Deaths of Jocasta by J. M. Redmann Page A

bed. I got down on my side and attempted to gently prod her to liberty with the broom handle. She bared her teeth at me.
    “Joanne? Can opossums get rabies?” suddenly occurred to me.
    “Uh-huh. There’s an epidemic going on right now. Also be aware that rabid opossums inevitably go after the tallest person in the area.”
    I looked back at Ms. Opossum. She didn’t look rabid. But then what did rabid look like?
    “Good thing I’m on the floor. That makes you the tallest thing in the room,” I responded.
    “Want me to flush her out?”
    I swung the broom a few more times, unwilling to admit defeat. Ms. Opossum moved out of range of the broom handle.
    “Be my guest,” I finally said, getting up and proffering the broom to Joanne.
    As Joanne walked toward me, Ms. Opossum shot out from under the bed and through the now unguarded doorway.
    “See,” Joanne observed, “just the idea of me coming—”
    “But she’s still in the house,” I cut off her gloating.
    Ms. Opossum was skittering about the living room. I closed the doors as we went back up the hallway so at least she couldn’t get back into any of the bedrooms.
    “You can chase her this time,” I told Joanne as we surveyed the room.
    “In heels?” she responded, not looking like she had any intention of chasing anything.
    So I set off, an opossum posse of one. First I propped open the screen door, then I swept Opossum out of the corner she had chosen to cower in. She went to the next corner. I chased her out of that one and she returned to the first corner.
    “Making great progress,” Joanne observed.
    “Eat shit and die,” was my only possible response.
    This time I herded Opossum directly toward Joanne. Joanne didn’t move, merely motioned toward the door. Opossum veered off, and, as luck would have it, went in the direction Joanne pointed. Out the door and into the night.
    “It’s easy if you know how,” she said complacently.
    “Luck,” I commented and stalked out the door, just to make sure Opossum was really gone and not lurking out on the porch. All clear. Only my bruised ego in sight. The clump of people had probably decided to wait this out in the safety of the house, with food and drink to sustain them through their ordeal.
    Joanne came out on the porch behind me.
    “Good thing you didn’t go into opossum catching as a career,” she said.
    “Whereas you have obviously missed your calling,” I replied.
    “Don’t be tacky. You’re not…Shit.”
    “I’m not? That’s nice to know.”
    One of those impossible-to-catch-opossum-in heels was caught in a gap between the floorboards. Joanne was standing on the porch, looking lopsided, trying to extricate her stuck shoe.
    “Want some help?” I asked, laughing at her predicament.
    “Knothole. Damn,” was her reply. “Would you be useful and pull?” she said, getting exasperated.
    “Your wish is my command,” I replied with a malicious chuckle. I knelt down, put a hand under her foot and pulled. It didn’t budge. “Gosh, Joanne, it’s really wedged in. Didn’t know you weighed that much. Let me get a better angle.”
    I moved in front of her, putting one hand under the shoe and the other on her ankle.
    “Eat shit and die. Pull first,” was her response.
    I tried to gently pry up the shoe, not wanting to scuff the heel too much. It didn’t want to cooperate. I started to pull a bit harder. My hand on Joanne’s ankle slipped, sliding up the slick stocking to her calf. I leaned my shoulder into her thigh to get a better grip.
    “Micky,” Joanne said.
    The heel was starting to become unstuck.
    “Micky,” she repeated.
    Her hand was on my shoulder for support. My shoulder was pressed against her thigh. I realized the slit in her gown was open and my shoulder was pressing into bare flesh.
    I stopped and looked up at her. Then I noticed what my head was even with. Her black underwear. Joanne abruptly stepped out of the stuck shoe and moved away from me. I finished pulling