In Stereo Where Available

IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE BECKY ANDERSON

Medallion Press, Inc.

DEDICATION: To Laura, who made my wedding dress.

Published 2007 by Medallion Press, Inc. The MEDALLION PRESS LOGO is a registered tradmark of Medallion Press, Inc. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment from this “stripped book.” Copyright © 2007 by Becky Anderson Cover Illustration by Adam Mock All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Printed in the United States of America Typeset in Baskerville ISBN#1-9338362-0-2 ISBN#978-1-933836-20-1 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 First Edition

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

To my husband, Mike, and all my kids, who put up with the many hours that went into this book; to the great people from the Internet Writing Workshop who helped me improve my craft, particularly Amanda Skjeveland and Meg Westley; to Michelle Perry and the group at Medallion Press who believed in my book; and to my mother, who read to me and rooted for me — I thank you all.

Table of Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One

CHAPTER ONE Oh be-yootiful, for spacious skies, For amber waves of guh-rain . . . I took a few kernels from the bowl of popcorn and slowly put them in my mouth, crunching delicately, my gaze fi xed on the TV. The blonde with the microphone gestured soulfully to the smirking crowd, wet-eyed, the bronzing powder a little too heavy around her cleavage. Her strappy high heels glittered. The shoes were important. Your legs are only as good as your shoes. I glanced at my cell phone beside me on the sofa, checking once again to be sure I’d turned it on. The name across the bottom of my TV screen was “Grace Kassner.” For purple mountain ma-hajesties Above the fuh-ruited plain! The note went flat and I quickly turned down the volume. Camera angles shifted; the judges winced, their pens tapping against the table. I hit the “mute” button and picked up my cell phone. Less than two minutes later, it rang. “Hi, Madison.” “Phoebe.” I could hear her sobbing, muted, as though she were pressing a tissue against her mouth. “I got eliminated.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“I know. You were great, though. Those judges don’t know anything.” “The one guy said I sounded like a seventh-grader doing karaoke at a sleepover party.” “That guy says stuff like that to everyone. I heard you, Maddie. You sounded wonderful. And the crowd loved you.” “Did they really?” “They did. If they went by crowd response, you’d definitely have made it. That’s just one little show, it’s nothing. You’re just paying your dues. You’ll have your chance yet, and then you’ll be able to say you earned it.” She sniffled. “You think?” “Absolutely. Anyway, can you see the other girls?” “No. I’m backstage.” “Well, I’m watching it right now, and the girl who’s up there is a cow. She’s wearing this scarf shirt, totally trashy, and flats, Maddie. Flats.” I was speaking her language, for her sake. I didn’t like cutting people down, but Madison needed this. “Those judges are going to be so sorry they eliminated you. I can’t even turn the sound on. She sounds like those dolls that sing when you go through the ‘It’s a Small World’ ride at Disney World.” Madison laughed in relief. “Thanks. Look, Mom’s trying to call through. I’ll be back in town tomorrow, okay? I’ll call you then.” “Okay. Love you.” “Love you, too.” I set my cell phone down and sighed. Madison’s little white dog, Pepper, was sitting on my lap, nuzzling her nose down into the cushions in search of dropped popcorn. Clicking off the 2

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TV, I stared at the stack of uncorrected crayoned math papers in a fi le folder on my desk. Tomorrow was Friday; they needed to go home in the responsibility folders, along with the handwriting sheets beneath them. I scooted Pepper over and forced myself off the sofa, reaching for the folder from beside the computer. It knocked the mouse, making the aquarium-fish screen saver vanish. And in an instant, there it was. The e-mail. Dear Phoebe, it began. Regarding dinner at your parents’ place this Saturday, I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it. I know you’ve been looking forward to them meeting me, but to be perfectly honest with you, I feel like it’s almost a little deceptive when the fact is, I don’t really have time for a serious relationship right now. I’ve been thinking maybe we ought to cool it a little, just sort of keep it casual. I think you’re a great girl, and I don’t want to stop seeing you, but I’m not really in a place right now where I can do the whole meet-the-parents thing. Take care. Bill

“Read between the lines,” Madison had said when I had called her the day before, mystified. “He’s saying he wants to get rid of the relationship and keep the sex. You ought to dump his sleazy butt straight-out.” “Really?” I’d asked, disappointed. I’d never even actually gotten that far with Bill. I’d hoped there was some kind of mirIN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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acle thing that Madison would tell me to say, something that would get him over the hump and on toward producing a ring. I was twenty-nine, after all. It was about time. “Really. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, because I’m your sister and I love you, but that’s exactly what he’s saying right there. When a man says ‘keep it casual,’ that only means one thing. Sorry, Fee.” I minimized the window and took the folder of apple-printed math worksheets over to the sofa, curling my legs up beneath me. I’d kicked off the school year with an apple theme—apple stories for reading, apple crafts for art, apple graphs for science. If you cut an apple horizontally, the seeds flared out in a star. You could dry the halves with a napkin and make prints, pressing the smooth white sides into red tempera paint that oozed up around the edges. Three days into the school year and already a parent had written me a note saying I was encouraging devil worship, promoting the use of pentagrams like that. I had written a quick apology at the bottom and sent the note back home. A lot of teaching was about turning the other cheek. That was something I could do. I’ve always been better at that than my sister. She’s the competitive twin and I’m the sweet one, so says our mother. It’s better to have only one competitive twin. I realized that early in life, and I guess she didn’t. I’m also the smart one. X

