At the funeral
He looked so wicked laying down like that, a little smirk on his
over-tan face, and that goddamn pink carnation in his lapel. Only Judy,
who had been put in charge of the famous funerals, would do something so
tacky. Rose rolled her eyes while looking down at him, and then after
looking over each shoulder, kicked that son-of-a-bitch right in the
coffin. Finally, she was having an adventure and he had to go expire
like every other bland mouthed ex-playboy she had ever fooled around
with.
Old gray head was clearing his throat next to her, trying to signal
that is was his turn to look upon the once beautiful, now very stiff
Wink Martindale. His breath smelled like sour moth balls but that
couldn't hide his obvious affection for dead old Wink.
"You didn't miss a thing Richard, he was all talk and no bang, if
you know what I mean," Rose whispered with the scratchy voice of an ex
showgirl. Or at least, that's how she liked to think of herself. She
straightened her slacks and moved her walker toward Wink's feet.
Assuming they were still there. You could never tell with only half the
container open. What was so wrong with feet anyway, she wondered? She
knew quite a few men who couldn't get enough of hers, at least back in
the day.
Judy, who swished when she walked, like a cheap motel shower
curtain, bumped into Rose while she edged in to talk to the Peabody.
Rose could never figure out what the deal was between them except, she
figured, that Judy was trying to get a discount on a plot with a view.
"Oh," giggled the 81 year old, "I'm so sorry Rosie," she said as
disingenuously as she could possibly manage without making Peabody doubt
her intentions.
"Oh hell Wink," she muttered. "See what you left me with? What will I do for fun now?"
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