Ledge Walksers

by Rosalyn Wraight

Chapter 1

I paced. I paced some more. I knew it was stupid, but I couldn't seem to help myself. We were about to host the monthly Lesbian Adventure Club, and this was the first time we had ever done so in our own home. The other times we were in charge, we had taken everyone away for the weekend. Why having them here made a difference, I wasn't quite sure. Each of them had already been here. Some came quite often. Never as a group, though—maybe that was it.

I headed out the sliding glass doors that separated the dining area from the screened back porch. I took a seat on the couch out there and lit a cigarette. As I watched Claudia preparing things in the kitchen, I let my mind drift through a mental list of the day's activities we planned. I hoped to hell that it accomplished what we intended it to. It was important to me, not just from the standpoint of success or failure, but this one was personal.

Our last get-together involved a scavenger hunt. Ginny and Kris had hosted it, and the two proved themselves to be diabolical. They had ‘gotten’ each and every one of us in one way or another, and numerous times during that weekend, we vowed to pay them back in full. I certainly felt resolute at the time, but now there was a part of me just so very grateful for how they truly got us. They got Claudia and me back on the right path, beyond the muck in which we had been so stuck. Our relationship felt renewed again. Hope had returned. Claudia was getting some help dealing with her grandmother's death, and ironically, it seemed to enliven her at the same time it hurt her. To suddenly think about paying them back for that seemed absurd.

I took a long drag of my cigarette as I watched Claudia approach the porch. She looked good to me, and again, I felt grateful.

"Are you going to help with any of this?” she asked, but the question arrived as a prod not a fist. “It's twenty to nine. They should start arriving soon."

"I know. I'm dumping on you,” I ruefully admitted. “I'm sorry. I'm on my way."

"Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

I smashed my cigarette into the ashtray. I walked to the step, and I hugged her. She towered over me from the dining room. I liked that feeling sometimes—feeling small to her because I didn't feel that way inside. The side of my face rested on her chest. Her warmth penetrating, her heartbeat steady, it felt safe there.

"There's not really anything wrong,” I finally replied. “Just nervous. Stupid, huh?"

"No, it's not stupid. We planned really well, though, hon, so I think everything should go off without a hitch,”

she reassured. “If something goes wrong, we'll deal with it. We always do.” She kissed me on the forehead and ordered, “Now get your butt in here!"

She put me to work pureeing peaches, hardly a monumental task. My attention shifted between doing that, watching her set champagne glasses on the island, and monitoring the street through the front window.

"You don't think this will backfire, do you?” I asked, still wanting to make sure everything was okay. “I'm praying it hasn't gone too far already."

"Trust, hon,” she answered. Then she smiled broadly and added, “I'm an authority on that now, you know."

"Oh, you are, huh?” I said with an honest but short-lived laugh. “And you'll help me make it all right if all goes wrong?"

"Of course, I will. We did it. This is not yours alone."

Before I had a chance to further the discussion, I saw Alison's car pull to the curb. She had been in the club a few years. She taught yoga at the local Y, and she had a kind heart. Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately—she broke up with her partner during our last get-together, but she had been doing great since then. It made me happy that she decided to join us, as she worried about being the “ninth wheel.” A lot of coaxing on our part finally convinced her that she did not need to be coupled in order to attend. It was not, after all, the Lesbian Couples Adventure Club.If you're queer, we're here. Okay, that wasn't exactly the club motto, but it worked.

Claudia opened the front door quickly, averting any chance of Alison pressing the dreaded button that allowed the irritating doorbell to do its evil work. I hoped that when we moved into Claudia's grandmother house there would be no doorbell. That at least was one thing I would not miss about this home that had been ours for six years.

"Hey, you guys!” Alison said as she entered. “I'm the first one, aren't I? Sorry if I'm early."

"You're right on time,” Claudia said. “Just throw your duffle bag into the first room down the hall. Then make yourself comfortable. You should have company in no time."

"I'm glad you came,” I said to her as she started for the hall. “It'll be great, not awkward—at least no more than usual. I promise."

She smiled at me and offered her thanks. As she disappeared, I pulsed the blender a couple of good ones. I knew Claudia would kill me for an inadvertent oxymoron: chunky puree.

Suddenly from down the hall, Alison's voice boomed, “Lover Doll! Oh, hi there, Lover Doll! Oh my God, I can't believe you guys kept her.” By the time she finished her last sentence, she was back with us.

"Yes, we kept her,” Claudia said, tossing a dirty look my way. “But it was againstmy better judgment. Lover Girl here seems to think she owes something to Lover Doll. The best I could get was an agreement that she would not sleep with us."

We all laughed.

"I know it's stupid,” I tried to explain, “but the idea of throwing her away just made it all seem so trashy."

Claudia rolled her eyes and said, “Kate, itwas trashy. She's a blow up doll from a porn shop. I don't think there's a thing on earth you could do to make it not trashy."

"Yes, but I think I at least owe her a warm place to stay,” I said, smiling as I remembered my little lovefest with Lover Girl in the parking lot of Peter's Palace.

"Did you at least wash the smooched bugs off her boobs? She was hanging out the car window for quite awhile,”

Alison unwisely said.

"Oh please, hon, tell me you didn't wash her boobs!"

I didn't have to answer, thank God, because the doorbell suddenly bellowed its deranged tune through the house.Ding, dong, burp, spit, ding —that was as close as I could ever get to a description of it.

"Jesus Christ, can't you teach that doorbell a new tune?” Ginny sputtered as soon as the door opened.

She wasn't one to be tossing around those in-vain names. As a communication arts professor, she always said there were a million better ways to express oneself without having to be Neanderthal and resort to swearing.

Either she was learning that sometimes it just plain felt good, or she was crabby. I looked at Kris, and immediately I knew that it was the latter. Kris’ lips pursed, and the furrow in her brow seemed hoisted nearly to the top of her head. Her eyes rolled and then remained in the eleven o'clock position.

"Oh, just ignore our bellman, Ginny. He is one sick dude,” I said. “Come on in. How are you guys?"

"We're fine,” Kris instantly replied and then refused to acknowledge the whipping around of Ginny's head in her direction. “And how are you all?"

I felt the need to apologize for the smirk that suddenly owned my face. I had known these two for over fifteen years. I loved them. I respected them. I depended on them. Above all, I trusted them. I trusted that in the nearly twenty-five years they had been together that they had learned enough about relationships and each other to weather whatever negativity existed. Issues that might do other couples in seemed to be mere bumps in the road for them, bumps they marked with respect. It wasn't that the issues didn't challenge or hurt. It was more that they accepted that life was downright nasty sometimes; you deal with it and keep moving. While I certainly did not enjoy their hard times, something positive stemmed from seeing their shortcomings, knowing they were not perfect. Those things gave me hope that I could have what they had, that fallible me could maintain a lifelong love. Besides, if you fuse a comm arts professor to a professor of psychology, you had to expect a few conflicts.

Kris and Ginny entered our house just as Maggie and Susan slammed their car doors. This would make Claudia happy; she loved punctuality.

I told Kris and Ginny where to drop their stuff, and then we greeted the new arrivals.

Maggie managed a vegan food store, Mama Earth's, while Susan taught in an elementary school. They had not been together that long, but it seemed they got a bit stronger and more comfortable with each get-together. This time, in fact, I saw an unfamiliar eagerness on Susan's face. She overtly wanted to be here, which was immense for someone who still had three-quarters of herself in a closet. I waited for the day when it was less than half, even if only by a centimeter. I figured Maggie would be more comfortable then, as one who abhorred closets and all those things and people in life that forced some of us to need that kind of shelter. She was an activist to the core, on a hiatus of sorts while the two of them found common ground.

"Hey, you guys!” Susan beamed and gave us both body slam hugs.

"Hi, humdinger,” I greeted Maggie from over Susan's shoulder.

"Hey, dilly,” she replied, and we both instantaneously began laughing.

Once the meet and greet ended, everyone took places on the living room furniture that had been pushed out of the way to accommodate the day's activities. The conversation centered on the past scavenger hunt, and Kris and Ginny still gloated. Maybe it would be easier to pay them back than I thought.

Susan asked, “So what areyou guys going to do to us?"

"Well, we'd love to tell you, but Holly and Laura aren't here yet,” Claudia said. “Kate, have you talked to them recently? Are we sure they got the invite and everything?"

"Yes, I talked to Laura last night while you were in the tub,” I informed her. “She called to make sure we didn't need anything. It's only quarter after. That's not really late yet."

Between us, we finally decided to start the first activity, which we would further explain once our missing members arrived. Claudia set out fruits, bagels, a pot of warm chocolate, and various spreads. I took orders for peach mimosas as I popped the first bottle of champagne.

Our living and dining rooms bled into the kitchen, creating a very spacious area. Women with plates and glasses spread throughout, nibbling on food and swilling those kinds of spirits that were somehow justifiable for morning consumption. From the corner of my eye, I saw Kris dip a strawberry in chocolate and offer it up to Ginny, who sat next to her on the couch.Take it, Ginny; please take it! Reluctantly she did and even offered a slight smile to Kris in return. Perhaps she was feeling better. I knew I was. My nervousness retreated, and again, I felt at ease with our friends.

"Oh, Kate sweetie,” Claudia beckoned, and I did not like the tone. “It's now nine thirty-five. Doesthat constitute late?"

"Yes, I would call that late,” I shrinkingly replied, wondering how this suddenly seemed like my fault. “I'll give them a call and make sure everything is okay."

I grabbed the phone, and before I had even punched in two numbers, the front door burst open. To say they had arrived, entered, even stormed in—none of those related the act correctly. Literally, they landed, with four quick and distinct footfalls, in nearly crouched positions, as if the artist and the detective had just dropped from the sky. Both sported wet hair and looked as though they had dressed hurriedly—the obvious signs of getting up too late and making a mad dash. I had made a few of those in my life.

"We are bad girls,” Holly said sheepishly. “We are late. Forgive us?"

"Yes, we're very sorry for being late. Please forgive us,” Laura added.

Shit, how could anyone not? It wasn't like they offered lame excuses or even minimized it.

"We'll forgive you this time,” Claudia said, my little project manager seeming to turn a new leaf. “But get your butts in herenow!" she ordered. The new leaf yellowed.

"Okay, okay,” Holly said and then quickly turned her attention elsewhere. “Hi, everybody! What did we miss?"

They both entered the mix to receive updates and the usual gossip while I made them mimosas. They nodded with great interest to everything said while they stuffed strawberries and grapes into their mouths.

Once things settled a bit, Claudia came over by me and worked with clapping hands to get everyone's attention.

"We decided not even to try to outdo Kris and Ginny,” I began. “We stand humbled before the great ones.” I bowed, watching the rest follow suit, watching the great ones bask in it. “So there will be no competition this time. No clues. No winners. No losers."

Laura, of course, chimed in, “Yeah, being a loser is kind of hard to take. You two must be awfully tired of it."

"Yeah, I could rub your nose in a few things, too,” I said, “but I have a bit more class. So shut up!” I stuck my tongue out at her, as any classier person would do. Inside, my resolve to find and exploit her weakness was now a craving, one I hoped to satisfy before day's end.

"I thought you just said there was no competition?” Claudia posed one of those rhetorical questions that usually came with shiny shackles all their own. “You two, please behave."

"Yes, ma'am."

Then she proceeded to explain, “There are nine of us here. Oddly enough in that mix there are five teachers: two professors, an elementary schoolteacher, a yoga trainer, and an art instructor. All of us have been at the mercy of at least one of those for many years sometime in our lives. At their mercy meaning we had stuff crammed down our throats without ever being able to offer any advice on what we needed to learn. So, ladies, our adventure simply consists of learning some of those things that theyshould have taught us in school."

The traditional and silent appraisal began as each looked to the other, first with question mark faces and then with approval.

Claudia continued, “While we don't boast having a stoolie in every bar and porn shop in the city, we do know quite a few people.” She looked to Kris and Ginny, who were both laughing. “We'll be having an expert in for each session. Not only will we have some non-competitive fun, but hopefully we'll learn a few things and meet some interesting people."

A ripple of affirmative nods skipped through the group.

"And who hasn't been a kid who believed that all school days should begin with recess?” I asked—rhetorical minus the shackles. “So this is recess. We have until ten fifteen to do absolutely nothing but horse around and enjoy ourselves."

"Um, I have a question,” Susan said, raising her hand like one of her students needing to use the little girls’

room.

"And what would your question be?” Claudia played along.

"Is it common practice to serve mimosas for recess?” she asked.Yes, another millimeter closer to freedom.

"It is at this school,” Claudia answered.

"I like recess!” Susan said in a little girl voice. She raised her glass to be quickly joined by the rest.Two millimeters.

Chapter 2

"Okay, everybody,” Claudia said, but obviously too politely, for everyone kept milling about and talking. Then the manager in her stood tall. She clapped her hands loudly and repeated, “Okay, everybody. It's almost ten fifteen. We've got to keep things moving along."

When all attention was had, she continued, “Welcome to Physical Education, the class you love to hate."

"The class with the ugly butch gym teacher who screwed you up because you thought there had to be something wrong with liking girls if you were going to grow up to be her,” I said, receiving leg-slapping laughter from everyone for the sick joke, an arm slap from Claudia for deviating from the script, and a cheek slap from myself for a badly run-on sentence.

"You all remember it, don't you, girls? Kickball, pushups, badminton, laps, claiming to have your period one hundred and twenty-five days in a row. Well, they didn't teach us what we needed to know to grow up to be strong, healthy women, now did they?"

A horrifically loud “No!” shook the room. Then they spouted every pathetic gym activity they knew, following each with “Bullshit!” They were madder than hell, and I could not take it anymore. I did the cowardly thing and ducked into the spare bedroom. Retrieving a stack of white sheets, I winked at Lover Doll and then made my way back to the living room. As I tossed the stack into the middle of the room, all eyes turned to me.

"So this one, ladies, is massage,” Claudia announced to a steady stream ofoos andahs. “You'll have to strip.

There's a sheet for everyone to wrap up in. Panties are optional."

Between them, they exchanged glances until the verdict was unanimous: They would go along with the plan.

Laura grabbed the first sheet, teasing, “You belong to the KKK? They don't like queers, you know."

Before I could make my retort, Maggie was studying the one she had grabbed. “Look,” she said, pointing to a mark on the sheet. “It's not KKK. She swiped them from a hospital—from St. Mike's."

"I just hope it wasn't St. Mike's Home for the Bedridden and Incontinent,” Susan added, much to my chagrin.

"Oh, shut up, you guys!” I said. “I got them from the thrift store. Claudia washed and bleached them. There's nothing wrong with them. Now shut up and get moving."

As they took turns stripping in the bathroom, Claudia and I set up a borrowed massage table for each couple, and one for Alison, who would be our guinea pig.

Soon, the living room was filled with white-sheeted bodies. Everyone walked about like clumsy geishas.

In perfect time, there was a quiet knock at the front door, and I let in our massage therapist.

"This is Janice,” I introduced. “She's going to be teaching us a few things. She's trustworthy, and she's one of us, so please feel comfortable. Ask questions. Whatever you need to do. Alison, you get the massage from the pro."

As Janice set up, Claudia and I stripped and joined the ranks.

Janice began with a short speech on the importance of touch and how it helps a couple with bonding. Alison reclined on the table next to her, and I wondered what she thought about bonding with a stranger. Maybe as a yoga teacher she understood things we didn't, as she seemed unfazed.

"Okay, so the point of this is non-sexual touch,” Janice said. “Pay attention to your partner's needs. Be gentle.

First, we'll concentrate on one partner, and then we'll switch."

With that, bargains were made, and eventually, Claudia, Holly, Ginny, and Susan were all prone. Janice handed out small bottles of oil to each of the apprentice masseuses.

"Always warm the oil in your hands before you touch your partner. A shock is not the best way to begin."

"Come on, Sutter,” Laura said from the table adjacent to ours. “Get it nice and warm."

"I am. I am,” I corrected. “You just pay attention."

Janice furthered her instructions, “Okay, once the oil is warm, place your hands gently on your partner's neck and shoulder area. Like this.” She began slowly massaging Alison's shoulders. “You want your back motion to go toward an extremity. Think of it as forcing the negative energy toward a place where it can easily escape the body, like the fingertips, the feet, the top of the head."

I watched what she did and then tried the same on Claudia. I must have done it correctly, as I could feel her relax under my touch, and an almost inaudible moan escaped her lips.

"Feel good?” I asked, for which I received a lazy nod. “Just tell me if I hurt you."

After several minutes of this, Janice said, “Now you want to move a bit lower, around the shoulder blade area.

This time it's the upward motion that should push the negative energy toward the arms."

Again, I did as she instructed, feeling Claudia lose herself in my touch. I thought back to the tension that existed between us during our last get-together. There was none of it now, and none that I could feel in the muscles that gave themselves to me. I imagined pushing out any residue and infusing her with the strong, thriving feelings I had for her.

As I caught onto the techniques that Janice taught us, I finally felt in command enough to move my attention to the others in the room. It was Laura I saw first. Actually, it was only Laura I saw. She leaned into Holly, passionately kissed her neck several times, and then started biting her way down her spine. And then, I heard her breathing. It was labored and long and seemed nearly to carry a scream with it. Her hands—which were supposed to be in the shoulder blade area—were on either side of Holly, whose facedown position caused her ample breasts to bulge considerably from the sides. “Oh God,” I heard her breathily utter into her, to which an overturning Holly gasped in reply, “Oh, does my baby need some more?"

As my jaw dropped, I questioned the word “more.” What had we missed whilewe followed instructions? Then, with my jaw attempting to hang even lower, I watched a frantic Laura open the sheet around her and climb onto a naked and welcoming Holly.

"Laura!” I yelled through clenched teeth.

Her desperate eyes shot to mine, and she said nothing but “Oh God."

I believe it was at that second—although, I admit that in the throes of shock I was not quite sure—when Janice bellowed, “Non-sexual, ladies!"

The writhing and kissing ones paid no mind. Another “Oh God” came from Laura, and I knew that we were nearing the point of no return. They gently rocked into each other, completely oblivious to anyone but each other.

Kris snapped to attention as all eyes in the room turned to the two them. “Laura!” she barked. “Get off of her!”

When no response came, she yelled Laura's name in a way that seemed to make the room reverberate.

Laura came back to the world momentarily. A pleading look made its way to Kris, and Laura implored in deep breaths, “Oh God, Kris, I have to have her.” She resumed the impassioned kissing.

"Laura!” Kris barked again. “You're in a room full of people!"

"No. No, we're not,” she breathed and continued her mission, which seemed to be devouring Holly wholly.

"Laura, look at me!” This time Kris took on a tone like she was trying to talk a jumper back from a ledge.

Laura looked at her, but her eyes were glazed and distant. Her breathing bordered on hyperventilation.

"Laura, you're in a room full of people!"

Her breathing slowed a little, a very little. She swallowed hard and said, “No. When I touch her, the world goes away. Clocks even stop."

"It may feel like that, hon, but you're in a room full of people."

"Oh, but I want her!” She laughed this time. “Goddamn it, do I want her!” She released a scream of utter frustration.

Kris continued, “Janice said this was to be non-sexual touching."

"She made it sexual!” Laura defended. “Be gentle. Pay attention to her needs. I was. I did. I mean look at her!”

She raised herself up, exposing a quite comfortable Holly and herself in the process. “How can this not be sexual? Holly, you are the sexiest woman in the world! I love you. I want you."

"Oh, babe,” Holly gushed, and the kissing resumed yet again.

Before losing them once more, Kris urged, “Laura, keep looking at me. Keep looking at me."

Laura did as she was instructed. She still looked intoxicated.

"This is the damnedest thing I've ever seen. You're a grown woman. Control yourself."

"I am in control. I love her. I want her. Oh God, do I want her."

"She's not an object! Holly, does she make you feel like an object?"

Holly didn't answer right away. Then she pulled Laura into her, thrust her hips, and said, “Laura, quick make me feel like an object so I know if I've ever felt that way before."

Everyone laughed, and it seemed to be enough to pull the jumper back from the ledge.

"She's not innocent in this,” Laura defended. “Everybody always thinks she's innocent. It's that gorgeous face that does it.” She smiled broadly and stared down at Holly, who at this point was laughing. “Tell them what you did this morning. Go on, tell them."

She pulled Laura into her yet again and said, “No, you tell them. I want to hear yousay it."

"Fine,” Laura said. “But remember you told me to.” She moved away from Holly a bit, and for the first time in a long time it seemed as though there were two of them. “I'm innocently—innocently, I tell you—taking a shower this morning, hurrying to get here on time. This tease here comes in, jams the door to the shower stall, drops her robe, and pushes her breasts to the glass. Then she begs me to touch her. Ican't f-ing touch her! She says she'll do it for me. I'm not kidding you!"

Holly laughed deviously. “Ah, but I eventually rescued you in time, didn't I? God, you were so wild by the time I got in there.” She pulled Laura into her again, the to-and-fro now beyond predictable. “God, I love you when you are wild like that!” And yes, they started kissing and writhing again.

Suddenly, I understood the word “more” and why they were late.

All eyes again were on them, and somewhere inside I thought to myself that it was hopeless trying to pull them apart. I thought it might be smarter to just let them have at it—to a silent chorus of closed ears and eyes. At least it would be done. Or would it? Two opposing words collided in my mind: contentedly insatiable.

"Are you guys like this all the time?” Susan dared to ask, rather loudly, and while I predicted that discomfort would be there, intrigue seemed to have overruled.

"Are you?” Kris asked. “Or did a simple massage just do you in?"

"We're not perverts, if that's what you're thinking,” Laura defended. “I just can't seem to stop myself when it comes to her. I mean really—just look at her!” She lifted herself up again for us to see what she was hoarding.

She looked down at her, and another “Oh God” came forth as if it were a religion.

"Ah, Laura, I think we've all had a good enough look at her,” Claudia reminded. “Thanks, though."

"Laura, you're jumping her bones in a room full of people,” Kris crudely clarified and then watched as Laura's eyes scanned the room as if seeing it for the first time.

"Okay, you're right. I'm sorry,” she said and sat up, barely wrapping the sheet around herself again, making sure that Holly was covered. She stared into Holly's eyes, but this time a different sort of emotion lingered there. To everyone's amazement, the bold and powerful Laura McCallister began to cry.

The room fell silent. When the planet shifts on its axis, there is sure to be mind-numbing incapacitation.

Holly sat up and kissed her, but this time it was gentle and meant to soothe. “Honey, it's okay."

"I know it's okay,” she said. “It's okay because I love you."

Kris jumped in, “Laura, what are you feeling? Why are you crying?"

"Because you guys think it's aboutit. It's not aboutit. It's not about sex. It's about her—not about me. It's about that feeling I get when I look at her, when I hold her, when there is only us, when she has that look in her eyes.

If that makes me a pervert in your eyes, then so be it. But I swear to you,” she said, “I will never stop letting myself get lost in her."

"Canyou stop?” Kris asked.

"Kris, just let it be,” Ginny jumped in to defend Laura.

"No. She's a walking master's thesis. I want to be sure she even belongs in one."

Laura stared at her, but it wasn't with the anger I think I would have felt. It was more an introspection, something that Laura didn't generally do in public—but then again, I had never seen her try to take Holly in public either.

"If you're asking if I can go without sex,” she said, “then, yes, I can. If you're asking if I can go without Holly, the answer is no. I'm a junkie. I admit it, but I mean, just look at—Never mind; don't look at her.” She sniffed and then laughed. “You guys have probably seen more of her than you ever thought you would. But for Christ sake, you took two drunks, threw them in a vat of vodka, and told them not to drink. I have to drink. Otherwise, I feel like I'm dying of thirst."