W

Madison called me the next afternoon, breathless and excited. Her phone was fading in and out, her voice mixed with the rush of the wind. She drove a Mercedes convertible—an old one, but 4

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still, it was a Mercedes. “Guess what?” she asked. The wind crackled in her phone. “I can barely hear you,” I warned her. I heard the hum of her roof going up. “Guess what?” she asked again. “What?” “I got a part! On another show!” “You did? I didn’t even know you were auditioning.” “I wasn’t. The woman came up to me about five minutes after I got off the phone with you yesterday and asked me if I wanted to be on their new reality show. She said I have exactly the qualities they’re looking for. Can you believe it? All this time driving back and forth to New York, and then out of nowhere—” “Reality show? What kind of reality show?” “Oh, I don’t know. They aren’t going to give away the plot. Something about a guy, you know, where you win the guy at the end.” “Win the guy?” I asked, enunciating slowly. “Like he’s a washer-dryer?” She laughed. “Better than a washer-dryer. Hey, I don’t have a boyfriend or anything. What do I have to lose?” “You mean not including your self-respect?” “Oh, phooey. Maybe it’ll be fate, who knows? Anyway, it’d be exposure. Maybe this will be my big break!” I groaned. “Maddie . . . every radio DJ around here was cremating you this morning over the way you sang ‘America the Beautiful.’ Aren’t you even a little worried they’re casting you as . . . kind of a joke?” “That’s fine,” she said blithely. “Then I’ll cash in on my fifteen minutes and show them what I’ve really got to offer. It’s all about IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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timing, Fee. Timing. And connections. There’s no way I can pass this up. I’ve got to be on a plane for Georgia on Friday.” “Georgia? Why Georgia?” “Who knows? I’m just going to follow this rainbow and see where it takes me. What’s the worst that can happen, right? I end up with some crummy guy I don’t want and then I dump him. I’ve already done that a hundred times.” She laughed. “I think you’re out of your mind.” “Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Look, can you drive me to the airport on Friday afternoon? My fl ight doesn’t leave until seven. Say yes, Phoebe. I’m going to be gone for three months. Oh, and can you keep watching Pepper? I don’t know where else to stick her.” “Sure, no problem.” “Great. I’m about to go through a tunnel, okay? Love ya. Bye-bye.” X

W

“How was your date last night?” My apartment-mate, Lauren, was sitting at our little dinette table with both hands wrapped around a cup of coffee as though it were a life preserver. She was still in her T-shirt and undies, didn’t even have her glasses on yet. I had to be in at work a lot earlier than she did. Lauren was a pharmaceutical rep and spent her days going around to doctors’ offices with samples and promotional products. She liked her job, and it came with a lot of freebies. Her coffee mug, for example, spelled out PROZAC in bold purple letters. “Crummy.” 6

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I poured myself a bowl of Honeycombs. “Why crummy?” “Not my type. He’s a political consultant. And he has a tattoo.” “Where?” She turned her arm over and pointed to the underside of it, halfway between her elbow and wrist. “A sun.” “Must be a Democrat.” “Yeah. It was a waste of time. I really hoped, though. Everything else was perfect. Age, zip code, education, hobbies, you name it. He’s got a master’s degree, and he bikes.” “What about his personality?” She shrugged. “Fine. He opened the car door for me. I can’t do the tattoo thing, though. That’s okay. I’ve got another date next Saturday.” “Who is it this time?” “A computer programmer. He’s thirty-four, and he likes sci-fi. We’ll see.” “That sounds a little scary.” “Yeah, but he’s a Libra. He lives in 20740, plus he’s a Dog and I’m a Rabbit. So there’s potential there.” She picked up her coffee mug and pointed to a picture on the newspaper beneath it. “Hey, look. It’s Madison.” I picked up the newspaper and scanned the page quickly. Madison’s face, framed in a wet circle from Lauren’s mug, hovered above an italicized headline. “Local Girl Bleats Her Way to Stardom,” I read. Lauren winced. “Ouch.” “Maryland’s own Grace Kassner is still holding most of her fifteen minutes of fame in escrow after her comedic interpretation of ‘America the Beautiful’ on Tuesday night’s episode IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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of Singing Sensation.” I sighed and handed the paper back to Lauren. “Couldn’t they be just a little nicer?” “Nice doesn’t sell papers.” She studied the photo, ignoring the coffee ring that was slowly trickling down the page. “Are you sure you’re identical twins?” “Yep.” I drank the milk from my cereal bowl and scooted my chair back. “Except for the nose, the boobs, the starvation diet, and the hair, we look exactly the same. Take my word for it.” “If you say so.” “I say so.” I threw my school bag over my shoulder and picked up the stack of fi les from the breakfast bar. “Except that I’ve got a better singing voice.” But it bothered me more than I let on. Naturally, she should look exactly like me: light brown hair, flattish nose, a body that felt too small on the top and too big on the bottom. Average-looking, inoffensive but not exactly pretty; we attracted attention when we were younger, but only because we were twins. Madison, however, had modeled since she was eighteen, and she’d always done well enough to get by. Little jobs—catalog work, the bikini photos for tanning salon ads, a couple of commercials, an extremely small part in an extremely softcore Playboy Fantasies video that our parents still didn’t know about—but still, she could honestly say that she was a model. It was interesting, seeing who I might become with a little deprivation and a few thousand dollars here and there. It could also be a little disorienting when people pointed out what a knockout she was, after a lifetime of hearing, Why, I can’t even tell you two apart! I tried not to find it insulting. Grace Kassner. I couldn’t ever remember calling her that, although I suppose I must have, once. She hadn’t become Mad8

