The Bastard Had it Coming.

“The bastard had it coming,” Claire says, raising one eyebrow. She gives Norman, now dead in a box, a look of disgust.

“Well hot dang, we all go eventually,” Ruby says, peering over the top of her gold-rimmed bifocals. She peeks at the somber crowd gathering behind them in the chapel, then leans in close and whispers, “Speaking of that, do you know how he went?”

For the shortest moment, the two ladies peer at Norman. Ruby lifts her glasses and blots her eyes with an old tissue from the front pocket of her baby-blue polyester jacket.

Claire shrugs and fixes her plum-colored church hat. “In his sleep. Heard through the grapevine he was found in nothing but his knickers.”

“You don’t say!” Ruby pulls a pearl-studded mirror from her pocketbook and applies some rouge, right there in front of Norman. “You weren’t still seeing him, now, were you?”

“Every now and again he’d come over for a drink from my cabinet and…well…a woman has needs. I’ve got to get my kicks while I can. Know what I mean, dear?” Claire asks, laughing.

“I think I do,” Ruby says. “I also know the old chap preferred dancing with me.”

“That’s a cockamamie lie, if I’ve ever heard one!” shouts Claire. She jabs a finger into Ruby’s chest. “Square dancing? That’s hardly the same as the dancing we did between my sheets every Tuesday afternoon before meds.”

Ruby swats Claire’s finger away and hisses, “You no good hussy!”

Claire and Ruby paw at each other like two alley cats fighting over fish bones. Claire plucks Ruby’s wig from her head and tosses it into the casket. A child from the first row of seats giggles, and someone yells, “shush!”

“You shush!” Claire and Ruby shout back. No one dares to make another attempt to break up their argument.

Ruby reassembles the wig on her head backwards. “Hrmf!” she shouts. “I think it was you and your liquor cabinet that did him in,” Ruby says, flicking the broach on Claire’s lapel.

“Hardly,” mocks a sultry voice from behind them. Claire and Ruby stop, stunned. They turn to find Ethel wrapped in her fox fur and standing so close they can smell her expensive peach soap.

“What in the Sam Hill is that supposed to mean?” asks Claire. She presses her hands to her hips and pouts her lips at Ethel.

Ethel leans toward the ladies. “He died while we were making love. That old dog had plenty of tricks, now, didn’t he?” she asks, walking away before either lady can answer. Ruby shudders.

Claire looks back at Ruby, fixes her wig, and says, “The bastard had it coming.”

“Sure did,” says Ruby, shaking her head. “Care to get some tea?”

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