lovely as Kevin so he could get a green card. Herm was full of shit about dying.”
“Unfortunately, he wasn’t,” Poppy Harriet whispered.
“He wasn’t,” Shoshanna agreed. “So after Herm’s funeral, Kevin and I got married.”
“Oh my God, do a lot of people know about this?” I was so shocked, I mindlessly took a bite of Tasty Tuna Surprise. It was pretty good.
“Hell no,” Shoshanna laughed, “only the women in this room and Kevin. And I suppose Steve knows.”
“That’s not exactly accurate,” Joanne huffed.
“Accurate enough,” Shoshanna cut her off.
A confusing awkward silence filled the room, broken abruptly by Poppy Harriet’s sobs. The gals surrounded her quickly, stroking and cooing.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, momentarily forgetting LeHump was married to a homosexual as I wedged my way over to Poppy Harriet.
“It’s her taxes,” Nancy whispered.
“Her taxes?”
“The IRS is after her. She wouldn’t do well in jail,” Nancy explained.
I wasn’t sure why the IRS was after Poppy Harriet, but I was fairly sure I could help.
“Don’t cry,” I told her, taking her rather large hands in my own. “I’m an accountant. I can fix it for you.”
“Oh my God,” Joanne yelled. “You don’t have to go to prison. Let Rena help you.”
“I can’t,” Poppy wailed. “You know why I can’t,” she cried, pointing an accusing finger at Joanne.
My bruised ego had now been beaten to a pulp. Did these crazy old ladies think because I sucked as a writer I sucked at everything? I might not ever be the Sunshine Weather Girl and I was positive I would never be a New York Times best-selling author, but I sure as hell was an excellent number-crunching nerd with a CPA license to show for it.
“Look.” I put on my brook-no-bullshit voice. “Clearly you all think I’m mentally challenged because of the disgusting stories I tell, and I may be, however I’m a damn good CPA and I insist on helping you. I will not take no for an answer.”
A round of eyeballing began and I watched in fascination as they seemed to communicate telepathically with each other. WTF?
“You have no choice,” Shoshanna said to Poppy Harriet.
“But . . .” Poppy’s tears continued to flow.
“No choice,” Joanne echoed.
Poppy Harriet’s shoulders fell, and she quickly and neatly popped every knuckle in her big hands, including her wrists. Gross. A sinking feeling whizzed through me briefly as I pondered the possible financial trouble she’d gotten herself into, but short of her never having paid taxes in her seventy-some-odd years, I was confident I could help.
“Have you ever paid taxes?” I asked, praying she’d say yes.
“Um, yes, but I’ve changed my name quite a few times, and they won’t believe I am who I am,” she sniffed.
“That will be easy.” I smiled. “I’ll come over Saturday morning and we’ll work it out.”
A silent round of telepathy replayed between the gals, and I wondered what part of the story they’d left out. No one was talking. I assumed I’d unravel the mystery Saturday morning.
There was no way out of an explanation of the day’s earlier activities, so I lied. After a brief and totally untrue version of the vomit story centering on some bad cheese, I conned Shoshanna into driving me back to my aunt’s alien-infested car and went on my merry, lying-sack-of-shit way.
Chapter 9
I sat forward on the floral, plastic-covered couch, careful not to squash any aliens or gremlins. Being unable to actually see the magical beings put me at a slight disadvantage, but I figured if I perched on the edge of the cushion and sat very still, there was a fine chance I wouldn’t kill or maim anything.
“So, um, Aunt Phyllis, thank you for loaning me your car these past three days. It drives like a dream and the little green men didn’t give me any trouble.” God, I sounded as crazy as she did. I swallowed my pride and decided to get right to the point. “I’m in
“Unfortunately, he wasn’t,” Poppy Harriet whispered.
“He wasn’t,” Shoshanna agreed. “So after Herm’s funeral, Kevin and I got married.”
“Oh my God, do a lot of people know about this?” I was so shocked, I mindlessly took a bite of Tasty Tuna Surprise. It was pretty good.
“Hell no,” Shoshanna laughed, “only the women in this room and Kevin. And I suppose Steve knows.”
“That’s not exactly accurate,” Joanne huffed.
“Accurate enough,” Shoshanna cut her off.
A confusing awkward silence filled the room, broken abruptly by Poppy Harriet’s sobs. The gals surrounded her quickly, stroking and cooing.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, momentarily forgetting LeHump was married to a homosexual as I wedged my way over to Poppy Harriet.
“It’s her taxes,” Nancy whispered.
“Her taxes?”
“The IRS is after her. She wouldn’t do well in jail,” Nancy explained.
I wasn’t sure why the IRS was after Poppy Harriet, but I was fairly sure I could help.
“Don’t cry,” I told her, taking her rather large hands in my own. “I’m an accountant. I can fix it for you.”
“Oh my God,” Joanne yelled. “You don’t have to go to prison. Let Rena help you.”
“I can’t,” Poppy wailed. “You know why I can’t,” she cried, pointing an accusing finger at Joanne.
My bruised ego had now been beaten to a pulp. Did these crazy old ladies think because I sucked as a writer I sucked at everything? I might not ever be the Sunshine Weather Girl and I was positive I would never be a New York Times best-selling author, but I sure as hell was an excellent number-crunching nerd with a CPA license to show for it.
“Look.” I put on my brook-no-bullshit voice. “Clearly you all think I’m mentally challenged because of the disgusting stories I tell, and I may be, however I’m a damn good CPA and I insist on helping you. I will not take no for an answer.”
A round of eyeballing began and I watched in fascination as they seemed to communicate telepathically with each other. WTF?
“You have no choice,” Shoshanna said to Poppy Harriet.
“But . . .” Poppy’s tears continued to flow.
“No choice,” Joanne echoed.
Poppy Harriet’s shoulders fell, and she quickly and neatly popped every knuckle in her big hands, including her wrists. Gross. A sinking feeling whizzed through me briefly as I pondered the possible financial trouble she’d gotten herself into, but short of her never having paid taxes in her seventy-some-odd years, I was confident I could help.
“Have you ever paid taxes?” I asked, praying she’d say yes.
“Um, yes, but I’ve changed my name quite a few times, and they won’t believe I am who I am,” she sniffed.
“That will be easy.” I smiled. “I’ll come over Saturday morning and we’ll work it out.”
A silent round of telepathy replayed between the gals, and I wondered what part of the story they’d left out. No one was talking. I assumed I’d unravel the mystery Saturday morning.
There was no way out of an explanation of the day’s earlier activities, so I lied. After a brief and totally untrue version of the vomit story centering on some bad cheese, I conned Shoshanna into driving me back to my aunt’s alien-infested car and went on my merry, lying-sack-of-shit way.
Chapter 9
I sat forward on the floral, plastic-covered couch, careful not to squash any aliens or gremlins. Being unable to actually see the magical beings put me at a slight disadvantage, but I figured if I perched on the edge of the cushion and sat very still, there was a fine chance I wouldn’t kill or maim anything.
“So, um, Aunt Phyllis, thank you for loaning me your car these past three days. It drives like a dream and the little green men didn’t give me any trouble.” God, I sounded as crazy as she did. I swallowed my pride and decided to get right to the point. “I’m in
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