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ison until we’d watched the movie Splash when we were six and she had insisted on naming herself after the mermaid. If I forgot and called her by her real name, she pinched me. She made mermaid tails for our Barbies out of green construction paper and staples, and took long, frequent baths, hoping for fins to appear. It went on for two years until she changed her mind and decided she wanted to be a horse. That stage was shorter and a little less obsessive. Our mom put her in riding lessons, and after a few months of helping shovel out the stable, she lost interest. After that she settled for covering our walls with pictures of unicorns. So far, Grace Kassner had won not a single credited role that she had auditioned for, and she was starting to get a little desperate. I wasn’t surprised she was willing to do some win-the-man reality show at this point. She had lived in Los Angeles for five years until she ran out of luck and money, and although she was proud to tell people she’d been in three topgrossing blockbuster movies, she was tired of being an extra. She was tired of traveling aimlessly and losing touch with friends and being in debt up to her eyebrows. And, like me, she was twenty-nine. It was about time. I slid into the seat of my Plymouth Horizon and dropped the folder of corrected math papers on the seat beside me. My cell phone turned on with an impersonal little buzz, and I set it on top of the folder, then started the car. Just as I pulled out of my space it chirped, letting me know I had voice mail. That was a little unusual. Maybe it was Bill. I put my foot on the brake and dialed my own number to retrieve it. “Hey, Karen, it’s Jerry,” said a nervous, unfamiliar voice. “I, uh, I met you at the teachers’ conference last week. Look, if IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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you get this message tonight, give me a call and maybe we can get together. Okay. Thanks.” He left his number and hung up. Just a wrong number. No more messages. No call from Bill. Oh, well. X

W

The best part of the day, always, was walking into my classroom first thing in the morning, before the kids came in, before anything was taken out. I liked the order of it—the dollhouse perfection of each chair turned upside-down over its desk, the carpet sample squares in a stack by my rocking chair, the easyreader books tidily arranged in their plastic bins. For half an hour or so I would move around the room, arranging the words to add to the Word Wall that day and the materials for the science lesson, taking the time to write the date neatly on the chalkboard. Without the chaos of my kids around me it felt peaceful, anticipatory, perfectly organized. Naturally, I loved the kids. I loved to teach them, to watch them have fun and struggle and wiggle with joy when they sounded out a word they had thought they couldn’t read. But in the constant motion of the day, there was no time to reflect on anything bigger than the moment at hand. That was what the morning was for. Hearing a knock at my door, I turned from setting up the tapes at the listening station. It was Antonia, the kindergarten teacher whose classroom was next to mine. She was short and shy, with long dark hair that fell in rippling waves from its center part; you could tell that, if she cut it, it would instantly curl up into an unmanageable frizzy mess. She was the third of six children in a big Italian Catholic family, and she matched every 10

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stereotype Lauren had for middle children. Watchful. A good listener. A peacemaker. I saw her only occasionally outside of school, but within our workday together she was the closest thing I had to a best friend. She was probably the only person in the world, for example, who knew that I was a virgin. Even my own mother and twin sister had long since assumed otherwise. Even my father. He cracked jokes around me that I didn’t get. Antonia understood. She’d had the same problem, but then, she’d been married at twenty-four. Even she felt a little sorry for me. “How did your sister do on Singing Sensation?” she asked softly. I set the headphones beside each of the tape players. “She got eliminated.” “Oh. I’m sorry.” “That’s okay. She’s got another job already. That’s Madison for you. She’s always got something on the horizon. The next big thing.” Antonia smiled. “I thought she was the next big thing.” “Yeah,” I said, smiling back. “She’s been the next big thing for almost twelve years.” “They’ll discover her one of these days. They have to.” “I hope so. Nobody works harder than she does to get noticed. If it never happens for her, at least it won’t be because she didn’t give it her all.” Antonia came a few feet farther into my classroom, stopping at the fish tank to play with the goldfish through the glass. “How are things with Bill?” “He dumped me. I think.” “Oh, no. I should stop asking you questions. It’s all bad news today.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“No, it’s okay. I’m kind of bummed about it, but it’s really not that big a deal. He was kind of annoying. And he was always working on his degree.” “You’ll meet somebody better. There’s someone for everyone.” I thumped the side of a stack of worksheets against the table. “Says who?” I asked teasingly. “Don’t you think it’s true?” “I think it’s kind of like your mother telling you you’re beautiful. Maybe it’s true and maybe it isn’t. People aren’t like a bag of plastic Easter eggs, where all you have to do is find the matching half.” She twisted a piece of hair around her finger. “Don’t be pessimistic.” “I’m not. I’m only being realistic. I’m at peace with it.” I smiled. “More or less.” From down the hall came the slow roar of kids being let in from the first bus to arrive. Antonia grimaced and hurried back toward her classroom. “See you at lunch,” I called after her. X

W

When I’d told Antonia that I was at peace with being alone, I’d lied. That evening I rifled through the recycling bin until I found one of Lauren’s printouts of potential men, each covered with a red X. At the top of the page was the Web site’s address: Kismet.com. Find romance with Kismet! read the banner ad. Free $50 profile! Well, it was worth a try. Lauren came home from the gym while I was fi lling out my free $50 profi le. She had on a black leotard, Juicy Couture yoga pants, and a sweatband that said “Seasonale.” 12