Kris thought for a moment and then asked, “Have you felt this way with anyone else, Laura? What about in relationships before Holly?"

"I'm telling you honestly: I never felt this way until the first time we were together, and we have been this way ever since. It's mutual. Isn't it, Hol? Have I ever wanted to go there when I didn't think you wanted to go with me?” She looked at Holly, who vehemently shook her head.

"Never, babe. Never,” she replied, and then she tried to glance around the room from her prone position. “I want her as much as she wants me. Sometimes more."

Kris apparently wasn't satisfied with that. She asked, “Were you guys sexual right way?"

The two laughed with each other, remembering, and I suddenly noticed poor Janice shifting uncomfortably next to her massage table. I bet she would never again say to a group of nearly naked lesbians that touch could help a couple with bonding.

Holly said, “We didn't have sex for the first year we dated ... not until the moment we decided to spend the rest of our lives together."

"And we've been dying of thirst ever since.” This time Laura gave Holly a tender kiss and smiled at her.

"Holly, what about your other relationships? Were they this sexually charged, too?” Kris continued her march toward understanding.

"Laura was my first. Laura is my last.” Tears now filled her eyes, and “aw” spread throughout the room.

"And have you guys ever attempted anything like you did today?” Kris asked, and I imagined her scanning some diagnostic checklist in her mind.

"No. I think it's just that it's safe with you all. Our guard is down when we're all together. We love you guys,”

Holly said, and then added, “But we have learned a few lessons the hard way, and so we made some rules."

Suddenly, the group wanted to know. The mood lightened considerably.

"Well, let's see,” Holly began. “Alison you will be happy to know that we have a rule never to shower together again at the Y."

Our prone yoga instructor gave a thumbs-up, and the group laughed. Even Janice laughed.

"We only buy vehicles with bucket seats, and our hands cannot cross that middle thingy,” Holly said, her upraised hands trying to help us envision exactly what a “thingy” was.

Laura admitted, “When Holly has a class she's posing nude for, I'm not allowed within a two hundred yards.”

She paused and then added, “And we cannot both be in the kitchen when one is cooking. We set off the alarm once when French toast caught fire. Well, actually they kind of exploded.” She looked at Holly, and they both laughed.

"Oh, and we never go into a lingerie shop together,” Holly confided.

Then in unison, they yelled, “Or dressing rooms!"

"Oh God, do you remember that?” Laura asked, and I knew what that religious talk would get us: prostration on the naked altar. She was glued to her in seconds, this time kissing her and saying, “Oh God, I want you."

"Whoa,” Kris quickly interrupted. “You were doing good there for a moment. Stick with us."

Laura pulled herself up a bit with a desperate release of air, and both their heads tilted toward Kris.

"Does it always have to end in thebig way?” she asked, and at first I thought to laugh at the euphemism, but I then realized that they still teetered on the ledge and anything explicit might send them plummeting.

"No. Sometimes foreplay just jumps into afterplay with no play in between,” Laura reasoned. “Sometimes we just end up holding each other. Sometimes we just end up laughing. Those times are amazing, too.” There was no “Oh God” involved, but her body genuflected into Holly again. She stared at her, smiling. Without breaking her gaze, she asked, “So what do you say, Dr. Maltry? There's nothing wrong with us, is there? We're just lucky and madly in love. I told you!"

Suddenly “doctor” looked rather funny standing there, wrapped in a St. Mike's sheet, her hands resting on her professor's podium that just happened to be her lover's butt. Hardly a clinical setting, but I knew that Kris would divulge what she sincerely believed. She was that way. Despite how intrusive it all seemed, I knew her heart was in the right place.

"Well,” she began after some thought. “The best I can say is that you are cursed with a blessing or blessed with a curse, depending on how you'd care to look at it."

"Blessing,” they both said and somehow seemed to interpret it as permission. The kissing began again for the hundredth time, and as odd as it sounds, I could feel myself disappear; I could hear the stopping of clocks. It was a lonely feeling, and I bent down to kiss Claudia on the cheek. She rolled over, smiled, and kissed me in kind.

"You okay?” I asked.

"Yes, I am,” she said. “I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Why don't you take Laura out back for a smoke? Preferably before she starts praying again. I'll finish the massage thing with Holly."

I thought that was a good idea. I moved over to their massage table and made the offer to Laura. At first, she was reluctant to pull away from Holly, but with some coaxing from both Holly and me, she stood, wrapped the sheet around herself, and with wobbly knees, turned to leave the house with me. I steadied her with both hands, feeling as though I was touching something that did not belong to me. What coursed through her belonged to Holly, and for the first time, I did indeed understand that it had nothing to withit. It had to do with them. It was far more emotional than it was sexual.

I aimed the shorn Sampson through the sliding glass doors. I had discovered her weakness, without a doubt, but there was absolutely no triumphant joy in it. It made me need to look more at myself than at her—at the part of me that wanted so to defeat her. But, her weakness was also her strength. It was a connection to someone, and in that instant, I understood the paradox.

I made her sit down on the step so her back was to Holly, and then I got us both a cigarette from my pack on the porch's end table. I lit her cigarette and then mine. We sat in silence, side by side, and I had a hard time trying to fathom where she was in the world, if she was there at all. It suddenly dawned on me that pulling a jumper back from the ledge might have proven easier than trying to pull her back from the edge of herself. She had shown a different side of herself—her vulnerabilities—to others, not just to Holly as was customary. I wasn't sure how she would think of me now. Would we be closer? Awkwardly more distant? For some strange reason, I thought back to our Murder Mystery Weekend and to the guilt I had for ‘killing’ her. That was as scripted as this, but this time I was the scriptwriter.

We continued to sit in silence, and the discomfort in it eventually dissipated. Now, peace ruled.

Claudia and Holly eventually got my attention and with it my acknowledgement that the massage session was over.

"They're done, Laura,” I said. “We can go back in now. Come on. Holly's waiting for you."

She smiled until it slowly turned into a beam. She looked at me and most assuredly asked without questioning,

“Holly whipped, huh?"

"Holly whipped,” I agreed, returning the smile. “More power to ya."

She slid her arm around my shoulder, and with geisha strides, we made our way back into the house, into the open arms of the ones we loved.

Everyone sat around on the living room floor patiently waiting her turn in the bathroom to get cleaned up and dressed. The mood had changed. The usual laughter was very low key. Pensive maybe. Had we all learned something? Would we all pull our partner a little bit closer?

Finally, it was Ginny who lost patience with the waiting. “For gosh sakes!” she said. “Who is holding up the line?"

Alison looked around and surmised, “Holly and Laura."

Faster than even the thought could reach the tongue, all of us yelled, “Dressing room!” at the top of our lungs.

The boisterous laughter returned full tilt.

Kris yelled down the hall, “Laura McCallister, come out with your hands up!"

We waited, expecting silence or a few Oh-Gods to make us giggle like schoolgirls. Instead, the door slowly opened, and Laura peered around the corner, toothbrush in mouth. Through the froth of toothpaste and a grin, she asked, “Put my hands upwhere?"

It wasn't what we expected, but nonetheless, the giggling commenced. Two minutes later, they both emerged.

The once again puffed-up Laura did her little peacock dance down the hall. She entered the living room and looked at each of us, knowing exactly what we were thinking.

"Wouldn't you all like to know?” she bantered. “You had your chance, ladies."

Holly pushed her through the throng, all the while shaking her head at us and rolling her eyes. To this day, I remain unsure if she was denying that anything had happened in their makeshift dressing room or if she was merely shaking her head in disbelief at the audacious ledge walker.

Chapter 3

Claudia hit the button on the coffee maker and cranked up the gas under the teakettle. I knew she desperately needed an Earl Gray, and I knew I would give my life for coffee. While we waited, the group took to straightening up, folding massage tables, and helping Janice get her things to her SUV.

I spied Ginny off to the side. I approached her, put my arms around her, and asked, “So how's my favorite professor?"

"Been better. Been worse,” she replied very matter-of-factly, but the hug was returned nonetheless.

"Anything I can do to get you into the never-been-better category?"

She smiled and replied only with a shake of the head.

"Well, let's see, other than in college, you've given me lectures on trust, patience, honesty—and God knows what else,” I said. “Want me to regurgitate any of those for you? They're awfully good."

She smiled and gave me a swat on the arm. I convinced myself that that constituted progress.

"Well, stubborn woman, I just want you to remember that I love you, Claudia loves you, and my other favorite prof over there loves you, too."

I saw her stiffen, and then she crossed her arms over her chest.

"She does,” I reminded her.

"I know she does,” she said, but there was no solace in the acknowledgement; it was merely a fact.

"Trust, patience, honesty—I can poop ‘em out like nobody's business. All you have to do is ask."

Ah, she laughed!

"You know,” she said, “sometimes I wonder how you ever keep your job with some of the stuff that comes out of your mouth."

"Hey, that paper would make a fortune if they stopped giving me assignments and just let me write what I thought! Isn't that what freedom of the press is for?"

Okay, she rolled her eyes that time, but she still laughed.

I kissed the top of her head. “Trust, honesty, patience,” I whispered and quickly retreated.

In my haste, I still managed to spy Alison out the front window chatting it up with Janice. Yoga meet Massage.

Massage meet Yoga.That had some possibilities.

I had not even made it to my second swallow of coffee before Claudia clapped her hands again. Everyone, including the smiling Alison, gathered around the kitchen's island. After what had just happened in our ‘gym class,’ I wondered if there was dread or excitement about moving onto the next. I also wondered if Claudia would even acknowledge it.

"So now that we've learned there are much better things to do in gym class than badminton, let's see what we can do in our next class,” she said very calmly. “Now we move on to Art Class—"

Anybody who knew Holly predicted the “Oh, that is so sweet!” that rushed her mouth and collided with Claudia's dissertation.

"You, Miss Crawford,” Claudia said, wagging a finger, “will be on your best behavior this class, or it's detention for you—alone!"

Holly's jaw dropped. Then she laughed and said, “Okay. I will. I promise."

The resulting laughter from everyone did nothing to add any oomph to her vow.

"Okay, who here—other than Holly, of course—has hadany occasion since being out of school to make a decoupage? Hands please."

When no hands rose, she asked, “Paper mache?"

No hands.

"Shadow box?"

Still no hands, but the natives were getting restless, and I knew they would start beating their drums. She sensed it, too, and started rattling off, “How about pictures made with glued macaroni? Popsicle stick people? Pipe cleaner animals? Pine cone ornaments..."

For the first time in six years, I welcomed the bellman's deranged tune. I made a dash for the front door, as Claudia's list dwindled, and she said, “So did those art teachers teach usanything we needed to know to grow up to be strong, healthy women?"

The same resounding “No!” blasted forth, just in time to impact our visitor through the opening door. His eyes shot wide open, and he froze in place.

"Women!” I said to him. “Just come on in. It's safer than it sounds."

He did so, somewhat reluctantly. He put a large box next to the front door, and I led him to the back of the group.

"Makeup, ladies! They should have taught us ... the fine art of makeup and facials!"

The whooping and hollering began, and I feared that Charles would run from the house screaming. If he did, I would go with him.

When Claudia handed the imaginary mic over to me, I introduced him. “Everyone, this is Charles."

I am not at all sure who started it, but a third-grade exaggeration of “Good morning, Charles” filled the room.

"Good morning, everyone,” he said quite pleasantly.

"Charles is a dear friend of ours,” I said, “so be nice to him. And a little hint: He does not like to be called Mary Kay, Estee, or Avon Lady, so do not do it! I warn you: He has one mean pinch."

"Like this,” he said, taking a nasty squeeze of my thigh.

Didn't I knowanyone who was normal?

"Charles is going to guide us through facials and then give us some help with makeup. He's good at what he does, so trust him. This is also—hopefully—where you might need the checkbooks you were instructed to bring.

His car is loaded with loot, so if he shows you something you like, buy it! He's just getting started on his own and needs all the help he can get."

"Kate!” he yelled with indignation.

"Trust me, Charles. For what you're about to get yourself into, you deserve compensation."

As he retrieved his box, I nonchalantly went into the dining room and pulled the drapes on the sliding glass doors. Keeping them all on one task was difficult enough; chaos would ensue if there was even a hint of what was to come next.

Charles took his place at the center of the island. He was a very handsome man in his mid-twenties, with rich black hair combed to the side and the deepest blue eyes I had ever seen. He wore a pale yellow polo shirt and crisply pressed khaki pants. With total concentration, he removed what he needed from the box and set it all on the island.

"The first thing we need to do is strip—” he managed to say only to be abruptly stopped by confusion as many jaws dropped and all eyes riveted to him. He looked to Claudia for explanation and reassurance.

"'Strip’ is not a good word at the moment, Charles,” she explained. “They're a little slow. Try again."

"Well, first thing we need to do is strip—Take off? Remove?” he tried, still perplexed and unsure of himself. He quickly grabbed a bottle from the island and held it up. “We need to use this. We need toremove all traces of makeup you have on.” When it seemed that everyone got the benign gist of what he was saying, he perked up again. “Facials are only good on perfectly clean skin. I have some remover for the face and some for the eyes. I also have these little shower caps to protect your hair."

Claudia grabbed a stack of towels from the kitchen counter and gave one to each. From his box, Charles removed small hand mirrors to help everyone accomplish the task. He spied Maggie reading the ingredients list on the makeup remover bottle. “Ah,” he acknowledged. “You must be our vegan."

Maggie nodded, and he told her to feel free to read them all, that all ingredients were natural and nothing had been tested on animals. With some weird brand name like “Make No Bones About It,” I figured it would be a quick read.

Soon everyone was barefaced, and I found myself thankful that we had already seen each other at our worst, as we all looked rather drab.

Charles held up a box with a tribal mask on it. “This is Aztec clay,” he informed. “It does a wonderful job of pulling impurities from the pores and tightening the skin. I'll mix it some with apple cider vinegar, and then you'll just paint it on, about an eighth of an inch thick. Leave it on for five minutes if you have sensitive skin, and about ten minutes if you have normal skin."

"And forty-five minutes if you are Kate,” Laura said.

I spat back, “And three days if you are Laura. Then maybe you'll look like the shithead you are!"

"Will you two quit it!” Claudia yelled. “You're both so juvenile."

"Yeah, we wouldn't want to be juvenile,” I defended. “That would be so like grade school or something."

She shook her head and released a “grrr” of frustration. I knew I trod thin ice and that she could easily become a harpoon when needed, but I also knew that she wanted this day to be fun for everyone. That desirehad to take into account that we were all juvenile when together—even her, if she'd step out of her manager role for a moment.

Ten minutes later we were all gray-faced and milling about the room, hoping beyond hope that every other face looked stranger than our own. Alison at one point hit the pantry and stuck elbow macaroni into the clay on her face to emulate eyebrows, saying, “Look, everyone. I'm a macaroni picture!” See, it wasn't just Laura and me. It was all nonsense, and yet it was all so very important.

By the time we were all washed up, Charles was ready with moisturizer. We all applied some as he filled the island with lipsticks, mascaras, foundations, powders, blushes, and eyeshadows—a glamour girl's dream. Like scavengers at the site of roadkill, the group's own glamour girls picked through it all. Claudia, Holly, and Susan went wild. Charles was very skilled at matching tones with the correct colors. He made suggestions and helped a few with some application techniques.

"Come here, Kate,” Claudia called. “I want to do your face."

I approached her and saw just how stunning her features were, made-up but far from imaginary. “Will I look as beautiful as you when you're done?” I asked.

"Probably not,” she quickly replied, grinning.

"Well, that was a Laura-like thing to say! Double-standards or what?"

"No. I was about to add that you'd bemore beautiful."

"Sure, you were, but I can take your teasing. In fact, I like it,” I said and planted a kiss on her forehead. “So go for it, but just remember I'm picky. I don't like feeling like I've gotstuff on my face. And I detest lipstick. I'll have it all over my shirt sleeve within two minutes."

I let her do as she saw fit, grateful for the tips Charles tossed at her, helping her keep it “light and natural."

My fidgeting finally brought my eyes to Maggie, who sat far removed from the group. She purposefully distracted herself with busy tasks: she fixed her hair, pulled her socks up, tied her shoelaces into perfectly taut bows. But all the while, she oozed extreme discomfort.

"Hey, humdinger!” I yelled, “Get over here and be someone's guinea pig."

"No,” she said. “I'm not really into the makeup stuff."

"That's because you don't need to beyet," Holly remarked. “I mean really! Look at her skin. It's beautiful.

Perfectly flawless."

"I agree. Flawless,” Charles said from the stool next to Holly's. “Stay out of the sun, girl! You've been blessed by a different light."

Okay, they had successfully let her off the hook, but something wasn't right. She had an attitude that did not match simple disinterest. “Come on, humdinger. Nobody's trying to convert you. It's just an opportunity to try something new. I bet Charles will let you use the makeup remover after you get all gussied up,” I said and received vigorous nodding from Charles. Then I added, “Look at me. I'm at Claudia's mercy. She could be making me look like Bozo's whore."

"Yeah, come on, Maggie. Give it a try. It's really fun,” Alison said, and a few others joined in with encouragement.

I looked at Susan, who I now realized was as removed from Maggie as Maggie was from the group. Then I instinctively looked to Kris, hoping for her to jump into her St. Mike's sheet and offer a little clinical perspective. At the moment, however, she was more concerned with which shade of peach eyeshadow went better with her lipstick.

"Humdinger!” I tired once more.

An angry look swept across her face, and very curtly she said, “It's dishonest."

"Dishonest?” I asked. I had an idea of what she meant, and I think I asked more to stall as my mind raced to wrap itself around the situation. Push-up bras, three-inch heels, and even sunglasses: there were a million things that were dishonest—and a necessity to the sisterhood. “What do you mean, dishonest?"

"It's a lie. It's making yourself into someone you're not."

The room fell completely silent and motionless.

The same angry look swept over Susan's face, and she asked, “Are you calling us a bunch of liars?"

"You, Susan, want me to wear makeup for one reason only,” Maggie accused. “And that's because if I wear makeup, people won't be so quick to assume I'm lesbian. You can hide me better then."

Uh oh!

In my mind, I imagined shoving worms back into a can.

"I don't hide you! And I have never once said anything about you wearing makeup!” Susan defended, and I tried to stay on that sacred middle ground, shoving worms instead of stepping on them.

"Well, I think you do. I've never worn makeup, and I never will. Like I said, I think it's dishonest."

Here was another one of those moments that perpetually confounded me: I had gotten what I asked for, but now I didn't want it. At the same time, though, there was a part of me that couldn't leave well enough alone. I opened my lips to speak, and immediately Claudia mouthed, “Don't!” and forcefully pushed her makeup brush over my lips.

Alison jumped in and inadvertently saved me. “I think there are degrees of honesty, Maggie,” she said. “To me it's the inside honesty that's more important than how somebody looks."

Ginny added, after apparently running honesty lectures through her head, “I don't think any of us could survive in this world being totally honest one hundred percent of the time. Sometimes not even with ourselves. As for me, I started going gray before I hit forty. Now I'm in my fifties without a gray hair on my head. Is that dishonesty or a harmless illusion?"

"Actually, it's a darn nice color on you!” Charles offered.

Most of us chuckled. I knew he'd get along with everyone; I did not know he'd be ‘one of the girls’ in so short a time.

"Maggie,” Holly dared, “if you wore makeup would it change who you are or just how other people see you?"

"Both."

Holly then asked me to get a pad of paper, which I did. She got a pencil out of a big case in her purse. She turned to the side, looked at Maggie with a smile, and started drawing. Everyone hovered behind and beside her, totally amazed as she brought Maggie from the far side of the room onto the paper. In a span of time that seemed shorter than it would have taken me to sign my name legibly, she finished and turned the paper toward Maggie. “Is that you?” she asked.

"It looks like me, yes,” she answered, cautiously intrigued.

"Then come sit by Charles and me,” she instructed as she pulled a stool closer to her.

Maggie reluctantly did so. She seemed relieved to discover that all eyes were on Holly and not her.

Holly took some the various eyeshadow shades and gave the drawing eye and hair color. “Okay, Charles,” she finally said. “You're the pro here, so help me out."

"Hmm, I think I'd go with a light lip color against her pure skin. This one,” he said, grabbing the stick of his choice.

Rather than applying it directly to the paper, she matched its shade to an eyeshadow, ran her finger over the compressed powder, and gently worked it into the lip area. She used her pencil to make sure that the shading remained in tact. They went through the same process repeatedly, deciding: light on the mascara, a face powder that matched her skin tone “just to make the picture look realistic,” two tones of peach on her eyes lids, and a little darker shade on her “amazing cheekbones."

Holly penciled in a few finishing touches. She held it up for Maggie to see, and then she asked again, “Is that you?"

"No,” Maggie answered.

I wanted to hit myself up side the head. I don't think I did. Maybe I did. After all of that, a no? I expected an epiphany.

Apparently, Holly hadn't expected the same, as she very nicely asked, “What did I get wrong? What should I fix?"

Maggie shrugged.

"Did I erase part of your nose and make it wider?"

Maggie shook her head.

"Did I pencil in a second chin while you weren't looking?"

Maggie shook her head again.

"Did I make your eyes smaller? Did I move them closer together? Erase your ears? Must be the lips then,” she said, turning the paper in every direction and pretending to examine it. “No, the lips are still there."

Maggie smiled.

"So you're telling me one minute this looks like you, and because I merely add a little bit of color to what was already there, it just doesn't look like you anymore. Is that right?"

Maggie didn't answer.

"What color is your car, Maggie?"

"Blue,” she said.

"Would it still be a car if it wasn't?” she asked but did not wait for a reply. “How about your shirt? What color is your shirt?"

She had to look down to answer that one. I found that funny, but I knew I would have had to do the same.

“White,” she said.

"Would it still cover you if it were purple?"

"I hope so,” she said, and everyone giggled.

"But what? There's something so totally different—orwrong —with you that we add a little color, andpoof, you're just not Maggie anymore?"

"The Department of Defense might be interested in that. Put a little blush on a terrorist and they become Mother Teresa,” Charles whispered.

"Colors can't change something into something it's not, Maggie,” Holly said. “Colors only change how light is reflected by something ... but it's still the same something, whether it's blue or purple."

Holly put down the picture, which Claudia quickly confiscated, gawked at, averted from my grasp, and then passed to the next person until it made the complete rounds ... ending with Susan.Wasn't that just divine intervention, Claudia!

Susan stared at it, her eyes growing wider with each second. “Oh my God,” she finally said. “I honestly didn't think you could be any more beautiful than you already are."

Maggie's face turned red, proving Holly's point: She was still Maggie, even with a drastic color change. She looked down.

"That's it!” Alison was apparently the recipient of the missing epiphany. “You made her pretty, Holly! That's why she doesn't think it's her. She doesn't think she's pretty."

Maggie raised her head, looked at everyone, and asked, “Is this some just some elaborate scheme to get me to put on makeup?"

"No!” Holly assured. “You never have to do anything at these things that you don't want to do. Claudia and Kate are a lot of things, but I don't think they're the kind who would hold you down and force makeup on you."

"Oh gee, thanks for that vote of confidence, Holly,” I said and added, “Maggie, nobody's trying to set you up.

We'll just be in therapy for years, knowing that you're pretty enough without makeup while the rest of us have flaws to hide. It's okay though. Think nothing of it, humdinger."

