Free Change of Scene: A 100 Page Novella by Mary Kay Andrews

hosiery.”
    “Back when there was a Bullock’s,” Greer added. “I’m not sure what channels I get, Dearie. I travel so much for work, and when I’m home, I don’t watch much television.”
    Dearie picked the remote control up from the coffee table and started switching channels, tsk-tsking with each click of the remote.
    “This is awful,” she pronounced, tossing the remote back onto the table. “They have more channels than this at my dentist’s office.”
    “Sorry,” Greer said. “But this won’t be for long. I’ve got a line on a couple of new retirement places. In fact, I’ve got an interview at Vista Haven this afternoon.”
    Dearie rolled her eyes. “Sounds awful. I thought your mother said you were going to get me into the Motion Picture and Television Home. A couple of the girls I used to work with at Paramount moved out there a few years ago. Everybody says it’s great there.”
    “It’s lovely,” Greer agreed. “But there’s a long waiting list. The director told me it could take months and months before a unit opens up for you.”
    “Is Michael Douglas still on their board?”
    “I don’t know. Why?”
    “I knew the old man. Kirk. Did I ever tell you about sewing those God-awful toga costumes when I was working on Spartacus ?”
    “No,” Greer said carefully. “I think that’s a conversation I would have remembered. Did you actually get to meet Kirk Douglas?”
    “Of course! Who do you think fitted him for his leather gladiator outfit? And those diaper things he wore for the battle scenes? Yeesh! He wasn’t the least bit bashful about having me working down there, either, if you get my drift. The man was a terrible flirt.”
    Greer suddenly got a fit of giggles, envisioning a young Dearie draping and pinning Kirk Douglas’s Spartacus fabric codpiece.
    “We won an Oscar for that picture, you know,” Dearie said wistfully. “Four, I think. But one was for best costumes.”
    “I didn’t know you had an Oscar, Dearie,” Greer said. “That’s pretty cool.”
    “Well, not me personally. But the studio gave a nice luncheon for all the girls in the workroom. And we all got these little medals. Lise took mine to show-and-tell at school, and I never saw it again.”
    Dearie picked up the remote control and flicked the television on and then off again. “I was thinking maybe you could call Michael Douglas, and see if he could pull some strings to get me a place out there.”
    “If I had his phone number, I would definitely give him a ring,” Greer said. “But there are two dozen people on the waiting list ahead of you.”
    “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Stay here with you and die of boredom? Or freeze to death?” Dearie shivered and pulled her sweater tighter.
    Greer got up and looked at the thermostat on the wall. “It’s nearly eighty degrees in here, Dearie! You can’t be cold.”
    “Could you open up my suitcase and get me my slipper socks?” The old woman’s voice was plaintive. “And if it’s not too much trouble, I’d love a cup of tea and some nice hot soup. With maybe some crackers and cheese? I missed lunch, you know.”
    *
    “We’ve got to do something,” Greer told Lise when they met for coffee the next day. “She won’t sleep in the bedroom. Says the sofa is more comfortable. She keeps the television on all night, with the volume turned up as high as it’ll go. Game shows! I didn’t even know there was a channel for game shows. She shouts out the answers and then cusses out the contestants if they get the answers right and she doesn’t. And she keeps messing with my thermostat. This morning, I got up, and the heat was on. It was eighty-six degrees. I thought I’d have heat stroke.”
    “She’s always had thin blood,” Lise said.
    “And she eats like a horse. Seriously! She’s the size of a hummingbird, but she snacks all day long. Cheese and crackers, Vienna sausages, sardines, candy bars, potato chips, Doritos. Half her