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“Are you really wearing the name of your birth-control pill on your forehead?” I asked her, clicking on my answers to the personality-test questions. “Beats wearing your heart on your sleeve,” she answered. “Hey, you didn’t answer that one right. You do not ‘generally make decisions quickly and decisively.’” “Yes, I do. I teach first grade. I make snap decisions a thousand times a day.” “Not in your personal life, you don’t.” “It doesn’t say personal life. It says—” I clicked the “next page” button and a string of men’s photos appeared. “Who are they?” “They’re your matches. They’re all customized to your personality profi le and zip code.” I scrolled down the screen. “Two hundred and eighteen of them? All perfectly matched? Seriously?” “Yep.” She pointed to a picture of a shy-eyed, brown-haired guy. “He’s cute. Click on him.” I read aloud from his profi le. “’I enjoy movies, hiking, and taking my dog, Sally, on long walks through the park. My exgirlfriend says I’m thoughtful and romantic.’ He sounds nice.” Lauren shook her head. “Thumbs-down. Never go out with someone who mentions their ex or names their pet. He’s already got two women in his life.” “Oh.” She pointed to a dark-haired guy with a sexy, all-white smile. “Try him.” “’Hey, ladies, what can I say about myself?’” I read. “’I’m an average guy. I like the Redskins, the Orioles, the Capitals, and the Wizards. I’m looking for a—” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“Don’t worry about what he’s looking for,” Lauren said quickly. “He already told you he won’t respect you in the morning and he’s unavailable fifty-two Sundays a year. Move on.” “He said that? No, he didn’t. That’s not what he said.” “Read between the lines, Phoebe.” I sighed and clicked the next page. “You and Madison. Maybe you should come on dates with me as a translator.” Lauren patted me on the shoulder and sipped at the straw in her iced latte. “Don’t worry, Fee. I can get you through this. I’m a professional.”

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CHAPTER TWO

Madison spent her few days back home signing autographs for the neighborhood kids and posing for pictures taken by their excited mothers, a celebrity just for the two minutes she’d spent singing badly and getting cut down by a bigger celebrity. That Friday, on the way to the airport, Pepper ran back and forth in the backseat of my car, bumping hard against the doors with every turn. She wasn’t much of a car dog. Pepper was a purebred Maltese, one of those dogs with straight white hair that falls all the way to the floor, making her look like a wellgroomed dust mop. She had a yappy little bark and a prissy little walk, and whenever I fed her, I got a guilty sort of feeling that I should be serving her dinner in a crystal goblet like they do in those TV commercials. “How’s she been, anyway?” asked Madison. “Fine. She’s a good girl. She’s not fighting with the cats anymore.” Madison reached into the backseat and scooped her up. “Mommy missed you, yes, she did! And Mommy’s going to miss you some more. Poor baby.” “I’ll take good care of her.” “You always do.” She held Pepper up in front of her, nose to nose. “Maybe Mommy will bring back a daddy for you. Wouldn’t that be a nice little souvenir?” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“I’ll be rooting for you, Maddie.” “Oh, I know you will.” She set Pepper back on the seat and took her powder compact out of her purse, touching up the spot on her nose where Pepper had licked her. “How are things going with Bill, by the way?” “They’re not. He hasn’t called or anything. I kind of wish he would. I’ve got a date tonight, anyway.” I reached into the console for my cell phone. “Whoops, I forgot to turn it on.” “There’s other fish in the sea.” “Hold on. I’ve got voice mail.” I handed her my phone. “Dial for me. Maybe it’s him.” Madison dialed my voice mail and handed the phone back to me. I tucked it up against my ear, turning onto the exit for the airport. “Hey, Karen, it’s, uh, Jerry again. I haven’t been able to get in touch with you, but I’d, uh, like to. Give me a call and maybe we can talk about this weekend. Okay.” Again, he left his number. I rolled my eyes and hung up. “It’s the same wrong number I got a couple days ago,” I said. “Some guy trying to get in touch with Karen. Hello. I’m not Karen.” Madison giggled. “I’ve done that before.” “Done what?” “Given a guy a fake phone number.” “Oh.” I thought about that for a minute. “You think that’s it, really?” “Yeah. Just ignore him. He’ll figure it out eventually.” “That’s so sad.” She shrugged, playing with the air vents. “It beats telling a guy to his face that you’re not interested.” 16

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“Maybe I ought to call him and let him know I’m not Karen. I don’t want him to think I’m not calling him back because I don’t care.” “He’s not calling you, Phoebe. He’s calling Karen, whoever she is. And anyway, you don’t care. You’ve never even met him, remember?” “Well, no, but that’s just so sad. He’s sitting there waiting for me to call him back and I’m just ignoring him.” “Phoebe. He’s waiting for Karen to—oh, that’s my terminal. Just pull up to the curb, I’ll be fine.” She gave me a hug, patting my back lightly with her manicured hand. “Wish me luck! When you see me again, I just might be with the man of my dreams!” X

