How Hard Can It Be

by Robyn Peterman

  “I’ll pay you,” she spat. “I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars a week for three weeks.” The happy relaxed atmosphere in the room disappeared abruptly. My stomach clenched and I felt dizzy. That was a shitload of money. “You’ll be at my home every day from eight in the morning till five. We will write the book. We will split the profits fifty-fifty and then you will be free to go to the Tommy Bartlett Show,” she sneered.

  Damn it to hell, why had I mentioned the Tommy Bartlett Show? That would be hard to live down . . . God, I could make more than half a year’s salary in three weeks . . . if I sold the witch my soul. I’d done plenty of stupid things for free; why not do something massively stupid and make a butt load of money doing it? Could I stand being around her for that long? I was a little curious to see if food dropped from her mouth when she ate . . . I could probably see her without makeup. No, that would induce nightmares. Shoshanna took my hand.

  “If she goes, I go with her,” she said in a steely tone.

  “Delightful,” Evangeline trilled evilly, “that makes me very happy, Shrilanka. I’ll see you both on Monday.” She stood with an enormous amount of help from Cecil or Jeeves or whatever his name was and sauntered out of the room.

  “Wait,” I gasped when I found my voice, but she was gone. “I never said I would do it. Shit, shit, shit.” I paced the room in anxiety. “Shoshanna, I can’t go work with that thing.” My cuticles found their way back to my teeth.

  “Relax, Rena, I’ll be with you. I wouldn’t leave you alone with that heinous cow bitch from the underworld. Do you really have vacation time?” LeHump asked and I nodded. I couldn’t speak because my mouth was full of fingers. “Good, then you can make a bunch of money and we can get our lives back from that skank.” Shoshanna rubbed her hands together with glee. “This could kill two birds with one stone.”

  “What in the hell are you talking about?” I was still in shock that by not speaking up I might have fucked up my life for the next three weeks, although I’d be richer for it.

  “The first bird is the money for you,” Shoshanna explained excitedly; then she began to fidget. “Rena”—LeHump’s fidgeting increased—“I don’t want you to get offended by what I’m about to say . . .”

  “Okay,” I said, feeling a little nauseous and bracing myself to be heartily offended.

  “We could effectively end her career with that paranormal Pirate Dave–Laverne and Shirley story. It’s the worst pile of shit I’ve ever heard,” she exclaimed with intense pleasure. “We help her write it, take absolutely no credit . . .”

  “Like she would have given you any credit anyway,” Nancy chimed in.

  “True—” Shoshanna was on a roll. “The toothpick with knockers takes full credit, gets it published, and goes down in flames!”

  “This could solve all of our problems,” Petunia Tree Bush yelled, eyes blazing with joy.

  “Possibly,” Nancy said cautiously, “but it could backfire.”

  “How could bringing her down with conjoined twins and a time-traveling vampire warlock with erectile dysfunction backfire?” Shoshanna was confused. Clearly she thought my story was a no-brainer career killer.

  Fine. I knew it wasn’t a good idea, but to have it paraded around as the crowning jewel that could bring a career down in flames was humiliating. More so, because I knew it was true. And what was this backfire talk? I felt the heat crawl up my neck and I bit my bottom lip so I wouldn’t cry. It didn’t work.

  “Oh dear heavens,” Eyebrow-less Joanne, the purple grape, grabbed me in a bear hug and rocked me back and forth. “LeHump, you made her cry.” She held me in a vise-like grip and I was having a hard time breathing. These ladies were strong.

  “Oh fuck,” LeHump was distraught, “Rena, I’m so sorry. Were you serious about that story? I had no idea. I thought for sure you were making that pile of crap up as you went along.” LeHump started to cry. “I feel awful,” she sobbed.

  They all started to cry. The room was filled with snot-nosed, weeping seventy-year-olds . . . and it was my fault. The viper whore bitch from Hades had nothing on me. I brought an entire roomful of sweet women to tears and because of Joanne’s stranglehold, I couldn’t breathe well enough to tell them it was all right.

  “Can’t breathe,” I wheezed, trying to extricate myself from my comforter.

  “Jesus Christ on a cross,” Poppy Bush shrieked, “you’re killing her!”

