Free Her Fifth Husband? by Dixie Browning

So—what’s this about a new man for Lily?”
    Sasha stirred a second spoonful of sugar into her cup. “He’s only perfect, that’s all. Like I told you over the phone, he’s at least an eleven.”
    â€œAnd that’s his shoe size, right?” Marty asked, tongue firmly planted in cheek.
    â€œUh-uh. His shoes are at least size twelve.”
    Faylene cackled and Sasha stretched out on the sofa and kicked a pillow under her ankle with her good foot. “Look, I’m just guessing, okay? Lily’s tall, right? Jake’s taller. He’s big, but not too big—attractive without being blatant about it.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with blatant?” asked Faylene, whose Bob Ed was gray-bearded and beer-bellied, and according to the housekeeper, the sweetest man you’d ever hope to meet.
    â€œWell, at least he’s not vain. Remember that lawyer we introduced Lily to at the Christmas party? The one who couldn’t pass his reflection in any shiny surface without preening?”
    â€œAsk me, I think he used more wax on his hair than he did on his fancy car.” Faylene snorted. “And how ’bout the guy that gave her that cheap box of candy that still had the sale sticker on it?”
    â€œHey, we tried. A good man is hard to find,” Sasha said.
    â€œAin’t the way I heard it,” Faylene remarked dryly.
    â€œOkay, so the thing is, how are we going to get them together? The box suppers won’t start again for another few weeks, and I already asked him about his taxes.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œAnd I botched it. He thought I was being nosy.”
    â€œYou were, but you’re usually slick enough to get away with it,” Marty said with a laugh. “You’re slipping, honey.”
    â€œYou try being crafty when your ankle looks like a stuffed sausage and you’ve got three broken nails on one hand.”
    â€œWhy don’t you go natural? Nobody wears long red nails now. It’s not even considered retro. Besides, think of all you’d save in maintenance alone.” Marty admired her own French manicure.
    â€œTerrific. Next you’ll be wanting me to start wearing gingham.”
    â€œI can see it now. A ruffled gingham apron worn over a matching garter belt and bikini top.” Marty giggled.
    Marty never giggled. Now she not only giggled, she glowed.
    Sasha studied her frosted cherry nails—the ones she had left. “Do acrylic nails come in short natural? I told you about my shoe, didn’t I? The pink ankle-straps?”
    Marty shook her head. “I warned you about those things. This time it was only a sprain, but next time you might break your neck. Shoes like that weren’t even meant for walking, much less climbing stairs. And we’re talking sun-warped, outdoor stairs with cracks between the boards, right?”
    Faylene offered her own advice. “Be like me. I know how to dress sensible for work.”
    For as long as anyone could remember, the housekeeper’s summer uniform had been white sneakers, white shorts and suntan support hose worn, more often than not, with a pink shirt.
    â€œWe all have to make the most of our natural attributes. Mine just happen to be small feet, nice ankles and good hair,” Sasha said.
    â€œNatural?” Marty jeered. “Yeah, like Mount Rushmore is natural.”
    â€œBesides,” Sasha continued, ignoring the interruption, “I don’t climb all that many stairs. I just had a fewmore of those three-story cottages this season on account of all the storm damage. And who’d trust a shabby-looking interior designer?”
    â€œWe’re talking sensible, not shabby. White jeans and a halter, flip-flops and maybe a Hermes do-rag and you’ve got instant chic.”
    â€œRight, and I’d look like every other woman on the beach. Well…maybe not the Hermes scarf.” Sasha sighed.
    For as long as she could