Bunco Babes Gone Wild

by Maria Geraci

  They were standing at the door of Shea Masterson’s large Mediterranean-style ranch located just a couple of blocks from the ocean. A white Lincoln Navigator sat parked outside the three-car garage. There were two small pink bicycles and beach toys scattered inside. Georgia could hear laughter and music coming from the house.

  Frida gave her a long sideways look. “You’re not nervous, are you?”

  “Should I be?” Maybe she was a teensy bit nervous. She’d never done well with the “girl” thing. But it wasn’t that big a deal. If she was acting jittery, it was because she hadn’t been able to get back in touch with Spencer. She’d tried calling him again on his cell, and then at his home. But both times she’d gotten his voice mail.

  “Don’t worry! Everyone will love you.” Frida grabbed her hand. “C’mon. We don’t need to knock at Shea’s house. Not on Bunco night.”

  They walked in through the foyer and into a spacious living room. A pair of expensive-looking leather couches made an L shape in the center of the room. There was a massive stone fireplace with a plasma-screen TV above it and lit candles on the mantel. Three wooden card tables were set up around the room with matching chairs. Each card table had three dice in the center and decorated name cards. She noticed her name was written in script on one of the cards.

  Frida led her to the kitchen filled with women. Georgia recognized the three she had met earlier this afternoon.

  Shea gave her a hug. Georgia felt awkward, but she hugged her back.

  “I’m so glad you came!” Shea said, placing a frozen drink in Georgia’s hand. “Here, take a sip and let me introduce you around.”

  Shea clapped loudly and the kitchen went to a semi-standstill. “Everyone! This is Frida’s sister, Georgia. She’s visiting from Birmingham and she’s going to play with us tonight.”

  They all came up to her, one by one, welcoming her. There were too many names to remember (thank God for those name cards on the tables).

  Georgia took a sip of her drink. It was a frozen margarita but it had an extra bite to it. “Thank you for having me,” she said to the group.

  A woman with short dark hair whose name was Liz smiled at her. “How long are you going to be in town, Geor gia?”

  “Just for the weekend.”

  “Too bad you can’t stay till Labor Day,” said Shea.

  “That’s when our Black Tie Bunco Bash is taking place,” Kitty said.

  “Black Tie Bunco?”

  “It was all Shea’s idea,” said Pilar. “She’s a genius.”

  “It’s a long story,” began Frida, “but basically, the town’s senior center is being torn down by this evil land baron, Ted Ferguson—”

  A few of the Babes began to hiss.

  Georgia froze in shock. Ted Ferguson, evil land baron? Georgia had never met Ted in person, but she’d spoken to him on the phone numerous times. He was a personal friend and old fraternity brother of Spencer’s. And thanks to Geor gia’s financial advice, as of two months ago, a business associate as well.

  “Anyway,” said Frida, not noticing Georgia’s reaction to Ted’s name, “the Gray Flamingos, that’s our local senior citizen watch group, in partnership with us, the Bunco Babes”—she waved a hand around the room—“are heading up a committee to raise funds for the town’s new recreation center.”

  “Black Tie Bunco is the big kickoff,” said Pilar. “It’s going to be great. There’ll be lots of food, drinks, dancing, and of course, Bunco. It’s all for charity and we’ve already sold more than two hundred tickets.”

  “That’s wonderful,” said Georgia, not knowing what else to say. She took a gulp of her drink. Getting through tonight was going to require large quantities of alcohol. “I’m sorry I’m going to miss it.”

  A large man and two little girls walked into the kitchen. Both girls had strawberry blonde hair pulled back in pigtails tied with green ribbons and wore identical pinstripe sun-dresses.

  Shea introduced Georgia. “This is my husband, Moose, and my two munchkins, Casey and Briana.”

  Moose? Georgia tried not to stare. But she could see how he got his name. The guy looked like a linebacker on steroids.

  “I’m taking my babies out of the corruption zone,” Moose said to his wife, but the announcement had obviously been for the Babes’ benefit. It produced the excepted giggles from the crowd. “We’ll be back by ten.” He lifted the smaller of the girls up and took the other one by the hand. “You ladies have fun!” he shouted on his way out the door.

