Read Rock Chick 02 Rescue for Free Online

color every six weeks—Trixie also gave her a manicure and pedicure every two weeks. Trixie had been my Mom’s best friend since high school, she loved her to death and she was an absolute gem). Mom also had a great smile, before the stroke, now it was stil good but kind of lopsided. She was a baton twirler in high school and she said they taught you how to smile when you were a baton twirler. They did a good job, she had a world-class smile, even Dad said that.
    She wasn’t smiling now, she was frowning. “You look worried,” Mom said.
    I always looked worried, how she could decipher that I w a s more worried was beyond my powers. I had no children and thus had not yet been instil ed with the “Mom Ability” to sense danger, worry, sadness, boyfriend troubles and when girls were bitchy to you at school.
    I decided to take the path of least resistance, choosing a topic that would throw her off the scent (in other words, I kinda lied).
    “Eddie thinks I’m a racist.”
    She gasped. “ What? ”

    I shrugged.
    “What would make him think that?” she asked.
    I put away the milk, “It’s a misunderstanding.”
    “I’l say. Do you want me to cal him?”
    I had my head in the fridge but at that, I straightened and whirled around.
    “No! Do not cal him!”
    My Mom would cal him, no doubt about it. She didn’t have his number, but she’d find it. Not only would she cal him, she’d cal his mother, just to cover her bases and get the mom-to-mom business going. And not only that, she’d get Trixie to cal him and I really didn’t want that. Then, they’d get my ex-boyfriends, Javier, Alex, Luis and Oscar to phone him as wel , as anti-racist character references.
    “Indy’s straightening it out for me,” I said. This was also kind of a lie but also kind of the truth because I got the distinct feeling Indy was the kind of person who meddled.
    “Wel I hope so. That’s awful. No wonder you look worried sick.”
    I took a mental deep breath.
    With that hurdle out of the way, we tackled the rest of the hurdles of the night: laundry, exercises, dinner, dishes and my transformation into Smithie Bimbo.
    I was tottering out of the house in a pair of black pumps with three and a half inch stiletto heels and thin straps around the ankles, cal ing good-bye to Mom when I opened the door and let out a little scream.
    Ada, our next-door neighbor was standing outside the door. Ada was older than dirt, deafer than a doorknob and had a soul made of pure sunlight. She smiled at me, looked at my slut attire and said, “What a lovely outfit.” I looked down at the ultra-mini, mini-skirt and the black camisole that showed too much cleavage that was peeking through the opening of the big black cardigan that I had to wear to keep out the late September chil . Then I looked back at Ada. Maybe she was going blind too.
    “I’m going to watch television with your mother. There’s a good episode of Cops on tonight, I don’t want to miss it.” Ada was addicted to Cops
    and America’s Most
    Unbelievable Police Chases and pretty much anything that had to do with policemen, bounty hunters, high speed chases, drug busts, hand-held cameras chasing after people running through backyards, and people whose faces had to be made fuzzy.
    She shuffled in and I went out shouting, “Have fun girls!” When I got to my car, it wouldn’t start.
    I tried it again.
    It stil wouldn’t start.
    I tried it a third time.
    Nothing.
    “Piece of shit!” I shouted, slamming my hand on the wheel and then maybe cursing more and even pounding my forehead on the wheel a bit.
    Guess that tank of gas was a waste of good money.
    I’d been in the market for a new car before Mom had her stroke but that went out the window. Mom’s car was worse than mine and we sold it when we moved in for part of the than mine and we sold it when we moved in for part of the deposit money. Now, the old jalopy that was second hand when I bought it five years ago was coasting on a