  Joanne screamed, dropped me to the floor, and started to wail. Holy hell, this was worse than speed dating for Lutherans. I landed on all fours at her feet. I felt light-headed and had to remain in the doggie position for a few moments before the dizziness subsided.

  “It’s okay, guys.” I struggled to my feet. “It’s okay,” I repeated. “I did pull it out of my ass and I knew it sucked . . . it’s just hard to hear somebody else say it out loud.” I drew in a huge shaky breath and wondered if Joanne had crushed my lungs. I dropped into the chair that Evangeline had vacated minutes ago as all the ladies nodded in understanding.

  “I feel like a douche bag,” Shoshanna groaned, her shoulders slumped; she wiped her tears on the sleeve of her lavender fleece pullover.

  “You’re not a douche bag,” I said, the beginnings of a smile pulling at my lips.

  “I’m a total douche bag,” she muttered, running her hands through her hair and making it stand up on end. “A thoughtless stinky douche bag.”

  “I’d say you’re just a douche, not a douche bag.” I giggled at her description of herself and the scary hairdo.

  The rest of the girls began to smile and chuckle. Shoshanna grinned at me gratefully and took my hand. “I really am sorry. I have a malady called diarrhea of the mouth. I am insensitive and loud and . . . I’m sorry. It’s not that bad of an idea. With some work . . .”

  “Stop,” I laughed, smacking her little hand. “I’ll be more hurt and insulted if you lie to me. The idea sucks and if you guys want me to feed it to her, I will. God knows I could use the money, but how will we get away with this? She’s got to know the idea is awful.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Joanne couldn’t control her burst of laughter. “You think she has taste? She’s under the very mistaken assumption that her plastic surgeon is a genius!”

  “Joanne’s right,” Poppy Rose Vine laughed. Her voice was rich and warm, almost masculine. She was anything but, with her trim bod and pink feminine clothes. “She thinks she looks forty!”

  “She’s smokin’ crack,” I laughed. I twisted my hands and racked my brain, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember Poppy’s whole name. I don’t know why, perhaps it’s because it doesn’t fit her. “What’s your real name, Poppy?” I asked, wondering if it fit her any better. A blush covered her face, and I noticed she could use a really good lip wax. “Um . . . ,” she stammered, looking around for support. Had I gotten too personal? “I’ve changed it several times”—she smiled shyly—“but lately I’ve been going by Harriet. It was my mom’s name.”

  “It’s lovely,” I told her. She was fragile for such a big gal. She was by far the largest of the women. Not fat, just big boned and strong. Harriet was easy to remember. It didn’t really fit her either, but it was better than all the floral names I had running around in my head. “May I call you Harriet?”

  “Yes, you may,” she paused, “but would you mind terribly calling me Poppy Harriet?”

  “I think that could be arranged.” I smiled. God, I felt like I’d known these women forever. What was that about? “So, back to the matter at hand,” I rallied my newfound troops. “If she’s going to buy a time-traveling vampire warlock with a permanent hard-on who likes to have intercourse with recently separated conjoined twins that he had to magic up some body parts for, what else do you think I can get away with?”

  My posse of gals grinned evilly, and we started to plan.

  Chapter 3

  After the meeting, Shoshanna walked me to my car, letting me know what to expect Monday morning. Thank God she did. Damn th
ing was totally dead.

  “Son of a bitch,” I groaned, banging my head on the steering wheel.

  “Don’t worry about it, Rena, I’ll drive you home,” LeHump offered.

  I glanced up at Shoshanna. There she stood, bundled up in a lime-green down coat with a Minnesota Vikings matching hat, glove, and scarf set. Her snow boots were blue with hot pink polka dots. Never had I seen an ensemble so hideous and so lovely at the same time. First impressions aren’t often wrong, but they can be. I had definitely been wrong about LeHump. She might write porno and have a bad haircut, but she also had a huge heart and I don’t think she had been hitting on me. I think she was just weird.

  “Where do you live?” I asked.

  “New Hope. Where do you live?”

  “Saint Paul,” I sighed. I was going to be cabbing it, or possibly even worse . . . bussing it. Shit. New Hope was thirty minutes in the opposite direction from my house, and I lived a half an hour from where we were. There was no way I could let her drive me home.