  Georgia couldn’t help but feel a rush of envy. A beautiful home, a devoted husband, two sweet little girls. What more could a woman want? She took another swig of her margarita. If only she was patient enough, she’d have it too.

  “That Moose is one terrific father,” said Tina Navarone, a woman with shoulder-length brown hair and glasses. “I wish Brett would take more time with the kids.”

  “How’s Brett doing?” asked another of the women.

  “He’s doing great,” Tina replied, crossing her fingers in the air. “No sliding backward.”

  “Brett is Tina’s husband and he’s a compulsive gambler,” Frida explained to Georgia. “But it’s all under control. He goes to weekly meetings of Gamblers Anonymous.”

  Georgia tried not to appear shocked.

  “Oh, it’s okay,” Tina said seeing her reaction. “All the Babes know. We know everything about each other, don’t we?”

  “Almost everything,” Pilar said, catching Shea’s eye.

  This created another round of laughter.

  Georgia downed the rest of her drink. It was worse than she imagined. She just didn’t get it. The inside jokes. The sorority mentality. Didn’t these women have better things to do on their Thursday nights?

  She thought about the way she spent her own Thursday nights. She worked till six, then she’d go by the gym for her one-hour workout. On the way home, she’d pick up dinner, take a long relaxing bath, and wait for Spencer. Thursday was Cub Scout night with Spencer Jr. and he usually couldn’t get away before nine. Once Spencer arrived, they would have a glass of wine together and go over the agenda for the Friday-morning staff meeting. Sometimes Spencer would spend the night, but most nights he’d head back to his place by eleven. She’d spend the next hour reading the Wall Street Journal, or catching up on work she’d brought home. Lights out by midnight.

  It might seem boring to most people, but not to Georgia. She enjoyed making Moody Electronics the financial success it was today. She had everything she’d ever hoped for as a little girl. A great job, a high six-figure income, a beautiful wardrobe. The only thing missing was the big brick house on top of the hill with a husband and a couple of kids inside.

  Kitty slipped another margarita in Georgia’s hand.

  Just in time, she thought. Georgia drank down half of it. “What’s in this?” she asked Shea. “It’s delicious.”

  Shea smiled mysteriously.

  “No one knows,” said Frida.

  “That’s why they’re called Shea’s Secret Frozen Margaritas,” said Brenda, a mid-thirtyish woman with chin-length blonde hair who blinked a lot.

  Tina giggled. “Brenda, are you drunk?”

  “Of course not!” protested Brenda. “I’ve only had two of these.”

  “Crap,” muttered Shea, her head stuck inside a kitchen cabinet. “I’m out of tequila!”

  “Does that mean tequila is one of the ingredients in your secret frozen margaritas?” asked Mimi Grant, a pretty brunette.

  “Well, duh,” said Pilar. “Did you think it wasn’t?”

  “I don’t understand,” continued Shea. “There were two bottles of tequila here this afternoon.” She narrowed her eyes. “Damn it! I knew I should have checked her luggage!”

  “Whose luggage?” asked Frida.

  “Persephone, the nanny I fired two hours ago.”

  “When did you get a nanny?” asked Tina.

  Brenda blinked. “You had a nanny named Persephone? How did we miss this
?”

  “She only lasted three days,” said Shea, looking mournful. “She had excellent recommendations and she interviewed great, but deep down my gut was telling me something was wrong, so I checked my nanny cam and caught her drinking a Corona from Moose’s hunting stash. I had to let her go immediately, of course.”

  “No good can ever come from those nanny cams,” said Brenda. “I saw a whole show about them on Dr. Phil.”

  “What are you going to do now?” asked Pilar.

  “I don’t know, maybe try to see if I can get someone through an agency—”

  “No, I mean about the tequila. How are you going to make more margaritas without tequila?”

  “I hadn’t thought about that yet.”

  “One of us could make a liquor run,” said Tina.

