Good old Hal. It looked like he was going to come through for me, after all. Maybe I’d get a moonroof on the Jaguar. And a five-disk CD changer.

“You know that liposuction you wanted?” Hal beamed. “It’s on the house.”

Funny. I used to say I’d give all the money in the world for thin thighs. But now that they were a possibility, I realized I’d rather have all the money in the world.

“That’s great,” I said, wondering how much it would cost to buy new floor mats for the Corolla. “Just great.”

I save the guy hundreds of thousands of dollars in legal fees, and he gives me used shoes and a liposuction. I guess that’s how the rich stay rich.

I picked up my shoes and took them to the den where Heidi and Grandma K were waiting for me with cookies and cocoa. I kept up my grateful act, pretending to be excited about the shoes. But I didn’t really mind. (Not much, anyway.) Like I said, I was just glad that everything had worked out so well for Heidi. We chatted a bit about where Heidi was going to apply to college. Somewhere back East, she said, so she could be near Grandma Kosciusko. It was clear that these two really loved each other. It was about time Heidi had someone in her life who did.

I kissed them both goodbye, promising to keep in touch, then headed out to the Corolla.

“Looks like I won’t be trading you in, after all,” I said, tossing the shoes in the backseat.

I was just about to get in when Brad came charging up the driveway in his Ferrari. Why did he always seem to be showing up just as I was leaving? Maybe he planned it that way.

“Hi, Judy,” he said, with a nasty little smile.

“Hi, Brat.”

His smile went bye-bye.

“It’s Brad,” he said, through gritted teeth.

“No,” I said. “It’s brat. Spoiled brat.”

Yes, I really did say that. And it felt great.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“So what do you think?” I asked Prozac, model-ing a pair of $1,300 Manolo Blahnik sandals.

Prozac looked up from where she was napping on the sofa, and shot me an irritated look.

Do you realize how much poached salmon you could buy me with thirteen hundred dollars?

I’d just spent the past hour trying on SueEllen’s shoes. I tried on skinny slingbacks, strappy thongs, cork-soled wedgies straight out of a porno movie, and a pair of pointy black leather pumps that laced half-way up my calves, for the ever popular ballerina-dominatrix look.

Now I was prancing around in the $1,300 sandals. Yes, that’s right. I almost fainted when I saw the price tag on the box. I’ve had cars that cost less than those shoes.

And at five hundred dollars a pop, the others weren’t exactly bargains, either. True, they were beautiful. But there was no way I was going to keep them. What was I going to wear them with? My Old Navy sweats? And where was I going to wear them? Dinner and dancing at the Jack in the Box?