She smiled, and above her flew the portrait, forced back and forth by Susan's hand. “Can I have this, Holly?"

"Of course! She yours, not mine."

"Okay, ladies, we've only got fifteen minutes left, so make sure your faces are on properly,” Claudia said.

"Hon, you're probably going to kill me for this, but I want to take care of something first,” I said, immediately looking away so that “Don't!” didn't find its way to me. “Maggie, I don't mean to put you on the spot—okay, yes I do. You said before that you think Susan tries to hide you, that she doesn't want to you look like a lesbian.

She says that's not true, but I don't think you believe her. That's a pretty nasty feeling to have inside, especially about someone you love. So as hall monitor or whatever the hell I am in this class, I hereby banish you to a timeout for failure to listen. That corner over there—now!” I instructed, pointing to the corner by the front door.

She was floored, but she did as I asked. Yes, I wielded that much power.

"And you, Susan, I hereby banish you to a timeout as well, for failure to convince. That corner over there—

now!” I said, pointing to the same corner where the confused Maggie stood. “Neither of you are allowed to come out of the corner until that nasty feeling is down for the count. Understand?"

They both grinned at me and took to the corner. I watched them until I knew they were engaged in conversation.

Then I turned my back to them. I feared looking at Claudia, but I slowly did so to find a smile attached to a shaking head.

"What? Would you want to feel like that? I had to do something."

"That's not what I meant,” she clarified. “I only got one of your eyes done. Sit down so I can finish."

Okay, so it wasn't power I wielded. It was fear.

As she finished my face, I noticed how chummy Charles and Holly had become. They chatted about how helpful her drawing was and how much the other knew about color. I saw her kiss him on the cheek, saying,

“You are such a sweet guy!” Then she turned to Laura, who, I must admit, had behaved herself quite nicely throughout our little art class. Holly said, “I just love this man, Laura. Can we take him home? Can we keep him? Please, oh please?"

Laura crossed her arms over her chest, acting as if she were contemplating. “I don't know,” she said. “That's a pretty big decision."

"What if I promise not to poop on the lawn?” Charles asked.

"Well, in that case...” Laura replied, laughing.

I really didn't know any normal people, did I?

Chapter 4

As everybody straightened up, I moved the dining room table and chairs back into their usual position. All the while I thought about trust. Maybe because I had tried to get Ginny to consider it. Maybe because I saw how tenuous it could be, watching Susan and Maggie struggle to find it. I guessed that it really didn't matter. What did matter, though, was that when I opened the door at ten fifteen, there stood Janice. When I opened it again, there stood Charles. We began each session completely dependent upon the fact that our guests would arrive on time. That was unadulterated trust, and that was exactly what it would take now to open the drapery in the dining room.

Claudia did her little hand clapping ritual, and for such a rambunctious crew, they did what was expected of them. They huddled to listen to her next explanation.

"It's lunchtime, and I'm sure you're all hungry” she began. “Kate and I kind of went back and forth on this one.

Should it be Home Ec, or should it be lunchtime? There's a good reason for each, so we decided to make it both."

The glances between them commenced, and it was easy to tell who was famished.

"In Home Ec, they taught us the basics of domestic slavery, and probably how to make some essentials like brownies and chocolate chip cookies. But did they really teach us anything we needed to know to grow up to be strong, healthy women?"

The expected “No!” arrived promptly. That was trust, too. Both ways.

"I mean could any one of us make a lunch for ... say Maggie, being the vegan she is? What we learned was the typical, but what we needed to know was how to personalize,” she said.

Then I jumped in, “And everybody remembers lunchtime. The women who had to ‘aversion to children’ in their job descriptions. And the slop—those piles ofstuff that had names but never quite resembled what they were supposed to be."

Everybody seemed to remember and started tossing out names of things, making faces to match.

"What I remember the most, though,” I continued, “was that lunchtime was the time for revenge. If you were being bullied or if you pissed off someone that morning, lunchtime was when you were paid in full. In class you were safe because it would have been too obvious. But in an unruly lunchroom, it was inevitable that you would be tripped, spat at, kicked, stolen from, or have food slung at you, and nobody noticed. It just kind of mixed into the chaos."

Some nodding occurred, and this time it was easy to tell who had been bullied.

Claudia said, “We'll be combining those two things. We'll be having a lunch fit for a vegan, and we'll be exacting a little revenge.” She smiled wickedly, and I liked it. “Kate, care to do the honors?"

This is where the epitome of trust entered the picture. Either this would come off without a hitch, or we'd feel like buffoons while we waited for the pizza person to set off the bellman.

I pulled open the drapes, and as I did so, the influx of air arrived with the aroma of something cooking. “We have an expert in the backyard who has been busy at the grill. If you'll just find a place to sit, your lunch will be served in just a few moments."

As I entered the porch, I heard the crowd move into high gear. There was no questioning between them about whether or not they would comply. I opened the porch door, entered the backyard, and there I saw our chef du jour, all ready and waiting. Trust!

"Hi there!” I greeted. “It was so nice of you to do this for us. We can't thank you enough."

"Oh, trust me, Kate,” she said, and I did. “I'm getting something out of this, too, and I can't wait."

I laughed as she handed me a big, big platter stacked high with burgers. “Then let's get this show on the road!

I'll be right back."

I reentered the house and set the platter on the table. “Veggie burgers!” I announced, and I knew to expect apprehension. Hell, I was apprehensive.

"What is this, Maggie's revenge on all of us?” Alison asked, and as she did so I realized that Claudia had managed to seat Kris and Ginny in a good place.

Claudia explained, “Alison, this day is about learning new things. If you've never had a veggie burger, you'll learn something. Maggie didn't get a very good deal last time, what with those Mad Cow burgers and all.” She shot dirty looks at Kris and Ginny, and I detected no guilt whatsoever in their eyes.

"Now, if you will all just behave for a moment, I'll go get dessert."

They seemed to think that dessert would justify having to eat a veggie burger. That made me chuckle, and as I left the dining room again, I specified, “Justdesserts."

A moment later, our chef—owner of Molly's Taphouse, home of the Mad Cow—entered the dining room with a greeting and a wide smile. I watched as Kris and Ginny's mouths dropped and confusion set in. Molly was laughing now, and she approached the two of them, balancing a heavy plate with each hand. “A Mad Cow for you,” she said with the first plate. “And a Mad Cow for you,” she said with the second.

Hysterical laughter took over, and then a round of applause erupted so loud that it was jolting. I knew that each remembered how horrible it had been to consume two and a half pounds of burger, plus a pound of cheese, plus veggies, plus fries. It indeed had been hell. We had vowed to take revenge, and here it was. The looks on Kris and Ginny's faces were indeed things deemed priceless, and revenge was indeed mouthwateringly sweet.

"Why you!” Ginny said, rising from her seat and approaching Molly. “How the heck could you go into cahoots with these crazy women? I feel so betrayed!"

Molly spouted, “Gin, there is nothing I'd like better than to see you get even some of what you've got coming to you.” She laughed and hugged the woman who had been her friend since first grade. “And I mean for both the goodand the bad."

Kris was beside them now, mixing into the hug. Then she turned to us. “Okay, you got us,” she acknowledged to the roaring crowd. “But there is no way we can eat all that!"

"Well,” I said, “we're not moving on until you do, so you two had better get busy. We promise to have as much sympathy for you as you had for us."

Drinks and chips made their way to the table, and I realized that the sounds in the room were no different from an elementary school lunchroom. That was trust, too, for I knew that I could depend on each woman there to get swept up into the moment. I suddenly felt very grateful for them all. And for Charles, the poor man who had been talked into staying.

He secluded himself in the living room, as far from the fray as he could get. He stood there smiling, watching us, shaking his head.

"Come on over and eat with us,” I shouted to him above all the noise.

Kris pulled a chair next to her, saying, “Sit here, Charles. How does Mad Cow sound to you?"

"Not fair!” Claudia spouted. “Eat it yourself!"

I then noticed that no one, except Maggie, had even taken a bite of the veggie burgers. They held them mouth-level but did nothing but stare at them, afraid maybe. I grabbed one from the platter, held it high, and said,

“Here's to revenge! Cheers."

While everyone was quick to toast, not one managed to complete the action by putting the burger into her mouth.

"What exactly is in this anyway?” Holly asked.

Maggie quickly replied, “When you're trying something new, it's always better to try it andthen ask what's in it.

That way your mind will stay open to the experience."

"Oh, I see, Maggie,” Laura said. “You're an expert on trying new things now, huh?” She winked at her.

"For your information, I already agreed to let Charles and Susando my face before he has to leave.” Amazingly, she smiled as she said it, but I think it was more at her agreement than at the prospect of clogging her pores with color. It was a huge risk, and I felt proud of her for stepping beyond what was comfortable.

It was not good timing, but everyone dropped their burgers to their plates and another round of applause erupted.

"Please don't make it any bigger a deal than it already is,” she begged. “Just do me a favor and try the burgers, which, by the way, are very good, Molly. Thank you. Claudia and Kate, you, too. Thanks!"

"You're welcome, Maggie,” Molly countered. “And thanks for the recipe."

"That was you who called the store the other day?” Maggie asked.

"Yes, it was. It's probably time we added a veggie burger to our menu."

"What are you going to call it?” Laura asked. “A Vicious Vegan?"

"On a bed of one hundred percent organic cotton,” Claudia added.

"Enough already!” Ginny said. “If we have to eat these humungous things, the least you could do is join us and eat your lunch!"

Holly stood up, held her burger high, and yelled, “Okay, on the count of three, everybody. One ... two ... three!"

Astonishingly, everyone, including me, took a bite. I knew my throat was preparing to set a roadblock to my stomach, but in the nick of time, I realized it tasted okay, rather good actually. I voluntarily chewed it, and it slid where it belonged, unimpeded. “Pretty good,” I said and prepared for another bite of what was once hot-off-the-grill.

The rest of the group seemed to concur, and the feasting began.

Molly kissed both Ginny and Kris goodbye, saying she needed to get back to the bar. Everyone thanked her, and the ruckus promptly resumed upon her departure.

With a mouth full of food, Alison said, “I remember a time when my Home Ec was actually combined with my lunch. We didn'tproperly seal a baked Alaska, and the ice cream melted all over the oven. The b-word of a teacher made us miss lunch to clean the oven. Anybody else have a horror story?"

"I remember one,” Laura offered.

I quickly teased, “Aw, Laura, you wanted to be a domestic goddess? How sweet!"

"Actually, I wanted one,” she corrected with a smirk.

"Did you get one?” Susan asked, and it dawned on me that she was still intrigued by what had happened in our gym class.

"Just the goddess,” she replied and leaned in to give Holly a kiss.

"Oh no, don't let them kiss!” Alison said, hiding her laughter behind an overused napkin.

"Speaking of b-words,” Laura said and cleared her throat. “Doesn't anyone want to hear my Home Ec story?"

"I do, hon,” Holly cajoled. “Go ahead."

"Well, after this big to-do, it's not very funny anymore."

"Just tell the damn story, Laura! We need something to do while these mad cow women take their own sweet time,” I barked.

"Fine. We were making brownies. I bet this happens in every Home Ec class. This guy in our group decided it would be funny to toss a nickel bag of pot into the batter—"

"Oh, and I bet you perp-walked his ass to the principal's office, huh?” I teased. “Did you collar him?"

"No ... I ate the brownies."

"You didn't!” Susan said, coming nowhere near concealing her shock that the lawful one would do such a thing.

“When did you decide to become a cop then?"

"AfterI got perp-walked to the principal's office,” she said, smiling as Susan gasped. “Just kidding. Actually, I was in college when I made the decision."

"Can I be nosy and ask what made you decide?"

Laura got quiet for a moment, and then she said. “It's one of those things they should have taught in school so we can all grow up to be—What is it you keep saying, Claudia?"

"Strong, healthy women,” she replied with an affirmative nod of her head.

"There was a girl in my dorm who got raped. I remember feeling so angry,” she recalled. “But I never sawher get angry. She just shrank away from everything, pulled inside—like there was something wrong with her instead what had happened to her. Eventually she just dropped out. I remember thinking that for something that took a total of ten horrific minutes, she was still being hurt and would always be affected by it. It made me think hard about a lot of things and what I could do. I was studying microbiology. I figured I could spend my time learning about anything the son-of-a-bitch might have given her, or I could hunt his ass down so he could pay instead of her. I dropped out and enrolled at the academy."

"Very commendable,” Kris remarked.

"Not really. Commendable would be finding the sons-of-bitches before they hurt someone. Not after."

"Um, your friendly neighborhood reporter here happens to know that you have been publicly commended for the work you do at the rape crisis center,” I reminded. “I wrote the damn article on it!"

"It's still after the fact,” she maintained.

"Well, I'd want you there after the fact. I think we all would,” Claudia said.

She completely missed the validation in that. Instead, she slowly looked at each one of us individually, including Charles, and then her eyes riveted to Holly's. “Don't talk like that."

Instantaneously, everyone else's eyes took inventory of the people around us, and I found my own coming to rest on Claudia. I thought back to what Ginny had said about not being able to survive in the world being honest one hundred percent of time—even with ourselves. There was a layer of dishonesty that was indeed mandatory—and healthy. That denial allowed us to get up each morning without fearing the worst—even though somewhere inside we knew that the worst was going to happen; there was only one way out of this life.

It was a ‘when’ and not an ‘if', but denial allowed the ‘when’ to retreat and the ‘if’ to be replaced by a ‘probably not.’ It was what allowed us to look at each other, feel a glimmer of fear, and then look away, convinced that there would never be an after-the-fact moment for any of us. There wouldn't be. There couldn't be.

The awkward silence was finally slain by Laura. “We should have just stopped at the pot brownie story. At least that was funny."

"It's okay, hon,” Holly assured as she put her arm around Laura's shoulders. “Things like that are important to talk about, too, because weare strong, healthy women. But yes, it feels better to laugh, and that's usually what these gatherings make us do."

"Are you guys almost done over there?” Laura pleaded. “You've been gnawing on that cow—sorry, Maggie—

for eons."

"Oh, will you guys please let us off the hook? Please?” Ginny begged. “I don't think I eat this much in a week."

Kris covered her mouth with her napkin. “Yes, please. I honestly don't think I can eat anymore. Unless you want me to hurl on your dining room floor, I think you'd better give us a pardon."

I stood up and looked at their plates. For their sizes, they had done an awesome job. I could feel myself relenting.

"Hey, how come you made them both eat one? We at least got to share.” Alison had such a naive way of asking all the wrong questions.

Claudia and I looked at each other and feigned utter shock. “Oh my God!” she emoted. “How did we not notice that?"

"Shit, Claudia, it completely slipped my mind. Shame on us, huh?"

We all started laughing and were not at all shocked when two pickles slices sailed in our direction.

"And for you two, as well,” Ginny said, both of them tossing a pickle slice at Susan and Maggie.

Without thinking, they turned to each other with big smiles on their faces and prepared to reenact the infamous pickle high-five. In midair, Ginny's hand stopped as it slowly came back to her that she was not exactly on speaking terms with Kris. She stared her down.

"You stubborn old bag!” Kris said and stood up to complete the high-five with Ginny's motionless hand. She glared down at her in kind and then placed her hands on Ginny's cheeks. Nearly pulling her head from her spine, she planted a kiss on her mouth.

I wasn't sure if we should duck or run.

"You mad cow!” Ginny spat back, and then the two of them burst into hysterical laughter, quickly followed by the rest of us.

It was the cleansing laugh, the kind that everyone came to our meetings to get. The kind that made all the stresses and negativity leave in a flow of tears. That trust stuff—in ourselves and each other.

As we continued the hysterics, we tried to clean up the incredible mess in the dining room. At one point, Alison chimed in with one of her questions. “Maggie, you said that you'd tell us what was in the burgers after we finished. So what was in them?"

Dread spontaneously replaced laughter. I knew for a fact that I did not want to know. I thought it best to leave well enough alone. Maggie, however, came to a different conclusion.

"Well, it's grated raw beets, oats, almonds, vegetable broth, and a bunch of herbs and spices."

"Beets?” was mouthed by and to every person in the room.

"I've got it!” Charles shouted. “Molly should call her new burger: Beets, Your Meat!"

Hysterics regained its rightful place, front and center.

Eventually, the room was clean, and Charles filled his last order. As he said goodbye and headed to the door, I don't think anyone wanted to see him leave. He fit in so well that it amazed me. He joined with everyone, and it really felt as though he belonged. I believe that he received a kiss from everyone. Holly clung to him as if she were losing her new best friend.

"I'll see you all again soon,” he said as he headed out the door. “I promise! Thank you for a wonderful time."

The door closed, and there was a strange sadness in the air. Holly wrapped her arms around Laura and whined,

“I thought you said we could keep him."

Kris eased her way over to them as Holly hung on Laura. She leaned her head so that it was eye-level with the drooping Holly, and she said, “Holly dear,that's objectification."

"Oh, but I want him, Kris” she wailed, exaggerating to the hilt.

Chapter 5

Everybody finally got a peek at Maggie as she rejoined the group. Charles and Susan did a good job of making it subtle—so subtle, in fact, that she did not look that different. Her eyes, however, really stood out, and in a way, it was like seeing her, or maybe seeing into her for the first time. She seemed nervous, and I found myself relieved that everyone remained respectful, honoring her wish not to turn it into a bigger deal. I snuck her a thumbs-up, and she smiled.

Claudia performed the hand-clapping obey-me-or-die routine, and we were ready for our next class.

"This one again encompasses two things,” she explained. “This time we are off to Earth Science. There will be no Styrofoam balls depicting the planets. There will be no vinegar and baking soda to set off a ten-second volcanic eruption. There will be no trip to the museum to see just how big those dinosaurs really were. Why?

Because none of it helped us grow up to be ... What?"

A chorus of “Strong, healthy women!” sang through the house.

"What theyshould have taught us is how we fit into this whole picture, how we were barreling toward our own extinction. We weren't back then, though, or so we thought. We were just using what was ours to use."

"Yes, then Al Gore came along,” Holly yelled. “I love him!"

"I voted for him!” Maggie added.

"Didn't weall!" Laura said, and, of course, we all started laughing.

Claudia again passed the nonexistent mic to me, and I continued, “Kris and Ginny did something kind of cool last time: having us visit all those kids at the cemetery. Amid all the chaos of that day, it felt good to do something for somebody else. So Claudia and I decided to add a do-gooder to our day as well. I hope you all will consider doing the same when your turn comes.” I paused to let that stick in their psyches somewhere, and then I said, “We're not telling you where we're going because we know you enough to predict bitching and moaning. You'll know when we get there and no sooner. So grab what you need from your stuff, take a pee, whatever—and then meet us at the front door."

Alison was quick to ask, “You said this takes in two things. What's the other thing?"

"We'll tell you when we're ready to leave,” Claudia informed.

Claudia and I went to the front door to wait as everyone took care of business. It seemed foreign to actually have a moment alone with her. I took advantage of it, wrapping my arms around her, inhaling what was left of the shampoo scent in her hair.

Soon, the foyer filled with bubbling and impatient women.

"The second part of this is pretty simple,” I began, loudly enough to get their attention without having to resort to the sound of one Claudia clapping. “If you'd been to only ten minutes of one of our get-togethers, you'd know that as a group we are not normal. Most of us are not normal individually, either, but that's for another day.” I waited until the laughter and finger-pointing ceased. “So this has to do with penance for what we probably were in school: stupid enough to think we could stand in judgment of anyone else."

Nobody had a clue what the heck we meant. I smiled as I opened the door. The group spilled out onto the front lawn, and slowly the bright, bright yellow in the driveway became a neon sign.

Some of them yelled, “The short bus!"

"We grew up to be strong, healthy women who need to ride the short bus?” Holly questioned.

"Pretty much,” Claudia said.

As everyone made a beeline for the school bus, I quickly pulled Susan aside. I wasn't sure what I was about to say was needed, but I had a feeling it was. I figured it was better to be safe than sorry to have removed the closet door without consent. “This will be rather public, Susan,” I said. “If you want to grab your Peter's Palace regalia, please feel free to do so."

She looked perplexed, and I clarified, “The hat and glasses."

"Ooooh! I don't think I need—” she started and stopped, apparently interrupting herself with better judgment.

“Okay. I will."

As she ran to her car, I turned and spied Claudia at the bus’ door, introducing our driver. “This is Phyllis. She will be driving us to our destination."

Phyllis was the only one of our day's co-conspirators we did not know personally, and I hoped we did not live to regret it.

Everyone clambered onto the bus, greeting Phyllis in passing. I found myself amazed that there were no fights about window seats. Maybe it was the do-gooder moniker that kept them from going off the deep end. I hoped that would carry through until we headed back home.

After a short ride through the city and up an on-ramp, we headed down the highway. I enjoyed the fact that they had no clue what we were up to. They looked at every place, wondering if we had arrived. Soon, Phyllis slowed the bus and pulled us onto the shoulder. At first, they thought there was engine trouble, but then when Claudia and I stood, they realized that this was it.This?

"We've adopted us a highway, girls,” I announced. “Three times a year, we are now responsible for cleaning this section of the highway."

"Oh, cool!” Maggie said not surprisingly. “Do we get one of those signs like everyone else gets?"

"Well, there's a story there,” I explained. “Seems the state was not too keen on ‘Sponsored by the Lesbian Adventure Club.’ They said we could use an acronym, though, but I thought ‘LAC’ made it sound like we were indeed in need of a short bus. So I decided to go with ‘DWD’ for Dykes Who Dare. At least DWD sounded like a bra size, abig bra size. So yes, we've got a sign."

"The Big Boob Club! I can dig it,” Holly yelled.

Give a group of obnoxious women a chance to grab themselves, and nine times out of ten, they will. And they did.

My favorite manager got everyone's attention and read the required list of rules and safety precautions. “Above all else,” she emphasized, “be safe and don't do anything stupid. I know that's pushing it for some of you."

I decided not to contemplate which of us she meant, lest I do something stupid like defend myself.

We all disembarked, put the caution signs up, and donned the safety vests the state had supplied and we had stashed under the seats. Then we slid our hands into protective gloves, grabbed trash bags, and began the task at hand.

Spring in the Midwest—or anywhere, I supposed—was an odd thing. It proved beautiful and repulsive simultaneously. Everything that got thrown away over the winter disappeared with each subsequent snowfall.

Each new snow was a clean slate, but then in spring, it all came back to haunt. As the snow left, layer by layer, every piece of crap piled up on itself. The stretch before us could not have been more disgusting. Cans, cups, fast food restaurant bags—you name it; it was there.

We formed a long line, and I suspected that our dear detective must have felt as if we were all cadaver dogs.

At first, it wasn't that bad. Wrappers and bags mostly. Billions served, and all within a half-block radius. There were a few empty coffee cups from my beloved Road Swill drive-thru, and I wondered if any of them were mine. Claudia stared at me with disgust, as though they were all mine. “They're not!” I yelled at her. She laughed, my goat in her clutches.

Part of the blessed safety rules required us to move in an against-the-traffic direction. That meant every passing car got a frontal gander of the long line of women on display, except, of course, for Susan, who was incognito and could not been seen, or so she thought. Occasionally there were waves from passers-by, which we returned when we spied them. Many times there came the loud blaring of horns, as those obnoxious ones of the male gender realized just how hot we were.

"Oh my f-ing God!” cadaver dog one suddenly barked.

We stopped dead in our tracks.

"What is it?” someone yelled, expecting the worst.

