Citizen Insane

Chapter Twenty-Three





ON SUNDAY MORNING, JUST ONE week and six days after missing our first appointments for pedicures, Roz, Peggy and I pulled up in front of La Voila Day Spa. This time, we had a fourth friend along for the fun—Bunny Bergen. Her foot was still in bandages, so she was only getting a half-pedicure, but she was happy just the same, and I was ecstatic to have her along.

“I didn’t know La Voila was open on Sundays,” I said as Roz slipped her van into an empty space right in front of the small brick building. Truthfully, the place was practically a ghost town. The entire parking lot void of a single vehicle except ours.

“Nope,” Peggy said. “They’re open on Sundays.”

Peggy insisted we wear pretty dresses and have the whole works done—manicure, pedicure, and makeover. Her treat since she planned to make a ton of money on her unwritten book, Moms with Guns. I wasn’t going to argue with her plan to pay or the interesting choice of title.

Once we were inside, Mitzi, the owner, closed the curtains, turned on a soothing sounds of nature CD, and told us the spa was ours for the next two hours. There was even champagne.

“Peggy,” I asked, sipping from a flute. “Are you sure you can afford this?”

She winked at Roz who winked back. “I’m sure.”

It was Heaven on a Sunday. Our feet were soaked and rubbed and scrubbed and dipped in hot wax, then rubbed some more. I nearly fell asleep in the massage chair. Then our hands were given the same treatment. After the makeover, I couldn’t believe how beautiful we all looked. I pulled a camera out of my purse. “Mitzi, will you take a picture?” I asked.

“Sure. I can do that.”

Bunny chimed in, as Roz helped position her crutches. “Let’s do it outside. The sun is shining and the trees are blooming. It will be perfect out there.”

Mitzi nodded. “That’s a good idea. Here, let me just pull back the curtains.”

I was nearest the glass door when she slid the burgundy, room darkening drapes to the side, letting in the light and the view.

“Wow.” I stepped closer to the glass door. “Someone set up a party while we were having our own,” I quipped. The entire parking lot had been transformed. Three white canopies stood side by side, and the middle was decorated elaborately with flowers, while the other two appeared to protect tables of food and drinks. Women wore spring dresses and men sported jackets and ties. “Maybe it’s an after church gathering,” I said. I was about to turn around and ask Bunny and Roz if they needed help getting out, when someone in the party crowd caught my eye. I gasped a sort of mini-gasp when I realized it was Fiorenza’s Floozy. But my face flamed red poker hot when I glimpsed Howard approaching her. He looked movie star-handsome in a pair of khaki slacks and that new green dress shirt I bought him for Christmas. He always turned heads when he wore green.

While I was still processing the whole Fiorenza’s Floozy and Howard at a Sunday church party nightmare, Mitzi opened the door and Peggy literally pushed me out onto the sidewalk then off the curb into the parking lot, closer to the festivities. That was when I noticed that Roz’s van was gone from where we’d parked it.

“What?” That was all I could utter. To say I was confused would misrepresent my awareness of the circumstances.

Because I couldn’t take my eyes off of Howard or Fiorenza’s Floozy, I completely missed Amber running to me and grabbing my hips in a bear hug. “Isn’t it just perfection, Mommy?”

I bent down to hug her back and ask her what in the world was happening, when the next thing I knew Floozy had descended upon me all smiles, with her Floozy cleavage practically in my face. Her hand was outstretched. “Barbara, I’m so glad to finally meet you,” she said. “I’m Samantha Mills—your wedding planner.”

Completely flabbergasted and speechless, I shook her hand. I wondered if I might be drooling, since surely my jaw had dropped a foot. She stepped back quickly and that’s when I saw Howard in front of me, down on one knee.

“I’m not very good at things like this,” he said. “But here’s the thing—I love you. I’ve never loved anybody but you. And you make my life fun, if not . . . interesting. So I was just wondering if you’d be willing to marry me.” He smiled. “Again.”

By then, we were completely surrounded by family and friends, none of whom I had noticed before. Colt was there next to Bethany and a particularly smiley Callie was with Brandon. My mother stood next to fire fighter Russell Crow, who had his arm around Bunny. I made a mental note to ask about that later. Peter had joined Roz and Simon had stepped next to Peggy. Even Frankie was there all gussied up in a dapper designer suit. The sun stood above us in a cloudless blue sky and the fragrance of lilac filled the air.

Amber was right. It was perfection.

Since I’d never seen Howard on one knee before in my life, and I figured I might never see it again, I decided to keep him there a few minutes longer and enjoy the show.

“So,” I said, “Samantha Mills is a wedding planner, huh? All those late nights, dinners at Fiorenza’s—that was your ‘WORK’?”

His smile turned into a sly grin. “Honey,” he said. “Winning you back is the hardest work I’ve ever done.”

“Get up here you goon,” I said, pulling him toward me. We locked lips and smooched for probably way longer than we should have given the audience, but did I care? Not a bit. When I came up for air, I answered him. “Let the cameras roll.”

“Good,” he said. “Because this wedding was paid for either way.”





The girls stood with us as we renewed our vows under the middle canopy, then everyone cheered and the party was underway. Howard and I walked the reception like twenty-year olds in love, holding hands and talking with guests. Bunny sat with Russell Crow. She had her foot up on a chair and the two of them made googly eyes at each other. Apparently, they met when he and an EMT pulled her from the Winslow Building.

“I thought you were seeing someone?” I asked Russ with suspicion.

He shook his head and smiled. “Just said that so you wouldn’t be so embarrassed by your mother’s attempt to set us up. And now,” he winked at Bunny, “it’s true.”

Bunny practically swooned. In between breathy love glances directed at her studly savior, she explained, finally, what she couldn’t before—that after talking with Howard at the grocery store one day, he had asked her advice on how to woo me back. She introduced him to her friend, Samantha Mills, the wedding planner, to concoct a most deliciously romantic wedding to renew our vows. It would have happened earlier had it not been for the Dynasty Dames Debacle.

Samantha had done her job well. With ideas provided by Bunny, she arranged a memorable wedding and reception, complete with a champagne fountain as well as a DJ that played my favorite music from my college days in the ‘80s. While Howard chatted with some friends from work, I meandered to a quiet corner near the cake, where Colt stood with a cane in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other.

“So, I guess I’m losing my roommate,” he said.

“It appears that way. Now you’ll have all the privacy you need to be the real ladies man that you are.”

“Lucky me.” His smile seemed forced at best.

“Are you telling me that you’re all talk and no do?”

He laughed. “Oh, I do plenty. I’m actually thinking of looking up Anita Abernathy in prison. She’s such a sexy piece of woman. I’m dying to taste her flan.”

“How’s your foot?”

“Good enough to hobble on this,” he held up his cane, “but not quite ready for the dance floor.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

He winked. “I know you are. Let’s face it, with two good feet, I’m a boogey machine.”

Howard had wandered our way by then and slipped his arm around my waist. “I guess I’ll just have to show her my own moves then.”

“Dude,” Colt grimaced. “I’m talking about gettin’ down and funky to some tunes. You need to get a room for what’s on your mind.”

We all laughed, and for the first time in nearly two decades, the three of us were comfortable again as friends. It felt good. If there is a happiness scale, I was off the charts.

Oh, and that night, Howard and I did get a room, and he did show me his moves. Over and over and over again. I’m not sure where he learned them, but I’m pretty sure they don’t teach that kind of thing at the FBI Academy.





THE END