Pushing her way back to her apartment, Rose reflected on the many men she had known.
In her day, she was quite the catch, not that she was easily caught,
not even by the strangely coincidental string of Oscars. Oscar
Villanueva. Oscar DeLaurentis. Oscar Tom (two first names, she couldn't
decide if it was endearing or just plain creepy), and Oscar Madison.
That she couldn't think of them without a package of pink hot dogs
popping into her mind was either a sign that the dementia had finally
set in, or that she hadn't lost her dirty mind. Or maybe both. She
chuckled to herself and took a corner, almost cutting off Henry's son
Jasper who, unlike his free loving name, was as dull and clean cut as
you could get. Accountant. Or Banker. No life in that one.
"Oh, I'm sorry ma'am, I was just looking for my father." Rose
smiled as the alternative to punching him in the face. If there was one
name she couldn't obliged being called, "ma'am" was it.
"Who's that again?" she asked, feigning forgetfulness. She thought
it might get rid of him faster, god knows she didn't suffer bores well.
And age had not made her kinder, nor more patient. If anything, it had
done just the opposite. She was closer to death, and she needed to get
on with living!
"Henry Smith. Ah, but don't worry about it, I'll go ask the staff."
He muttered something else under his Scope-i-fied breath and walked
away stiffly.
Rose got to her doorstep and almost took a spill when her gleaming
purple walker got caught on a package left on the front mat. It took her
about a minute to decide it was worth leaning down, especially after
the day's earlier exertion, but curiosity got the better of her. Not to
mention the scent of roses. Or was it fresia? As long as no one left her
those godawful lillys with their bodacious boudoir perfume. She could
think of a lot better ways to scent up a space. Which reminded her, John
hadn't come around this week with her stash. Damn middle aged twit!
The orange and pink flowers were wrapped in a flyer - smudged, but
once she opened it, very clearly not just something someone found laying
around. The wooden effigy, geometric and centered on the light green
page made her heart jump (well, either it was that or she was due for a
pacemaker). The Man. Had someone been reading her mind?
She went inside and got on the phone with a travel agent, leaving the flowers in the sink in her haste.
"Hello, can you make me a reservation at Burning Man?"
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