The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Swept Under the Rug

for night cleaning gigs. Tell Richard to call me and we’ll try to meet up for the interviews.”
    Leo kissed my forehead. “Bless you and your efficient attitude. I told him we could count on you.”
    “I meant what I said; you’re pairing up with Marty whenever you’re free.”
    “Why don’t you just ask Neil to help? “
    I swallowed around the tennis ball lodged in my esophagus. “Neil’s been…busy. Lots to do, at work I mean.” The loathsome quiver in my voice slipped out. After seeing the pretty mid-thirties mom preparing her two sons for school inside the run-down house, I didn’t know what to make of Neil’s stopover. Like any true Southern Belle, I’d decided not to think about what I’d seen, at least until tomorrow.
    Leo spun me around, but I couldn’t meet his gaze. “What’s going on?” he whispered. I opened my mouth to answer, but Laura chose that moment to breeze in, full steam ahead. I imagined if a female preying mantis wore designer suits; she’d dress like my mother-in-law. Laura sported an expensive and masterfully cut black suit which accentuated her lean frame, the skirt stopping just above her knees. A celery green mandarin collar wrapped around her graceful throat and added to the image of predatory hunger. She was a beautiful, deadly force of nature. Just like her son.
    I blinked repeatedly and Laura frowned at me. “What are you wearing? And why do you look like you’re about to cry?”
    “Go easy on her boss lady. Our Laundry Hag looks like she was ridden hard and put away wet.”
    Laura’s nostrils flared and I swore I saw smoke. “Oh honestly, Leopold! Could you be any more vulgar?”
    “It’d take some doing.” Leo murmured and tossed me a wink before exiting the room. My smile was wan as I faced my doom.
    “You look lovely, Laura, And I’m fine really, just my allergies acting up.” I didn’t let her comment about my wardrobe bother me; it wasn’t even a blip on the radar at the moment.
    Laura shot me stink-eye for a moment then presented her back and called out. “Leopold, we’re leaving now. If anyone from the office telephones, forward the call to my mobile phone.”
    “Will do, Mrs. P,” Leo hollered from the kitchen.
    “You took a full day off?” I marveled as Laura slid her arms into her wool coat. She shooed me outside and shut the door. “And why shouldn’t I? There is more to life than work, dear.”
    Missing a step, I caught myself on the iron hand rail and glanced around, nervously watched the sky for the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Good thing I wasn’t in heels, I might have broken my neck.
    Laura frowned at my display and then shook her head. “Really Margaret, you need to pay attention.”
    Nodding, I remoted my Mini open and bit my tongue. This was shaping up to be a long afternoon.
    Laura gave me directions with the efficiency of a drill sergeant and soon we were idling in Boston lunchtime traffic. I wracked my brain for some benign topic, but Laura had her own agenda.
    “Neil mentioned that the two of you were in therapy.”
    I gagged on my own saliva. “Well…um…that is—” Former SEAL or not, I was going to beat him to a quivering pulp.
    “Really dear, you don’t have to be so ashamed. Many a strong marriage required an intervention at some point.”
    “My marriage doesn’t need an intervention—” I protested but Laura wasn’t finished.
    “After all, men and women think differently, experience the world differently, so it’s perfectly acceptable to call in a trained professional for interpretation. I hope you checked out the woman’s credentials though. Lots of these so called “therapists” are nothing but hacks who’ve invested fifty dollars to print up an online degree. A classical education is best.”
    “He’s a PH.D and Neil did the research, so—”
    “Really Maggie, you rely on my son too much. While Neil is perfectly capable, you should take some pride and accomplish things for yourself. Set a positive example for Kenny and Josh; teach them to value strong, smart women so they will….”
    As Laura droned on and on and on, I concentrated on the ancient rusted-out Volvo in front of us. The damn thing was practically held together by bumper stickers, both political and irreverent. My favorite was fat people are harder to kidnap . I laughed out loud, then started to cry, imagining poor Candie Valentino. Was she all right? I sobbed as my brain presented all sorts of grotesque