W

My first Kismet date was one I’d set up myself after e-mailing a guy whose description conjured up Bill’s polar opposite: social, outgoing, well-traveled, fun-loving. He was a thirty-two-yearold Sagittarius named Marty, and, according to his profi le, he drove a red Jaguar. “Bad, bad, bad,” said Lauren, shaking her head in the doorway of my bedroom as I smoothed on lipstick. “You’re going about this all wrong.” “He came up as a match,” I reminded her gamely, stepping into a pair of black high heels—the highest ones I owned. “One hundred percent.” “You’ve got to look beyond just the Myers-Briggs,” she insisted, rhythmically chopping at the air with her open hand. “Please, Phoebe. The astrology is bad, the car is bad, the date is IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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bad. Coffee, remember? Go out for coffee. You don’t do dinner and a movie on a blind date. It’s just a bad idea.” “I’m tired of coffee. Practically all Bill ever wanted to pay for was coffee. I want a date. One where you go someplace with cloth napkins and no screaming kids, and then you see a movie where all of the action takes place on Planet Earth. No time travel, no alien life forms.” I picked up my purse from the bed and checked for my wallet. “Maybe even something with subtitles. Ooh.” “Don’t start going overboard.” I hugged her and headed toward the door. “Don’t wait up for me.” She leaned against the wall and sighed wearily as I lifted my keys from the hook beside the door. “Make good choices,” she called. X

W

Marty was cuter in person than he had been in his picture. He was tall and dark-haired, with a lot of five o’clock shadow and a broad, sexy grin. When I reached to shake his hand, he pulled me toward him and hugged me instead. “Great to meet you, Phoebe,” he said, and I bit my lip, suddenly shy. He kept his hand on my back as we stepped into the restaurant, slid my jacket from my shoulders, and touched my waist as he guided me toward the table. I kept trying not to flinch. “So,” he said, pouring me a glass of wine, “ever been here before?” I glanced around. The restaurant had been his choice—an Italian place with dim lights and waiters in jackets and ties. I 18

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had been relieved when I’d fl ipped open the menu and discovered that it was in English. “No,” I admitted. “I suppose you have, right?” “Yep, many times. It’s got the most authentic Italian food around. And the best wine list, bar none. Bar none.” I nodded and rolled the stem of my wineglass between my fingers. “Have you, uh . . . have you been to Italy?” “Quite a number of times. Well, you saw in my profile that I travel a lot. And I do.” I cleared my throat. I hadn’t known if it was acceptable to talk about the profi le on a date. It seemed unromantic, admitting that you’d chosen your date out of a catalog. “For work or for fun?” I asked. “Both, but mostly for work. My job’s pretty demanding, pretty busy. You’ve got to travel a lot to stay competitive. You’ve got to keep in shape, too.” He slapped his stomach. It made a solid sound, like hitting the side of a briefcase. “Otherwise, you’re done.” I reached for my wine. “So are you in sales, or business, or . . .” “Neither. I’m a professional Santa.” I coughed, my wine rippling in the glass. I struggled to swallow, then repeated, “A professional Santa?” “Yep. Since I was twenty.” “Is that, uh . . . that’s not a year-round job, is it?” He leaned toward me excitedly, folding his arms in front of him on the table. “No, that’s a common misconception. There’s the busy season, but the rest of the year I still work forty to sixty hours a week. There’s Christmas shops, Christmas villages, catalog work, theme parks—and private parties, of course. It’s a lot of travel. And then there are the conventions—” “Conventions? They have . . . professional Santa conventions?” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“Sure, what’s wrong with that?” I shook my head hastily. “Nothing.” “I took first place in the ‘Ho Ho Ho’ competition in Toronto two years ago. I’ve got a trophy for it on my bookshelf.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at me suavely over his raised wineglass. “I’ll have to show it to you.” I smiled quickly with my lips closed. “Great.” The waiter arrived with our salads. I moved my glass out of the way and looked at Marty’s salad curiously. “They forgot the dressing on yours,” I whispered. He shook his head and unrolled his fork from his napkin. “No, I didn’t get any. Gotta keep in shape, remember?” “Right.” I watched as Marty picked the croutons out one at a time with his spoon and set them on his bread plate. “Aren’t Santas supposed to be fat?” “That’s what the padding’s for.” He smiled at me and shook salt onto the lettuce. “Can’t count on any tips at the bachelorette parties if you’re shaking like a bowl full of jelly.” “Oh. I guess not.” “You’d better believe it.” He stabbed his fork into his salad, spearing a tomato at the end of a cluster of green leaf lettuce. “I don’t have to check those lists twice, I’ll tell you what. Ain’t nobody on the ‘nice’ side.” “Well, I guess you must like kids,” I offered cheerfully. “I mean, during the, uh . . . regular season.” He laughed. “No way. I hate kids.” I set my fork down and stared at him. “But . . . you’re a regular Santa, too, right? Like in department stores and all that?” “Yep. Sure am.” “So how can you hate kids?” 20

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He rolled his eyes. Through a mouthful of salad, he said, “Get your lap whizzed on as much as I have and you’d hate ’em, too. Speaking of which.” “Speaking of what?” “’Scuse me for a moment.” He stood up and pushed his chair in. “Pit stop.” “Oh. Right.” I watched him round the corner to the men’s room. He was in great shape, all right—no doubt about that. As soon as the door swung shut, I dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the table and rushed back out to my car, slowing only at the restaurant door to pull off my high heels. As I peeled out of the parking lot, I spotted his red Jaguar parked in a handicapped space, its license plate reading “HOHOHO1.” X

