I tried the groin thing, but it didn’t seem to make an impression. Before I knew it she was on top of me, her hands around my neck, trying to strangle me. And all I could think of was that scene in Dial M for Murder when the killer is trying to strangle Grace Kelly, and she grabs a pair of sewing scissors and stabs him in the back. Why, oh, why hadn’t I ever taken up sewing?

Frantically, I groped around for something, anything, to use as a weapon. At last my fingers found one of SueEllen’s shoes—a cork-soled wedgie. I grabbed it and, with all the strength I could muster, I whacked Conchi over the head.

You’ll be happy to know it was a very effective blunt instrument. Conchi instantly went limp. But just to be safe, I conked her again. This time I was pretty sure she was unconscious. But I’d seen too many movies where, just when you think the bad guy is dead, he springs back to life with renewed vigor and attacks the good guy. Which is why I promptly proceeded to bind her hands and legs with several pairs of my control top pantyhose.

Still not taking any chances, I sat on her chest while I called the police. I told them someone had just tried to kill me, and they said they’d be right over.

So there I was—sitting on Conchi’s chest, waiting for the cops to show up, still clutching the wedgie in case she regained consciousness—when I heard someone call my name.

“Jaine?”

I looked up, and saw Morris Pechter staring in through the open window. Oh, no! Tonight was the night we were supposed to have dinner. I’d forgotten all about it.

And now he was staring at me, wide-eyed, as I sat naked astride a bound-up Conchi, surrounded by a sea of slutty high heeled shoes.

What would my students at the Shalom Retirement Home say when they heard about this? Their esteemed teacher, a dominatrix with a shoe fetish!

Morris just stood there, gulping. After a moment, he regained his powers of speech.

“I don’t know what sick game you’re playing,” he said.

And then he grinned sheepishly.

“But whatever it is, can I play, too?”

Damn. Another Mr. Right bites the dust.

Epilogue

Needless to say, Conchi was carted off to jail and Eduardo was released. As it turned out, getting arrested was the best thing that could have happened to Eduardo. Thanks to all the sympathetic coverage he got in the media, his paintings are more popular than ever. In fact, his latest monstrosity (“Mother Teresa in a Wonderbra”) just sold for $200,000.

Hal never did marry Ginny. Or Larkspur. Or Denise. Instead, he tied the knot with a twenty-two-year-old aerobics instructor at his gym. Heidi tells me she’s a bit of a birdbrain, but much nicer than SueEllen. She loves to hang out at the mall with Heidi, and has bought her some really nice outfits.