How Hard Can It Be

by Robyn Peterman

  “I’m back,” he bellowed, grasping his double man-rod lovingly. He waltzed with his wieners, turning joyous circle after circle across the deck. He couldn’t wait to show Laverne and Shirley. The local mermaids heard the ruckus and came to see what the fuss was about. They pointed and laughed at poor Pirate Dave’s twin wanks, but Dave didn’t care. Those mermaids were whores and they ate their lovers when they tired of them. Pirate Dave had lost four hundred and seventy-two friends over the years to those cannibalistic swimming bitches.

  He turned his back to the waterlogged hookers and that’s when the screaming began. Horrible screams. Worse than Shirley on a bad day. He grabbed a mirror to see if possibly another penis was growing out of his back. No, it was worse, far, far worse. Pirate Dave’s knees buckled and he dropped to the deck, wailing in agony. That blind motherfucking troll had given him two gifts. Not only had he damned Pirate Dave with double skin flutes, he had tattooed Dave’s back with the most heinous, evil, monstrous, enemy in the entire world . . . Across Pirate Dave’s back, covering it from shoulder to ass, in bright vibrant color was the feared and hated and dreaded . . . giraffe.

  The silence lasted approximately thirty-seven seconds before the entire room burst into hysterics.

  “Oh shit,” Shoshanna said, “I wish Nancy had been here for that one. Where in the hell did that come from? Do you have something against giraffes?” she laughed.

  “Kind of,” I muttered sheepishly.

  “A little odd,” Cecil agreed, “but strangely entertaining.”

  “I think you’re enjoying yourself, Cecil,” I teased. “You’d better watch out; before you know it we’ll be showing up at your house for casseroles and poker.”

  “It would be an honor, Miss,” Cecil said quietly, dipping his head to hide his blush. Damn it, he was making it very hard to hate him.

  “Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m beat,” Joanne said, pulling out a small comb and gently running it through her eyebrows. “Goodnight all. Rena, I’m so glad you came back.”

  Poppy Harriet scooped me up into another hug. “Rena, thank you for dealing with the finance issues. The young lady from your firm is outstanding and said it will be fixed next week.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek and another big squeeze.

  Cecil took his leave with a slight bow and a tiny smile. “I’m happy you came back. We need you.”

  Then it was just me and LeHump.

  “What made you change your mind?” she asked, pulling on her lime-green coat, then straightening our desk.

  “It wasn’t any one thing,” I said trying to figure it out myself. “It was just right.”

  “I’m glad.” She smiled and smooshed my face in her little hands.

  “Shoshanna, does the offer to stay with you still stand?” I asked, realizing I had nowhere to go.

  “You bet,” she said. “Door’s always open to friends.”

  “Great. It’ll only be for two weeks, I took a transfer to Iowa,” I told her. Why did saying that make me feel nauseated?

  “Iowa? What the fuck is in Iowa?” Shoshanna was surprised.

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. I’m very excited about it; it’s a great opportunity.” I plastered a huge smile on my face and prayed she wouldn’t notice how fake it was.

  “Hmmm.” She gave me a long stare. “Running away doesn’t usually solve anything, little missy, but if you have to go, you have to go. Come on, you can follow me home.”

  “No, I can’t. I’m going to my folks’ anniversary party tonight. My stuff’s in my car. I’ll just change and leave from here,” I said, thinking it out as I spoke. “I should be back at your place around eleven. Twelve at the latest. I’ll walk out with you. I have to get my outfit for tonight.”

  “Lead the way, roomie,” she laughed.

  I rolled my eyes and hoped like hell she didn’t snore.

  Why had I shoved all my clothes in the suitcase without folding them? I examined the three extremely wrinkled dresses lying on the desk and couldn’t decide which one was the lesser of all evils. Jenny would definitely have a snarky comment about sloppy personal hygiene. Although giving her ammunition to insult me would free me up to call her bubble butt or tubby tush or hulking heinie. That made the evening ahead a bit more tolerable.

