Iris slept ten hours straight. My walnut-sized pee bag requires draining every two hours. I initially envied her bladder. Then, Stella marched into the kitchen.

"I'm not cleaning up her pissy sheets," Stella declared with arms folded and lips pursed.

"Shhhh.... she'll hear you!" I said.

"And I care, why? She's been in the bathroom for twenty minutes, and it sure ain't been to pee. Who knew urine could puddle on a mattress?"

I calculated the odds of having a new mattress delivered on a Sunday. Fuck me. But, I did feel slightly better about my own personal pee problem.

"Iris is going through a difficult patch, and we need to be supportive. Treat her with kid gloves," I said sanctimoniously.

Iris entered the kitchen looking shiny, freshly scrubbed, and wearing my black nightgown. The one I wear for first-time fucks. One must look their best when auditioning. First impressions are essential in the game of love.

"You're wearing my nightgown."

"My clothes are soiled. I hope you don't mind. Any coffee left?" she asked, lifting the empty pot and waving it about.

"You pissed in your pants and all over my three thousand dollar mattress. Make your own damn coffee," I said.

Stella laughed, then hee-hawed. "Way to go with the kid gloves."

"Shut the fuck up, Stella. Make another pot of coffee. Our guest is in need of caffeine."

"She needs adult diapers," Stella added under her breath and left the room.

Iris walked around the kitchen with the empty coffee pot in her hand.

She picked up the bag marked coffee beans and opened it. She fished out one bean and held it between two fingers.

"How does this work?" she asked with the perplexed look a twelve-year-old girl gets the first time her mom hands her a tampon.

"I take it you don't drink coffee at your house," I said, firing up a Marlboro.

"Jim made the coffee. And, I wish you wouldn't smoke in front of me. I have COPD."

I blew smoke in her face and continued. "Do you know how to make a Bloody Mary?"

"You're not going to drink at this hour, are you? Why it's not even noon."

"You bear a striking resemblance to Carrie Nation. Are you sure you're not related?" I said.

"Who?"

"I've spent one night with you, Iris, and I'm already missing Just Jim."

"Me too," she said and started to cry.

I filled a glass with ice and vodka and tossed in a few prunes. I may be an alcoholic, but at least I'm regular.

The doorbell rang, followed by a stiff pounding and the calling out, "Chicago police."

"You didn't!" Iris screamed.

"I didn't," I said on my way to answer the door.

Two of Chicago's finest detectives stood in my doorway. Well, not really. One stood in the door. The other hung back and played with his phone.

The one in the doorway looked old school--sort of a Colombo type. The word disheveled comes to mind. He held a small notepad in his left hand and a short, chewed-up pencil over his ear. He was not wearing a wedding ring. I stored this morsel of information in my mental black book.

His partner came across as a rookie--handsome, tall, fit, tan, long manicured fingers. In other words, gay. I had a distinct feeling he was texting someone, maybe setting up a squash match for later or confirming dinner reservations with his mom.

Columbo spoke. "Mame, we're looking for an Iris Smith. Is she here?"

"Who's asking?" I said.

"Very funny," he said.

Iris stepped forward with her arms out and wrists together in proper surrender mode. I slapped her hand. "Stop it."

Columbo took charge. "Mrs. Smith, my name is Detective Corbin, and this is my partner Dudley Canfield. I have a few questions for you. May I come in?"

Considering he was already in, I appreciated the common courtesy, albeit after the fact.

Iris leaned on me like a Great Dane after a pitcher of Margaritas. I nudged her with my shoulder into a righted position. "Right this way," I said, ushering Iris and the Detectives toward the living room.

After we were all seated, Detective Corbin looked at me and asked the appropriate question. "And you are?"

"Single," I said. "And you?"

He lowered his head slightly and peered over at me with renewed interest. A twinkle danced across his eyes. Or at least it looked like a twinkle. He pursed his lips and made a sucking sound with his tongue against his teeth.

Note to self: Refill Viagra prescription.

Dudley spoke, "Zelda Markowicz."

Corbin turned to face his partner with a quizzical look on his face.

"She's a local celebrity. Writes books about Chicago corruption and old people having sex," Dudley said.

Corbin turned his gaze upon me. "Is that true?"

"Certainly the last part," I said with a wink.

Corbin cleared his throat and refocused. "Mrs. Smith," he said, "are you in possession of a ransom note and your husband's ear?"

After a pregnant pause, the melody "You light up my life" interrupted the silence. We all looked in the direction of the music. Q, dressed in white coveralls, stood holding a music box.

"Anybody missing an ear," he said, holding up the bloody appendage.