The message on my phone sounded urgent, hysterical. In other words, typical Iris. I called her back. She answered on the first ring.

"Zee, is this you?" she asked in a breathless whisper.

"That, my dear, is a question for my psychiatrist," I said, kissing my finger and pressing it to my four-by-six framed picture of Sid sticking his tongue in my ear.

(Side note: Stella finds this picture to be vulgar. Stella, the girl who wears a bathing suit with crotch hair hanging out the bottom.)

"What's up, Iris? It's 10:30 in the AM, and I've not had my coffee yet."

(Of course, that's a lie. But I want an excuse to get off the phone.)

"He's been kidnapped," she said, again in a breathless whisper.

"Who's been kidnapped?"

"Jim. I just found the note and his ear."

"Which ear, and how do you know it's his?" A moment passed with the sound of shuffling in the background.

"Left ear. And I can tell by the adorable tuft of hair still protruding from the ear canal."

"How did you determine it is the left ear?" I asked.

"I held it up to my head and looked in the mirror."

"Fascinating," I said.

"Whatever you do, don't call the police," she said. "Let me read the note." note:

Put (hiccup) one million dollars in small (hiccup) bills in an oversized Gucci tote, and (hiccup) we'll call you back tomorrow and tell you where to make the (hiccup) drop. "Well, what do you (hiccup) think?" she asked.

"I think you have the hiccups," I said.

"No! I mean, the ransom note? (hiccup)."

"A couple of things come to mind. I'm not sure a million dollars in small bills will fit into a Gucci tote. At least not the one I have. And, no you can't borrow it. And, lastly, I'm not loaning you a million dollars."

"I thought you were my friend?" Iris said in an accusatory tone.

"Iris, they don't make Gucci totes anymore. How about my canvas overnight bag? It's got the word Coochie on it. Close enough."

"And the million dollars? Can I borrow that as well?"

"Sorry, Iris. All my assets are tied up in liabilities." (I heard that somewhere, and it sounds reasonable.)

"But where can I get a million dollars?"

"How about your Mother?" I said, wedging the phone to my ear with my shoulder while I light a cigarette.

"She hates Jim."

"Frankly, I'm not that fond of him either."

"How can you put a (hiccup) price tag on a human being?" she said, honking her nose into a Kleenex, paper towel, or possibly her sleeve.

"I'm not the one who assigned the price tag. Take it up with the kidnappers when they call back," I answered in my best Go-fuck -yourself tone.

"Poor Jim. How will he be able to wear his glasses without an ear?"

"Where is his ear?" I asked like someone who cared.

"On my coffee table."

"Ewww..." I said.

"No, silly, it's still in the box," she said.

"What box? You didn't mention a box."

"It came in a lovely music box. It looks old. Kinda expensive."

"So, let me get this straight. Some ne'er do wells kidnapped Just Jim. Cut off his ear, concocted up a note, and neatly packaged them in a music box."

"Yes, it plays, You Light Up My Life, every time I open it."

"I hate that song," I said, tamping out my cigarette.

"It was our song. He (hiccup) sang it to me every time we made love ."

"How thoughtful of the kidnappers."

"I know, (hiccup) right?

"Iris, I'm going to set the phone down for a moment."

A brief history to follow: Iris met James Smith on Match.Com. Like in the fairy tales, it was love at first fuck. I pegged him for a guy on the lamb. No one can look that shady by accident. His full-face beard, black horned rim glasses, and ragged toupee screamed Witness Protection Program or creepy guy in a van rub-a-dubbing his dick outside a grade school.

The name Just Jim morphed when he stuck his trout-like hand out and said, "Hi, I'm James Smith. But, just Jim to my friends."

They consummated their short engagement with a quicky marriage at city hall. I played bridesmaid to Q's best man, and we all went to lunch at Manny's Delicatessen. Of course, I popped for the check--my wedding gift to an old friend.

That was six months ago and a half million dollars of Iris's 401 K. It seems Just Jim had a few outstanding debts to some men wearing gold chains and pinky rings. In other words, he tapped Iris out.

Now the big question to ask, who would snatch him and why?

"Q, can you come in here. There's been a kidnapping."

Q came into the room wearing white coveralls splotched with assorted colors of paint. His muscular arms were glistening with sweat. He's repainting the foyer after a pizza incident involving Stella and Cecil, the delivery guy.

"Please tell me someone kidnapped Stella. I'm still scrapping pepperoni off the walls."

"No. Just Jim."

"Rats," he said, wiping his long fingers on the front of his coveralls.

I took a moment to appreciate how utterly delicious a man can look in stained coveralls and wondered if he was naked beneath them. And, if he were, could the brushing of the crude material against his untethered genitalia cause him to get aroused?

A question for another day.

"Who'd want to kidnap Zippy-the-Wonder-Slug? And if they did, who'd be stupid enough to pay the ransom?"

"You'll have to ask Iris," I said and handed him the phone.