Page 7 of The Good Girl's Guide to Being Bad

She sniffed. “I’ll pretend like you didn’t say that, dear. Butof course, I would know what to do. Men are easy as apple pie for a woman like me. Butreally? Edith Duhurst? The man obviously has no sense of decorum.”

“Apparently not,” I agreed.

“And that Trask is no better. Just the other day he swatted me on the backside.” Betty widened her eyes in feigned indignation. “I mean, I can’t really blame him for wanting to do it. But where have all the gentlemen gone?”

“That’s a good question, Betty,” I said, trying to keep the laughter out of my voice. “So what did you do?”

“Well, you know, I felt bad for the man, so I let it go. But if he tries to get frisky again, you bet your sweet self I’ll set him straight.” She took a quick breath. “And then, you won’t believe what Verna said to me the other day…”

I listened as she gave me a rundown of all the Shady Grove gossip, the two of us moving to the rec room next door for board games and Bingo. A lot happened behind these assisted living walls. My parents hosted Senior Night at their ballroom studio on Saturdays—which was how I’d met Betty four years ago; she was the main reason I spent so much time at Shady Grove. We had instantly bonded. Betty and I both loved movies (she’d been a celebrity makeup artist in her younger years—though she preferred the term “Hollywood starlet”), and we shared our favorites. Her first pick for me wasBye, Bye Birdie. Mine wasLittle Miss Sunshine. She loved to talk, and when she spoke, I loved to listen. Betty was more vivacious at 79 than I’d ever been. But we worked. In a weird,Harold and Maude(another of Betty’s picks) kind of way, we worked.

Though I guess I’d be the dude in that scenario.

I sighed.

Apparently, it was enough to derail Betty’s train of thought because she stopped right in the middle of what she was saying and looked at me. “So…tell me more about these jerks who turned you down.”

I tried not to wince, still feeling the sting of rejection.

“Why haven’t they liked your dance videos?” Betty went on. “Are they blind or just stupid?”

I shrugged. “A little of both?”

“What exactly did they say?”

I gave her the whole spiel: too nice, dull, no edge, no life experience, blah blah blah.

When I was done, her lips were pursed, eyes narrowed, looking me over in a way that made it hard not to squirm.

“What?” I asked.

“Well…I don’t think you’re dull.”

“Why thank you, Betty.”

“I watch your dances every week and greatly enjoy them. And you’re not too nice,” she continued. “You’ve got spunk. I saw you take on Blanche that day for the last cup of chocolate pudding.”

“She’s diabetic!” I said. “I was trying to help.”

“Still, Blanche is very serious about her pudding. And you sass me all the time.” Betty nodded as if she’d come to some conclusion. “There’s hope for you yet.”

I was about to argue the sass comment, possibly proving the truth of that statement, but she kept going.

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

I was taken aback. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Well, let’s think,” Betty said. “You can’t just let theseDancer’s Edgepeople have the final word.”

“What can I do?” I sighed. “If they don’t think I’m good enough, that’s it. I’m done. Might as well join the convent tomorrow.”

“What’s this about a convent?”

Cora Davies, Betty’s partner in crime, walked slowly up to us, and I rose to help her into a chair. Cora had passed 79 several years back. Five-foot-nothing, silver hair crazier than my own, and wrinkles from a lifetime of laughs, though she had slowed down physically, Cora’s spirit was still as lively as ever.

“Did you see Deidre just now?” she said. “I think she’s found a way to cheat at Bingo. The woman never loses, I tell you. Never!”

“Maybe, she’s just lucky,” I offered.

---