a fucking romance novel, not Silence of the Lambs.” Shoshanna rolled her eyes.

  “You’re right,” she blushed. “I’m sorry. I just can’t seem to help myself. Poppy Harriet, you take a turn.”

  “May I?” Poppy Harriet asked.

  “Are you going to kill her?” I queried warily. She did have a flair for the dangerous, especially where garden tools were concerned.

  “No,” she giggled. “I’m going to make her have sex with a scurvy, fingerless pirate and a lawn gnome.”

  And she did.

  Thank Jesus, the girls were gone. At five-thirty all three of them left in a rush to make Happy Hour at Shenanigans. Finally, I was alone. I pressed my ragged, bitten down fingers to the bridge of my nose. My headache pounded through my skull. I was done. I didn’t think I’d be able to sleep or eat for a week. Plus, my cell had been ringing all day. Jack had left several messages. I had no idea what he’d said because I’d erased them. All of them.

  When it rang yet again, I was tempted to throw it at the wall, but I was too afraid of damaging Brett Favre. Caller I.D. let me know it was Kristy.

  “He’s been up here like six times today,” she said. “He looks pathetic.”

  I moved the phone to my other ear and put my feet up on Shoshanna’s coffee table. She had put her feet on mine; I figured I’d return the favor. “You didn’t tell him anything,” I said to Kristy, feeling wonky and excited.

  “No, of course not, but he seems really sorry.”

  “He should be sorry. He compared me to Aunt Phyllis.”

  “Oh my God,” she gasped, “he didn’t.”

  “He did. He also said I need help.”

  “Ewww.” I knew she was wrinkling her nose. “What are you going to do?”

  I paused and tried to reorganize my feelings. “Kristy, if I see him, I’ll go back to him and fall even deeper than I already have.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “What’s wrong,” I explained, “is that it will happen again. My crazy gene is embedded fairly deep in my head. I’ll do something he thinks is nuts and unacceptable and he’ll dump me again. I can’t take that.” As I spoke, my eyes welled up with tears. I was glad Kristy couldn’t see me.

  “Okay,” she sighed, “I get it. Rena . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re not crazy in a bad way. You’re crazy in a good way. The kind that everybody wants to be around and wishes they had,” she said.

  “It’s too bad that you’re the only one who thinks so,” I laughed without much humor.

  “Oh, I’m not the only one. In fact, I know I’m not the only one,” she hinted.

  “Kristy, stop. I have to not think about him. I have to finish Pirate Dave and figure out how to save the girls. I can’t lose focus.”

  “Any leads on how to make that happen?” she asked.

  “No, but I have about eighty-four hours left.” My tone was optimistic, but my stomach was knotted. “I’ll get it done.”

  “I know you will. When he comes back up, should I tell him anything?” she asked.

  “Tell him I’m moving to Iowa and he should find a nice girl without a rap sheet.”

  “He’s not going to like that,” she laughed.

  “I know,” I sighed, wondering if I was being stupid. “Neither do I.”

  Chapter 27

  “Do it. Do it. Do it,” they chanted. Shoshanna, Joanne, Poppy Harriet, and Cecil sat crammed together like sardines on the hot pink couch in our ugly pink office, bouncing up and down, encouraging me to finish our masterpiece.

  We’d spent the entire Sunday spewing out gross situation after gross situation. I’d never laughed so hard in my life.

  Cecil was on a roll. Joanne was as violent as ever, and Poppy Harriet introduced us to the many and varied sexual uses for wood putty, weed whips, soaker hoses, and a pack of sunflower seeds. Gardening was now ruined for me. Forever. Shoshanna had to excuse herself to the bathroom, muttering something about needing adult diapers.

  We were now at the end, and they expected me to finish it.

  “Rena, you started it. It is only fitting that you should end it,” Cecil said.

  “He’s right,” Shoshanna agreed. “This is your baby, you need to put it to bed.”

  “Or cover it with dirt and put a headstone on it,” I giggled.

  “That, too,” she said with a grin.

  “Okay, here I . . .” I stopped short when the scent of evil, greed, and over-Botoxed old lady drenched in ass-loads of perfume reached my nose.

  “Hello, little people. Are we done with my novel yet?” Evangeline stood in the doorway, sucking every bit of joy and life from the room.

  “Almost, Madame,” Cecil said in a clipped tone. He removed himself from the couch and from us. He had turned back into the mistreated butler I didn’t trust.

  “Ruby,” she purred, “you missed my exciting news. I will be the featured star on the Anderson Cooper show on Wednesday.”

  “I heard, Evelyn.” I smiled and gave her a thumbs-up.

  She looked confused for a moment. I suppose the thumbs-up negated the use of a random name because she went on. “Do you old ladies realize the irony of my pairing with Cooper?”

  We all stood silently trying to figure out what the hell she was talking about. The vision of her sprawled and bald while reaching for Jack’s love stick was impossible to erase. I itched to yank her wig off, but I tamped down my impulsive desire.

  “Um, no, can’t say we do,” Shoshanna said.

  “I wouldn’t expect you out-of-touch old biddies to get it,” she laughed derisively. “I look like his mother. I am the spitting image of Gloria Vanderbilt,” she shouted, striking a pose and thrusting her tatas out.