"It's a goddamn dirty diaper. Oh shit, it's leaking all over!” cadaver dog one confirmed, and we moved on, quickly.

What the hell had I gotten us into?

Then, it seemed that we had struck the mother lode. Cadaver dogs were barking left and right.

"Rise and Shine ... Oh my God, glow in the dark condoms! An empty box of them. Ewwww!” dog number two barked.

Condoms were definitely not on the top-ten list of things lesbians liked to pick up.

"Just leave ‘em!” one of them said. “Maybe it'll blow into the Chamber of Commerce's section."

Okay, that made sense to me. So did my sudden need for a cup of coffee. I had never seen so many coffee cups in all my life.

Dog number three went off like nothing we had ever heard. “Panties! Somebody threw their damn panties out a car window!"

"Are those yours, Laura or Holly?"

"Hey!” Laura spat. “We have rules about such things!"

"And besides,” Holly added, “I wouldnever throw my panties out the window! Hang them on the rearview mirror, maybe, but never, ever throw them."

That helped. Thanks, Holly.

Now, granted, panties were possibly on the top-ten list of things lesbians liked to pick up, but I didn't think that meant just stray, personless ones—at least I hoped not. “Leave them for the Chamber of Commerce, too."

"What is with all the booze containers?” Kris yelled. “Gin, vodka, beer bottles, beer cans, tequila ... I mean, come on! If you're out on the highway with booze containers, chances are you're drinking and driving. Open intoxicants at bare minimum. This is just creepy! Laura, can't your guys do something about this?"

"We do the best we can. There will always be idiots, and I will always have a job."

Just then another horn blared, and catcalls came madly from open windows.

Cranky Ginny, who, as I said, rarely resorted to Neanderthal methods, cocked her middle finger and aimed it at the car as it sped past. She seemed rather proud of herself.

Yet again, I wondered what the hell I had gotten us into. I kept telling myself that I meant well, and that the fine DWD sign we were promised was worth it, if only to annoy a bigoted state.

As if in slow motion, I watched Susan grab Maggie's hand and started running far ahead of us. She ran while attempting to look back at us, pointing, madly pointing, then periodically using the same hand to secure her wide brimmed hat.

Ginny looked, turned her head, and quietly said, “Dead hawk.” This action repeated itself five more times until the words reached me at the end of the line.

"Three giant steps for womankind, ladies,” I ordered, and we stretched to hold hands and bags between us.

“One,” and we jumped. “Two,” and we jumped. “Three,” and we jumped, and then we ran a few more steps for good measure.

Susan mimed her thanks when we met up with them. Order returned, and we ignored Maggie's questions. What you don't know can't hurt you. Unless of course, it was cancer or a booger hanging out your nose during a job interview.

As if on cue in our little fiasco, cadaver dog four went off, “Holy shit, another pair of panties! A thong this time!"

"Well, at least we now know it was two women. For some stupid reason that somehow makes it seem better.Should it?"

"Yeah, but who was driving the frickin’ car while these undies were tossed?"

"Oh sweet Jesus, let's stop even thinking about it!"

Eventually, we came to the marker that indicated our half-assed job was complete:Sponsored by DWD. As disgusting as the past hour and a half had been, that sign did indeed seemed to make up for it all. We were fine, upstanding citizens, doing our Al Gore-y part to save the earth. And, we were on the map!

Like self-absorbed idiots, we congregated around the pole in the ground, waving to cars and pointing to the sign.

We were violating one of the blessed safety rules: Do not interact with traffic. Rule breaking or not, it felt good.

Most people were quite enthusiastic and just as unaware of what DWD meant. Then, unfortunately, one of those catcalling pickups approached. Like Laura said: There will always be idiots.

Suddenly, the U sound in W ceased to exist. Holly pulled up her shirt as high as it would go and screamed, “D

Double D. Read ‘em and weep, you jerks!"

How the hell flashing oneself could possibly be seen as an affront to a carload of lechers—that was far beyond me, but it was awfully damn funny. I even knew it shouldn't have been, but it was. Fine, upstanding citizens?Oh yeah.

As the mandatory hysterics began, we tied our trash bags, removed and threw our gloves on top, and then placed the bags the specified distance from the shoulder. We made our way back to the short bus, which now fit us like a glove we had just trashed. We stayed to the shoulder, avoiding panties, condoms, and other dead things.

We entered the bus, and I hoped to hell that Phyllis hadn't seen anything.

Then I noticed all the dirty looks being shot my way. Not a one took aim at Claudia. Like Holly, she always appeared the innocent one, and like Laura, I always appeared the culprit. I knew the task would not be well received; Claudia had warned me a hundred times. God forbid, you dared teeter on the edge of what was comfortable! I looked over the ledge now and envisioned my reputational suicide.

"Do-gooder!” Laura said, and it became a mantra amongst them.

"What? We did do something good!” I defended, although I knew that I would return to our section tomorrow to take care of what we as a group were too squeamish to accomplish.

The mantra did not stop, and I finally admitted, “Okay, it was disgusting! I'm sorry. Do-gooder means I will do gooder next time."

"Gee, Sutter!” Laura said. “We're just giving you a hard time."

Oh. I knew that.

Halfway back to our house, Susan made the comment that she felt “yucky” and asked if we could all take showers. Claudia assured her that we could, but she warned that it would take a while for all nine of us and that the last several might be awfully cold. That was when your yoga instructor cautiously mentioned that she could get us in and out of the Y undetected. I thought that was a brilliant idea, assuming, of course, that we took proper precautions. I asked Phyllis if she could still fit that into her schedule, and she said it was not a problem.

Ten minutes later, we parked outside the Y. Alison snuck Ginny, Claudia, Holly, and Susan in first. The rest of us waited. Laura and I desperately enjoyed a cigarette while Kris and Maggie ran across the street to fetch coffees and teas. Without incident, the better smelling ones returned, stole the remains of our beverages, and the rank ones raced in with Alison. A while later, we all smelled good, and the short bus wended its way toward our home.

Chapter 6

When the bus pulled into the driveway, I was relieved to see a familiar car parked there. Our plan unfolded properly. Trust remained in tact.

We congregated by the front door, with Claudia blocking the way.

She clapped a mere three times. “I know we're all tired. Clean, but tired,” she said. “All strong, healthy women need some down time, so this is it. We're heading back to the cafeteria, but this time we've fired the women with the aversions to children and recognizable food."

A round of conservative applause barely erupted.

Claudia continued, “Our chef for the evening will upscale both the atmosphere and the cuisine."

We entered to savor aromas I had never smelled in any cafeteria, let alone my own home. In the kitchen stood a very chef-looking man, complete with the pleated white hat and a matching jacket that sported black buttons and cording.I could get used to this!

"Girls, this is Sam,” I said.

Everyone greeted him, and he removed his hat and bowed his shaven head.

"He's about to graduate from the culinary school,” I added. “He'll get graded on this as an extra credit project, so we'll be taking pictures of his dishes, and he'll have comment sheets for us to fill out later.” I turned to him and said, “We're a little bit early, but don't mind us. Just do your thing. If you need anything, please just ask."

"Everything is under control, Kate. You ladies just sit back and relax."

Oh yeah, I could get used to this.

"All right,” I began again, “since this is a school cafeteria, we'll have to see about seating arrangement."

As agreed, Sam had set the room up so that there were three distinct dining areas.

"The table in the living room here is reserved for nerds, misfits, and troublemakers. If that was—or is—you, please raise your hand."

Both Alison and Maggie started to raise their hands, but when they found no other company in the crowd, they put them back down.

"Too late. I saw you guys!” I said. “Grab a place setting from the counter and have a seat over here.” Then I sheepishly added, “And would you bring a place setting for me, too?"

"Ah, a troublemaker!” Holly shouted. “I knew it."

"I never doubted it!” Ginny declared.

"I was not a troublemaker! You're both wrong."

I was about to desperately change the subject by asking my tablemates in which category they belonged, but Holly had the audacity to continue, “A misfit? Oh, Kate!” There was sympathy in her tone, and I thought it best just to let her think that, but the hotness in my face instantaneously turned me into a neon nerd.

"Oh my God! You were a nerd! Holy shit! A nerd!A nerd!"

"Just shut up, Laura! Just shut up!” I cleared my throat very loudly and glared at her. Desperate to move on, I announced, “The island is reserved for jocks and brainiacs. Hands please."

Just as in school, the higher up the food chain you were, the easier things got. Hands shot up with little shame.

Laura, Kris, and Susan identified themselves. It was easy to peg Kris and Susan as the brainiacs, but Laura? No way.

"You were a jock!” I yelled at her. “Football? Wrestling? Bench pressing? What butchy things did you do, Laura?"

"Actually, I beat up nerds.” She lunged at me and had me in a headlock in no time flat. “I feel a swirly coming on!"

Goddamn, I hated the food chain, but at least this time I had cause to laugh.

She let go of me. As I stood, she smoothed my shirt. “I played lacrosse and volleyball. Problem with that?” she challenged.

"No problem at all. Here, you want my lunch money?"

The three of them took place settings and seats at the island. That left three of them standing there. Claudia, Holly, and Ginny seemed awfully proud of themselves, sitting all high and mighty on the top link of the chain.

"The ever-popular preps?” I conceded, and they all nodded enthusiastically. Yep, it was very easy way the hell up there.

"Well, I wasn't a cheerleader, if that's what you're thinking. I just knew a lot of people,” Holly clarified, somehow thinking she charitably extinguished a burning question we all had.

She didn't seem like the cheerleader type to me. I could easily see her getting lost in the middle of a routine, oozing something like, “Oh my God, these pompoms are so beautiful."

"Wasanyone a cheerleader?” Alison, the ever-questioning one, asked.

I suddenly felt Claudia's eye rivet themselves to me in a way that caused excruciating pain. She stared at me, pulling her lips into one of those mishmashes of dread and apology. I shook my head, knowing full well that again she clutched my goat.

"A nerd and a cheerleader!” Alison said, laughing. “How did you manage that, Kate?"

"No. I didn't manage anything. She's bullshitting."

"Honey?” Claudia beseeched in one of those sickeningly sweet tones. She neared me and grabbed my arm.

“Honey?"

"Oh please, don't say it, Claudia.” I shook my head until it bordered on a seizure.

"Honey?"

"No, Claudia. Donot stand there and tell me that for nine years you just failed to mention that you were a cheerleader."

"For God's sake, you make it seem like I never told you I had genital warts or something."

Everybody seemed to think that was funny, but somewhere inside I failed to fathom the dissimilarity. When you were clinging for dear life to that bottom link, cheerleaderswere a social disease. With a look, they could make you need to hurl. With a dismissive glance, they could inflict the sensation of all blood leaving your body. With a laugh, they could incapacitate. They were the disease, and the poor ones on the bottom link manifested the symptoms.No. No way.

"Oh, get a grip, Kate,” Ginny said. “I was a gosh darn cheerleader, too. Big deal!"

"I don't sleep with you!"

"No, I'll give you that,” she said, and I could hear her scrapping her mind for something better.

"What? Were you traumatized by a cheerleader when you were little? I've heard stories about clowns, never cheerleaders, though,” Alison said very matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, all the boogie men under Kate's bed wore short pleated skirts and shook pompoms at her in the dead of night.” Laura laughed.

Did they?

Somewhere deep, deep inside myself, I laughed right along with Laura. The sound of it was very distant, like a memory. This was all so absurd. I knew that, but I could not seem to move without teetering.

"Come on, everybody,” Claudia finally said. “Let's not hold up what Sam has planned. Take your seats."

She left me standing there, trying to wrap my head around my new reality—as stupid as that need probably seemed to everyone else. She followed Holly and Ginny to the kitchen counter to grab a place setting. I watched her very intently. Then I heard her say, “Sorry, you guys. I'm goingslumming. You're on your own."

Then she returned to my side and to the table of nerds, misfits, and troublemakers.

We all sat down very mechanically while Sam delivered wine goblets and a pitcher of ice water to each table.

Claudia poured a glass, handed it to me, and asked, “Are you okay, hon?"

"This is so stupid,” I replied. “I know it's stupid. I feel stupid. But I can't seem to move.” I took a much-needed gulp of water, thinking maybe it best to throw it in my face to snap me out of ... whatever this was.

"I'm sorry. I should have said something a long time ago."

I did not know what to say to her, so I opted to shut my mouth.

"Iam sorry. I had no idea it was such a big deal to you."

Now to that I had to respond. “Yes, you did. I saw it in your face. You were afraid of me finding out.” I could tell in an instant that she knew I was right.

"I know how to make you feel better, Kate,” Alison offered. “You just need a good laugh."

With that she left the table and came back seconds later with Lover Doll. She grabbed a chair, put the gaping gasbag into it, and then shoved the chair until she remained upright. “Troublemaker, if ever I saw one,” she said.

I smiled at Alison for her effort, but I did not find it funny. In fact, it made me feel worse.

Sam started delivering our first course. As he approached our table, he asked, tossing his head at Lover Doll,

“Will she be needing a plate or will she be sharing with you?” He winked and smiled at me.

I glared at him, but I felt a twitching in the corners of my mouth.

He set large martini glasses in front of us. The contents boasted a beautiful, vibrant mix of orange, red, white, and green. He held one more glass, looked to Maggie, and asked, “Our vegan?"

She nodded with a smile, and he placed the final glass in front of her.

"Not your ordinary fruit cocktail, ladies,” he said loudly. “This is Persimmon Pomegranate Fruit Salad. You'll find fuyu persimmons, pomegranate seeds, and apples, all in a dressing of mint leaves, lemon juice, and honey.

Enjoy!"

Oosandahs raced through the room as spoons clinked on glass.

Before he headed back to the kitchen, he looked at Maggie and said, “No honey in yours."

"I don't get that whole honey thing about vegans,” Alison instantly began. “No offense, Maggie. I mean you all try to be so nice to living creatures and all, but how is putting worker bees out of work a nice thing to do?"

"They're not called ‘worker bees’ anymore,” Laura yelled from the island of jocks and brainiacs. “That isso politically incorrect. They are now ‘vacationing bees.’”

"Are they really?” Holly asked from the table of preps, and laughter rumbled through the house, probably directed more at Holly than unemployed bees.

I thought it was funny, too, but I still experienced nothing beyond twitchy mouth corners. I watched Maggie shake her head, and I didn't feel so alone.

"Are you going to eat any of that?” Claudia asked. “It's awfully good."

More than just about anything negative in life, I hated scenes. I did not want nor would I be a part of one, but damn, I just wanted to scream at her—as stupid as it was, and it was stupid. But why did I want to scream? Had she suddenly changed in my eyes? Was my love for her that superficial? Was it simply the not knowing? Was it feeling like a fool: the nerd and the cheerleader?Argh!

"Come on, honey,” she coaxed. She lifted a spoon in my direction, and I submitted with open mouth, but only because I did not know what else to do.

Then she placed her hand over mine. Usually when I hurt that simple act brought such comfort. At that moment, it seemed to sear.

"I love you,” she assured.

In an instant, red-hot tears spilled from my eyes, and something inside me suddenly echoed with a scream I did not utter.

"Come on,” she said. “Let's just go somewhere and talk."

"No!” I said emphatically. “This is ours. I don't want it ruined because I am a jerk."

"It's not going to be ruined. Sam and these guys are quite capable."

"Please just let it be!"

"Do you want me to get Kris?"

I did and I didn't, so I said no.

"Just go out on the porch then and have a cigarette. Maybe a few moments to yourself will help."

That sounded great, and I searched for a way to do so without looking like I was causing a scene.

Claudia quickly stood up and said, “Sam, that was absolutely delicious! Guys, let's help him out and bring our dishes to the kitchen."

She was good, and I was grateful. She grabbed my untouched fruit salad and shooed me. I calmly made my way toward the porch. The instant I got there, a speeding and pushy Laura elbowed me.

"Think you're just going to sneak a smoke without me, huh?” she challenged.

I followed my instincts and turned to look at Claudia, knowing full well that I had been set up, that she had called the cop on me. She gave me a shrug and an I-meant-well smile.

Laura yelled to the group, “To hell with these seating arrangements. Kate and I have designated the porch as the smokers-only area. I trust someone will deliver Sam's goodies to us.” She cleared her throat and glared at Claudia.

With that, she threaded her arm through mine and pulled me out to the porch. She grabbed us both a cigarette, gave me one, and then lit them both. Hadn't we just done this, but in reverse? I didn't like being on this end, but then I recalled that I hadn't liked the other end either.

"You know,” she began. “Holly's a table up from me, too."

"Yeah, but Claudia'stwo up from me!"

"She was two up when you got together. Today didn't move her any further away.” After a long pause, she said,

“Perspective, Sutter. You seem to look at a lot of things in life like you're still at the nerd table. Everything from the nerd table looks like a long shot."

Ah, long shots! That indeed struck a cord, and suddenly I gleaned some primitive understanding. Claudia had been my ultimate long shot. She was beautiful, smart, articulate, funny, passionate—so many things. And yes, it was that ancient predicament that spawned too many melodramas: She was all these things, and she wanted me.

I remembered fearing that I was going to end up the punch line in some sick cosmic joke.

Suddenly, I heard Sam's voice, “Remember fish sticks that were gooey in the middle? Instead, let's try tilapia planks breaded with panko crumbs and Parmesan, pan-fried in garlic olive oil, and served with dill mango mayonnaise. And what school cafeteria menu would be complete without Tater Tots? Let's try diced Yukon golds, stuffed with goat cheese and crispy pancetta, steamed, and then fried."

"You are god!” I heard Holly yell.

A minute later, Claudia appeared in the doorway with two plates. “Could you two cut a path through the smoke for me? My hands are full."

Laura faked a machete in the foggy jungle. She neared us, and Laura and I both sat down on the floor in front of the couch. She handed us our plates and then sat next to me on the couch. A kiss was planted on my head.

"Do you feel better?” she asked.

"Getting there. I can at least breathe again."

"In this?” she gasped and probably literally. “Promise me you'll eat something."

"I will. I promise."

She got up to make her exit. She went up the step to the dining room, turned, and stopped. Her eyes peered into me. “Honey?"

Oh shit!I looked at her, thought for a few seconds, and asked, “Captain, huh?"

She scrunched her face like she was braving pain, and then very coyly she nodded her head.

I laughed. Yes, indeed, my laugher functioned again.

She turned, took a hesitant step, and slowly turned around again. “Honey?” arrived once more.

Oh shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!I braced myself.

"I do have genital warts. I thought you should know.” She turned quickly and sped away into the dining room that was now in an uproar. I heard “I was kidding!” at least three times.

Laura and I laughed as we stuffed ritzy fish sticks in our mouths. I was famished, and I knew that for me, that was a good thing. Negative emotions killed my appetite quicker than Maggie's tofu.

"Do you ever wonder how you got Holly?” I asked.

"Look at her!” She snickered. “Watch her. Talk to her. Laugh with her. Shit, I think I wonder at least five times a day."

"Do you think you wonder because you don't think very highly of yourself, like you don't deserve her?"

"Oh, I deserve her. I make sure I spend everyday deserving her. You're the writer. It's verb not a noun—not a place you get to,” she said and then paused. “I don't think I wonder because I figure I'm a big schmuck. I think I'm just in awe. Sounds corny, I know—and if you ever repeat this, I will totally deny it.” She slapped my arm.

“What about you?"

"I think for a long time I didn't feel like I deserved her. I felt so damn small. I hated it,” I recalled. “She was very patient with me while I figured out how we fit. My guess is that's why she didn't tell me about the cheerleading thing. I think you're right—and if you ever repeatthat, I will totally deny it.” We both laughed, and then I continued, “I think you're right that I do look at things from the nerd table."

"Yeah, but there's a catch to that nerd table, Sutter. It makes you just as judgmental as anyone at any other table who hurt you. Think about it. You've got this big idea in your head about what a cheerleader is. You judged Claudia based on that idea. That ain't cool, Sutter.” She punctuated with a fish stick in the mayonnaise, aimed, and shoved it in my mouth.

Ouch!Not the fish stick. The truth.

"You haven't had to sit at the nerd table in almost twenty years,” she said. “I don't think if anyone here would have had to guess where you belonged, that they would have put you at the nerd table. If you're still sitting there, that's in your mind only, bud. If you think Claudia's going to turn into some vicious snob now that you know about her passion for pompoms, well, that's pretty stupid."

"Do I have bruises?” I asked, examining my arms. “Or do it just feel like that?"

"I remember being a afraid of them few myself. Don't ever—"

"Repeat that, I know."

"I also remember a few who were absolutely gorgeous. And a few whose—"

Claudia entered the porch, scaring the crap out of both of us. “Kate, I take it you're all right. I can tell because you two are up to no good again."

We laughed, and I stretched my hand up to her. “Come here,” I helped her down, and she sat on my lap.

Laura got up quickly to make her retreat. “I'll leave you two alone so you can shake your pompoms.” In two shakes, she was gone.

"Once you're okay, I know I am going to live to regret the fact that she knows.” Her head hung dramatically, but she smiled. “Areyou okay?"

"Yes,” I assured the both of us. “Are we okay?"

"Of course, we're okay.” She apologized again for not telling me long ago, and I apologized for putting her in a position where she felt as though she couldn't.

"Howdid the nerd get the cheerleader?” I asked her.

"Honey, you pay palimony to a blow up doll—"

Oh, not this again.

"As silly as it seems, you do it because you care about things that most people don't even think about. Just imagine how good that kind of caring might be to a flesh and blood woman. You love me so nice, you take care of me, and despite what the hell you may have just put in your head, I consider myself very lucky."

And then she kissed me. One of those long ones that begged the stomach to drop and bounce back up again only to encore. And one of those that begged for an “Oh God” that I didn't think I'd ever be able to say again with a straight face. And one of those that begged for—

"Meyer lemon sorbet,” Holly yelled upon entering the porch. “Look at these, you guys! They are so beautiful."

That was not quite what the begging was for, but they were indeed beautiful. The bright sorbet had been placed into a hollowed and frozen lemon that sat in an elegant glass. A sprig of mint made the picture perfect, and suddenly Claudia forgot all about those begging kisses and started feasting on something else.

We returned to the house after Claudia finished her dessert and half of mine.

As we filled out comment sheets for Sam, he took pictures of the extra servings he had set aside. Suddenly there was a pop, a loud impact under the dining room table, and then a scream. All eyes turned to us for frantic clarification.

"Pay no attention to that ... someone behind the curtain,” I said in a great and powerful voice.

I looked at the kitchen clock. Six on the dot. We were being paged.

Chapter 7

They clustered around us. I think they came more from curiosity about what the noise was and who screamed than from impatience to get to the next segment of our day. Boisterous conversations began about possible origins, and soon order ceased to exist.

Claudia shouted, “Okay, everybody, listen up!” Then she vigorously clapped her hands.

I laughed to myself, suddenly not seeing my favorite manager, but instead, the captain of the cheerleading squad, rallying the team, pumping up the crowd. I contained my laughter successfully enough, and I would have pulled it off without any backlash had I not looked at Laura. She, too, was laughing, even harder than I was, and as soon as we acknowledged each other, control began to depart.

Claudia clapped her hands again, and this time the loudest snort I had ever heard ripped out of Laura's nose, a demon released. She grabbed her stomach, bent way over, and I could see her body convulsing with laughter.

That was when I snorted, so crudely that I had difficulty fathoming it as a human sound, much less that it came from me.