  “That would add an hour onto your trip. I can’t let you do that.” I smiled and squeezed her purple and gold clad hand.

  “It’s no fucking biggie. My sister lives in Saint Paul. She’ll be thrilled if I stop by. She owes me money. Plus I need to get you a little more up to speed about the slag.”

  “Shoshanna, it’s really too far.”

  “Bullshit. Just hang on a second. I need to move my computer and baseball bat out of the front seat.”

  Shoshanna was not taking no for an answer, which was very sweet . . . I thought. The baseball bat concerned me, but I figured if she was going to kill me she would have already done so in the parking garage. There was no one in sight and no security cameras anywhere.

  I grabbed my tote and my purse and hustled over to Shoshanna’s sky blue minivan. I could have called AAA, but I didn’t have enough body fat to sit in subzero temperatures for three hours and wait for them. As it was, my snot was freezing as I walked the thirty feet to Shoshanna’s soccer-mom-ish mode of transport. I needed to move to a warmer climate.

  “Get in. It takes a while for the heat to work in this piece of shit, but when it kicks in, you’ll sweat like a fat whore at confession.”

  “Do you eat with that mouth?” I grinned, shaking my head and searching for the seat belt. The car was a pigsty.

  Shoshanna cackled with glee, “You bet I do! Are you going to remember all the new stuff you came up with?”

  “It would be very difficult to forget the part about the three-way between Pirate Dave, Leif Erickson, and Christopher Columbus,” I choked out, still searching for the seat belt.

  “That’s some good stuff there, Rena. I don’t think I could have come up with that one myself. You have the scariest imagination I’ve ever had the pleasure to witness.”

  “Um . . . thanks.” A compliment is a compliment no matter how insulting.

  “The part that really gets me is when the pirate with scurvy and no fingers on his left hand tries to sew the twins back together. That is just fucking gross.”

  “Is it too gross?” I worried. Maybe that was going a little too far. I had gotten kind of carried away, but when Poppy Harriet’s soda flew out of her nose, I couldn’t stop myself. Maybe I should try stand-up comedy . . .

  “Absolutely not!” Shoshanna bellowed. “I’d go even a little farther. Give him lice or severe halitosis, a clubfoot maybe.”

  “LeHump, that’s gross.”

  “You’re right—” She grinned sheepishly. “I don’t have it like you do.”

  “I’m not real sure that coming up with plots that can bring careers down in flames is ‘having it,’ but thank you.” I still couldn’t find the damn seat belt, but I did find a few rock-hard fries and what may have been a cheeseburger during the 1980s. “LeHump, your car is disgusting.”

  “I’ve been meaning to clean it out. What in the hell are you digging for?”

  “The seat belt.”

  “Oh.” She shrugged guiltily. “I cut them out. Everybody’s doing it.”

  “Oookay.” I didn’t have a comeback for that one, so I simply smiled and nodded. She is nuttier than my Aunt Phyllis, who is convinced there are little people in her TV. I was beginning to wonder about her sanity, as well as my own for getting into her car.

  I told her where I lived and she proceeded to drive like a bat out of hell. I prayed the entire time. I wasn’t particularly religious, but when my life was in danger, I figured it couldn’t hurt.

  “So, we’ll probably do some light housecleaning and possibly bathe her turd-laying, skank-breath rat dogs. Bring your lunch because the viper bitch doesn’t keep food in the house. Oh, wear sweats, but bring a nice outfit. She likes to make us run errands. Don’t ever say no to an errand.”

  My mouth was agape and an icy chill ran up my spine. “Are you serious?” What had I gotten myself into?

  “As a heart attack.” Shoshanna made a gagging sound. I thought she was going to vomit. “Once Joanne refused to drive in a blizzard to get gourmet treats for those shit-eating canines and Evangeline made her scrape her bunions for an hour. That’s the day Joanne started pulling her eyebrows out.”

  “I thought maybe that was a fashion choice.”

  “Oh, God no. She had wonderful bushy eyebrows before the bunion incident.”

  I wasn’t sure I would put the words wonderful and bushy eyebrows together, but I also wouldn’t be caught dead in a lime-green coat driving a light blue minivan. Then again, who was I to judge? I’d been tapped as the girl with career-destroying ideas.

