Page 18 of The Wilder Widows

Sylvie stepped forward and pulled her in for a hug. “You aren’t dumb, Doris. And you look beautiful.”

“Thanks, Sylvie.”

“Who died?”

Marge’s voice startled me, and I turned around, excited to see the third transformation. But when my eyes raked over her, I cocked a hip and heaved a sigh. “Seriously, Marge?” I waved a hand over her. “You look exactly the same.”

“I do not. I had a makeover just like you all did.” Her gruff face scrunched up while she scowled.

“Doris had a makeover.” I waved my hand over her dramatic change. “Sylvie had a makeover.” Another wave of my hand emphasized Sylvie’s new look. “You look exactly the same.”

“You do look the same, Marge,” Doris agreed.

Marge shook her head. “No. These are new slacks, and this is a new shirt.”

“They are the same as your old ones,” Sylvie said.

“But these are new. Those were old. And my hair? Can’t you tell?”

I tipped my head and examined the same cut she’d had since I knew her. “What? Did they use a different size bowl when they cut it?”

Marge let out an exasperated breath. “No. My part. It’s on the opposite side!”

The laughter snuck out my nose while I tried to choke it down. “Your part? That’s your makeover? And what part? It’s a bowl!”

“Well, she parted it differently. Maybe it already went back.” She shrugged.

I shook my head. “If anyone asks, you’re our grandma.”

“Fine by me.”

“Fine.” I turned to the other two widows. “Well, what do you ladies say we take our fine selves to the show?”

“You found one?” Sylvie asked.

“I did. I had the concierge help me, and we ordered tickets. He said there is a show tonight at eight o’clock. Which is,” I looked at my watch, “in only one hour. We need to go and watch it so I can see if it’s the show I want to be in.”

“You do know you can’t just march up on stage and dance when you find the show you want.” Marge arched a brow.

“We’ll figure out the logistics later. For now, I just want to get back to the theatre and see a show. It’s been too long.”

“I hate theatre,” Marge grumbled.

“There will be beautiful, mostly naked women dancing, Marge. You should love it, you lesbo.”

Her eyebrows rose, and then she nodded. “Let’s go.”

We made our way back to the limo where James hurried to open the door. Chatter filled the ride to the venue, but I could only stare out the window in silence. The lights. The people. The excitement. Vegas used to come to life at night, and from the looks of the streets filled with bodies, it hadn’t changed a bit.

“Look at that woman!” Doris pointed. “She’s practically naked!”

“She’s a hooker,” Marge said. “That’s basically the mandatory uniform.”

“A streetwalker? A lady of the night?” Doris gasped and clutched her chest. “But it’s not even all the way dark yet!”

“They’re hookers, Doris. Not vampires.” Marge rolled her eyes, and I chuckled to myself.

“You okay, Alice?” Sylvie asked when we pulled up. “You’ve been quiet.”