Claudia's head forcefully whipped to me, then to Laura, and back to me. She was not stupid; she knew just how juvenile we were, and she knew just what made us laugh. “To the first person who saysanything: I will shove a captain's whistle up your ass, out your throat, and make you blow!” she yelled, but it was obvious she worked very hard to appear unamused.

It could have stopped there. Really it could have. I could have just swallowed really hard and been done with it, but I had such a hoard of unspent emotion within me that my body seemed to scream for an outlet. And so I did it. I took my life in my hands, and I whistled. It was a wet, half-assed number that sounded more like Lover Doll had blown a nipple. Tears streamed down my face. My legs gave out, and I found myself kneeling on the floor, covering my head from the wrath I knew was headed in my direction. I saw her feet in front of me, now pointing in my direction, but I felt no fear. I figured that at that point a good slap, playful or otherwise, might do me good. In fact, I thought it might be the only thing to save me.

But I was wrong.

As if taking one for the team that Claudia tried so to rally, Laura whistled, too. And then Holly. And then Alison. On and on, until the lot of us were whistling—and laughing uncontrollably. I don't think some of them even knew what the hell was so funny, but by then, it did not matter. We were what was funny. Claudia finally gave in, collapsing next to me on the floor, laughing and wiping tears from my face.

Eventually the laughter waned. I looked up and saw Sam staring down at us.

"God, I'm glad I'm a gay man,” he said. “You guys are absolutely unbelievable."

"Did you slip something into the sorbet, Sam?” Claudia asked.

"No, but I should have. Something calming,” he replied. “Now are we going to do this or not? My guy's din din is getting cold."

Oh yeah.

"Everybody!” I yelled, absolutely refusing to clap my hands. “We're ready to learn about the people under the stairs, but first you have to hand over your keys.” I got up from the floor and grabbed the waiting brandy snifter from the top of the refrigerator. I held it out expectantly.

"Keys?"

"Yes. If you embark on this next part, you are stuck here. A cab or a call is your only means of escape. Now hand them over."

Reluctantly, they did so. I swirled the brandy snifter and thanked them.

"Oh my God,” Alison said, “I just saw something like this on that Frigid Detective show the other night!"

"Frigid Detective?"

"There's no such thing as a frigid detective. Trust me."

"Well, whatever. The one with the detective who cuts her hair with a weed whacker. You know the one.

Anyway—"

"Ah, Cold Cuts."

"Anything's better than Frigid Detective."

"Thereisn't such a thing as a frigid detective. Shut up!"

"Anyway!” Alison said loudly. “It was the 70s or something. Everybody was at a party, and they put their keys into a snifter. You grabbed a key, and whoever's keys you got you slept with. Swinging or something, and somebody got killed."

Everyone instinctively looked to the others in the room. Yes, we loved each other, but “Uh uh! No way!” raced from beginning to end.

"Alison,” Claudia said, “that is not what we're up to. Trust me. And anyway, what would happen if you picked out your own keys? That's just stupid.” She looked at Alison, and it became obvious that her sole intent was planting seeds of absurdity in Alison's mind to give her something ‘productive’ to do. They would eventually sprout, but it was never immediate.

"How many here partied when you were in school?” I asked.

Every hand shot up. “Did anyone ever teach you how?” Claudia asked.

The resounding “No!” came forth.

"We're just combining a little Sociology with a little Health,” I said. “All you have to do is have a good time, socializing with anyone except the porcelain goddess."

Claudia yelled, “Do we want to be strong, healthy women or lushes?"

"Strong, healthy women!” ran headfirst into “Strong, healthy lushes!"

We then explained that our helpers had been locked in the basement since we arrived home and that we needed to free them. Everyone moved toward the basement door, thanking Sam for a fabulous dinner.

"I get to come with you,” he said. He picked up his platter of extra servings and joined the charge.

I wasn't sure how many of them had ever been in our basement of broken dreams. We spent a considerable amount of time finishing it and installing a bar, lights, music—turning it into a real party room for two who rarely partied. Now, it was simply part of the path to the laundry room or a swanky place to crouch when tornado sirens blared.

As we entered this time, though, it proved to be everything we had dreamed—and it finally had a damn good reason to exist. Our helpers turned on the music when we hit the steps, and lights danced throughout the room.

From behind the bar, our bartender lamented, “I thought you guys forgot about us!"

"Never, lover!” Sam said and made his way to offer food and a kiss.

"I thought you said you were a gay guy, Sam!” Holly exclaimed. “I'm telling."

"And I thought you were a good girl, Holly,” the bartender countered.

Holly stopped dead in her tracks to do a double take. She twisted her brow in confusion and then wailed,

“Charles! Oh my God, Charles. You are so beautiful.” She turned to us, evidently assuming we were all intellectually challenged, and announced, “It's Charles! Oh my God, it's Charles!"

"That's Charlize. Thank you.” He beamed.

"Get out here and let me look at you!"

He obliged and did a little glamour girl twirl for us. He was indeed beautiful, not at all trashy like some queens who demeaned women at the same time they sought to join them. He was a knockout in a very respectable way and just genuinely seemed to feel good in his own skin: with makeup, a dark tailored suit with sparkly pants, and long black hair. Classy, indeed, and one of the sweetest men I had ever met.

They hugged like long lost friends, and Holly tried to take his earrings. We simply watched, not so much with interest, but more because they blocked our way.

"Why didn't you tell me you weren't a good girl?” he asked her, his hand on his hip, pretending to be seriously concerned.

"I am a good girl,” she professed, contorting her face again and tilting her head to the side. “What makes you think otherwise?"

"Because I've been locked in the basement for the past two hours with Janice,” he answered and pointed to the couch on the far side of the dimly lit room.

Holly looked but could not make the connection right away. Then her mouth dropped at the same time Laura said, “Oh Jesus."

Kris corrected, as any good professor would, “Actually, Laura, I think it's ‘Oh God.’”

They ran over to Janice and started oozing apologies until it was rather deep. I wished the lights were brighter so I could actually witness a McCallister blush, if there even was such a thing.

I kissed Sam and Charlize and thanked them for their help.

"I just want it stated for the record,” Charlize said. “Janice shot the champagne cork into the ceiling, not me."

"And who screamed?” the astute Claudia challenged.

"Um ... Can I get you girls drinks? That is what I'm here for. Who is the Margarita Queen anyway?"

"That would be Ginny here,” I answered, reeling her in. “Sheloves a good Margarita."

"Well, girl,” he said, “I made pitchers."

Ginny glared at me. I could deal with her grumpiness now—now that I knew it neared its end. At least, I prayed it did.

Most of us opted for Margaritas, and we spread out into the room with our salty swill.

I saw Alison become very animated as she made her way to Janice. They were both good souls, and I crossed my fingers that something might blossom. Lotuses in the lotus position.

Susan asked, “Are all your little helpers going to join us tonight? What about Phyllis and Molly?"

"We don't really know Phyllis. Plus, I think we scared her,” Claudia remarked.

"And Molly,” I said loud enough for Ginny to hear. “We asked her, but she had more important things to take care of, I guess."

Claudia held her glass high. “There are five levels of intoxication. What is the first level, ladies?” she shouted.

A few adjectives took laps around the room, but not one earned the victory lap.

"It's Gifted,” she clarified. “You know. Your wit becomes sharp, and everything you say is incredibly funny.

Your vision becomes more attuned, and suddenly every woman you see is absolutely gorgeous. Your insight deepens, and you suddenly have defensible opinions about everything under the sun."

"To Gifted!” I shouted, and everyone with a drink raised it in a toast.

Those without drinks scrambled to the bar, evidently worried about being giftless.

I found myself thankful that we knew and trusted them all—and vice versa. This was not intended to be a drunken farce. We wanted simply to loosen the inhibitions a wee bit.

Laura whizzed by at that point and asked Claudia, “Am I gorgeous yet?"

"No,” she answered. “But you're awfully funny."

"Keep drinking, then.” She clinked Claudia's glass with her own, slid her arm around Holly's waist, and pulled her further into the room.

See, with this borderline crew, we were talking tablespoons, not shots, fifths, or the now infamous vat of vodka.

Eventually, we all took places on the couches or on the floor in front of it. Charlize sailed through with the pitcher of Margaritas and topped off the glasses of the so inclined. He returned with other drinks for the nonconformists. The conversations swirled in all directions and encompassed all. There was a recap of the day's events; a brief overview of Sociology from Professor Kris; debate about 60s versus 70s music; a eulogy for what hair bands had slain; a few bad jokes; and a serious discussion about purple shirts. We were oblivious to the passage of time.

In due course, Claudia stood and held her glass high. “What's the second level of intoxication, ladies?” she asked above the din.

The lapping adjectives this time bordered on crude and bizarre, but again, no victor emerged.

"It's Guru,” she said, refusing to add the “duh!” that lurched on her lips. “At this level you begin to recognize thatyou are the most gorgeous one in the room and those of lesser gorgeousness all want you. Your opinions have now become facts, and it finally dawns on you that no one knows as much as you—it's up to you to educate them. You pity every fool around you, and you help them drown their sorrow by supplying rounds of drinks for them all."

"To Guru!” I yelled, and the ritual upraising followed.

"Well, at leastnow I know I'm gorgeous,” Laura quickly remarked.

"Thank God” Ginny added. “I've been waiting fifty some years to turn gorgeous. I thought I was always going to stay pumpkin."

Holly swung into Ginny from two seats over on the couch. “You are gorgeous, Ginny!"

"I always thought so,” Kris said. “Ginny, are you insinuating I've had bad taste all these years?"

"I'm notinsinuating anything!” Ginny snarled.

Claudia interrupted, “Uh, uh, uh! You are not allowed to be argumentative at level two!"

"How long have you too been together anyway?” Susan asked.Tread lightly, Susan!

There was no hesitation. Ginny declared, “Twenty-five years this Thursday."

Kris looked at her and smiled. “Twenty-five good years. I wouldn't trade them for anything."

I saw tears well in Ginny eyes, but I knew that it wasn't because Kris had touched her heart. It was because we were cruel.

"You know what I hate the most about drinking?” I asked, as obnoxiously as could and unwilling to await an answer. “Nicotine fits. I need a smoke. Laura, that's your cue."

She was taken aback but played along with me.

"Ginny, you, too,” I ordered.

"I don't smoke."

"Well, there's something blowing out your ears. Move it!” I went to her, grabbed her hand, and helped her off the couch.

Kris stared at me with wide, questioning eyes, and I just shook my head at her. “Too far,” I mouthed.

The three of us made our way to the porch. The evening had cooled down considerably, bringing a chill that felt good. Laura and I each lit a cigarette, and then I asked Ginny if she had seen Claudia's irises in the backyard.

She was interested, as I knew she would be, and we left the porch to go have a look.

A large patch on the back of our lot boasted about two hundred purple and white irises. Claudia had planted them when we first moved in, and she hoped to successfully transplant them into the yard at her grandmother's house.

"She only planted a few initially,” I explained. “Every year they come back, stronger in stature and number."

"You're going to defecate pearls of wisdom, aren't you?” she asked, but at least she was laughing. I laughed, too, at what an English professor could create with a few synonyms.

"Do I need to? Because I will—until you're standing up to your eyeballs in them."

"I'm just pouting, Kate,” she admitted. “Like a two-year-old. Very unbecoming a woman my age, but my feelings are hurt."

"She loves you, Ginny. You know that. And you know she would never intentionally do anything to hurt you.

You know that!” I emphasized, just short of screaming. “So either you're looking at this all wrong or she's holding out on you."

She lost herself in thought for a moment, and then she turned abruptly to me. “Is she? Is she holding out on me?”

She looked desperate for something to hang onto before she slipped into despair.

I frustrated myself so badly sometimes. I put on the bravado of one so gung-ho to take people out in these silly games we played. When push came to shove, though, I invariably flinched.

"Let me say this and only this,” I began. I put my hands on her shoulders and looked her squarely in the eyes.

“She trying very hard make you happy. I know it doesn't seem like it, but just trust her a little while longer. If you can't, then trust me."

"You're holding out on me, too."

Damn!I heard my name being scratched onto her shit list.

"You're both playing me,” she said, and with nearly an audiblepoof, her brain cooked on all four again.

"Then trust her. Play right back at her! Don't take your frickin’ marbles and go home to pout."

"You're right,” she said.Yes! “She doesn't have that many marbles to begin with. This should be easy.” She quickly turned to head back into the house. Stopping briefly, she kissed me on the forehead and said, “Thanks, dear."

I headed back to Laura on the porch, shook my head, and took the last gulp of my Margarita. After we put our smokes out, we headed to the basement.

Charlize refilled our drinks, and I found Claudia and sat next to her. Ginny had returned to her spot next to Kris, who kept looking at me as though I should be able to telepathically communicate the entirety of the conversation I had just had. I smiled, I nodded—I did whatever I could inconspicuously do to reassure her.

Nothing seemed to work. When Ginny leaned to the coffee table to retrieve her drink, I gave a hearty thumbs-up to Kris. She seemed to breathe again.

The noise level in the room increased, laughter reached new heights, and voices now competed with each other.

Level two: achieved! I kissed Claudia on the neck and whispered, “Go for it."

She stood, not quite as gracefully as she had prior, and raised her glass yet again. “What is the third level of intoxication, ladies?"

This time, however, her words garnered no response. The activity continued unabated.

I grabbed her and pulled her onto my lap, and in the process, a shower of Margarita burst forth.

"Do you want me to whistle?"

"Don't you dare!"

"How about I clean you up then?” I suggested, kissing the lime and tequila from her fingers and face.

At first she let me. Then she pushed my head back, shoved her now empty glass into my hand, and stood determinedly.

"Yoooooo!” she bellowed until attention was had from one and all. Then she yelled her question again, “What is the third level of intoxication?"

The adjectives were a bit cruder and just as bizarre, and Claudia shook her head wildly, as they all sputtered and stalled.

"See, that's why you need someone to teach you. That's why we have these stupid classes for you,” she said, and I got the feeling that she wobbled awfully close to level three. “The third level of intoxication is where strong, healthy women do not go! Gifted, Guru, Gladiator, Gacker, and Goner. Strong, healthy women do not need to go beyond Guru.” The subsequent burp went a long way to reinforce her teachings.

I jumped in before she could reinforce anything else. “You cannot go past this point. You are more than welcome to stay at this point, if you choose, but you cannot go beyond. Charlize and Sam have sodas, juices, coffee, snacks—whatever. Donot go beyond this point. Promise?"

To that, all glasses were raised and “Promise!” momentarily drowned out the music. It seemed an oxymoron, but trust had prevailed all day.

Chapter 8

I gently pulled Claudia with me onto the couch. “Are you okay? You want me to call Earl for a little sobering advice?"

"I'm okay,” she assured. “Earl would be a party pooper. Besides, I actually feel pretty good.” She patted her face, as if verifying that it was still there. “I can't remember the last time I drank this much."

"You sure you're still level two?"

"Level one, baby,” she growled. “You're still the most gorgeous one in the room.” She straddled me and then laid a kiss on me so long and wild that it sucked the breath out of me, and I knew in a gasping instant the religion of “Oh God."

Choices. Choices. Damn choices! The booze had weakened her inhibitions, and through the fractures, her passion escaped—the passion she historically reserved for our private times—of which this was most definitely not one. I could take what she tendered or I could respect who I knew her to be. It was a big ... choice ... a monumental ... decision ... that required ... a lot ... of ... thought ... and ...Oh God!

"Honey!” I finally said through flattened and tingling lips. “I'm getting Earl before we do something you'll regret."

Her kissing slowed until her passion merely simmered. “Shit! Okay, you better do that. I've got to hit the bathroom anyway.” She moved to sit next to me and patted her face again.

"I say hold off on taking a pee until it's absolutely necessary; otherwise, you'll break the seal."

"What the hell does that mean? Break what seal?"

"Break the seal,” I repeated. “If you pee once, you'll have to pee a thousand times."

She still didn't understand, but I knew that eventually she would.

I made my way upstairs to brew a cup of tea for her. The house was dark as evening submissively gave in to the night. I turned on lights, set the kettle to boil, and stole a smoke while I waited.

When I returned to the basement, I found her stretched out on the couch where I had left her. In front of her, Maggie, Susan, and Holly sat pretzel-legged. The four of them talked madly all at the same time. I figured that when the fits of laughter came, each laughed at herself because she couldn't possibly have understood what anyone else had said.

As I approached, she sat up to make room for me. I carefully handed her the mug of Earl, and I could tell that she was grateful. I gave her a few minutes to sip, and then I reminded her that we needed to stay on schedule.

Since I knew that Earl rain was much harsher than Margarita, I took the mug from her as she stood.

"Everybody!” she yelled. “We need to keep moving. The school day is not over. Now we head to Psychology."

She received undivided attention rather quickly this time, and I noted everyone's reaction, especially Kris'. She crossed her arms over her chest and made what I could only call an “I dare ya” face.

Claudia looked at me with glassy, imploring eyes, and I knew that the mic had been prematurely handed to me.

I began, “In Psychology, they taught us about the psyche, the ego and the id, disorders, and a whole bunch of hoo-ha. But they forgot an important lesson. When you're in school, you can't even pick your own clothes; it's dictated by the label. You can't even choose your own hairstyle; it's dictated by magazines. And you certainly can't pick your own friends; you must qualify. So what did we need to learn in order to grow up to be strong, healthy women?"

They stared blankly at me. I was neither a manager nor a squad captain. I failed to ignite. I failed to incite. I failed to be Claudia, and I found that to be extremely ironic at that moment. My own imploring eyes made the return trip to Claudia, the imaginary mic lobbed in her direction.

"They should have taught us how to be someone we're not!” she shouted, and the lot of them yelled “Yeah!”

“Strong, healthy women need to know how to pull that off and still retain who they are."

"Yeah!” came again. They were incited, and I knew that it was safe to take the mic back. “So what we want you to do is to stop being yourself. Until the end of class, you will be your partner. Mannerism, speech, beliefs—the whole she-bang.” I searched out Alison in the crowd and found her on the far side of the room, sitting with Janice. “Alison, you can either hook up with Janice and give it a try or just enjoy the ride."

Then I looked to our bartender and chef. “You guys are welcome to join in as well."

Both of them shook their heads theatrically as if I had just invited them to pour gasoline all over themselves while I lit a match. I stuck out my tongue at them and called them chickens.

"Okay, from here on out, you are your partner."

Partner looked to partner, and each remained clueless. I admit, I was, too, or maybe just uncomfortable. We needed an icebreaker or maybe an ice pick. My eyes raced to those who usually dealt with the icy situations.

Nothing.Shit! I would have to take the berg by the horns.

I very dramatically ran up to Laura. “Oh my God, Holly, where did you get those pants? I love them. Were they on sale? Do they come in green?"

Laura immediately starting laughing and wailed, “Oh, that is so sweet that you noticed! Oh my God, there is such a beautiful sale going on. We should go! Oh, let's go! That would be sweet! But do you think they make my butt look big?” She slapped her hands to her face, turned her body, and stuck her ass out as far as she could without falling over.

Our indignant but laughing partners moved into the fray, walloping us on arrival. Then Holly stopped, grabbed her crotch, shook one leg a bit, and shouted, “Hey, Kate, mine's bigger than yours is!"

A giggling Claudia replied, “Oh no, it's not! Why mine hangs all the way down to here!” She proceeded to grab her ankle, and I realized that Earl had not done a very good job stabilizing her. She landed on the floor, laughing hysterically.

Susan suddenly approached. She put her hands on her sides and thrust her hips to and fro like exclamation points. “You know,” she said. “It is very sexist and demeaning to all women to assign them male body parts.

Women do not have testicles or penises. Think about the cosmic ramifications of what you're doing!"

Maggie was not laughing. She said, “Oh, Maggie, they mean no harm. It's all in fun.” I swear she bit her tongue.

Susan stared her down. “Itis harmful!” she emoted. “It fills the world with negative energy, and that affects every living thing. We all should be allowed to be who we are, unencumbered and free!” To dropping jaws, she performed that magic trick that all women know. She unclasped her bra, pulled a strap out each shirtsleeve, andpresto chango: with one long, quick pull, she was braless. She whipped it, and it sailed in the direction of Sam and Charlize, who ducked behind the bar as if that lit match had been thrown. She kicked off her shoes and began twirling in lopsided circles. Then she, too, landed laughing on the floor.

With hands outstretched, Ginny walked into the center of our gathering. “I think I can explain this all, girls,”

she said, looking oh so serious and sounding like a lecturer. “After all, I am the expert. I can diagnose and cure you before you even know what hit you.” She paused to look at Kris, whose arms were still crossed and lips were held tight so she couldn't smile and give herself away.

"Yes, I can do that,” Ginny continued. “But my own behavior? Well, I have a double standard you wouldn't believe. But let me try to explain since I am so in love with the sound of my own voice.” She stopped to clear her throat. “See Ginny over there? Well, I've been a very consistent and loving partner to her for almost twenty-five years, but then I decided to hell with tradition and trust.”Uh oh! “To hell with our yearly trip after semester's end! To hell with celebrating us. To hell with anniversaries and looking ahead to the next year. I have more important things to do!"

I held my breath here.

Kris rose from the couch and walked up to Ginny. She smiled at her, and I did not think that anyone, especially Ginny, expected it. Then she said, “On a good day, I would probably cuff Kris upside the head and ask her just what the heck she was thinking. On a good day, I would trust that there was indeed something so important that she had to change the rules like that. On a good day, I would wag the trust finger at myself and not at her. See, trust goes both ways. How many times have I told you all that?"

She looked at us each individually. How we ended up on the hot seat of shame was beyond me. Each of us met her eyes, and then we penitently lowered our heads.

Her eyes stopped on Ginny, and relieved, we all breathed again. She continued, “On a bad day, though, my feelings get hurt. Twenty-five years, after all, is a gosh darn big deal. It's the silver one, you know. So instead of trusting this creature who has been trustworthy for decades, why, I just give up and pout like a little girl who doesn't think she's going to get what she wants for Christmas. Santa could be busy in his workshop. Elves could be all around me. Why, there could even be presents hiding—like maybe even in Kris’ pocket right now. But I cannot see. My mouth is in such a big pout that it's covering my eyes."

Ginny was indeed blinded by what hurt her; the big ass neon sign Kris just flashed at her went completely unnoticed. Instead, she railed, “Yes, and I would be doing my utmost to reassure!"

"I have been, you stubborn old bag!” Kris yelled, reclaiming and defending herself. “Short of telling you that I'm busy in the damn workshop, I've given you hints all along. You are so pig-headed!"

"Is that a clinical term?” she asked, unamused.

Kris slapped her thighs, bent over, and let out a scream of exasperation. “I think I like being you better. More gets accomplished,” she said. “Ah, maybe I should be the both of us!” She turned and stood next to Ginny. To the vacant space where she had just stood, she yelled, “Oh, Kris dear, did I just hear you say that there was something in your pocket?” She hopped back to her original position. “You mean when I told you that presents were hiding, like maybe even in my pocket?” She moved back next to Ginny, cocked her head, and shouted,

“Kris dear, are you telling me there's a present in your pants’ pocket?” Then she waited; we all waited.

After what seemed like the passage of another twenty-five years, Ginny turned to her and asked, “Are you?"

That time we all let out a scream of exasperation.

She smiled and scooted behind Kris. She reached her arms around her and then stopped just as quickly. “If this is somebody's sick way of getting me to frisk her in public, Iwill be mad."

Kris crisscrossed her hands, grabbed Ginny's, and with a dosey-do maneuver, twisted around to face her.

