The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Skeletons in the Closet

their looks set them apart from the rest of us. I call them the cow pies because the golden brown exterior doesn’t make up for the fact that they’re filled with their own….
    “Francesca is my sister,” Mrs. Kline’s disapproving tone cut across my inner monologue.
    Sylvia didn’t miss a beat. “Well then, Francesca, you can talk your sister into hiring Maggie here to be her new cleaning service.”
    “ What! ” Conversation dimmed around us, and my outrage took on a banshee-like quality.
    “Actually, I think that is a terrific idea,” Francesca said as if she hadn’t heard me. For all I knew, my outrage had hit that pitch reserved for dog whistles so perhaps she hadn’t.
    Mrs. Kline eyeballed me with that same expression Neil had when picking out major appliances: concern for efficiency overridden by boredom.
    “Sylvie, could I speak to you for a moment, over there?” I jerked my head toward an unoccupied corner. Good thing she hadn’t started this when we stood in Mr. Kline’s office because I felt the need for a torture device or two.
    “Come on, Maggie, this place needs a little livening up.” Frannie tossed back her head and gave Mrs. Kline a knowing look. “Sandra, you know you will never be satisfied with that cleaning service because they can’t get here until after ten and they won’t work weekends. Maggie here is perfect. She could be, like, on call for you.”
    I sputtered at the indignity. An on call cleaning lady? What the hell was that? A maid? A freaking business degree in hand, and these people wanted me to scrub their toilets ?
    “You know, Francesca, you should really settle your own affairs before nosing into mine,” Mrs. Kline said a little too sweetly.
    “Truly, Sandra, I have no interest in your affairs .” The double entendre hung in the air, punctuated by Frannie’s arched eyebrow. We were in a seriously hot passive-aggressive kill zone, and I looked frantically around for Neil and the kids, hoping to make my excuses and leave this mental institution before someone showed up with the straightjackets and decided I fit right in.
    Mrs. Kline had taken over my irate sputtering, and I wondered if a vein throbbed between my eyes when I did that. Her anger overruled her Botox treatments, and I thought I saw some fine lines.
    “My dear, is something wrong?” Doug Kline put a hand on his wife’s shoulder, and she snapped her mouth closed. Her gaze shot Scud missiles at Frannie before turning to me.
    “Be here Thursday at nine sharp.”

Chapter Two
    “ I won’t do it Sylvia; I won’t be some plebeian servant to Mr. Nut-ball and Mrs. Stick-wedged-so-far-up-her-ass-it-tickles-her-esophagus.” I shook the sweatshirt I was folding so it made a vicious crack and knocked a lampshade off kilter.
    Sylvia straightened the shade without comment. The early afternoon calm of my house, sans boys or Neil, contrasted my chaotic mood.
    “I mean it, Sylvie, I’m not going.”
    “All right,” Sylvia said.
    “What do you mean all right ? How can I possibly blow them off after that scene last night? I have to go; you made damn sure of that.”
    “Then go.” Mother Teresa couldn’t have been more serene. That’s what five hours of yoga a day will get you.
    “I can’t go! I have to make lunch for the boys and put them on the bus, and Neil works a full day on Thursday, so I have to pick them up after school and take them to karate.”
    “Make their lunch the night before and get them up before you leave. They’re old enough to get themselves on the bus, and you’ll be right up the road if they need you for anything. And you’ll be done in plenty of time to pick them up for karate.”
    “You have an answer for everything, don’t you? Well answer this: why did you do it? Why did you throw me to the wolves like this? And not just the wolves, but the starving rabid wolves!” I had given up on the laundry and used my hands to illustrate my anger.
    “I can see why you were voted most dramatic in your senior class.”
    “So can a blind man, but that isn’t an answer.”
    “You need something beyond this house, Maggie.”
    I took one of those calming yoga breaths, but it ended up as more of a wheeze. “I have you and Eric. I have my family. Look, I appreciate what it is you’re trying to accomplish here, but I’m not in danger of Empty Nest Syndrome anytime soon.”
    “Face facts, Maggie, you’re bored and depressed.” If there had been any sympathy in her voice I