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The date with Marty gave me new resolve to be absolutely realistic about my expectations for my love life. From now on I would keep the heels low and the gas tank full. I would read between the lines. I would take “fun-loving” as a warning label. Under no circumstances would I again find myself being seduced by Santa Claus. I deleted my way through date offers and cautiously set up a Starbucks meeting with an Escort-driving Pisces named Sam. The voice mails from Karen’s jilted suitor were still on my phone, and they were bothering me. That woman had some nerve, handing out a made-up phone number to some poor guy. If I intended to be truthful and realistic with myself about dating, then it was my responsibility to help Jerry do the same IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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thing. After I got off the phone with Sam, I sat on my sofa playing with my cell-phone antenna and watching an old episode of Friends, trying to work up enough nerve to call Jerry and break the news. The living room was noisy tonight. Pepper was curled up on the pink-and-purple leopard-print tasseled pet bed that Madison had left for her, but every other animal in the living room was wide awake. Hugo, my guinea pig, was squealing over in the cage he shared with the rabbit. The parakeets, Tristan and Isolde, were chirping and fighting over the mirror. One of the cats— Pippi, the bigger one—bared her claws along the catnip-scented cardboard scratch box, and Socks, the smaller of the two, chased a ball around a plastic ring. Even the iguana was crawling from one end of her stick to the other. Hugo and the rabbit, Cotton, were the only pets I had actually bought—the guinea pig first, and then the rabbit when he seemed lonely. The rest had been given to me by people—other teachers at my school, kids with a box of kittens outside Safeway. The iguana had come from one of Madison’s old boyfriends. He’d gotten tired of it. An air freshener commercial ended, and the network logo appeared on the screen, along with a couple of teasers for upcoming episodes of the new fall sitcoms. And beginning Thursday, said the voice-over, a reality show like you’ve never seen before— one that will knock your socks off ! I dialed Jerry’s number. “Hello?” “Hi, is this Jerry?” “Yeah. Hey, how are ya?” He had a nice, friendly voice, a touch of some kind of an accent. Southern Maryland, probably. A little bit country. 22

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“I’m good. Uh, look, Jerry, there’s been kind of a mix-up—” “Yeah, I figured. I waited around for a while, but I figured something had come up for you. That’s okay, we can do dinner another time. It’s not like you live that far away.” “Um . . . I’m not sure—” “Aw, c’mon. You’re in Takoma Park, right?” “Well, I did grow up there, actually. But no, now I’m in Silver Spring.” “Silver Spring? Even better. Why’d I think you said Takoma Park? Look, give me your e-mail. There’s something I want to send you. Read it and then make up your mind, okay?” I sighed. This would be easier to do over e-mail than over the phone, anyway. “Okay.” That night I opened my e-mail, deleting my way through all the junk offers of mortgage loans and wonder drugs, a forwarded joke from my father, some photos of my little cousins sent by my aunt. And then, sent an hour or so before, a message from a Jerry Sullivan with a subject line that said, “Hey again.” I opened it. Dear Karen, I’m not usually this forward, so I hope you won’t think I’m crazy or anything, but I wrote this after I met you on the first day of the conference. I hope you like it, and if you do, let’s get together and do dinner. I’m free this Friday and Saturday. If not, then, it’s been great meeting you. You seem like a wonderful woman.

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Around the corner My lazy long gaze rests along her heel One toe tapping behind her, the opposite shoe, Plebian and practical. But her eyes betray, With hazel complexity, something softer. Close behind her, the swirl of her hair above her nape Distracts me; “Hello” is difficult. She smiles, her offered hand shaming my too-big grasp, And I am struck silent by these unfamiliar things, By the shape of women. Her name in my pocket, the strange numerology Of her home, folded and unfolded, Soft-edged, in its trailing penned lines A Scriptural kind of hope. Looking forward to hearing from you soon. Jerry

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When Lauren got home from her date later that night, I asked her, “How was the computer programmer?” “Oh . . . no good. I could tell as soon as I saw his car.” “How is that?” “It’s a Suburban. No wife, no kids, and he drives a big gasguzzling Suburban. I drive a Prius, right? That’s definitely not in the cards.” “You’re car-incompatible.” “We are. It’s too bad, too. He seemed like a nice guy.” 24

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I turned the page of the art resource book I was looking through and began making a list of necessary supplies. Tempera paint, I wrote. Manila paper. Soda straws. “So give him another chance,” I told her. “Maybe you can talk him into trading it in for a smaller car.” She shook her head vehemently. “No way. I’m not about changing anybody. Besides, it says a lot about him psychologically. He wants to be able to look at every other guy on the road during that morning commute and say to himself, ‘I’ve got a bigger one.’” “So what kind of a car are you looking for in a guy?” She considered the question seriously. “I think maybe an Acura Integra. Something that says ‘financial security,’ but at least somewhat environmentally responsible, and classy without being showy. You know what I mean?” “I suppose.” “A Saturn would be good, too. Speaking of men, did you ever call good old Jerry?” I’d told her about my mystery caller. She was following the developments like a newspaper serial. I sighed. “Yeah. I couldn’t break it to him that I’m not Karen. He sounded so happy, I just couldn’t do it. He asked for my e-mail address.” “Did you give it to him?” “Yeah, I figured that way I’d get an e-mail from him, and I’d be able to write him back and tell him about the mix-up without having to hear his reaction, you know? But you know what he sent me?” “What?” “A poem, Lauren. He wrote it himself, to me. I mean, to Karen. It was so sweet. I can’t tell him I’m not her. He’ll be IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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so embarrassed.” She grinned and took a few steps into the kitchen, opening the fridge door and pulling out a Styrofoam container of leftover steak fajitas and a packet of tortillas. “So what are you going to do?” “I don’t know. I can’t just ignore it. I’d feel like he was just sitting there forever waiting to hear back from me. Besides, I don’t want him to start sending me a string of e-mails that sound as pathetically hopeful as his phone messages. That I just couldn’t handle.” The microwave buttons beeped, and the light inside flashed on, the foam container turning slowly. “Can you pretend you’re Karen and tell him you’re in a relationship right now?” I shuddered. “I couldn’t do that. It would break his heart. Anyway, why would I have given him my phone number if I was in a relationship? He’ll never believe it. He’ll know I’m just ditching him.” “Well, you’re going to have to do something.” “I know, I know. I just have no idea what.” “He could be a psycho, you know. Maybe there’s a reason Karen gave him a phony number. What kind of guy sends a woman poetry after he’s just met her, anyway?” “A sweet guy, maybe. I don’t know. I’m just going to sit in front of my computer and wait for insight.” “Let me know what happens,” she said, spooning sour cream onto a plate. “I don’t envy you. I hate breaking up with guys I don’t like anymore. I’ve never had to break up with someone I haven’t even met.” I closed my bedroom door and turned on my computer, staring at the screen blankly, knocking the mouse every now 26