Ginny's arms were now crisscrossed. “Listen!” she said. “I watched you sit and write every clue for that scavenger hunt, all the way down to counting the darn syllables. You connived, you plotted, and you took utter delight in messing with everyone in this room! If anyone's messing with you—which I joyfully admit that I am—you've got it coming to you."

"She's lying, girls. I did not.” She smiled, and it was the first soulful one I had seen all day. She spun Kris around and stuck her hands in both of her front pants’ pockets. Seconds later, she stared at a few of those cheesy paper luggage tags airlines distribute at check-in counters. In her other hand, she held a set of miniature keys on an Eiffel Tower keychain.

Like a skilled orchestra conductor, I raised my hand high and pointed down to Alison. With perfect syncopation, she shouted, “Hey, I thought we were supposed to hand over our keys!"

As they say, I amazed even myself. “Unless we're playing Honey-I-Shrunk-the-Little-Woman, I think it's okay,”

I retorted as I watched Ginny try to make sense of her clues.

"This tells me very little,” she pronounced.

"It tells you enough. Now go back to being me because we've already ruined Claudia and Kate's little game.”

She grabbed Ginny by the cheeks, gave her a kiss, and said, “Trust me."

"I am the most frustrating person I know,” Ginny said. She smiled sheepishly and clarified, “That would be Kris speaking, not me."

We all laughed, and then the free-for-all began again.

"That is so sweet, Kris!” Holly gushed.

Laura grabbed her around the waist and corrected, “That is not what I would say!"

"Oh yeah!” Holly reminded herself, laughing. She lowered her voice and shouted, “That is f-ing something, Kris!"

This time I jumped in to help get the ball rolling again. “Holly, isn't it just so funny that we can do what we want, and they end up taking the rap for it?"

Laura replied, “Oh, it is so sweet. We are bad, bad girls, but all they do is smile at us, and they look at those two bozos as the troublemakers they are! Sweet! So sweet!"

"Holly, I think you should lock Laura in the shower again! Show her who's boss."

Laura's mouth opened wide. “Oh my God, Claudia, like that is such a good idea! Absolutely beautiful.” She charged Holly and lifted her over her shoulder, failing to remember that basement ceilings were far lower than upstairs ceilings. She twirled her around several times, until her crouching legs could give no more. Thankfully, a good portion of the couch broke their fall.

Holly jumped on top of her. “I wouldn't argue if you did lock me in the shower, as long as you came with me.”

She leaned down and kissed her, those hips of hers genuflecting in true Laura style.

I figured that was the end of them. They were literally down for the count this time. Instead, Laura abruptly pushed Holly back. “Oh see, I like this way too much. I like being Holly on the outside with Laura on inside.

Then when I want you all I have to do is this.” She sat straight up, knocking Holly off of her. She grabbed her own breasts, squeezed several good ones, and then faked an echoing moan.

Holly dove. “Those are mine!"

Alison suddenly yelled, “Non-sexual, ladies!"

Like a trooper, Janice piped in, “I don't think it's sexual, Janice. I think she's just going for Supta Virasana."

"Oh my God!” Alison said. “The heroine position? Oh my God, you know yoga, too!"

The two of them started conversing wildly.Yes!

Suddenly there were arms around me from behind. “Is that you or me?” I asked.

"It's me,” she said. “And I want you back."

We decided to sit off by ourselves for a while. She rested her head on my arm, and I could tell that Earl was slowly winning the battle with Margarita. She seemed thoughtful again. We simply enjoyed each other and watched the chaos from the periphery.

Soon, she did one of her “Honey?’ whimpers, and I got worried.

"You've got me scared to go to the bathroom,” she said, “but I'vereally got to go! Can I break the seal or whatever?"

"Oh my God, hon! Of course, you can! You didn't have to wait that long. I was just kidding.” I stood up, laughing. I clutched her hand and pulled her up. “Come on. I'll take you."

When we got to the other side of the basement, we found Maggie sitting by herself near the stairs.

"Is Susan in the bathroom?” I asked, thinking I'd have to rush the rupturing seal upstairs.

Maggie simply shook her head. She seemed vacant and restless at the same time.

"Is something wrong, Maggie?” Claudia asked as she sat down beside her.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not really sure. I think maybe I made of a mess of things."

She told us how she and Susan had played along with the role reversal thing and how Susan seemed to be so into it. She said, however, that no matter what she did or said, it seemed to make Susan frustrated and angry. “I told her we should just stop then, that it wasn't fun anymore. She said she needed some air and told me not to come with,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “I'll fix it when she comes back. If I hurt her or made her mad, I sure didn't mean to."

"Maggie, we know that,” Claudia said and then inquired, “How long ago did she leave?"

"About fifteen, twenty minutes."

"Claudia, you hit the bathroom. I'll go have a smoke and see if I can accidently run into her,” I said. I looked at Maggie. “Whatever happens, we'll deal with. You're not alone. It's probably nothing anyway. Maybe she did just need some air."

I started up the stairs and then stopped to shoot Charlize a look. Within seconds, he was seated alongside Maggie as Claudia made a desperate dash to the downstairs bathroom.

I hit the porch and cleared my throat and coughed a few times, trying to make my presence obvious. Nothing. I went into the backyard and displayed a sudden interest in the newly arriving stars. Nothing. I made the trek around the entire house. Not a thing. After coming back in through the front door, I checked every room. Not a frickin’ thing. I rifled through the keys in the brandy snifter. The “I think therefore I am vegan” keychain gave me a pretty good indication that wherever Susan was, she was not behind a wheel.

Then I headed back downstairs. A hopeful Maggie looked to me for reassurance. Charlize and Claudia were seated on either side of her.

"She's gone,” I said.

Chapter 9

"I'm going to look for her!” Maggie shouted as she rose.

"No, you're not,” Claudia said, grabbing her arm. “If she's mad, it's safer for you two to deal with it here—not out there. We'll find her."

"I'll go,” I volunteered and spun on my feet to head back up the steps. “I'll bring her back."

Claudia grabbed my arm as well. “Are you nuts? You're not going alone. I'll go with you."

I assured her that I would be fine and that she needed to remain to make sure our next segment went off without a hitch—in case I wasn't back in time.

"Fine, but you're taking someone with you."

Laura and Holly stood near us now. I figured the entire room had caught onto what had happened. Laura stepped up and said she would go with me at the very same time Claudia asked Maggie, “Who does she trust the most?"

Maggie looked at Laura as she put her foot on the first step. “I think she's afraid of you."

"Aren't we all!” Claudia pulled Laura back. “Who does she trust?"

Laura looked hurt. Despite her bravado, I don't think she appreciated the fact that she intimidated someone she cared about. Wonders really didn't cease.

Maggie looked around the room. “Both Kris and Ginny."

"They can't go. They have to be here,” I said adamantly.

"Holly, then,” she affirmed, and Holly was most agreeable.

"I'll grab my cell and let you know when we find her,” I shouted as Holly and I made a beeline upstairs.

I grabbed my cell from the counter and my cigarettes from the porch, and we were off.

When we hit the front curb, we had a choice. Our house was just barely within the city limits. To the left, we would head back into the city. To the right, we would encounter a rural area only a short distance down the road.

Holly deduced that if she were upset, she would not head in the direction of people and lights. That made sense to me.Should it have made sense? We headed to the right, toward pitch-blackness in the distance.

For quite awhile, we walked, watching for signs of movement and listening. Periodically, we'd yell out Susan's name. I vacillated between concern and anger. As one who did not like to cause scenes, I did not appreciate those caused by others. As shitty as things could get, you grabbed yourself by the balls that women didn't have and you dealt with it—however you had to—without taking anyone down with you. But that was me. And where the hell was Susan?

We continued to walk, and slowly, sounds in the distance began to give me hope. “Ducks!” I said. “Listen."

When we first moved into our house, we made the mistake of feeding the many—and I do mean many—ducks in the area. At first, a few began to depend on our daily offering of bread. It was comical, flattering, homey.

Until ... Early one Saturday morning, we awakened to a ruckus beyond imagination. We quickly followed the sound, only to discover a Hitchcockian assemblage of hundreds of ducks in the backyard, each demanding morning bread. They covered the lawn, the eaves, the roof, the clothesline. They flattened Claudia's flowerbeds.

By the time we shooed them all away, duck poop covered everything. As I tried to deal with my guilt about feeding them and then refusing to feed them, I learned about the county park about a mile and a half down the road. In the park, there was a huge lagoon that sucked off the river. The county fed the duck population there, in an effort to keep the defecating demanders out of the city.Oops.

"Listen!” I instructed again, more for myself than for Holly.

"What exactly am I listening for?” she asked. “Do you hear her?"

"The ducks,” I replied. “They shouldn't be making such a fuss at this time of night. Something's got them upset."

"Or someone,” she whispered. “Please don't let it be Vernon!"

We both laughed, remembering Kris’ brother-in-law coming at us all with a roaring chainsaw for no other reason than to scare the shit out of us.

Hope made our feet move quicker, and soon we neared the park's entrance. While it seemed we would be entering more pitch-blackness, I could begin to see the orangish glow of lights a distance down the road. We picked up the pace, and as we did so, the quacking became louder. When we finally cleared the forest-lined gravel road, we moved into a large clearing. A sign indicated a boat landing, a picnic area, and a playground.

No “duck lagoon,” but it was easy enough to determine their location. We followed the winding road toward the boat landing, and there we saw her. We stopped dead in our tracks.

Across the big lagoon spanned a very high walk bridge made of stone. The sides of it were maybe three or four feet high, and out of those sides jutted large metal rods that formed a fence to keep stupid visitors—and Susan—from falling over the edge. Only Susan had climbed up the metal-rod fence and was seated on the top two-foot overhang. She just sat there, staring off while ducks bitched about her intrusion and lack of food.

"Hey, Susan,” I yelled from our distance, not wanting to scare her with our approach.

"I'm not Susan,” she yelled back at me. “Go away."

Holly and I shot gaping looks at each other, and for some inexcusable reason, we laughed.

"Well, you look like Susan, so we're coming over."

"Please just let me be,” she shouted, as did many dozens of the ducks that looked up at her from the water.

We neared the bridge but stopped short of walking onto it.

"What the hell are you doing way up there, Susan?” I asked her, suddenly realizing that I should have left “hell”

and “Susan” out of it.

"I'm not Susan!” she spat. “Just leave me the hell alone."

"Who are you then?” Holly dared to ask, fearing an answer that would beg for Kris or a straightjacket.

"Maggie!” she asserted. “You made the silly game. I'm just playing along."

"That class is over,” I said. “You don't have to do that anymore. We want Susan back."

"I don't!” she screamed, and beneath that intensity, I could tell that an even bigger tempest brewed.

Holly and I looked to each other, horribly afraid that we were in over our heads, that something had gone terribly wrong with something that was supposed to be so innocent.

"How much did you have to drink, Susan—I mean—” What the hell did I mean? Did I foster her delusion and call her Maggie, or did I piss her off? I did not like this. I tried again. “How much did you have to drink, bud?

Are you level two?"

"I'm not drunk! A little tipsy maybe, but not drunk. I wish to hell I was! What the fuck is a gladiator anyway?”

She moved suddenly and nearly lost her balance. “Okay,” she admitted. “Maybe a lot tipsy."

I wanted to walk my ass over to her, grab her by the scruff of the neck, and pull her back to earth. I knew she wouldn't plunge to her death or anything, but a tipsy and pissed off person in the middle of a deep lagoon was not a good thing. I chose to do nothing but cross my fingers.

"Are you going to tell me what a gladiator is?"

I grimaced and carefully said, “Somebody who gets very argumentative and starts thinking she can kick the world's ass."

She let out a big laugh. “Well, that's not me. I'm too damn busy getting my own ass kicked."

"Susan, just tell us what you're thinking. Please!” Holly implored.

A nasty face twisted to Holly's direction. I knew what was coming, and she delivered. “I'm not Susan! Goddamn it, I don't want to be Susan!” She let out a thunderous scream.

"What's so bad about Susan?” I dared yet again. “I like her."

"I like her, too,” Holly quickly added.

"I can't stand her! I want to be like Maggie. Maggie's so okay with who she is. She's so fucking free!” With that, her hands clutched each side of her shirt, and she forcefully pulled, busting buttons as she went. She removed her shirt and threw it into the lagoon to a chorus of ducks that greedily tested its edibility factor. She stretched her arms wide.

I suddenly remembered how innocuous it had seemed when Susan whipped her bra across the basement. Now, she sat there bare breasted, but the least of what she exposed was flesh. She hurt. Bad.

"Bud,” I yelled, “getting arrested for indecent exposure while sitting above a ‘Do Not Climb’ sign is hardly going to help your feeling free."

"She's right. Just come down, and we'll talk about it. We care about what you're feeling. We really do, hon!"

If anyone could sweet-talk a half-naked woman off a bridge, it was Holly. I whispered to her, “Turn on your charm, Holly. Keep her distracted. I'm going in."

Holly nodded and meandered down the poopy shoreline a bit so that Susan had to look further ahead in order to see her. “It's awfully pretty here, isn't it? I wonder what it's like when the sun is out. Have you been here when the sun is out? Is it pretty enough to paint? I always look at things in terms of whether it's worth my oils or pencils."

Channeling Rambo's stealth, I started up the bridge.

"Like when I drew that picture of Maggie today,” Holly continued. “I knew her pretty face belonged there. She is pretty, isn't she?"

Susan nodded, looked down, and started swinging her dangling bare feet.

"She is awfully worried about you. She wanted to come find you, but we wouldn't let her. She was too upset. I bet she'd come now if you wanted her to, hon."

"You think I want her to see me like this? I'm surprised she's stayed with me this long."

"Hon, she seems to thinkshe did something wrong, not you."

"Her! She didn't do anything but act like me and spew all that crap I spew at her everyday. I'm the idiot. It just felt so fucking good not to be me. I just needed to try it on. I just needed to move."

"And you just had to move all the way up that stupid fence there, huh?” she asked with a cautiously big grin on her face.

I was getting close. So was Holly.

Susan smiled halfway. “Maybe this sounds stupid, but I needed to feel big. I needed to look down on things."

"Instead of yourself, you mean?"

She screamed. “I fucking hate this! I'm dying in here, but I can't seem to get out!” She started sobbing and beating her chest as if she could force the demon out.

And then I jumped. I stood on the wall, shoved my legs and arms through the bars, and hung onto Susan as tightly as I could. I startled her. She looked down at me, and I really expected her to be pissed off and fight me, but she didn't. She just stared.

"Will you come down now, so I don't look like a big dink hanging here?” I begged.

Holly was suddenly behind us, reaching her hands up to Susan. “Kate looks like a big enough dink all on her own. Let's not make it any worse. Come on down, hon."

"Thanks, Holly” I said sarcastically, but when I saw Susan take her hands, I meant it two ways.

With several careful maneuvers on all our parts, we were eventually seated safely on the bridge. Holly and I both took a deep breath, and Susan seemed to relax. I was not satisfied, however, and I promptly stood and peered down at Susan. “Okay, now that you're safe, you are in big ass trouble. What the hell would possess you to go walking out here by yourself? And then to—"

"Oh, chill your ass, Kate!” Holly said, glomming onto my leg and pulling me back down. “She doesn't need to be yelled at."

Thank you, Holly!I meant that one only one way.

Holly looked her squarely in the eyes and said, “Correct me if I'm wrong, hon, but I think you're just going through what most of us went through. That coming out stuff is hell."

Susan scrunched her face and tilted her head.

"Yes, most—if not all—of us did it. And most of us didn't keep our shirts on while we did it either."

There was nothing in life that laughter could not make better—even if you had to laugh at yourself. I believed that with every cell of me. Susan laughed, and as she did so, somewhere in the world a straightjacket spontaneously unraveled.

Holly continued, “It is so incredibly huge to finally be able to say ‘I'm a lesbian, and that's okay.’ It's big, it's liberating, and you have this need to scream it, to shove it down people's throats if you have to, but you don't, you can't. You sit in that small, stuffy closet, and the feelings just get bigger and bigger until it feels like they'll blow the door off the hinges. But you don't want that either. Not having the closet is scarier than having it, because the world doesn't take too kindly to queerfolk."

Susan was nodding her head vigorously. I was, too. I remembered. Sometimes I still knew those feelings too well.

"The answer's not out there, hon. It's not up on that fence either. It's in that small, stuffy closet. You're mad at yourself for being in it. Get mad at what makes you have to be in it in the first place. Hate. Prejudice. Ignorance.

It's their problem, not yours. But, it isyour closet, and chances are pretty darn good, you'll need that closet for the rest of your life, to one degree or another. So you've got to do the girlie thing and—"

I was just trying to imagine Holly doing anything that wasn't girlie when suddenly headlights came into view.

"Cops!” I yelled. “Hide!"

Like two halfwits and one half-dressed halfwit, we spread out the long way, lying down and trying to become a part of the bridge wall itself, figuring the lip at the bridge's beginning would protect us.

"It's probably a county cop. Oh please, let it be a county cop! If it's a city cop and I get hauled in, Laura will kill me."

We were laughing uncontrollably, and then the lights shone down the bridge, mere inches from our faces. I could hear Holly chanting “county cop, county cop.” All I could think to chant was, “Please, don't let this make front page of my newspaper."

Then the lights moved away. Holly loudly whispered, “Roll!” and somehow Susan and I knew what to do—as if we had done this twenty times in our law-abiding lives.

Like sacks of potatoes, the halfwits rolled. We molded ourselves into the opposing wall and waited. A couple of minutes later, we heard the squad car coming back but on the other side, the side we somehow knew to get to.

Holly eased her head into the bridge's center, stole a peek, and yelled, “Brown! It's a county cop. Thank God!"

Once the taillights were out of sight, we sat up and laughed out every smidgeon of emotion we had.

"We've got to do something about those ta-tas of yours, Susan,” I said. “We probably wouldn't have been in trouble if you had a shirt on, and we sure as hell can't walk home with you like that anyway.” I pulled my shirt off over my head.

"What the hell are you doing?” Susan asked.

"Well, I at least have a bra on. You've got nothing on! You can have my shirt."

"Put it back on! She can have mine. Here!” Holly said and began unbuttoning.

"Holly,” I yelled emphatically, and she looked at me as if she were ready to duke it out. “Holly, quit it. Your big happy girls there woulddraw traffic, not keep it sailing by. She can have my shirt."

Susan countered, “Then, Kate, give me your bra, and you keep your shirt."

I laughed. “You guys are just trying to humiliate me. My bra would be like pasties on you. Shut up and take the damn shirt!"

We all roared with laughter, and I was not sure if they were laughing at me or not, but I supposed that it didn't really matter. I was.

"And you're just going to walk home in a bra?” Holly asked.

Suddenly, the word “home” hit me rather oddly, and my stomach dropped. “Shit! We were supposed to call home when we found you. Laura's still going to kill you, Holly, and I'm not long for this world either."

"Then, call!” Holly ordered. “And make somebody bring you a shirt."

"What the hell am I supposed to say? Who the hell do I get to bring a shirt?” I asked, and they seemed like reasonable questions.

"Susan, are you ready to face Maggie? This really is nobody's business but hers. Screw everybody else."

She looked frightened by the prospect, but she nodded in assent.

We decided not to say anything about what happened, just that we were all safe. I hit speed dial and wondered how I could be delusional enough to think that Claudia would accept that.

"Hi, honey,” I said when she picked up. “We found Susan, and everything is okay.... Yeah, she really did just need some air.... No, really. Everything is fine.” I swatted at the two of them for passing on the immense urge to laugh. Claudia rambled a few more things that I could not make out. “Uh huh,” I said, not even sure if it fit. “Oh, and could you have Maggie come to meet us?"

I explained where we were and that we would start heading back home, meeting Maggie somewhere along the way. Then I was overjoyed to have a legitimate occasion to toss a whimper back at her. “Honey?” I beseeched, just as she had. “Could you please ask Maggie to bring me a shirt?” I held the phone away from my ear as she unloaded her questions. It was babble to me, and I tried so hard not to laugh out loud. “Because I need a shirt.”Oh, that was good. “Thank you, honey.”Beep.

We all burst out laughing, with Susan being quick to point out that I was indeed going to be killed by Claudia, a slow and painful death. Then I reminded Susan that it wasn't really that funny. After all, she had to explain to Maggie why I was in a bra and she had my shirt on—plus, being unable to account for her own. Holly was, as usual, off the hook. Howdid that work?

The three of us stood, and I shivered to the damp cold of a June night. We decided to make it to the entrance of the park and wait for Maggie. They put me in the middle, huddled in to keep me warm and Susan upright, and off we went.

We had only made it a few yards when Susan said, “You didn't get to tell me what the girlie thing to do is."

"Decorate!” she yelled. “It's your closet. Make it your own, chickie! Decorate!"

"I don't get it,” Susan said.

"Make ityour choice to be in there when you need to be in there. Make it your choice to come out when you want to. Mentally, just make it yours. Make it comfortable. Give it wallpaper, carpet, paintings, pillows, a ‘keep out’ sign. Make a window and hang some frilly curtains. Make it bigger. Put in a spa. A shower stall would be better. Make a plaque for everyone who is welcome to come in or is free to ask you to come out..."

I think Susan finally got it, but Holly continued on with an endless list. All the way to the entrance of the park, we rattled off things that could make something that seemed deathly into something safe and homey.

Chapter 10

When we got back to the roadway, we again had a choice, but this time, it was of a very different nature.

"I say we go for it and head back,” I suggested.

"You're in your bra, Kate, in case you forgot,” Holly reminded.

"So? Just hide me when a car goes by. No one will notice."

"No,” she said. “Let's just wait for Maggie and your shirt."

"I agree,” Susan added. “Besides, my feet could use a rest after all that gravel. I should have asked her to bring my shoes, too.” As if we could see the bottoms of her bare feet in the darkness, she held a foot up and nearly wiped out in the process. Then she said, “I'm sorry I got you into this. I didn't mean to."

"Oh yeah, Susan, neither Kate nor I could ever get ourselves into anything similar all on our own."

We made a pact to wait for Maggie. We examined the ditches by the park entrance, looking for a safe place to hunker down, out of sight. For the life of me, I had a hard time figuring out if the thought of animal eyes staring at me was really a better deal than the red lights of a squad car.Walk fast, Maggie!

Eventually, we found a sloped, grassy area, and the three of us flattened ourselves, face up. The feel of damp grass on my bare back gave me that horrid creepy, crawly sensation. But, the sky was beautiful, and so we all gazed upward, pondering. For me, though, pondering always led to questions, and so I asked, “Susan, do you really think Maggie is a free as it seems?"

She didn't answer immediately. Then she finally said, “She's freer than me. Maybe that's all I look at. She sure has a knack for boiling things down to their simplest form and living what she believes."

"Do you think she still has occasion for her closet?” Holly asked.

"After hearing your explanation of it, I'm sure she does. She's fought for a lot of things, but I think she also knows when to fight and when to keep moving."

I thought that was a good point.

Holly recalled, “I remember a few years back and the big stink she caused with the district school board when the high school refused to put out pamphlets for the young people's GLB support group she helped start. She got them to agree to do it. She is a force when she needs to be."

"Did she really? I work for the district, how come I didn't know?” After no one answered, she asked, “How come she doesn't do stuff like that anymore? It's because of me, isn't it? Is that what you're trying to get me to see?"

"No, hon, that's not what I was doing. I was just remembering."

"AmI why she stopped? She's embarrassed by me, isn't she?"