  I yanked on a very expensive and wrinkled wrap dress. At least the teal and navy pattern hid some of the creases. Whatever, the party wasn’t about me. It was about my parents celebrating their wedding anniversary. Something I’d never have.

  I was unsure whether I would tell everyone Jack had died in a bizarre gardening accident or whether I’d tell them he’d turned out to be gay. I’d have to cry a lot if I went with the dead thing. I’d left my waterproof mascara back at the apartment, so that was out. Gay it shall be. Jenny would love it, but it was better than the truth.

  I slipped on the designer pumps that represented most of my last year’s salary and said good night to the heinous pink office. Walking through the foyer, I heard voices. Jack and Evangeline’s voices. Fuck, shit, fuck, fuck, how did I lose track of the time? I had planned to be out of here by five. Maybe I could make it to the front door.

  “Let me show you the foyer, Jake darling,” Evangeline purred.

  “It’s Jack,” he politely corrected her.

  “That’s what I said. Jock.” She tried to giggle flirtatiously, but it sounded kind of donkey-like.

  I could hear their approach. My stomach lurched and I started to sweat. I wasn’t going to make it. Frantically, I ran around the foyer, trying to find a fornicating statue to hide behind. Dang it, none of the fuckers would hide me well enough. This was so not happening to me. Here I stood in a room full of screwing statues, in a wrinkled dress ready to be busted by a walking cadaver with tits who had designs on my ex-boyfriend who thought I was insane. Life didn’t get much better.

  Just as they entered I made an Olympic dive for the mounds of bejeweled baby pink silk that the Viper called curtains. Safe, but shaking like a leaf, I promised God and Buddha and Peyton Manning that I would be a better Lutheran. I would go to church every Sunday and I’d even try Speed Dating for Lutherans with only a partially bad attitude. I peeked out and realized I was going to be a witness to Jack doing Evangeline, or Evangeline doing Jack, or Jack freaking out on Evangeline, or God knew what . . .

  “So Jim,” she cooed, looking him over seductively, “have you ever seen anything like this?” She threw her arms out like Maria in The Sound of Music and fell flat on her face. Guess the weight of those knockers wasn’t compatible with arm movement.

  “Oh my God,” Jack gasped, helping her to her feet. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, Jonsey. I’m fine.” She tried to laugh it off as she rubbed her ginormous rack all over him while he helped her up. If it wasn’t so pathetic, I’d be pissed.

  “It’s Jack,” he said stiffly, trying to ease her away. “Can I get you an ice bag or something? Your eyes look a little odd.”

  My teeth clamped down on my bottom lip. Extreme pain would keep me from laughing or gagging. So far, so good.

  “My eyes are turquoise and they’re feasting on you,” she shouted, pointing at him with one clawed hand while death-gripping a statue of a woman performing a blow job with the other.

  “I’m sorry, what?” he asked, clearly appalled by what he’d just heard.

  “Oh Jeff,” she tittered, “don’t play coy. It’s clear what you want.” Her voice lowered and she drew her purple feathered miniskirt farther up her leg. What the hell was she wearing? “I can feel the heat. I’ve been salivating over the manly bulge in your jeans since you arrived. I feel flattered and a bit frightened of such a large love stick.” Had she just really called his penis a love stick?

  “There must be some misunderstanding,” Jack said, backing away. “I’m from the Minneapolis Police Department. I’m here to discuss a donation, Ms. O’Hara.”

  “Oooh, you’re a kinky one, Jeb. You want to be paid?” she le
ered, moving to take off her top. “I believe we can arrange a little stipend for services rendered.”

  “Oh no, no, no, no, no.” Jack was either trying not to laugh or not to cry. He moved quickly and shoved her shirt back over her head, pulling her wig way over to the left, revealing a shiny hairless head. Oh. My. God. I had no idea she was bald. Shoshanna would pee her pants. Jack, in a state of panic, attempted to fix her wig before she realized she was sporting a bad, bad look.