  “In your dreams,” Shoshanna muttered under her breath. “You know . . . I think you should tell Anderson that.” She grinned. “On the show.”

  “I believe I will.” She narrowed her eyes at Shoshanna and altered her pose before she got stuck. “Of course, he’ll see the resemblance immediately.” She clenched her claws in excitement and went off into her own disturbing dreamworld.

  She looked nothing like Gloria Vanderbilt. Gloria Vanderbilt was a beautiful woman, a fashion icon, and a philanthropist. Evangeline O’Hara was an unattractive, horrifically overaltered, no-talent, Botox-infested, blackmailing liar. She was not Gloria Vanderbilt.

  “You should definitely tell him on the show.” I nodded, imagining Anderson Cooper’s face when she threw that juicy tidbit out. Her confidence in herself and her looks was almost as appalling as the Pirate Dave story.

  “I will,” she snapped. �
��So here’s how it will go down. You will finish my book. Cecil will put it on the computer thingy so I can get richer and more famous. Then I will be immortalized and worshiped on the Anderson Cooper Show. I will read out loud to my adoring fans, and I will procure a date with Anderson. I expect all of you to be there to witness my triumph.” She laughed manically and struck another pose, vaguely resembling a frog with boobs on the dissecting table. “Where’s Nancy?”

  “She’s with her daughter,” I said. Was the Viper on crack? Procure a date with Anderson? Was she going to demand he put his love stick between her trembling thighs? I considered sending Anderson an anonymous tip, but with my luck, I’d somehow end up getting booked for sexual harassment and arrested . . . by Jack. “Nancy will be back on Wednesday. She wouldn’t miss your explosion into the homes of America for anything.”

  “Good. I have a procedure to get to,” she informed us. “I’ll check back with you idiots later this evening.”

  “Oh, Evangeline—” I stopped her and gave her an earnest wide-eyed stare. “You should ask Anderson Cooper out on a date on live TV. He’ll have to say yes.”

  She stood in the doorway, weighing the pros and cons of my suggestion. When a lascivious smile spread across her frightening face, I knew I’d scored. “That’s the first good idea you’ve ever had, Ruth.”

  “Thank you, Your Greatness.” I bowed my head demurely and bit my lip to quell the laughter that wanted freedom.

  “Get to work,” she commanded as she left us.

  “You heard the hooker,” Shoshanna laughed. “Get to work.”

  Eviline danced around the deck of the ship in the moonlight, striking pose after pose. A cool ocean breeze ruffled her wig. These fucking wigs made her head sweat profusely, but a beauty without hair was not a beauty. Her child-birthing year had been unkind to her. She’d lost all her thick, curly, fiery red tresses and her nether regions could swallow a watermelon. Whatever, she’d have her revenge soon enough . . .

  Convincing Crooked Jim to sew the twins back together was easier than she’d thought. She’d told him Pirate Dave would honor him with a night at a strip club for midgets if he secretly did such a wonderful thing.

  She cackled and ran around the deck, bumping into everything. The weight of her coconuts made her balance precarious at best. She cared not, for her cannonballs were her proudest asset. After the sixth fall, when she gave herself a mild concussion, she slithered back into the shadows.

  Pirate Dave would be devastated when he found his paramour Shirley sewn back to her sister Laverne. Eviline had procured some magical string from a blind shape-shifting fairy-like troll years ago. The string was magically permanent, so the twins would be forever conjoined. She grinned at the thought of Pirate Dave killing himself in agony over losing his fornicating privacy with Shirley.

  This was a win, win, win for Eviline. Not only would she destroy Pirate Dave by decimating his sex life, she’d get back at the two people who had stretched her hoo-ha to the point of no return . . . her daughters. Laverne and Shirley.

  “No way,” Poppy Harriet squealed, “no wonder you didn’t want us to kill her earlier.”

  “I understand now,” Joanne said, “but promise me you’ll kill her. Violently.”

  “I promise,” I said, needing a short break before the grand finale.

  I grabbed an apple and plopped down next to Cecil, who had clearly rejoined our team once Evangeline left. What in the hell did she have on him? It had to be good . . .

  “So Rena,” he said, proofreading my latest addition to our novel and blushing uncomfortably in the process, “do you go back to work next week?”

  “Um, no.” I bit a huge chunk out of my apple, hoping he’d forget the question by the time I’d finished chewing.

  “Oh my God,” Poppy Harriet gasped, “did you get fired over my financial issues?”

  I shook my head no. I had a massive mouthful of apple, making speech impossible.

  “She took a transfer to Iowa.” Shoshanna let the cat out of the bag. “She leaves in two weeks.”

  I gave her the evil eye and tried to chew faster. I wanted to rip her a new one for telling everyone. My plan had been to slip away quietly in the night.

  “Oh no.” Joanne grabbed me and shook me, causing me to swallow a rather large piece of un-chewed apple. “You can’t leave us. We need you.” Big fat crocodile tears rolled down her cheeks. “We love you.”

  I punched my chest to dislodge the chunk of apple wedged there and answered hoarsely, “I love you guys, too, but I need to get away from here.”

