by Marie Davis and Margaret Hultz
Horribly disfigured by life GeeGee was a hard ass—hard as brick, no granite, no diamonds. She was a diamond hard-ass, but not the kind of froufou diamonds seductively smiling in posh jewelry shops. No, hard-ass GeeGee developed slowly through seemingly eons of external pressure—like industrial diamonds, beveled, harder than steel, designed to cut through most anything.
GeeGee leaned over the counter and glared into the drugstore clerk’s trembling eyes, “I don’t care if this box has been half eaten, I say they tasted like crap and I want my damn money back.”
Surreptitiously wiping spittle off his cheek, the clerk stammered, “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but my manager is . . .”
“What? Gone . . . hiding . . . dead?” GeeGee lowered her voice to a terrifying tone. “You work here don’t ya? So, give me the fucking five dollars.”
“GeeGee! GeeGee Birkenstock! It is you!” A gleeful voice rang out. Before GeeGee could say a word, two tanned arms twirled her around and crushed her into a buxom chest. Hard spikes of gelled hair stabbed GeeGee’s forehead. Channel No. 5 did its best to smother her into submission. An expensive gold earring slapped her cheek. Haute Couture cringed while a Louis Vitton handbag crashed onto GeeGee’s foot. GeeGee stood still, staring down at the handbag happily paroled from a plump arm.
“GeeGee, I swear, it is you!” Gaudy gold rings clutched to indelicate digits pulled GeeGee’s chin up. “Yes! GeeGee Birkenstock, right before my eyes! Harriet said I might run into you—that you live in this neighborhood now. Yes? Did you know Harriett and I got married three years ago? Didn’t you receive the invitation I sent? A card would have been nice. Anyhoo, she passes you most days on her way to the coffee shop. I know . . . I’m sorry Harriett doesn’t at least say hello. You know what a downer she can be. Honestly, since Harriet heard you were promoted to head of the English Department, well . . . I think she’s really jealous. You know that darned green-eyed monster! I mean, how many years were we together anyway? Look at you! Sweet, soft-hearted GeeGee, you finally have what you always wanted, your books, your students, and all that damn acclaim. Every few months Harriet says she’s going to write a novel, she drags me through all of her ideas. Plot after plot—sometimes that’s all we talk about for weeks. Between you and me, I don’t think she’s ever written a word. One day, stupidly, I suggested that she should talk to you, that maybe you could help her get started. You would, wouldn’t you, talk to her? Okay, I suppose you are too busy and important these days. Don’t forget sweetums, I knew you when all we had were Ramen noodles, cheap wine and great sex! Ha ha ha! Remember how romantic being poor was? And you—always such a kind, gentle spirit—why oh why did I ever leave? Oh right, Ramen noodles. Seriously, you’ve done well for yourself. You must be proud, I’m proud of you. Who cares what Harriet thinks? Speaking of, I’ve gotta run, it was so great to see you, I’m in such a rush. Harriet and I are headed to Florida for the winter. Ha! Aren’t we such old fogies, spending our time sitting on the beach! We’ve given up on cold weather, you know. Yes, nothing but comfy is what Harriet says. That’s what you get when you marry money, I suppose.
GeeGee watched as the woman flashed her iridescent smile, waved, and dashed off carrying an armload of towels, flip-flops, and sunscreen. GeeGee muttered over her shoulder at the drugstore clerk, “Lookie here jerk, I’m not leaving without my fucking five dollars.”