  “Oh John,” she moaned, grabbing her bosom. “I love when you manhandle me like this.” She reached out and tried to grab his love stick.

  “Jesus Christ.” Jack jerked his love stick out of her reach and made an effort to catch her as she slid off the statue she was posing on. The weight of those hooters made her life downright dangerous and Jack wasn’t quick enough.

  “Enough foreplay,” she shrieked as she took a tumble to the ground, knocking her wig clean off her head. “Take me to the boudoir and ravish my bosoms.”

  Did she realize she looked like Uncle Fester with boobs? Jack blanched and quickly kicked her wig away before she noticed the state of her head. Why he was still being civil was beyond me.

  “Ms. O’ Hara, I’m not here to have any kind of relations with you or your bosom,” Jack ground out, trying to hold on to his temper. “I am here to speak to you about a donation. Just a donation. Nothing more.”

  “Don’t be naive,” she hissed. “Your Sergeant Gerald sent you here to be my new paramour. Nothing more.” She repeated his phrase and laughed a little maniacally. “You will be my toy until I tire of you. If you don’t, there will be hell to pay and I don’t think your grandfather or Rena need any more pain in their lives.” She repositioned herself on the floor in what she felt was a sexy pose, stuck her claw in the air and beckoned him to her. “Now bring your love stick to me and slap it between my trembling thighs,” she said silkily.

  Holy hell, she had apparently been reading some crappy romance novels for her dialogue. Holding back my laughter was giving me a headache. If I only had a tape recorder . . . Fuck, if I had a tape recorder I could have blackmailed her into not blackmailing us. I could probably use my phone, but any movement on my part was impossible.

  Jack bit back his fury and walked slowly toward her.

  “That’s right,” she purred. “Come to mama.”

  About a foot and a half away from her, just out of reach, Jack dropped to one knee. Holy shit, was he going to do this? “What do you have on my grandpa and Rena, Ms. O’Hara?” The bridled anger in his voice would have scared the shit out of me, but Evangeline was either too stupid or horny to notice. “Tell me right now,” he ground out through clenched teeth.

  Evangeline, looking up from her pose, finally had the wherewithal to be alarmed by the furious man she was trying to blackmail for sex. “Call me Evangeline, darling,” she said huskily, hoping to distract him.

  “What do you have on them?” His barely controlled fury was making her more nervous than I’d ever seen her, but Evangeline never lost and she wasn’t about to start now.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she laughed.

  “As a matter of fact, I would.” He pulled out his phone and held it up in front of him. “Smile, Evangeline,” he said.

  She did. She even arched her back, so her rack would be more evident. Like that was an issue. “Oh, Jimmy, are these for your private collection?” she tittered seductively, pulling her shirt down off one shoulder to give him a better view of her cavernous cleavage.

  He continued to take pictures. She hiked her skirt up and revealed what I already expected. She was going commando. “No,” Jack shouted, right before she flashed her goodies. “These are art shots, not sick porn.” His relief as she let her skirt fall back into place was hilarious.

  “Of course, darling, sexy art shots, so you can masturbate while looking at pictures of me.” She smiled as well as she could with her face in a semiparalysis from the Botox.

  “These aren’t for me,” he said and popped his phone back into his pocket. “They’re for Facebook, unless you’d like to share what you have on my grandfather and girlfriend.” Did he just call me his girlfriend? No way, he’d lost all rights to that term about ten hours ago.

  “That will never happen, my love,” she hissed. “Now come over here and put your big manly hands on my bosom.”

  “Put your hands on your head, Evangeline,” Jack replied sharply.

  “Oooh, we’re back to the kinky,” she said with rabid excitement. She slowly reached up, her eyes never leaving his, and delicately laid her claws on her head. The look on her face was one I’d never forget as long as I lived, but her scream . . . her scream almost broke my eardrums. “My hair,” she shrieked. “What have you done with my hair?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling, “your hair will not be harmed as long as you cooperate.”

  “If that’s your ace in the hole, you’re screwed,” she spat. “I have forty wigs upstairs.”