  “We’ve all had at least two margaritas,” Shea said. “So maybe we shouldn’t drive for a while. Plus, it’s after seven and Cooper’s Liquor Store is closed, which means we’d have to drive into Destin.” She glanced at her watch. “I guess I could give Moose a call and get him to bring us some.”

  “But Moose has the girls. We don’t want to interrupt his daddy time,” said Pilar.

  “I could call Steve,” offered Kitty. “He’d be glad to bring us some tequila.”

  “Steve is the hottie we were talking about this afternoon,” Frida explained to Georgia. “He’s Kitty’s new boyfriend.”

  “His company is going to build the new rec center we told you about,” said Pilar.

  “That’s nice,” muttered Georgia. She took another big sip of her drink.

  “I’ll go call him,” Kitty said, slipping out of the kitchen. She came back a few minutes later. “Steve is out with a friend eating dinner. He says he can come by in about an hour.”

  Shea looked disappointed. So did the rest of the Babes.

  “Sorry,” said Kitty. “He was bummed he couldn’t help right away, but he really owes this guy. Plus, it’s sort of a business dinner.”

  “Can’t you substitute something else for the tequila? How about this?” Pilar held up a bottle of clear liquid. “I found this in Moose’s hunting trunk.”

  Kitty frowned. “Moose keeps booze in his hunting trunk?”

  “And you searched through it?” Frida asked.

  “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Pilar said.

  “Besides, if it’s good enough for Persephone, it’s good enough for us. Right, girls?”

  The Babes nodded.

  Shea studied the bottle. “This is Moose’s moonshine. He thinks I don’t know he keeps a bottle of it out in the garage. Just for when he goes quail hunting, of course. Good thing Persephone didn’t find it.”

  “You really should get him to lock this stuff up,” said Kitty. “You wouldn’t want the kids to accidentally get into it.”

  “I say we use it,” said Pilar.

  “I can’t just put any old liquor in my margaritas,” said Shea. “It would alter the taste too much.” She unscrewed the bottle and took a whiff. “Huh. It doesn’t smell like anything.” She poured a small amount out into a cup and took a sip. “It’s kind of strong, but I don’t think it will ruin the taste of my margaritas. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to make a couple of batches with this. Just until Steve shows up with the tequila.

  4

  Dear God. What was Frida saying? Georgia had heard more gossip in the past hour than she had her entire life. Whispering Bay might be tiny, but it had nothing over Pine Valley or whatever that soap opera town was called.

  “Georgia,” her sister repeated in what seemed like slow motion. “We’re rolling for fives. Remember?”

  “Fives. Got it,” Georgia said, sliding into the foldout chair. She stubbed her toe on the edge of the metal leg. Where were her Manolos? Oh, yeah, she’d kicked her sandals off a couple of games ago. With all this getting up and down and switching tables she’d been afraid she was going to twist her ankle in the four-inch heels.

  “So guess what I heard?” said Liz, her words slightly slurred. “Christy Pappas is going to start her own Bunco group. Right here in Whispering Bay.”

  “Where did you hear that?” asked Tina.

  “From Bettina Bailey. She’s going to be in the group. And . . .” She paused dramatically. “They’re going to play on Thursday nights. Just like us.”

  Shea moaned.

  “Bettina is Shea’s neighbor,” Frida told Georgia. “She’s hated Shea ever since Shea beat her out for homecoming queen.”

  Homecoming queen? Wasn’t that back in high school? Georgia stared down at her glass. It was empty. Pilar came around with a fresh pitcher. Georgia gratefully held her glass out for a refill.

  “Her husband, Bruce, is vice president of the bank and on the city council,” added Kitty. “He’s a real pompous know-it-all.” She hiccupped, then giggled.

  “Bettina probably strong-armed Christy into it,” said Pilar. “I mean, Christy is sweet and all but she’d never have the gumption to start a group on her own. Besides, she’s always wanted to be a Babe!”

  “Yeah, but none of us is quitting and most weeks we don’t need a sub,” said Tina. “I guess I really can’t blame her.”

  Frida shifted in her seat. “It’s not that we don’t like Christy,” she explained to Georgia. “But she’s not part of our original group, and like Tina said, no one is about to quit, so she’s sort of doomed to being a sub forever.”