  “Okay, sweats, nice clothes, lunch, and never say no to an errand. I got it. Will we do any writing?” I put my feet up on the dash, hoping it might break the blow from the accident we were sure to have. She’d already run two red lights and flipped off more drivers than I did in an entire month.

  “We’ll sit down with Cecil and dictate to him. She sleeps most of the time when she’s not having procedures done or yelling at us.” LeHump leaned over to turn the heat down and almost swerved into a convenience store.

  “Shoshanna,” I shrieked. I saw my life flash before my eyes and was thankful I was wearing nice underpants. I would hate to die in holey granny panties. My mom would shit a brick.

  “Sorry”—she grinned—“I was getting hot. So anyway, like I was saying . . .”

  “Wait.” I cut her off. This was not making sense to me. “Why are you guys all doing stuff for her? Does she pay you?”

  Shoshanna shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Not exactly. Let’s just say it’s a business arrangement.”

  “Well that’s fairly cryptic,” I deadpanned.

  “I love that word,” LeHump gushed. “Don’t you love that word?”

  “Sure.” I raised my not bushy brow sarcastically. “Do you also like the word ‘avoidance’?”

  “Love it,” LeHump laughed. “It’s my favorite.”

  “Holy fuck.” Shoshanna grabbed my arm and yanked me to a halt as we rounded the corner to walk into my building. “Smokin’ hot butt dead ahead.”

  “Oh my God,” I gasped. She was right. It was a little creepy to have someone my grandparents’ age ogle the behind of a thirty-ish-year-old guy, but she was correct. It was the finest ass I’d ever seen.

  “He’s going into your building,” she hissed, hopping up and down with excitement.

  Mr. Sexy-ass used a key and went in. That meant he lived there. That amazing ass lives in my building! From the back he was Adonis. Unless he was sporting a unibrow and no teeth, my guess was he was hot from the front, too. “You know he’s probably gay,” I said pulling Shoshanna toward the front door just in case we could get another glimpse. No such luck.

  “I don’t think so. That ass looked very straight to me,” she said. I refrained from asking why she thought that. I was more afraid of her answer than the thought of the butt being gay.

  Shoshanna came up to my apartment to use the loo. It was the least I could offer, after she’d gone so far ou
t of her way for me. I was grateful for the ride, but even more grateful to still be alive. In a mere matter of hours Shoshanna had grown on me . . . kind of like a fungus. A nondeadly, sweet-smelling, insane fungus. I liked her and actually looked forward to spending time with her in the next three weeks, despite the scary circumstances. There was no telling what would come out of her mouth. I enjoyed not being the only loose cannon in the room.

  “Oh my God!” Kristy gasped. “Professor Sue?”

  “Kristy!” LeHump shouted joyously, embracing my roommate in a bear hug. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in years. What are you doing now? I still remember that thesis you wrote on women’s roles throughout religious history. One of the best goddamned papers I ever read.”

  Kristy blushed furiously and preened under LeHump’s praise. What in the hell was going on here? LeHump was a porno writer, not a professor . . . Wait a minute. Was LeHump the famous “Professor Sue” I’d heard about ad nauseam from Kristy’s college days? No freakin’ way.

  “Shoshan . . . Sue, you know my roommate?” Damn, I’d almost blown her cover. I was very curious as to her real last name, but asking didn’t seem appropriate at the moment

  “Know her? Know her?” Shoshanna yelled. Dang, she was loud. “Not only do I know her, she was one of the best students I ever had!”

  Kristy looked positively orgasmic and I was flabbergasted. Had I moved into an alternate universe? The sum so did not equal the parts. I thought today couldn’t get any weirder.

  I thought wrong.

  “Rena,” my starstruck roommate gushed, “this is the Professor Sue. One of the most respected and sought-after professors of women’s studies in the country. Her work has been published worldwide.”

  I glanced at Shoshanna/Sue. The irony was almost too much to bear. She winked and put her finger to her lips. I got it . . . Clearly Kristy was not referring to the butt-plug trilogy or the contortionist sex-slave series LeHump had regaled me with when she wasn’t trying to run us off the road during our thirty-minute ride from hell.