Just as I was about to beat Toby senseless, I had a thought:
My darling Aldo is gone. Nothing can bring him back to me. I know, because I tried in vain for several years to resurrect my late husband, Jack Worth, and ended up pissing away a lot of good money on voodoo priestesses who claimed they could help me out.
I, however, am still alive. And I will need to keep living here in the Charterstone Condominium Complex. It would not be a good idea to alienate my neighbors. If I do, they might not come to me for advice anymore.
So, when Toby began to weepily blame herself for Aldo's death, I decided to do a 180 and take a hard line. "We didn't buy him that bottle!" I told her. "We didn't make him drive drunk!" Then I decided to toss in a whopper, just to make it clear where I stood. "And we weren't that hard on him!"
I was sure everyone was going to jump all over me and point out that, just a minute ago, I had blamed them all for Aldo's death. But fortunately, just at that moment, Toby began to bite her nails, and everyone was so busy shuddering in response to the disgusting sound of that vile nervous habit that they were distracted from my dramatic volte face
, as my late husband's friend Lucky Luciano would have said).
Toby whined that she felt bad about "maybe" being "indirectly" responsible for Aldo's death. I wanted to slap her and scream, "There's no 'indirect' about it, you stupid twat!" But that would have been counter to my plans, so I kept quiet. It would've been fun though.
Then Ian Cameron said that he felt just as responsible as Toby did! And Toby said that the intervention had been intended to help Aldo too! It was then that I realized I would never
be called on my lies because the whole room was filled with revisionist historians.
Toby said, "Who knows? Maybe his unrequited love for Mary was all he had going for him!" Of course, this is patently ridiculous. Aldo also had his devastatingly good looks, his irresistible charm and joie de vivre
, and his overwhelming sexual magnetism. On top of which, he exuded the scent of red wine and aged salami. Divine. He could have had any woman he wanted.
I was struggling with my natural urge to contradict Toby and make her look stupid, but just then, Dr. Ian Cameron did the most amazing thing! He suddenly grew into a giant hulk of a man with the proportions of Andre the Giant! (Another devastatingly handsome actor, I might add.) Perhaps he had an accident similar to that of Dr. Bruce Banner. Those academics are constantly in danger of mutating into some sort of horrible He-Man.
Since Ian and Toby were obviously all-too-willing to delude themselves about their part in Aldo's murder, I went to work on Wilbur Weston. I said, "We did not cause Aldo Kelrast's death!" Of course, that was all it took to convince that weak-minded idiot.
But naturally that blonde drama queen kept on blathering and shrieking about how Aldo's death was all her fault. I decided that the only thing that would shut her up would be a glass of nice, refreshing lemonade...laced with a few drops of pentobarbitol. As I served, I told Toby I wanted her to listen to me because I was not going to tell her even one more time. I gave her the stupid party line about how the medical examiner listed Aldo's cause of death as "drinking and driving," not "death by intervention." Fortunately, Ian and Wilbur helped me to convince her. I can't stand the idea of listening to her talk about this over and over again for months or years. I need to forget my dear Aldo forever, or my heart will be torn apart by longing and regret!
Lucky for me, those deluded apes Ian and Wilbur are convinced that they were "within their rights" and that they "had" to intervene to make Aldo stop "harassing" me. It was perfect! I picked right up where their stupidity left off, and I said that the intervention was the first time that Aldo got the message.
Then, just for a little extra flair and drama, I added, "But Aldo couldn't handle
the truth!" I just love Jack Nicholson, don't you? He bears a striking resemblance to a much, much thinner version of my own late husband Jack.
By the end of that exchange, it was plain to see that the pentobarbitol was having the desired effect. Toby sagged into an armchair as I shared with them Aldo's confession that he was drinking the night his wife died. This too had the desired effect. That pedantic puke Ian Cameron immediately pontificated that Aldo had a "history" of drinking while under stress. Would one call a single past incident a "history"? I guess creative writing professors are masters of invention.
Well, it looks like my reputation is safe. I wish they would hurry up and go away now. It feels like they've been in my apartment for days, and I would really like to change out of this red outfit. It is starting to hurt my eyes.