"Is that really how you see it?” I asked, almost in utter disbelief. “You just said she knows when to fight and lives what she believes. That seems awful shallow if that's why she stopped, and personally I don't think she stopped. She's just fighting for something different right now."

She took a minute to ask, and had she not asked, I think I would have offered my two cents nonetheless. “What is she fighting for?"

"Susan, youare level three!” Holly said, beating me to the punch. “She's fighting for you, hon!"

Even in the darkness, I knew that Susan's face massively twisted into a ball of confusion.

"Get back in her skin for a minute, Susan,” I said, feeling sure that we would not have another incident. “You love someone who is struggling against something you've always fought against. What do you do?"

I could hear her thinking. She had no clue, but it would only mean something if she saw it, not if we shoved her face in it.

We returned to stargazing, leaving her to her thoughts.

Suddenly, we heard a car approaching. “Don't move!” Holly yelled.

We all held our breath as the car slowed to a near stop and then turned into the park.Shit! It slowly went down the road, and once its taillights we no longer visible, we breathed again.

"Just stay down,” Holly ordered. She rolled over so she could keep watch down the road. “Did anyone see it?

Was it the county cop again?"

"With the way our luck's been going they're probably out looking for an escaped killer,” I joked, and no one laughed, probably because it was eerily not funny.

"Well, if we're about to die, would you answer the stupid question then? What is Maggie doing? You've got me scared now, and I can't figure it out."

Holly fumbled in the darkness until she found Susan's hand. She squeezed it a good one and held onto it. “Hon,”

she said, “when you start decorating that closet of yours, I think you might want to start with a window. Who the heck do you think has been standing guard outside?"

Then Susan lost patience. “Look, guys, I've had too much to drink. Level three or fifty-three. Stop asking me questions that my stupid brain can't answer. Please just tell me!"

I thought that was a good point, too.

She started crying.

Holly then made mistake number one. She sat up, and in so doing, she abandoned the vigil on the road.

Holly then made mistake number two. She scooped Susan into her arms and started rocking her back and forth.

Sobs in the dead of night were loud, wandering things.

"Hon,” she began, “when she works with those kids who are coming to terms with their sexual identity, she doesn't kick them upside the head like there's something wrong with them. She's not embarrassed by them. She just lets them be. She loves them for where and who they are. She protects them. She waits for them while they figure it out. And she tries to make the world they have to live in a little better. She's doing the same for you.

She's just loving you, hon. When you get that window, you'll actually get to see just how much."

Susan was really sobbing now.

Mistake number three? Well, I figured mistake number three was a side effect of the rocking back and forth that came from mistake number two. Susan suddenly turned into a full-blown level four. She gacked, there at the entrance to the park that housed duck lagoon.

Holly did not move an inch away from her. She kept her arm around her and gently rubbed her back as Susan hurled both physically and emotionally. For my part, I put my hand to Holly's back, rubbing in the same supportive way.

Mistake number four? Would anyone doubt that there would be one? It was us after all.

Suddenly, there was light from two directions simultaneously. A car quickly approached on the main road, while the other one we had seen earlier made its return trip out of the park.

"Hit the deck,” I yelled.

I tried hard to do the gallant thing and shove them away from the place of gack. I scooped them, and as a giant ball we rolled halfway down the slope until a tree stopped us. We froze in place—not gacking, not sobbing, not breathing. The car on the main road sped by without incident. The other one approached and paused at the stop sign for what seemed an eternity. I guessed that it was so close to us that I could have spit and hit it. Then, instead of leaving, it backed up about fifty feet and stopped.

"Roll! I whispered as loudly as possible. I pushed the giant ball to get us rolling again. We landed at the bottom, in mud that was slimy and disgusting. At least I hoped it was mud. As scared as we were, that ‘substance’ could have been debatable.

We waited. Breathless, shoeless, shirtless—we waited. I sincerely hoped it was a pair of lovers simply copping one more feel before they completely abandoned their duck-filled lover's lane. Okay, maybe that was a desperate scenario, but we were indeed desperate.

Mistake number five? Would I lie? While I was in the thralls of embarrassment at what we had gotten ourselves into—would I even exaggerate? I thought not.

Mistake number five: If you are hiding in fear for your life, always, always have sound enabled on your goddamn cell phone.

Suddenly, over the hum of an idling engine, a reggae ringtone burst forth.Frickin’ phone! I scrambled to get the goddamn phone out of my goddamn muddy goddamn back pocket before it goddamn gave away our goddamn location. I stabbed the correct button at the same time I read Claudia's name on the screen. I cupped the phone and bent over to hide the light. I breathily whispered into the phone, “Honey, I think we're in big trouble.

Whatever happens, I love you.... We're in a ditch by the park. There's a car right above us just sitting there.... I'm serious."

"Tell them we need help!” Holly whispered emphatically.

I nodded full body and said to Claudia, “No, I'm not kidding.... Tell Laura to get her guys here.... I'm not kidding. Listen, you can probably hear the car."

And then, I listened to her.

And then, I realized that mistake number six was a frickin’ doozie. One that could very easily leave us scarred for life.

I turned to breathless and shoeless and whispered, “Guys, if this car honks in about thirty seconds, we are all going to commit suicide. Tell me we have a pact."

Sure enough. The car honked three times.

"What the hell?” Holly asked, staring at me, her eyes wide, her jaw hanging.

Susan looked very similar, but she added speechless to the mix.

Sheepishly, I said, “It's Maggie and Sam."

As the actual reality of our situation sank in, laughter, hysterical laughter rose to the surface.

Amongst us, we verbally replayed the tape just to grasp the full gravity of it. Mr. Sober Sam offered to take Maggie to the park to get us. When they couldn't find us, they stopped—right the hell up there—and called Claudia. She, in turn, called us, not to hear our last wills and testaments, but to find out where we were so Maggie and Sam could find us. After my hysterics, she called Sam and told him to honk so we'd know it was safe. Sam honked. We were idiots.

"Oh shit!” Holly wailed. “Who has the arsenic tabs? Oh please, no! We will never hear the end of this. Shit!

No! Laura will hold this over my head until the day I die. Shit! Oh Jesus!” The normally unscathed Holly was battered and bloody.

"I'm not going up there,” I yelled. “There is no way in hell I am going up there. I am not going home either—

not ever!"

We laughed so hard that I could feel my own seal beginning to break. Then, into the utter stillness of the night, Susan's name rang out. Three times. Each time, it got a bit more desperate. I saw Susan begin to stand, and in perfect synch, Holly and I jumped on her, wrestling her to the ground. Holly put her hand over Susan's mouth, and I was glad it was not mine on the origin of gack.

"You can't answer her, Susan!” Holly whispered with force. “Just be quiet."

I added my own shushing sounds to the mix, and then Susan's name came in worried shouts.

"Shit!” I said.

Susan was now making very loud noises through Holly's hand and squirming.

Reason seemed to make a stand in Holly's head, and she let go of Susan. “You're right,” she conceded. “She's been worried enough."

"I'm here, Maggie!” Susan yelled. “We'll be right up."

Those balls that women didn't have? They really didn't have them. As hard as I tried to grab them, I could not find the fortitude to make the ascent—into the laughter and humiliation that awaited us.

Apparently, Holly found the balls that I could not find. “This is easy, guys, now that I think of it. Just leave it to me. I will get us out of this. I swear."

With that, we slogged up the slope. As soon as the three of us stood in beams from the headlights, Maggie made a mad dash for Susan and simply held her. “I was so worried! Are you okay, honey?"

"Actually, I've probably never been better,” Susan replied. “I am sorry I was a jerk tonight. I'm sorry about a lot of things."

Maggie started walking her to the car just as I spied Sam closing his cell phone and making his way to the front of the car. I did not know what to say to him, so I said nothing.

"I'm glad you girls are okay. I wish I had thought to drive you in the first place, but everything happened so fast.

I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize, Sam,” Holly assured. “We're big girls. We can take care of ourselves."

"Yes, you are,” he readily agreed. Then he cleared his throat and winked at us. “But that car on the shoulder over there,” he said, pointing to the main road. “It must have really scared you. I would have been scared."

We looked at nothingness, and then it slowly dawned on us what he was up to. Holly charged him, plastering a kiss on his cheek and gushing, “Oh my God, that is so sweet! I love you as much as I love Charles!"

Our savior.

I breathed much freer.

Then he threw a shirt at me. “You might want to put some clothes on, Kate.” He was laughing but not at me.

I clutched the shirt, noting that it was a long sleeve T-shirt that I hated. It was a pinkish orange ugly thing that lived an idle life on the bottom of a pile in my dresser. For some stupid reason, I never had the heart to throw it out. I wondered if Claudia had pulled it on purpose. Maybe a passive-aggressive thing for not knowing why her partner was running around half-naked. I would think about that later. At that moment, all I wanted was to clothe my muddy and cold body. I put it over my head and felt instantly better.

As I walked toward them, Holly pointed to my shirt, covered her mouth, and started laughing. I looked to discover writing on it, and despite pulling and twisting, I could not make sense of it. I quickly removed it, turned it around, and stared. There was an arrow pointing upward in emphatic magic marker strokes. Under it, in large letters, loomed, “Dead Meat.” Beneath that, very small letters formed, “Get your butt home! XOX."

With a grunt, I put the shirt back on. I was now a marked woman, but at least it was not for the humiliation we endured in a slimy ditch.

We left Susan and Maggie to the backseat and climbed, mud and all, into the front with poor Sam. Susan whispered nonstop to an attentive Maggie. Holly and I remained silent.

A few minutes later, we pulled into the driveway, and I watched two silhouettes slink down inside an SUV. I had nearly forgotten! Time ticked by briskly.

We stood in the driveway, bracing ourselves for the worst and praying for the best. There was no telling what we were about to walk into. Humiliation was an ugly, nasty thing. Was it ours to endure?

We took deep breaths at the front door, and Holly instructed, “Just remember to look innocent. Smile a lot.

Nibbling kisses help, too."

Thatwas how she did it?

"Yeah, but you're Holly,” I lamented. “I look guilty when I haven't even done anything wrong, and this time, I have—I think."

She opened the door, saw Laura, and hurried to her. In an instant, she wrapped her arms around her, kissed her, and gushed, “Oh, babe! Hold me."

I wanted to keep watching. I marveled, but then I saw Claudia. She did not look happy at all. She ran and sucked me into the vortex of a hug. “I'm so glad you're safe, Kate. I don't know what I would have done,” she cried, and guilt clutched my throat like an escaped killer. “I'm sorry about the shirt. It was funny at the time, but now that I know what happened on your way back, it's not funny at all.” She kissed me repeatedly.

What the hell?I needed to have a little chat with Sam, because although he was sober, he did not seem to be of sound mind. What the hell had he told them? I was in shock, and yet, I needed to laugh more than anything.

Okay, maybe more than that I needed to unload my guilt. No, actually I needed to pee.

As Claudia held the speechless me, I saw Laura give Susan a big hug, saying, “I'm really glad you're okay.”

Then she moved in my direction. “Thanks, Kate,” she said. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and added,

“Thanks for taking care of her. I owe you a big one!"

She owed me?What the hell? Who invited Rod Serling to the party?Do do, do do...

I pulled back from Claudia and shook my head. Perhaps I was dying in that ditch, merely hallucinating while I meandered toward the light. Regardless, I had to move on and figure this out at a later time.

"We've got to take care of the last part,” I said to Claudia, who was in obvious and eager agreement. I removed and tossed my muddy shoes. “Go to the bathroom with me so we can talk quick."

She nodded, and before leaving with her, I turned to my muddy ditch-mates and told them to get cleaned up as best they could. “Everybody needs to be in the basement in five minutes. Just one more thing to take care of!"

Claudia and I had a quick conversation while I tired to make my bladder less explosive and myself more presentable. When we came out of the bathroom, the upstairs was vacant. Claudia went to the top of the stairs and yelled down, making sure everyone was accounted for. When I got the green light, I opened the front door, made a beckoning gesture to the SUV, flashed one hand three times, and then we darted into the basement.

We had fifteen minutes to make this work.

Chapter 11

Everyone stood at attention as soon as we landed on the bottom step. My favorite manager jumped in quickly.

“Thanks to Susan's wanderlust, we get to play hooky from the last class!"

Exactly as children released early from the confines of school, the reaction registered on the Richter scale.

"Well, kind of anyway,” she corrected for the swiftly deflating crowd. “We were supposed to have English class.

You know, to take a few jabs at our dearest English teacher.” She smiled graciously and curtsied for Ginny.

"Oh, I feel so cheated,” she said sarcastically.

"Good, I'm glad you do,” I retorted, “because we've decided that we'll make this short and sweet and just for you. We'll just jump right to the jabs, so please have a seat, Professor Bleeker.” Now I was smiling. I pointed to the couch while Claudia snuck into the laundry room for paper and pencils we had waiting.

I told everyone, “I took Professor Bleeker's Advanced Expository Writing class."

"Sounds like something you would shove up your ass,” Laura joked.

"Actually, it was just that,” I assured, and everyone but Ginny laughed. “She taught alternative style ... how to write important things in weird ass ways. Then, she challenged us to challenge her colleagues by turning in an alternative style term paper to one of them. I did and got a frickin’ D."

"I took care of that for you!” she spat through a smile.

"Whatever,” I said dismissively. “She taught us a lot weird stuff that I have certainly been unable to use at theJournal . One of the things she taught was listing ... taking all the main points of an essay and consolidating them into nothing but a list of words that was supposed to give the reader just as much as if they had read the whole essay."

Noises and twisted faces helped in the drama department.

Claudia handed Ginny paper and a pencil. She instructed, “So, Professor Bleeker, we need you to do a little listing for us, just to show us how it's done by a professional. We want a list of what happened in each of our classes today—except for that horrid highway cleaning one. We can skip that one.” She shot me a dirty look and then returned her attention to Ginny. She stressed, “And for your list, you can only use M-words."

"You've got to be kidding!” Ginny yelled and started laughing.

"Get busy, Professor. You have exactly five minutes,” I said.

"Can we help her?” Alison asked, somehow excited about the task.

"Sure. Go for it!” Claudia said. “Start with our first class, which, if you recall, was recess."

"Mimosas!” Susan yelled automatically.

"You are right, Susan,” Claudia congratulated and patted her on the back.

Then she stopped in mid-pat. I could feel it. She whipped her face toward me and shot a series of questions. The escaped killer had escalated from strangulation to firearms. “Kate, is she wearing your shirt? Is that what happened to your shirt? Is that your shirt? Is Susan wearing your shirt?"

Like a low-grade idiot who acted as if she were dealing with an equal, I shrugged my shoulders and contorted my face into one of those abstract messes meant to indicate, “I have no clue what the hell you are talking about.My shirt? It couldn't be!"

She continued to stare at me while shouting, “The second class was with Janice. Maybe she can help."

As the word “massage” eventually made the rounds a hundred times and got added to Ginny's paper, she moved to within a millimeter of my face. “Is it, Kate? That's your shirt, isn't it?"

"Yes,” I said like a coy snake. “But remember, you are an authority on trust now."

She backed up, maybe a foot, maybe two. She smiled and then took her index finger and stabbed the word

“Dead” on my shirt and then did the same to “Meat.” With an evil, evil twinkle in her eyes, she repeated the gesture that had originally created the arrow. She stared at me and yelled, “The third class was with Charles.

Maybe Charlize can help with that one."

The “makeup” was achieved rather quickly, but as we waited for “masks,” she moved back into my face and snaked her hand behind me. The killer escalated from strangulation to firearms to—bra snapping?

My jaw dropped. I was indignant. “That's not trust!” I declared, and there was no way in hell that I would allow myself to remember that Susan had indeed asked for my bra instead of my shirt.

The “mask” was attained, and my tormenter shouted, “The next class was lunch. Payback time for messing with people, remember?"

I knew the question was directed at me. I may have been low-grade, but I certainly was not a no-grade.

I found myself scared—and a little intrigued—about where she would check me next. I concentrated on not laughing, as I remained uncertain if I was truly dead meat or not.

The predictable “Mad Cow” bellowed, but “Molly” had yet to be spotted. Claudia's arm snaked around me again, this time sliding down the back of my pants and grabbing my poor little—okay, not so little—undies.

With a yank, she had me and whispered, “Just making sure they're not on the side of a road next to an empty Road Swill cup."

I thought I felt her shake with laughter, but it could just as easily have been me.

When “Molly” finally found herself identified, Claudia yelled from my shoulder, “Skip the highway cleanup, girls. Nothing there we want to see. Move on to the cafeteria. Cheerleader gets the nerd, remember?"

No, but I knew that I would eventually, because she was indeed about to get me. As if by divine intervention, Holly's words ran through my mind:look innocent ... smile a lot ... nibbling kisses. Before she could move away from me and focus on her next target, I pulled her into my arms. I tried to look innocent; I threw on a pout, but I knew from the feel of it that I didn't wear it very well. I smiled broadly. That was easy, but did it work? Her green eyes just stared into me.

Alison suddenly yelled, “Claudia, we can't get this one. Help us."

"It's ‘meal.’ Move on to the next one. It was Health and Sociology,” she said without breaking her gaze.

Those eyes!How was this meant to weaken her and embolden me when my own knees began to fail?

"Margarita” introduced herself, and without missing a beat or a bat of those eyes, Claudia yelled, “The next class—the last class—was Psychology."

Risking it all, I moved in to kiss her. She returned each one very sweetly. “I need you,” I whispered, and I knew that to be truthful. Then Holly's distant voice chanted in my skull, “nibbling, nibbling.” And so I did. Short little nibbles, tiny little tugs, and before I knew it, “Oh, honey!” thundered from my lips. As I tried to pull her even closer, she jerked herself back while a very loud “Kate!” soared in my direction from across the room. I breathlessly looked to find all eyes on me.

I should have been mortified. I should have apologized. I should have been and done a lot of things. Instead, I laughed so hard that I could barely stand. I had followed Holly's advice to a tee, to a frickin’ tee, and it worked just like she was certain it would. Only, it worked on me. I had, in essence, seduced myself into surrender while Claudia stood there, still in command. The killer had handed me the ammo, and instead of defending myself, I shot myself in the foot. This type of ammo must have been victim-specific. I descended to the floor and to the level of no-grade.

Seamlessly, Claudia put her hands on my shoulders and shouted, “If you're stuck on this one, girls, think words that start with an M sound not the letter.” She pulled my head back so that it rested on her, and she stroked my forehead. Then, she added, “If you become your partner and suddenly know what they feel, you have discovered, what?"

"Empathy!” Ginny yelled.

"You got it! Now let me see your list.” Taking it from the final hand that passed it, she read, acknowledging only the ones that mattered, “Mimosas, massage, masks, Molly, meal, Margaritas, and empathy. Can you get the gist of the big essay, Professor?"

Ginny raised a finger as if she could. Then she dropped her hand and slowly offered a very defeated, “No."

Suddenly back in control, I stood tall and said, “You guys go away every year for your anniversary, to that B&B up north. How does your first day begin?"

Ginny thought while Kris covered her mouth and started giggling. Then I could see the light turn on in Ginny's head. “Mimosas!” she yelled. “And chocolate strawberries!” She rose and darted to Claudia, ripping the paper from her hand. She read the list quickly and then fired off, “And then we get massages and mineral masks! We have a meal out somewhere nice. We have Margaritas! We call Molly!"

Her jaw dropped. She stared at Claudia ... me ... and then she quickly spun on her heels toward Kris. “You big shit!” she yelled. “You big shit!” She was smiling, and Kris gloated. They hugged, and Ginny gave her a long kiss. She turned to Claudia and queried, “I get what you've done to me, but why ‘empathy'?"

"Don't you guys always do something to ‘strengthen your relationship’ for the coming year?"

She slowed her racing mind for a moment and acknowledged that they always attended a couple's workshop at the GLB resource center in the area. Claudia prodded until she got her to remember the one they would miss this year because Kris had “something more important to do.” She finally yelled, “Walking in Your Better Half's Shoes!"

She fell back into the couch, let out a deep breath, and said, “Okay, you got me! You got me really good."

"Don't get too comfy there,” Kris said to her. “We're just getting started."

Kris’ eyes teared up, and Ginny warned her, “Don't you dare make me start crying!"

"Twenty-five years is a big deal, sweetie. It deserves a few tears, some silver, and a question.” She pulled a jewelry box from her pocket and sat next to her. “First, I want to say thank you for the last twenty-five years. I am so very lucky to have you. Second, I want to know if I can have twenty-five more. Will you marry me again?” She opened the box to reveal two thin silver bands.

Ginny cried full force. “Now,you can all watch me frisk her in public!” She wrapped her arms around her, meshing the two of them in a way that I had never witnessed.

What they whispered between them remained private, and it gave the others in the group a chance to talk among themselves.

"I still don't get how Molly fits into this,” Alison remarked. She seemed almost angry at not getting the full gist of that big essay.

Ginny and Kris pulled apart, and Kris explained, “On our fifth anniversary, we had a commitment ceremony. A lovely woman minister at our church, Nadine, agreed to do it for us, in private, though, because something like that was even a worse in those days. We didn't tell anyone, but we brought Molly along as our witness. I don't think she even told her husband. Every year we just give her a call to thank her for being there for us."

"So, Ginny, did you say yes or not?” Holly demanded to know, hands on hips.

"I'd be a fool not to,” she replied, beaming.

"Well, I have something else for you from my little workshop, but if you want this one, you have to trade,” Kris teased Ginny.

"What am I trading?"

"I won't tell you what you'd be getting, but you have to give up that ugly Eiffel Tower feeder from the front lawn for it. Into the trash with it, for what I have in another pocket."

We all knew that feeder thing, and it was indeed ugly. If you drove down their street, it was the thing that loomed out at you.

Ginny was not pleased at the prospect, but the jabbing reminders about trust and compromise went a long way, and she finally agreed. From her pocket, Kris retrieved two plane tickets, and when Ginny discovered that they were for a trip to Paris—somewhere she had always longed to go—she was beyond ecstatic. At once, she realized that this was why they would not be going away on their traditional outing. “We're going here instead!”

she cried. “Oh my God!"

"Actually, we leave in four hours,” Kris said.

"Oh my God, let's get moving. I need to pack!"

"Done,” Kris replied smugly. “You've got the keys to the luggage on that Eiffel Tower keychain you swiped from me. And we have a chauffeur to get us to the airport on time."

She looked at me, and I slammed my foot into the bottom step three times. On cue, Molly descended the stairs, receiving hugs from everyone.

But, Molly had something else in mind. She approached Kris, popped her shoulder, and spat, “So that's it, Kris?

You ask her to marry you, and then you think you can just skip ahead to a honeymoon in Paris? I've known Ginny all my life!” She put her arm around Ginny and backed her away from the now-lecherous Kris. “She's not that kind of girl. She's not a floozy. So either put your money where your mouth is or she's not going. Are you, honey?” She stroked Ginny's head with thick melodrama, and neither Kris nor Ginny knew what the hell was going on.

Kris’ eyes shot to Claudia and me. It was priceless. The detailed, sweated-over script had been shredded, and Kris squirmed.

"Well, Kris?” Claudia shouted. “What are you going to do about it?"

"Yeah, Kris, did you really have any intention of making an honest woman out of her?” I added.

"I will!” she assured. “Planning a trip for her is one thing, but planning anything else—she never would have forgiven me. We will plan it and do it. What the hell are you two up to?” Her balloon had been pierced and was quickly collapsing in on itself.