  “Oh, Evangeline, I believe you may have forgotten I just took three pictures of you. Bald and sprawled. If these pictures get out, it might be a bit damaging to your image.” Holy shit, he was brilliant.

  She glared at him with burning eyes. “What do you want?”

  “Here’s the deal. I will ask you three questions. For each satisfactory answer, I will erase a picture. If I don’t get what I want, I will go home and upload your shiny head onto Facebook for all the world to see. Do we have a deal?”

  “Yes,” she shouted, frantically scanning the floor for her hair.

  “What do you have on my grandfather?”

  “Well, um, there are a lot of things and I can’t recall exactly what . . .” she stammered.

  “Not satisfactory,” Jack barked and Evangeline jumped.

  “Fine. We couldn’t find anything on your grandfather. He’s clean,” she said, her lips thinning with anger. Jack erased one picture.

  “And Rena?”

  “The little slut?” she laughed. “I have plenty on her. She tried to steal from me, to the tune of three hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars. Jewels,” she hissed, “she stole my jewels.”

  “Don’t you ever, ever call her a slut again. If there’s a slut around here, it’s you.” I heard the Viper’s sharp intake of breath. Jack continued, “Is that all you have on Rena?”

  “Isn’t that enough? I could send her away for years if I chose to press charges. The jewels were in the box she tried to escape with when you arrested her.” She smiled nastily.

  Jack erased another picture. “There’s a small problem with that. The box was empty,” he gave her a nasty smile back.

  Evangeline blanched, dragged herself over to her hair, and slapped the wig back on her head. Was he on the last question? Shit, I needed that picture. I could end all the heartache of my friends with that picture. The second half of our not very well-thought-out plan would work if I only had that damn picture, but then I’d be no better than her. I’d be a blackmailing viper just like she was. Maybe she’d fuck up the last answer and he’d post her bald head on Facebook. That could easily break her, and the girls would be free. I held my breath and waited.

  “How is my sergeant involved in this?”

  “It’s not just your sergeant, it’s that little midget, too,” she laughed, seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. She’d sell anyone down the river to save her own bald head.

  “Answer the question,” Jack snapped. I knew this was difficult for him. Being a cop was sacred. He would have a very hard time with what he was about to find out.

  “I pay them,” she said flippantly.

  “You what?” Jack was floored.

  “I. Pay. Them. They do whatever I want them to do, whenever I tell them to do it,” she leered.

  “That’s against the law and totally unethical.” Jack’s curt voice lashed out at her.

  “Welcome to the real world, pretty boy. Now erase the picture and empty the trash.”

  My heart
sank as the only thing that could save my friends disappeared.

  “How long has this been going on?” he demanded.

  “That’s question number four and you’re out of pictures,” she spat. “But just because it seems so painful to you, I think I’ll answer that. Ten years. Ten years those weak bastards have been on my payroll . . . and it’s worth every penny.”

  Jack’s fists clenched by his sides. I could feel him fighting every instinct he had. His breathing was uneven and his cheeks were flushed.

  “By the way,” she continued, triumphantly, “you’ll never be able to prove any of this. It’s just your word against mine.”

  “By the way,” Jack replied, as he moved toward the front door, “you are the most repulsive excuse for a woman I’ve ever seen. Take care. I’ll be seeing you soon . . . in court.”

  “Don’t bet on it,” she spat, looking uglier than I’d ever seen her look.

  He left.

  I had to stay hidden for another twenty minutes until her screaming fit ended and I was sure she was gone. If Jack had just believed me this morning, I could have saved him from this, but he hadn’t. Although the situation was horrid, it was comforting to see him one more time. No time for pity parties. He thought I was crazy and wanted nothing to do with me. I looked down at myself all tangled up in baby pink rhinestone curtain, my dress more wrinkled than it had been when I had put it on, and realized he was right . . . I was crazy and it never would have worked with us.

  Fuck it, I’d go be with people who celebrated crazy and practiced it on a daily basis . . . my family.

  Chapter 25