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and then to keep the screen saver from coming on. Finally I hit “Reply.” Dear Jerry, I wrote. Your poem was so sweet. Thanks so much for sharing it with me. Things are kind of busy for me these days, but I’ll get in touch if I get any free time in my schedule. Take care! Karen

There, I thought. Perfect. Flattering, while making use of Lauren’s never-fail method for avoiding men: the busy schedule. I sighed and logged out of my e-mail account, musing on the irony of Jerry and his lonely love poetry. I’d written in my profi le on Kismet that I was looking for someone intelligent, romantic, and gentle yet assertive. Finally there was a chance he was coming my way—and he was looking for somebody else. Go figure.

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CHAPTER THREE

“Welcome to an enchanted world where the morning brings gentle mists that rise over fields of cotton, lovers share secrets in the cool retreat of a grape arbor, and gorgeous spreading vistas offer little girls a chance to dream of princes and castles on a slow summer afternoon. Here in this beautifully restored antebellum mansion, twelve very special ladies will have the opportunity to seize their fate and make that dream their own—if they can become—the Belle of Georgia!” The camera swooped dramatically through the front door of the vast white-columned house and into what looked like a ballroom, where the twelve very special ladies fanned out on each side of a guy who looked like he’d just stepped out of a cologne ad. He wore a loose white cotton shirt and khaki pants with a pair of old-fashioned leather explorer boots—everything but the pith helmet and a spider monkey on his shoulder. When he smiled, the cleft in his chin deepened. My sister was third from his right, flashing thousands of dollars in cosmetic dental work. She wore a dress of pink rosebud-print calico, her shoulders bared, her skirts four feet in diameter. She looked like some kind of early Dolly Parton album cover. “Each of these ladies has been chosen in a nationwide search to vie for the love of a Southern gentleman—and yet not one, but two gentlemen will be competing for their hands. True love 28

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will prevail, and with it, a spectacular reward unlike anything they might have imagined. Stay tuned for the television event of the century!” A maid-service commercial came on. I microwaved some leftover chicken casserole and sat down just in time to see the contestants’ bios flashing across the screen. “Lily Martin, nineteen, a personal trainer from Tallahassee, Florida; Kathy McNamara, twenty-two, a pediatric nurse from Boston, Massachusetts; Grace Kassner, twenty-four, a first-grade teacher from Silver Spring, Maryland . . .” “You wench!” I said out loud. Riding the coattails of my job like that. And she’d shaved five years off our age. “And I’m your host, Brent Holloway. Now let’s meet the eligible bachelors who will be competing for the hands of these lovely ladies. It is of utmost importance that the true identities of these gentlemen not be revealed until the conclusion of our whirlwind romance. With this in mind, may I introduce you to our first bachelor—Rhett!” A tall, dark-haired man in a red silk smoking jacket was standing in an elegant library, one hand on his hip and the other on top of a bust of Julius Caesar. He was pretty cute, even if he didn’t look all that much like Rhett Butler. He was missing the mustache, and his toothy grin looked more uneducated than piratical. “A Charlestonian by birth, Rhett is searching for a woman who is intelligent, beautiful, and knows what she wants out of life. She should be free-spirited yet devoted, with an interest in exotic travel and enjoyment of fine wine and cuisine.” I nodded approvingly. Madison had as good a shot at him as anyone. She fit most of that description, except for “devoted” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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and, to some extent, “intelligent.” “Our next bachelor, a Georgia native, is a man we will call—Ashley!” The camera cut to a lanky, well-bred guy with curly blond hair, wearing riding boots and standing beside a horse, reins in hand. He turned and looked casually into the camera, smiling a little sadly. “Ashley prefers to spend his days discussing poetry and philosophy, and is searching for a kindred spirit with whom he can share his innermost thoughts and feelings. He enjoys European travel, great literature, and the orchestra.” Well, Maddie was out of luck there. At least she still had Rhett. “On their own, each of these wonderful ladies has a marvelous opportunity to win the heart of one of our gentlemen. Yet they will not be competing alone. Two teams will be chosen, and accept challenges to display the skills and talents becoming of a Southern belle. Each week, the losing team must choose one contestant among themselves who will return home—a dream forever lost, and yet, tomorrow is another day!” I rolled my eyes and poked around in my chicken casserole with my fork, looking for more of the Ritz-cracker topping. “Our teams have been chosen based on one of the most important events in the history of our great nation—a crucible on which our national identity was forged. As Americans, our contestants are eager to participate in the re-creation of this most significant time in our history—the epic battle between North and South!” Brent Holloway gestured toward a small mahogany table draped with a dark blue cloth and pulled the cloth with a flourish. 30