"Oh, it wasn't just the two of us!” Claudia boasted. “Girls, remember the donations we solicited from you? This is what we all bought. We got our own plane ticket!"

With that, I banged another three times, and a tiny woman with a very big presence came down the stairs.

"Well, Kris, whatare you prepared to do about it?” Nadine challenged. “I married you two the first time. You up for a second?"

Kris and Ginny did not move, did not speak. We, on the other hand, whooped and hollered and high-fived.

"How the heck—” Kris started.

"I'm a reporter,” I interrupted. “It's my job to snoop. You really start spilling beans when you get sleepy, Kris.

Nadine's been living and working in Vermont. We—all of us—had her flown in and put her up at the hotel downtown. Oh, and those handwritten papers of yours that I said really should be typed up?” I ducked into the laundry room and came out with a plastic sheath that contained their original vows. “I lied. I just thought they might come in handy. But thanks for trusting me anyway.” Now, I gloated.

I walked to her to relinquish the papers, and at first I thought she was going to wallop me, but instead she pulled me into a hug. Yes, this do-gooder thing was far more satisfying than a D-Double-D road sign.

She turned to Ginny and asked, “So what do you say, Gin? Are you up for a shotgun wedding?"

There was not a dry eye in the house. Partner clung to partner. Janice held the sobbing Alison in a friendly, safe embrace. Charlize clutched Sam's shirt, and their sniffing sounds far exceeded their whimpers. And Claudia?

She was Claudia. She quietly cried from a place very deep inside, and she attached herself to me as if trying to remove any distinction. I loved her so much in that moment, just as I knew I would in the very next.

As a reporter, I thought it imperative to record every word, every expression, every nuance, as if history itself depended upon my accounting. Then, I realized that despite a room full of people, the universe had been reduced to two. This was theirs, and it was private. We were just lucky enough to be on the edge looking in.

When the bride finally kissed the other bride, Sam and Charlize popped the corks on champagne bottles and started filling glasses. As they distributed them, I caught Susan staring at me, uncomfortable, desperate. “Come here,” I said. “I think there's ginger ale. I'll join you. Level five is not a good thing."

I poured us both a glass, and we toasted the happy couple, and ourselves for having survived our walk on the wild side. Then she said, “I just want you to know that I didn't break the promise we all made to the both of you.

I really thought I stopped at level two. I think I just drank too fast, and it all of a sudden snuck up on me."

I told her not to worry about it, that she lost nothing in our eyes. Trust still prevailed.

As everyone mingled, I made my way to Sam to ask him what the hell he had told everyone about the incident at the park.

"I only insinuated that there was another car there, letting them think that it wasn't us who freaked you out.

That's all I said! I swear!"

"Then how come I got a hero's welcome from Laura?” I implored with quiet force.

"Perhaps you should have a chat with Holly,” Charlize suggested.Holly! Then he flitted to the center of the room and shouted, “Wedding picture! Wedding picture!"

Everyone huddled in a group with Kris and Ginny at the center. He looked through the camera and then corrected, “Muddy people and dead meat to the back please."

Respectability and appearance suddenly mattered to this group? It made sense that it came from an outsider who had been readily ingested by the core.

Molly eventually readied Kris and Ginny for the airport and Nadine for her hotel. Claudia and I had to swear to Ginny that we would take special care of Muse, their cat. Kris made us swear that we would remove the squirrel feeder from their front lawn. Holly made them swear that they would send postcards, bring back presents, and

‘accidently’ leave a trail of her business cards through the Louvre.

Sam and Charlize took off as well, saying they were off “clubbing,” if you could call it that in a city with one gay bar. Before they left, Maggie had a date with Sam to discuss vegan dishes, and Charles, Claudia, Susan, and Holly had a date for lunch and shopping.

To Alison's delight, Janice decided to brave it and spend the night.

After they left, a hush took over. Everyone seemed lost in their own thoughts, and yet it was obvious that the bond between us all, and between partners, had again strengthened. As juvenile and outrageous as we all could be, I honestly did not know what I would do without them. I was grateful.

Soon, Claudia set about making hot chocolate for everyone while Susan, Holly, and I fought for rights to the shower. After it was determined that I was indeed the dirtiest, I got dibs on first. As I made my way toward the bathroom, I grabbed Holly's arm and dragged her with me.

Despite the closed door, I still felt the need to whisper. “What the hell did you tell Laura that would make her thank me?"

"You think I would lie to her?” she challenged with wide eyes. “I've, you know, dressed up the truth a little.”

She smiled. “But I don't lie to her."

"Well, you dressed this one up to the point where it isn't recognizable,” I said, shaking my head, not liking what I felt in the pit of my stomach. “She thanked me for taking care of you. Now she thinks she owes me for something that never happened."

"I did not tell her anything that didn't happen,” she claimed. “Sorry, chickie, but you'll have to own this one.

You did take care of us. You always do. You're the one who grabbed us and rolled us down the hill, away from whatever we thought was about to get us. That is all I told her, and apparently that earns you big points in her book."

I had to admit that I was taken aback, severely, to the point of whiplash.

She smiled and said, “You know, if you went out there and asked everybody who they'd want in their corner when things got tough—the funny thing is that the two brutes would get the votes. The loudest, the most obnoxious, the most competitive, the most frustrating—everybody would pick you and Laura. Funny, isn't it?"

I blushed by then. The face-on-fire kind of blush. Complimented and insulted in the same utterance—wow!

She kissed me on the cheek and said, “You're a good shit, Kate. I love you."

I had imagined arguing with her, begging her to come clean to them so that my guilt would vanish. I did not imagine this. I could not imagine this. Not this. So I shifted. “You were pretty amazing out there, Holly. You really helped Susan see some things she couldn't see. I'm glad we went together. Thank you."

"That?” she retorted with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You should see me when I really get going!"

That I did not doubt. Then I added, “By the way, your look innocent, smile a lot, and nibble kiss routine does not work."

Her jaw dropped, and she scrunched her face almost as if she were saddened. “That's another one of those funny things,” she said, opening the door and starting to leave. “Because Claudia told me it works like a charm on you."

I set my hand in motion to grab her and got nothing but a fistful of closed door.

Eventually feeling like a new and thankfully clean woman, I headed back to the living room to find slowly decomposing bodies strewn from one end to the other. Claudia offered me a spot next to her and a cup of hot chocolate. Happily, I accepted both.

"Kate, we've decided that you and Claudia should turn this place into a brothel,” Alison announced.

What the hell had I missed?

Claudia assured, “We were talking about sleeping arrangements.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes, as if acknowledging that an innocent conversation had gone horribly awry.

"Think of it!” Alison said. “Your bed, a futon in the office, a bed complete with a Lover Doll, two couches with a pull-out bed here, two couches in the basement, and a couch on the porch. That's a lot!"

"We're narcoleptic, Alison,” Claudia explained. “I tried to tell you that."

"Well, to be honest,” I said, “I don't care where any of you sleep, but can Claudia and I stake claim to the porch?"

Claudia smiled at me to seal the deal, and I did not think anyone would argue with the manager, not the madam, of the manor.

Chapter 12

The sounds of ducks in the distance roused me from my sleep. A vision of a half-naked woman on a ledge flashed inside my mind, and I shook my head. I normally did not wake to such things. I found it disconcerting and tried to snuggle closer to Claudia.

We were in what we called the Symbiotic Slumber Chamber, which consisted of one big sleeping bag, two bodies, a cold night, and the couch on the porch. We established the chamber when we first moved into our house. It was a desired state then; the utter closeness we craved. When we fought, it was mandated, affirming the difficulty in staying mad when your body temperature depended on another. As we drifted apart over the past couple years, it became a relic; it hurt to be physically close when our hearts were so harshly offbeat.

Ironically, that was when we needed it most—one of those lessons learned that we now swore would never require relearning. In the past month, more times than not we could be found in the chamber.

I gently kissed her shoulder, and she stirred.

"You're awfully stingy with your body heat,” she said very slowly, still groggy from sleep.

"I think we both ran out hours ago,” I replied and kissed her shoulder again. “I love you."

As she moved to roll toward me, she began, “I love—Oh my God, do I have a headache!"

"Ah, my party girl. Want me to get Margarita so you can bite the hairy dog that bit you?"

"I'd rather have a headache. Thank you."

I eased her back into a comfortable position and began to rub her neck.

"Do you know what time it is? Do we need to make a mad dash for clothes?” she asked, but I knew better than to expect her to dash anywhere.

"I have no clue, but the house is still quiet. Just relax."

As I rubbed, I found it odd to think that our house was filled with them. It felt so peaceful here, except for Claudia's desperate moans as relief tried to find her.

"Interested in a foursome?” A voice suddenly came from the dining room and with it, a quiet knock on the glass door.

How the hell does one answer a query like that?

Then the voice made its intentions quite clear: Alison strode through the drapery and onto the porch, a coffee cup in each hand. “Joe and Earl meet Claudia and Kate."

"Oh my God, Alison,” Claudia softly yelled. “You are a lifesaver."

We took her offering with unadulterated greed.

I couldn't resist, so I asked, “And where did you sleep last night, missy?"

Claudia elbowed me and told me it was none of my business.

"That's okay, Claudia,” she said. “I have nothing to be ashamed of.We did not sleep. We talked all night. We straightened up your basement, too. Now, we're raiding your fridge to make everybody breakfast. Is that okay?"

Was it! I was famished.

I rested my coffee cup on Claudia's hip and just smiled at Alison.

"If you did it on purpose, guys, thank you,” she said, returning the smile that bordered on a beam. “If you didn't, well, thank you anyway.” She swiftly disappeared into the house.

I hadn't even enjoyed two sips of my coffee before another voice summoned, “Is it okay to come out? Can I bother you two?"

We pledged a welcome, and Maggie entered, placing herself uncomfortably on the edge of a chair. We exchanged a few pleasantries, and then she said, “I just wanted to thank you, Kate, for what you did for Susan last night. She's different. I'm not sure how, but something's different. She asked me to take her up to the pridefest. She said she wants to start doing things out of town, until she feels safer. Totally blew me away.” She smiled and shook her head in near disbelief.

"I didn't do anything,” I assured her. “You'll have to take that up with Holly. She was the force."

"Yes, but you were there for her, right down to actually giving her the shirt off your back."

Damn, the shirt thing again. I glanced at Claudia, figuring dead meat would reanimate like a zombie wanting to eat my brains on the half-shell. She merely smiled at me.

We exchanged a few more pleasantries with Maggie, and then she disappeared into the house.

"I do know you,” Claudia said to me as she took a hefty swig of Earl. “And I trust you. If I had thought you did something wrong, trust me, I would not have teased you. I would have killed you."

Oh, that made me feel better. I reminded myself to find and carefully watch those Ps and Qs I had stashed away somewhere.

I was just about to encourage that mad dash across the cold porch for our clothes when yet another summons came. I imagined a sign on the inside of the house:Claudia and Kate now holding court.

This time it was Susan. For her, I imagined her line-art face in the dictionary right next to “hangover.” She looked like she had been toasted, strung up, hunted down, shoved into a ravine, dragged through mud ...Oh yeah.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about last night and to thank you for helping me.” She smiled, and it looked as though it physically pained her to do so.

I assured her that everything was okay, and then she dutifully performed the disappearing act.

"I'm going to grab our clothes before it's too late,” I said, setting my coffee cup on the floor. “They're coming out of the woodwork. Let me out."

"No” was all she said.

"Honey, you don't have to move. I'll get them."

"No. We're staying here. We're not moving."

I tried to wriggle through the top of the sleeping bag, crushing her in the process, when the tidal wave hit. Ever-bubbly Holly and Laura shook the room with their presence. If they hadn't carried another cup of coffee and tea for us, I would have screamed.

"You two are still in bed?” Holly asked incredulously.

"Did you get stuck together in the middle of the night or something?” Laura asked, feigning concern. “Do I need to get a crowbar and pry you apart?"

Claudia groaned. “If you can pry my head off, go for it."

"Oh, come on, you guys,” Holly urged. “It's a beautiful day. We're ready for class."

"There is no school today. Go back to bed,” Claudia grumbled as she took the fresh cup of tea from Laura.

Then the rest of them entered. Alison carried a tray of food, and Janice managed the plates and silverware.

Maggie and Susan pulled an end table into the center of the room. When everything was set up, places were claimed on chairs and the floor, and then the non-Holly kind of nibbling began.

Claudia hung over the side of the couch, which severely limited my choices for both sitting and breakfast.

"Can I get you something?” Janice asked, sensing my predicament.

"No, thanks,” I lied. “I'm fine right here."

"I bet you could go for that first cigarette of the day, though,” Laura teased as she headed out the back door.

I watched her light, inhale, and exhale as if it resuscitated. All the while she grinned at me.

"Honey, I need to get up,” I tried again.

This time she flipped over, peered at me, and fumed, “No, now you're stuck. You don't have clothes on. There is no way you're getting up. Uh uh, no way. We're staying here.” She shook her head and returned to her hanging position.

"Honey, I showered with half of these guys yesterday. I doubt that seeing my glorious butt is going to cause a riot."

Laura, of course, had to chime in, “Well, that depends on what kind of riot you're talking about."

I stuck my tongue out at her and motioned for Alison to throw our clothes. They landed in a heap on the sleeping bag. I grabbed my T-shirt and told her to let me up, and again she refused. Now she was being ridiculous.

"Claudia, what's the big deal?” I asked, trying not to sound as frustrated as I felt. “I tried to get our clothes before; you wouldn't let me. We're the ones who chose to sleep on a thoroughfare instead of in the privacy of our own room. Let me up."

Women! Hungover women!

"Please don't,” she said, and I thought she started crying, but I doubted my own observational skills on that one.

Just in case, I tried to pull her near. She grabbed me with more urgency than she had ever grabbed Earl. I made a wheeling motion with my hand to Laura, who got the conversation going again in the room and away from us.

"What, honey?” I whispered. “Talk to me."

She didn't answer; rather, she softly cried and held me in that way that seemed as if she was trying to get inside of me.

I whispered again, “I don't understand, but I'll stay."

I held her and tried to understand without her help. Since she had started dealing with her grandmother's death, she had moments like this ... like even if she had me in her arms I was still not close enough. The best I could figure was that it was the “weep to have that which it fears to lose” stuff Kris explained to me. I didn't know what else it could be. She was grieving. I tried to be as consistent and reassuring with her as I knew how to be.

It just seemed like something inside of her cracked open occasionally, and every vulnerability became excruciatingly exposed to light and air.

Holly was seated on the floor in front of us, and she shot me a quizzical look. I discretely shrugged and tried to indicate with my eyes that I didn't know what to do. “Help!” I mouthed.

"Claudia!” Holly said, batting her arm behind her. “If you've fallen back asleep you are in big trouble. No sympathy for hangovers."

"No sympathy for you!” she spat back at her. “In fact—” She flew to a seated position, pulling the sleeping bag, and me, with her. “I am so pissed at the two of you I can't even think straight!” She glared at Holly and then me.

I winced, but unflinching Holly looked her squarely in the eyes. Totally devoid of defensiveness, she asked,

“What did we do, sweetie?"

"You know what the hell you did!” she erupted, ping-ponging furious scowls between us. “You go traipsing around in the dark of night, half-naked, not giving a damn that anybody on this end might give a shit whether something happens to you or not!"

Susan bravely jumped in to defend us, “It's not their fault. If I hadn't gone in the first place none of this wouldn't have happened.” Guilt made itself at home on her face.

"I don't buy that for a second, Susan. You were drunk, weren't you?” She stared at her until she received a sheepish nod of admission. “Well, what's their excuse? I don't think they were drunk, so that leaves stupidity."

"Honey!” I yelled. “Nothing happened!” Relieving myself of guilt, I said, “We just got freaked out by Sam and Maggie. It was stupid."

"Stupid?” she fumed even louder. “You should have been freaked out if you weren't expecting a car. Stupid?

No! That was probably the only thing you did that wasn't stupid—and we were stupid for not calling to warn you. What was stupid was ever getting yourself in a situation where you had to hide in a ditch in the first place.”

She took a deep, desperate breath and continued, “You get a parade of people through here thanking you. Well, how goddamn noble of you! Did it ever even cross either of your minds what the hell we were thinking? I thought I lost you!” Then she started wildly pounding my legs.

I seized her and just held on as the tears burst forth.

She shrieked, “What would I do? What the hell would I do?"

Now I was crying, swept into a scene that felt intolerable but for different reasons than they usually evoked.

Holly teared up, too, as she rubbed Claudia's leg. I didn't know what to say or what to do. I just held on.

Her sobbing slowly eased, and in one quick motion, she swept us both back to a prone position. She clutched me and calmly said, “So I've decided that we're just going to stay here like this and never get up. Just skin and nothing to come between."

In any other context, I would have joked and thought that sounded pretty good. But this was different. Scary different.

Holly proved the brave one again. “Sweetie, she's not some porcelain doll you can stick on a shelf. She's Kate.

She's got to move. She's got to do stupid things. She's got to stick her nose in everybody's business and call it a press pass.” She smiled, expecting no wrath.

"I can't do this, Holly!” she screamed. “I can't."

"Sure, you can. Youare doing it,” she countered. “We all grew up to be strong, healthy women. Remember?”

When Claudia remained silent, Holly looked behind her and asked loudly, “What did we grow up to be, girls?"

A choir of strong, healthy women shouted, “Strong, healthy women!"

Claudia sniffed and then almost smiled. “It's overrated, girls. Sometimes it just plain sucks."

"It does, chickie,” Holly readily agreed. “Sometimes it really does. Buy hey, when you can't be one, chances are pretty damn good that one of your sisters here still is and can take up the slack.” She stood up and smiled at her, putting a hand on each hip. “Right now, it's my turn, so let Kate go. Just back away."

Claudia still did not move, but it felt different. I was not ‘dear life’ she hung onto anymore; I was a point she pushed.

Holly called to Laura, “Babe, do you do hostage negotiation or don't you have to do that with homicide victims?"

"Promise something,” Laura instructed. “Promise her anything, even if you don't have any intention of letting her have it."

Slight, cautious laughter—the mood lightened by one notch.

Holly frantically thought and looked around the room. “Take her tea cups, Maggie. Quick! Get Earl!” After Earl had been moved out of reach, she said, “Okay, Kitterman, if you ever want to see Earl alive again, you'll let go of Kate."

"Hol,” Laura interrupted, “that's a threat not a promise. You've turned into the hostage taker not the negotiator."

"Oh, yeah,” she agreed, laughing. She paused to think. “Okay, Claudia, I promise to keep you warm if you let Kate go."

As simple as that, Claudia raised both arms in surrender. I threw on my T-shirt, rolled over her, and landed on the floor in the sleeping bag's overhang. I scooted out, slipped into my sweatpants, and stood. In the very same instant, Holly landed behind Claudia on the couch and draped her arm over her. I swiftly bent to kiss them both on the forehead and then retreated through the back door.

Laura had a lit cigarette waiting for me, and I might have inhaled its entirety with one breath. She put her hands on my shoulders and whispered, “She's okay. You're okay. Just let it be."

Laura and I talked utter nonsense through a couple more cigarettes. I kept my back to the porch—afraid, I think.

I understood at the very same time I had no clue. I knew intellectually that made no sense; it was one of those emotional things that made perfect sense. I knew I was not going anywhere; I knew she was not going anywhere.

I vowed to trust that whatever we had to do, we'd get through.

Eventually, the conversation on the porch became louder and freer. I figured it was safe to turn around, concluding that they had safely coaxed Claudia back into the mix. As I turned, however, I was taken back at the scene I beheld.

Holly still reclined behind Claudia, but now Janice had entered the equation. She sat pretzel-legged in front of the couch, massaging Claudia's neck to a jumble of moans and groans. Holly stroked Claudia's hair. Alison massaged a horizontal Susan on the other side of the porch. Maggie sprawled next to her, knees up, using both hands to twirl Susan's hair between her fingers. Like a manic's EEG, conversations bounced wildly: nail polish, irises, tofu, shoes, whales, yoga, and the bitchy receptionist at the Y.

I just stared, mouth agape. I swatted Laura on the arm, and she began trying to absorb the scene, as well.

"What the hell is this?” she finally yelled. “I thought there was no sympathy for hangovers! If I induce a hangover, would I get my own personal masseuse, too?"

"You already have one,” Holly replied with a wink and a smile that set into motion a quick round of goo-goo eyes.

Then Alison asked, “Who's up for the next meeting? I think we should have massage for the entire weekend!"

"And what do you propose we do about Laura and Holly?” an unusually relaxed Maggie asked.

"Oh yeah,” Alison replied. “I didn't think about them."

Neither Holly nor Laura appreciated being talked about as if they weren't in the room. Jaw dropping interrupted goo-goo eyes but only momentarily.

"I know,” Janice piped in. “I'll put a little super glue in their oil. Tell them there's this cheek-to-cheek massage they'd really like. Butt to butt, we'll glue them together."

Janice was fitting in quite nicely. I found myself scared for her.

Holly flew from the couch, scrambled out the back door, and nearly toppled me over in the process. Balancing on the same wavelength, Holly and Laura stood butt to butt. Oblivious to all living things, they proceeded to determine exactly where backward arms could reach. It was not a pretty sight, but it was damn funny.

"We could do it, hon,” Laura reassured her, turning around and pulling her in like the last puzzle piece.

"Do youwant to do it, babe?"

"Kate, is there a hose out there?” Maggie yelled. “Kris isn't here to stop them. Spray them down before it's too late."

"I would, but I have a feeling they'd like it."

"Is there anything theydon't like?"

"Only one thing,” I said. I knew the danger in messing with the one true weakness, but unheeding, I pried and slid myself between them. I put a palm on each and pushed them apart. The distance was just enough that their reaching arms could not meet. “New club bylaw, ladies,” I announced. “No activity that requires a distance less than this."

There was laughter, threats to quit, a request for a tape measure: downright obnoxiousness. It was the crescendo before the lull that would send them all on their way, back to the real world, away from the insanity that at times seemed like salvation itself.

Urging Claudia to stay where she was, they all said their goodbyes to her on the couch. I went into the house with them, as they collected their belonging and headed out the door. I felt sad, but after several of them decided to irritate me by making the bellmen do hisding, dong, burp, spit, ding thing, I got over it quickly.Go!

Go already!

And then I lingered.

I paced. I paced some more. It was stupid. I knew it was stupid, but I dawdled in the house. I had avoided Claudia since being extricated from the couch, and now I feared facing her.

That fine, cutting edge of trust threatened to slice my feet when I hesitantly made my way back to the porch.

I looked at her. She looked at me.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded.

"Are we okay?"

She nodded.

"Am I okay?"

She laughed. “Areyou?"

"I think so.” I laughed.

"Then come here.” She lifted the edge of the sleeping bag.

I gave her a look that questioned my future liberty. That was a first.

She smiled. “I promise to let you go—just not too far. I love you, and I just get scared of losing you. I'm sorry.”

She raised the sleeping bag higher. “It's still safe in here. I promise."

"Always?"

"Always! Now get in here before I am forced tobe aggressive, be be aggressive!"

My very own cheerleader! Imagine that.

I slid into the bliss of the Symbiotic Slumber Chamber. It was indeed safe there.

She held me and then ordered, “But don't get too cozy. We have half an hour. Then we go do a better job on Highway DWD and check on the orphaned Muse."

Do-gooders!

I knew I could do no gooder than this.

Note to self: Put Chapter 2 in the “McCallister” file. May be good for getting a crime-scene scoop at a later date.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12