Free Drop Dead Divas by Virginia Brown Page A

caught up in something he shouldn’t have.”
    Bitty rolled her eyes. “I know nothing about financial markets, but even I’m not dumb enough to fall for a pyramid scheme. He should have done more research on the men he was working with instead of thinking he was some hotshot investor. Now look. They took off for the Mediterranean with most of the money, and he’s doing twenty in a Federal prison. Like I said: Idiot with a capital I.”
    “At least you didn’t spend twenty-odd years following him around the country to different jobs,” I said. “It took me a lot longer than you to figure out my husband had problems with dependable employment.”
    “That’s true.” Bitty bent down to let a wriggling pug loose in the lobby. Several of Rayna's cats eyed Chen Ling with flattened ears and twitching tails, not a good sign of impending feline friendship. “I always wondered how you could be so stupid.”
    Before I could say what came first to my mind, she added, “For such a smart woman, you sure did overlook a lot,” and I didn’t say it. After all, she was right.
    Now, to give Bitty credit, even though she’s been married and divorced four times, there was always an excellent reason for the divorces. Usually a much better reason, in fact, than there was for the marriage, but since I’m obviously not in a position to judge, I try to refrain from pointing out that detail. After all, I got married because he had great abs. Go figure.
    If I haven’t mentioned this before, my ex-husband—whom I met at a sit-in for Native American rights—was a jack of all trades. He worked various jobs throughout his career, and still does I imagine, although I haven’t kept up with his whereabouts. I wish him no ill, mind you. We just get on much better a continent apart.
    Anyway, all talk about ex-husbands came to a screeching halt as two things happened at once: Chen Ling decided to taste a cat, and the doorbell rang. As the lobby is so huge, sound reverberates off the marble, glass, and wood. Jarring echoes of a yelping pug and a deep, repetitive gong made my head vibrate at warp speed.
    Since Rayna was helping Bitty untangle Chen Ling and a rather large cat that had been happily napping under a chair before the introduction, it was left to me to go answer the door. Not that I minded. It was much better than getting scratched or bitten.
    “Who rang that bell?” I sang as I marched to the double entry doors, mimicking the tone of the doorman/wizard/professor in the Wizard of Oz movie. In case I haven’t mentioned it yet, I have a habit of quoting from old movies, television shows, and books. I’m not alone in my oddity, as Bitty can match me quote for quote. This talent is a left-over product of our youth. While we were mostly normal children, family rumor has it that we spent a great deal of our time restricted to our respective homes because of some misdeed or other that we had no doubt been unjustly accused of committing, so we used up a lot of time watching television. Don’t listen to my mother if she tells you differently. She has memory lapses.
    I repeated my demand even louder as I opened the door. Gaynelle Bishop gave me a sharp rap on the arm with a folded newspaper. “Don’t be rude, dear.”
    Rather meekly, I stepped aside to let her into the lobby. It must take a long time to recover from thirty years of teaching bad-mannered children not to shout, swear, or pee their pants in the classroom.
    “How are you today?” I asked as I accompanied Gaynelle across the lobby.
    “Oh, I am fine, but I’ve been hunting for Bitty to see how she is doing.”
    We both looked at Bitty and Rayna as they successfully rescued Chitling from the sharp clutches of a miffed tomcat. The cat went to work cleaning bits of pug fur from his claws, while Bitty held a recovering dog close to her chest.
    “Oh my poor baby!” Bitty said as she examined Chen Ling for damage. “Did that mean ole cat hurt you?”
    Rayna hovered close.