had also neglected to attend. To my shame, I hadnât called either of them. I was definitely falling apart if I couldnât meet basic responsibilities like a shift at an earnest, albeit inelegant, fast-food outlet or conduct a business/social lunch with my agent. On the other hand, I reminded myself, I had a very good excuse.
âOh, Mitzi,â I groaned. âIâm so sorry. I had a hell of a night.â
âWell, so did I,â she said, aggrieved. âI had a migraine that kept me up, but I managed to make lunch.â
I guess I am such a wonderful actor that she didnât wonder why I had left a sobbing message on her phone. She always unplugs her phone when suffering with a migraine.
âSomebody was murdered at my condo,â I said.
âGreat excuse. Hope it was Stan Pope.â
I hissed in a breath and held it. Was Mitzi psychic or what? She might have had the locales mixed up, but she had identified one dead body with a bullâs eye.
I wondered how I was going to steer my way through this hellish conversation.
âIâm not joking. And it wasnât Stan.â
She took a moment to consider this. Mitzi is extremely short, fiftyish and plus-sized, and has a wardrobe that constantly amazes me, not only in its spectrum, but also in its courage, ranging from wildly coloured caftans to severe black business suits to hot-pink sweatpants. She doesnât take life lying down. She gets on her feet and smacks it in the face with her wardrobe. Her red curls look as if she went crazy with neon pastels in a drunken moment, but they are actually the result of visits to a hair salon I canât afford any more. She seems totally comfortable with her size, and she never seems to lack a man in her life (often one of her clients, which is the source of some discussion among the rest of us). She is emotional and dramatic, and turns into a tiger in defence of her actors. She is lethal in negotiations. But even she couldnât protect me from Stan and Sherilyn.
Back in the days of Doggie Doggie Bow Wow, both Mitzi and I had money. We lunched every week. We went shoe shopping. She has several pairs of Manolo Blahniks, which, amazingly, hold her considerable weight. I had a pair of Manolos too, but I got them at a consignment store for twelve dollars. (The proprietor had never seen Sex and the City , and I was the lucky lady who found the Manolos before anybody else. They werenât even my size, but I bought them anyway on general principle.) I sold them on eBay because I needed the money and cried all the way to the post office when I mailed them to the lucky buyer in Nebraska.
âAre you all right?â she said.
âI guess. Some guy broke in and tried to choke me. And then somebody came in and killed him. And then I threw up. And then the police came. The detective is quite cute and seems to think I did it.â Something else hit me. âAnd I donât know where Horatio is.â
Mitzi absorbed this aria silently. Finally, she emitted the response that was typically Mitzi. She is, ultimately, very practical.
âHow cute is this detective? Did he have a wedding ring? Do you think you could seduce him and get him to lean on Stan for your royalties? Does he seem interested in you?â
âMore sexy than cute. No. Unlikely, but I could give it a try. Not at all.â
⢠⢠â¢
By the time we signed off, we had shared opinions on last weekâs shoe sale at What a Heel, commiserated over the latest news on how lousy chocolate is for you, and promised to reschedule lunch for next week. If I were still alive, although I didnât share that thought with Mitzi. I had a weak moment where I considered spilling the beans to her and asking her to be my bodyguard, then thought better of it. I would definitely feel safe with Mitzi. I still remembered the time she decked a mugger with a Jimmy Choo.
I crawled out of bed, staggered downstairs and into the
âOh, Mitzi,â I groaned. âIâm so sorry. I had a hell of a night.â
âWell, so did I,â she said, aggrieved. âI had a migraine that kept me up, but I managed to make lunch.â
I guess I am such a wonderful actor that she didnât wonder why I had left a sobbing message on her phone. She always unplugs her phone when suffering with a migraine.
âSomebody was murdered at my condo,â I said.
âGreat excuse. Hope it was Stan Pope.â
I hissed in a breath and held it. Was Mitzi psychic or what? She might have had the locales mixed up, but she had identified one dead body with a bullâs eye.
I wondered how I was going to steer my way through this hellish conversation.
âIâm not joking. And it wasnât Stan.â
She took a moment to consider this. Mitzi is extremely short, fiftyish and plus-sized, and has a wardrobe that constantly amazes me, not only in its spectrum, but also in its courage, ranging from wildly coloured caftans to severe black business suits to hot-pink sweatpants. She doesnât take life lying down. She gets on her feet and smacks it in the face with her wardrobe. Her red curls look as if she went crazy with neon pastels in a drunken moment, but they are actually the result of visits to a hair salon I canât afford any more. She seems totally comfortable with her size, and she never seems to lack a man in her life (often one of her clients, which is the source of some discussion among the rest of us). She is emotional and dramatic, and turns into a tiger in defence of her actors. She is lethal in negotiations. But even she couldnât protect me from Stan and Sherilyn.
Back in the days of Doggie Doggie Bow Wow, both Mitzi and I had money. We lunched every week. We went shoe shopping. She has several pairs of Manolo Blahniks, which, amazingly, hold her considerable weight. I had a pair of Manolos too, but I got them at a consignment store for twelve dollars. (The proprietor had never seen Sex and the City , and I was the lucky lady who found the Manolos before anybody else. They werenât even my size, but I bought them anyway on general principle.) I sold them on eBay because I needed the money and cried all the way to the post office when I mailed them to the lucky buyer in Nebraska.
âAre you all right?â she said.
âI guess. Some guy broke in and tried to choke me. And then somebody came in and killed him. And then I threw up. And then the police came. The detective is quite cute and seems to think I did it.â Something else hit me. âAnd I donât know where Horatio is.â
Mitzi absorbed this aria silently. Finally, she emitted the response that was typically Mitzi. She is, ultimately, very practical.
âHow cute is this detective? Did he have a wedding ring? Do you think you could seduce him and get him to lean on Stan for your royalties? Does he seem interested in you?â
âMore sexy than cute. No. Unlikely, but I could give it a try. Not at all.â
⢠⢠â¢
By the time we signed off, we had shared opinions on last weekâs shoe sale at What a Heel, commiserated over the latest news on how lousy chocolate is for you, and promised to reschedule lunch for next week. If I were still alive, although I didnât share that thought with Mitzi. I had a weak moment where I considered spilling the beans to her and asking her to be my bodyguard, then thought better of it. I would definitely feel safe with Mitzi. I still remembered the time she decked a mugger with a Jimmy Choo.
I crawled out of bed, staggered downstairs and into the
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