Jackie's Week by M.M. Wilshire

the back yard, for pity’s sake.
Wait. Don't. the coyotes would dig them up immediately."
    "Get off her back," Donna said. "You know she
has issues."
    "I tried to shower," Jackie said. "But I just
couldn’t. The best I could manage was a pirate bath."
    "What the hell is that," Bienenfeld said.
    "You know, a little splash under the
armpits."
    The trio sat and sipped their coffee in
silence, each wondering in turn what neuropsychiatric algorithm
caused Jackie to fear showering and the wearing of anything but the
same old sweat pants and shirt.
    "I got really wasted last night and wrote a
ginormous check for a car," Jackie said. "A new crisis."
    "No, not a crisis, which is a catastrophic
blend of several problems. Sounds more like a single problem,"
Bienenfeld remarked. "Or is there more?"
    "The car cost about 75 grand. She wrote a
rubber check. She only has about 500 dollars left to her name,"
Donna said.
    Bienenfeld sighed and rubbed his temples.
"Your first mistake was buying a car on your own. I could have
gotten you any car you wanted below dealer cost. And money wouldn’t
be a problem for you if you’d followed my advice six months ago and
sued Gelson’s market on whose premises you were assaulted under the
very nose of their so-called security guard. Hell, by now you’d be
a millionaire."
    "Spoken like a lawyer," Donna said.
    "Which I am," Bienenfeld replied. "At least
on paper."
    "Tell you what," Jackie replied forcefully.
"Until yesterday, I just couldn’t face it. But I’m a new woman
today. An angry woman. Today the idea looks good. You do the
lawsuit for me."
    "Okay," Bienenfeld said. "I’ll call Century
City and release a toxic cloud of threats upon Gelson’s Legal
Department immediately."
    "Honey," Donna said. "Before you waft the
toxic cloud, maybe you can have one of your people go down to the
dealership in Van Nuys and fix things for Jackie. Make them tear up
the contract."
    "No," he said. "What’s done is done. And
Jackie needs a car. Donna, this morning, why don’t you drive Jackie
over to our bank and have her talk to Marsha? Tell her I said
Jackie needs about a hundred grand to tide her over."
    "We’re taking the limo," Donna said. "That
way we can go to the bank and then fetch Jackie's new car and send
the limo back for you, and I can stay with Jackie so she doesn’t
have to be alone."
    "Excuse me? Did I hear you say a hundred
grand?" Jackie said. "Did I?"
    "Why not? I make loans to lots of people down
on their luck. One time I even loaned 50 grand to Mickey
Cohen."
    "Mickey Cohen? The gangster?"
    "The kid from Boyle Heights—one and the same.
Of course, he did threaten to kill me if I said no."
    "Did he pay you back?" Jackie asked.
    "Of course not. But then again, he didn’t
kill me, either."
    "How can you make me a loan if I don’t even
have a job?"
    "We have ways," Bienenfeld said. "You can pay
the whole thing off after we kick ass when Gelson’s supermarket
settles."
    "I need a tissue," Jackie said. "Your
generosity, it’s ... it’s ..."
    "Jackie," Donna said, handing her a napkin,
"I think you’ve reached a milestone here. As crazy as it sounds,
you’re beginning to come alive."
    "I’d call hitting me up for a hundred grand a
bit more than merely living again," Bienenfeld said.
    "Shut up, Bienenfeld," Donna said. "Jackie,
you’re moving in with us."
    "I ... I’d like to. But is it okay with you,
Bienenfeld?"
    "Consider yourself already moved in. I’ll
send some people to your apartment to get the rest of your stuff,
unless it's like the stuff you have on, in which case I will have
it burned. Meanwhile, maybe you and Donna can see about getting you
cleaned up. Maybe she can hold your hand while you're in the
shower."
    "Okay."
    "If there is nothing else, I’m going back to
bed. But I move we all go out to dinner tonight. Might as well try
out Jackie’s new wheels."
    "I think I would like that," Jackie said.
"But I can’t picture you in a Lexus. You’ve always been a