  “Why?” Cecil asked.

  “It’s a great opportunity for me professionally, and I think Iowa is a vibrant and interesting place. I’ll be able to, um, eat a lot of corn and make new friends. Hopefully get laid by a big strapping farm boy. Well, not a boy, I mean a man. A big strapping farm man and . . .” I petered off. They were staring at me as if I’d grown another head. Shit.

  “She got dumped because her ass-whacker boyfriend thought she was crazy,” Shoshanna told everyone.

  “How do you know that?” I gasped.

  “I pried it out of Kristy,” she said guiltily.

  Kristy was so dead. I would freeze every undergarment she owned when I got ahold of her.

  “You’re not crazy,” Joanne huffed. “You’re creative.”

  “Thanks.” I smiled weakly. Me and Hugh the Bigfoot guy . . . creative. Fucking great.

  “Do you want me to kick his ass?” Poppy Harriet inquired. “I’m not sure if you remember, but I used to be a man. I may look lovely and feminine now, but I’m pretty sure I can still bust some backside.”

  “That’s very sweet, but no,” I said. It was the first time she’d referred to her former self without a freak-out attached. I was so proud of her. She’d be okay.

  “Do you love him?” Cecil asked.

  I practically choked on the small amount of apple remaining in my mouth. Why on earth would he ask me that? That was personal and rude and mean and unnecessary and . . . “Yes, I do . . . I mean, did . . . I mean, I don’t know. Shit, how can I love someone who doesn’t like who I am?”

  “How old is this relationship?” Cecil inquired, taking notes. Seriously? Notes?

  “Um, a couple of weeks,” I muttered.

  “What exactly do you mean by a couple?” he asked. He was a pushy bastard.

  “Two. Two weeks,” I snapped. “Go ahead and laugh. How in the world can I be in love with someone after two weeks? Right? Well, I am . . . was . . . shit, am. I’m still in love with him and I knew immediately. The minute I laid eyes on him I knew he was mine. Fuck, I sound like a character in a cheesy romance novel,” I groaned.

  “No,” Cecil smiled, “a character in a beautiful romance novel.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes, the best kind,” he said.

  “What am I supposed to do now?” I asked, hoping he had the magic answer.

  “I would suggest we finish the novel first, watch the horrid plastic surgery victim implode on Wednesday, and on Thursday sit down and make a solid plan to get your man back,” Cecil stated matter-of-factly.

  We all stared openmouthed at Cecil. He’d never directly uttered a derogatory word about Evangeline . . . till now. I knew positively I would find out what she had on Cecil and clear him, too. I had no fucking idea how I would do it . . . but I would.

  “Shall we get back to Pirate Dave and his randy adventures?” Cecil inquired, loving the fact that he’d rendered us speechless.

  “That’s it,” Shoshanna shouted.

  “That’s what?” Poppy Harriet screeched, hitting a karate pose to defend us from whatever Shoshanna had spotted.

  “The title,” LeHump yelled, bouncing around the room like a Mexican jumping bean. “Pirate Dave and His Randy Adventures.”

  “Brilliant,” Joanne said reverently.

  “Yep,” I said, ”I like it.

  We all turned to Cecil. In the short time we’d been together, he had b
ecome our voice of reason. Although anyone with a modicum of sense would have qualified for the job. That pretty much knocked me and the gals out of the running so by default the honor went to Cecil.

  “It’s perfect,” he agreed. “Let’s get back to work.”

  “Make it disgusting,” Shoshanna grinned.

  “I believe I can do that.”

  I felt better than I had in a while. I didn’t know if it would work with Jack, but the thought of trying calmed all my jangled nerves. I was ready to put Pirate Dave out of his misery . . .

  “Pirate Dave,” Hairy Sam squealed in terror, making his way to his captain. “It’s awful. The blood, it’s everywhere. Crooked Jim has lost his fucking mind. He keeps talking about naked midgets . . . He’s killing them!”

  “He’s killing midgets?” Dave asked. Why would anyone kill a midget? All the midgets he knew were lovely. Well, there was that bastard troll who branded his back with the dreaded giraffe and gave him two peepees, but was a troll considered a midget? Pirate Dave was so confused, he sat back down on the deck.

  “Get up, you two-pronged jackass,” Hairy Sam yelped. “You have to save your women.”

  “My women?” Pirate Dave stood up, braving the elements. “Crooked Jim is killing my women?”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Hairy Sam bellowed.

  “No,” Dave yelled back. “You said Crooked Jim was killing midgets. I don’t have any girlfriends who are midgets. Not that I’m opposed to that. In fact, it’s a fine idea. Do you know any attractive midgets with two vaginas?”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Hairy Sam rolled his eyes. He grabbed Dave by the chest hair and dragged him to the upper deck of the ship.

  What Pirate Dave saw would stay with him for the rest of his immortal life . . . it was awful.

  Laverne and Shirley were hog-tied together and strapped to the ground. Crooked Jim stood above them, doing some kind of bizarre bloody ritual. Blood ran dark and red all over the deck.

  The girls howled and cried out in pain and terror.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Pirate Dave bellowed.