I was so humiliated, I couldn’t even enjoy the movie. I felt just like Earlene’s first husband Lester must have felt before he went to buy those Milk Duds and never came back.

Honey, you’ve got to write to Daddy, and get him to stop wearing that toupee.

Your desperate,

Mom

To: Shoptillyoudrop

From: Jausten

I’ve already tried, Mom. But you know how stubborn Daddy is. He won’t listen to me.

To: Jausten

From: Shoptillyoudrop

Well, I just don’t know what I’m going to do. I certainly can’t go on living with a man who wears a dead squirrel on his head. If he won’t give it up, I’ll have no choice but to move in with you for a while, honey.

To: DaddyO

From: Jausten

Subject: If You Care Anything about Mom’s Feelings

Daddy, if you care anything about Mom’s feelings, you’ll stop wearing that ridiculous toupee. Nobody, not even Uncle Fred who eats dinner with a shotgun in his lap, would buy a used toupee. Besides, you’re a very handsome man. You don’t need a toupee. Look at all the attractive balding men in the world. Sean Connery. Bruce Willis. Mr. Clean. They look great without hair, and so do you.

To: Jausten

From: DaddyO

Subject: No Can Do

Sorry, pumpkin. I’m not giving up my toupee. So what if it smells faintly of tuna? It’s a small price to pay for a thick luxurious head of hair.

Your loving,

Daddy

To: Jausten

From: Shoptillyoudrop

Subject: Clear out some drawers

Thanks for trying, honey, but your father still insists on wearing that damn toupee to Cousin Cindy’s wedding. My only hope is that the airport security people will detain him for wearing a dead animal on his head.

In the meanwhile, clear out a few drawers for me. It looks like we’re going to be roomies.

Your loving,

Mom

PS. You do get the shopping channel, don’t you? If not, please order it from your cable company right away.

Chapter Seventeen

There are definite downsides to living in LA: the traffic, the smog, and the inordinate number of women running around in size 2 bikinis.

But on the upside, there’s the beach. There’s nothing quite like driving west through Santa Monica, past tire shops and gas stations and taco stands, and then suddenly on the horizon, there it is, the Pacific Ocean, glistening in the sun.

I took that drive the next morning, awed as always by the sight of the ocean, then headed south to the tiny beachside community of Ocean Park where Eduardo Jensen lived.

Not that many years ago, Ocean Park was a blighted neighborhood. Its Main Street was a scary place where vagrants loitered in the doorways of industrial buildings. Now it’s a hip, trendy place where vagrants loiter in the doorways of latte shops.

I was a half-hour early for my appointment with Eduardo, so I stopped off at one of the latte places and got myself a black coffee and plain bagel. (Okay, so it was a mocha cappuccino and a bagel with cream cheese. Extra cream cheese, if you must know.)