Free Perfect Little Ladies by Abby Drake

home.”
    She supposed she shouldn’t have said that. She supposed sheshould be a dutiful, spoiled wife and say, “Okay, honey, whatever you want, honey, you’re the one who wears the pants.” Sometimes, however, the working-class roots of her father leaked through, and Alice spoke her mind.
    “You seem to like the money I bring home.” He turned around, leaned against the sink, and folded his arms. He was marking his turf, she supposed, the way a dog pees on his terrain. In Neal’s case, the property was her.
    She rose from the uncomfortable chair, tossed back her hair, and said, “They need to change the date. I won’t disappoint my granddaughter. I’m sure they’ll understand.” With more attitude than she felt, Alice left the kitchen and headed for the computer room before Neal could beat her to it.
    “She’s going to dress up in disguise and say she’s lost her momma. I’m going to fit her to a wig.” Yolanda balanced Belita on one hip while she tossed laundry into the dryer. Her cell phone was tucked between her ear and neck. “She’ll get into trouble, I’m afraid.”
    Manny let out a big whoosh of air. “And you want me to do what?”
    “Go with her?”
    He laughed. “You are insane.”
    “Tomorrow is Tuesday. It’s your day off.”
    “Summer’s over. The kids are back in school.”
    “Big deal. They’re teenagers. They know how to get on and off the bus without you.”
    “I told you, Yo. I can’t get involved.”
    “You live in Brooklyn. The Lord Winslow is in Manhattan. A thousand miles away.”
    “I have friends on the force there.”
    “Great. Maybe they’ll help. You don’t have to say what’s going on. Just that some lady left behind unmentionables, and she’d like to find them before someone else does.”
    He laughed again. “These guys are pros. They’d see right through that.”
    Yolanda sighed. “Okay,” she said. “I get it. It’s just that Poppy is so delicate. I’m afraid she’ll get caught and wreck everything.”
    “Her name is Poppy?” He didn’t laugh again, but she could tell he wanted to.
    She slammed the dryer door. “Manuel,” she said, “forget it, okay? You think because you sent me to school and I live, as you say, ‘uptown,’ that my life is terrific. Well, I’m not one of those rich ladies who you think has nothing but air inside her head. I was born and raised in the Bronx, and I learned to care about other people, no matter what their name is or how much money they have in the bank. Maybe you’ve forgotten what that feels like because you’re so important, Mr. Police Detective.”
    “Yo…,” he said, but she hung up before he could say more.

Fourteen
    “Momma? What are you doing in the orchid garden? It’s time for tea.” Poppy never understood why Momma liked getting her hands dirty when there were day laborers for that.
    “My red swans are magnificent this year. Come inhale their perfume—it’s just like sandalwood and rose.”
    “I’ve smelled them, Momma. Now come in. Your tea is getting cold.” Some years ago, they’d made the transition from Momma being the one to watch over Poppy to Poppy watching over Momma, though Poppy was never quite sure why that had happened or when. She supposed it was a mother-daughter thing that happened in most families, even the best.
    Momma stepped out of rubber clogs and into purple flip-flops. She untied the sash of her wide-brimmed straw hat andhung it on a hook beside the potting table. Her bright white hair looked even brighter in the greenhouse light, like halogen illuminating a translucent face. Her bright blue eyes blinked and winked and smiled. “I must remember to have Lucky move a ‘Jumbo Lace’ into the house,” she said. “I do enjoy its lilac fragrance in the powder room downstairs.”
    Lucky was Momma’s longtime companion, paid to be at her beck and call, which was a full-time job. He made sure her orchids were as she wanted; he acted as her mouthpiece when anyone