  “Is there something wrong with her starting another group?” Georgia asked. No one seemed to hear her question, or deem it worthy of being answered. She took a sip of the limey margarita. It wasn’t nearly as good as the first four or five batches Shea had made—four or five batches? How many of these had she had? Oh, well, she took another long sip. It was definitely drinkable.

  Brenda snickered. “I thought Christy had more self-esteem. I mean, how good could this group be? They’re basically Bunco-Babe-wannabes. It’s sad, really.”

  The group murmured in agreement. Shea passed another round of margaritas through the room.

  “Bettina Bailey is so jealous she can’t stand it,” Brenda said. “Ever since Kitty showed Bruce up at the town meeting last month she’s been after blood.”

  “Do you think they’ll find ten other women who want to play?” asked Frida.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Pilar. “Everyone wants to play Bunco. But not everyone can be a Babe. Too bad for them.”

  The group laughed.

  Georgia’s head began to throb. “Are we still playing?” she asked.

  “This is what’s called a gossip break,” said Pilar. She frowned and stared at her glass. “Hey! Who drank the rest of my margarita?”

  “You did,” said Kitty, still hiccupping.

  “I say we take another kind of break,” said Shea, her blue eyes twinkling. Or were they glazed?

  “What kind of break?” asked Liz.

  Shea began to giggle. “I say we try to convince Pilar to show us the goods. Her new six-thousand-dollar goods!”

  Much laughter and clapping ensued.

  “Did you really do it?” asked Brenda, wide-eyed.

  “Yup!” said Pilar. She stood and unbuttoned the first three buttons on her cotton shirt, then raised the tube top bra up to expose her breasts. “They’re a little swollen still, but I love ’em,” she added, her voice turning husky with emotion. Geor gia could have sworn she saw tears in Pilar’s eyes, as well.

  “They’re beautiful!” exclaimed Mimi. “Who did them?”

  “The same guy who did Shea’s three years ago. He also did Bettina’s boobs and her tummy tuck after she had the twins. She denies it, but there isn’t any part of her that hasn’t been nipped, tucked, or sucked.”

  “Man, I wish I could get my boobs lifted,” said Mimi. “Breastfeeding did a number on them. But we really need a new roof on the house and Zeke wouldn’t go for it anyway. He’s such a tightwad.”

  “But he’s a cute tightwad,” another Babe who Georgia thought was named Lorraine point
ed out.

  “Roof, schmoof,” said Pilar. “What’s more important? Your boobs or a few leaky tiles? Zeke Grant needs to get his priorities straight.”

  “I’ve been thinking about getting mine done too,” admitted Brenda. “But I want them rounder, not bigger. Do you think he can make them rounder?”

  “We can’t know until we see ’em,” said Pilar.

  Brenda looked startled. “You want to see my boobs?”

  “Why not? I’ve just shown you mine.”

  “Bren-da, Bren-da . . .” the Babes began to shout.

  Brenda laughed. “Oh, all right. What’s a quick peek among friends?” She lifted her shirt and flashed them.

  After that all hell broke loose. Everyone was flashing. It was a blur of nipples and pale-colored flesh. There were big boobs, little boobs, somewhere-in-the middle boobs. Sort of like an R-rated version of Dr. Seuss.

  “You’re next, Georgia!” someone shouted.

  Next for what?

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t,” she said, realizing what they wanted.

  “Someone get Georgia another margarita!” cried Kitty.

  Another margarita? How many had she had?

  “No, no, really, I can’t . . . can’t have another drop,” she heard herself slur. Georgia wasn’t drunk. She couldn’t be. She never got drunk. It was too . . . undignified. At least she didn’t think she was drunk. But then drunk people didn’t realize they were drunk at the time, did they? She was definitely tipsy though. Very tipsy. No more margaritas for her tonight. Maybe not ever.

  “If you won’t flash your boobs, then tell us why you dropped everything and came down to visit,” said Frida. “The real reason.”

  Damn it. Frida was clever. It was either flash the twins or play twenty questions with her sister. Her head was throbbing now.

  Or was it spinning?