Page 106 of Born to be Wilder

When we appeared on-screen—just extras in the background of the shootout scene—we all squeezed each other’s hands and tried not to squeal too loudly. But when Alice arrived on that screen, we were stunned into silence.

She appeared at the top of those stairs in the saloon, backlit, every inch the madam we’d watched her become. And when she delivered her lines—calm, cutting, perfect—the entire theater leaned forward. Her time on the screen was short, maybe two minutes, but the impact she left was as powerful as the woman herself.

I glanced at her in the dark. She was watching herself on-screen, her face unreadable except for the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth.

The other widows were watching her too. Marge with undisguised pride. Doris with wonder. All of us thinking the same thing.

She’s here to see this. She’s going to be here for many, many more years.

The ache in my chest wasn’t sadness. It was gratitude so sharp it nearly hurt.

After the movie, we spilled out into the cool Los Angeles night, the energy of the premiere still buzzing through us.

“Are we going to the party?” Tom asked. “Or can I get out of this tux?”

“Oh, we’re going to the party.” I took his hand in mine. “It took three hours for professionals to make me look like this, and I’ve spent most of the time in the dark theater. We’re going to a party and getting our money’s worth out of these dresses.”

“That’s my girl.” Alice winked, her dress swishing with her long strides. “We are not going to let this night end anytime soon.”

Doris practically bounced beside me. “A real Hollywood party. It’s a fairy tale!”

“Do you have the address? Gotta get out the map,” Marge said.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m putting it in my GPS. We are not going to try to use a paper map to find our way around LA. Especially in that.”

I pointed toward the parking lot where—impossible to miss—Bertha was.

Our massive, ridiculous, beloved RV sat gleaming under the parking lot lights.

“I’m driving,” Tom announced.

“The hell you are.” Marge marched toward the driver’s side. “I bought her. I own her. I drive her.”

I laughed, remembering how Marge couldn’t bring herself to return Bertha after our trip. She’d bought her outright and paid a man to drive her back to Wilder Lane, where Bertha now took up a truly absurd amount of space in Marge’s driveway.

We’d all piled into her for this trip—all four widows plus spouses crammed in like sardines, stopping at roadside attractions and campgrounds along the way. It had been chaotic and uncomfortable and absolutely wonderful. A trip I would never forget.

“Well, the party doesn’t start for an hour,” I said. “I guess we can just hang out here in Bertha for a bit. Don’t want to be the first ones there.”

“We are definitely arriving fashionably late,” Alice said.

As we reached Bertha, the spouses drifted off to give us space. They knew we needed this moment.

Just us.

The four of us slid into the seats around the table, and Alice produced a flask of whiskey.

“I’m so glad I can drink again. Those months of chemo and being dry were really the pits.” She took a swig, then slid it to me.

I did the same. “Well, it’s been a hell of a year. I can hardly believe how much has happened since we filmed those scenes. Feels like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”

“Ten lifetimes.” Doris breathed out. Then her face softened. “But we are all here. Together. It’s a miracle.”

“I wouldn’t want to relive that year ever again,” Alice said. “But I also will always look back on it, and instead of remembering the worst parts, I’ll remember you three and how you took care of me. You got me through this. Every single day of it. When I wanted to quit, you wouldn’t let me. When I was too tired to fight, you fought for me. When I forgot why I was doing this...” She paused, her voice catching slightly. “You reminded me.”

Doris’s eyes filled immediately.

“We’re family,” I said simply. “That’s what we do.”