Tracy stares at the photos in front of her and gasps—a full, hand-to-chest, pearls-clutching gasp. Her eyes flick up to Bunny, then back down to the album like it might bite her.
Mary Beth’s mouth gaps like a fish out of water.
Collective silence.
Then—
“OH my word,” Mary Beth finally breathes.
Alice blinks. Once. Twice. Then again, just to be sure her eyes aren’t playing tricks on her.
Because there, smiling boldly up from the glossy page, is a much younger Bunny…
In a very official, very unmistakable—
—not even remotely subtle—
bunny costume.
And not the Easter kind.
“You…” Alice points at the photo, then at Bunny, then back at the photo again like she’s trying to solve a math problem. “You were a… a… Playboy Bunny?”
Bunny leans over, squints at the photo, then lets out a delighted little laugh.
“Oh yes I was!” she says, fanning herself with one hand. “I hesitated for just a teeny second on showing you this one, but…”
She giggles, cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink—more pleased than embarrassed.
“Well! I suppose y’all might as well know all my little secrets,” she says brightly, settling back into her chair like she’s just confessed to stealing a cookie, not… that. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
No one answers.
They’re still staring.
Hard.
Bunny sighs dreamily, completely unfazed.
Bunny smooths her napkin like she’s discussing a former book club. “Got pulled in by the man himself.”
Three heads snap up.
“The man himself?” Tracy repeats.
“Mmm-hmm,” Bunny nods, smiling sweetly. “And I’ll tell you what—I had the time of my life.”
The table remains frozen.
Bunny continues, cheerful as ever.
“Now don’t get me wrong—we worked hard at that mansion. And Lord knows we barely ate a thing—had to fit into those little outfits, you understand.” She pats her waist with a knowing nod. “But oh! The people we met! Famous folks everywhere. Gifts, dinners, invitations—why, I think I was in Paris twice before I turned twenty-five.”
Silence.
Utter, stunned silence.
Then Tracy slowly reaches for a brownie.
“Well,” she says dryly, taking a bite, “that explains… a lot.”
Alice leans back in her chair, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at Bunny.
“I’m sorry,” she says, sharp as a tack, “but you just casually brought over edible underwear last week, went bowling without a bra the week before, and now you’re telling us you were a Playboy Bunny like it’s—you know—bridge club?”
Bunny tilts her head, considering this.
“Well… sugar,” she says gently, “it was a kind of club.”
Mary Beth chokes on her coffee.
And somehow—somehow—despite themselves—
They start to laugh.
Because there sits Bunny, smiling sweetly, sipping her tea like nobody’s business—
—as if she hasn’t just turned their entire understanding of her completely upside down.
And worse?
They’re already starting to forgive her.
Again.
Later that night, Bunny snuggles deep into her fuzzy blanket, smiling to herself.
Those gals are the absolute best, she thinks, drifting off, warm and content.
But what Bunny doesn’t know… is the very interesting conversation happening across town.
“I’m not kidding, Earl,” Mary Beth says, raising her voice over the television.
Earl reaches for the remote and slowly turns the volume down, giving her his full attention.
“That… sparkly little firecracker on your team? Bunny?”
Mary Beth shoots him a look. “Yes, Earl. And I would appreciate it if you did not refer to her like that.”
“Well, I’ll be…” Earl leans back, eyebrows climbing. “You’re serious?”
Mary Beth crosses her arms. “Dead serious. And Earl, I trust you to keep that to yourself. Don’t want that getting out…”
Earl nods slowly, like a man filing away highly important information.
Later that night…
Earl is not asleep.
Not even close.
He stares at the ceiling. Blinks. Turns over. Fluffs his pillow. Sighs.
Then—
Quiet as a teenager past curfew—he slips out of bed.
Down the hall.
Out the door.
Into the garage.
He flicks on the light and heads straight for the back wall, where an old flag hangs just a little too neatly.
Earl glances over his shoulder… then slides it aside.
Behind it—
his private collection.
Boxes. Binders. Carefully stacked history.
Earl scratches his chin. “Now wait just a minute…”
He crouches down, pulling out a dusty box labeled “Late 70s / Early 80s — Important.”
“I got a feeling…” he mutters.
A beer cracks open.
Earl settles in like a man about to solve a lifelong mystery.
“Let’s just see what we’ve got here…”
***
Sunrise seeped through the filthy garage window in thin gray stripes, cutting across the clutter like prison bars. Empty beer cans littered the floor. Earl kicks one across the warped floor slamming it into the wall.
He jolts upright from the chair, eyes bloodshot, hair wild.
“Ha!” he barks into the stale air. “I knew it.”
In his trembling hand, he holds the old magazine like treasure unearthed from a grave. He raises it high, grinning at the glossy page.
“I was right.”
The garage seemed to shrink around him as a new thought slithered into place. Slow. Sharp. Dangerous.
A plan.
Earl’s gambling debts had been closing in for months—bookies calling, threats muttered, doors watched. But now, suddenly, he can breathe again. Mary Beth need never know.
If Bunny had once lived that kind of life… if she’d rubbed elbows with men who threw money around like confetti… then surely she’d tucked plenty away.
A secret little fortune.
Earl’s smile widens. The weight on his sagging shoulders lifts..
“Oh yeah,” he mutters.
He taps the page with one grimy finger.
“I just found my lucky break—and you’re it, Miss Bunny.”
The magazine snaps shut.
Because tomorrow…Earl isn’t just paying Bunny a visit.
He’s coming to collect.
💋 Bunny Unfiltered
New Trouble Every Friday