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Laid out in a shallow box were twelve oval brooches, six of the American flag and six of the Confederate. There was an audible gasp from the women behind him. “As I call your name, ladies, please come forward and receive your colors.” One at a time he pinned the brooches to their strapless dresses. The two cameras switched back and forth between the contestants’ cleavage and the way Brent Holloway’s nubby cotton shirt floated over his pectoral muscles. When my sister came forward and he picked up an American flag, she looked nervous. I knew what she was thinking. Maryland. Border state. And those Southern girls looked mean. The first challenge came right after the commercial. It was called “Barbecue at Twelve Oaks,” and began with a scene of all the girls running around a big, pale-blue bedroom in old-fashioned underwear, lacing each other into corsets. Lots of leering shots of women moving their boobs around and their suggestive grimaces as they pulled each others’ laces as tightly as they could. One girl, a Yankee, passed out. Lined up in two neat rows in the rose garden, they sucked in their stomachs as Brent Holloway measured their waists with a long yellow tailor’s tape. The Rebels won by a good six inches, and Brent unveiled a table full of barbecue and iced tea for them to enjoy, if they could, while schmoozing with Rhett and Ashley. “We gave it a good try,” said a girl from New York, weakly. “I guess that’s the price we pay for not being a bunch of anorexic debutante bimbos,” my sister added acidly. They voted out a girl from Delaware. She was the fat one. X

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I sat in a shaky black chair just behind the window at Starbucks, swinging my crossed-over leg with studied nonchalance and reading a celebrity magazine someone had left behind. Rhett’s Real World was the name of the article, the red letters splashed above a full-page photo of Rhett sitting in a living room that looked like part of a Pottery Barn showroom. From the custombuilt wine cellar to the African-inspired master suite, this is the villa that the rakish Charlestonian calls home. “Phoebe?” I’d already seen him walk in, but I looked up from my magazine in feigned surprise. “Sam! Nice to meet you.” He was short, with the kind of close-cropped haircut that men get when they realize they’re going bald, but he wasn’t too bad looking. I shook his short-fingered hand and let him get in line to order me a cappuccino. “So,” he said, sitting down in the chair opposite mine and handing me my coffee, “I understand you’re from around here?” “Originally? Yeah. I grew up in Takoma Park.” “Really? That’s a nice area. I’ve hit the antique stores there a few times.” I smiled. That was a good start. “So where are you from?” “Ohio. I moved out here for work.” He crossed and uncrossed his legs nervously. “I work for a nonprofit downtown. The Children’s Action League.” Even better. I pushed the magazine onto the windowsill and wrapped my hands around my coffee, leaning toward him. “Do you enjoy it?” “Yeah, definitely. It’s rewarding, you know? Trying to make sure every kid gets a fair shot. Well, you know. You’re a 32

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teacher, right?” “Yes.” I was already sorry I’d not only foregone the heels, but had worn jeans and an oversized L.L.Bean sweater. The idea had been to project an “I’ve got no investment in this date” vibe. Unfortunately, that was no longer the vibe I wanted to project. “You’ve got to love your work,” he said, tapping the table with his fist. “It’s not enough just to collect the paycheck. Life’s too short.” I nodded avidly. “I completely agree.” “That’s the difference between here and Ohio, if you ask me. People rush around too much. I see it all the time when I’m working at the blood drives. People pass by, they don’t want to come in. They don’t want to slow down, or run the risk that they’ll have to take it easy for an afternoon. It’s sad, really.” This was getting better and better. Mentally I started sifting through my calendar for the next three months, trying to remember how many weekends I had free. “Is that like a volunteering thing you do?” He sipped his coffee and nodded. “Yeah, for the Red Cross. I do it once, sometimes twice a week. It’s important work.” “Wow. That’s terrific. I mean, that you’re willing to take so much time out to do that.” “I don’t mind.” He shrugged, then smiled at me. “I’m great with a needle. I can get a vein on anybody. You’re probably pretty easy. Your veins, I mean.” I laughed. “Yeah, I never have any problem at the doctor’s office. How can you tell?” “Just your look. Your build, I suppose. Some people bleed easier than others. Hey, is that an antique shop?” I looked at the place he was pointing to across the street. IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“No, it’s a fake one. They sell country crafts. You know, cows and angels and stuff.” “Oh. That’s too bad.” I extended a finger timidly from my coffee cup and poked his hand. “I know a good store in Kensington, though, if you want me to show you sometime.” He grinned. “That’d be great. I’m pretty specific in what I look for, though. I’m kind of a collector.” “So what do you collect?” “Oh . . . pictures. Old photos, mostly. Specific old photos.” “Like a particular celebrity or something?” “Not exactly. I collect mourning photos.” I looked at him curiously. “What’s a mourning photo?” “Oh, they were an old Victorian tradition from the early days of photography. When a loved one died, they took a picture. For posterity.” I nodded. It seemed a delicate subject. “Of the mourners. That makes sense. Sometimes it seems like that’s the only time you can get the whole family together. I remember at my grandma’s—” “No, not of the mourners. Of the deceased.” I stared at Sam for a long moment. “I beg your pardon?” He curved his furry eyebrows upward as if in sympathy. “It makes sense when you think about it. People didn’t have a lot of photos of their loved ones to remember them by. So sometimes they took the final picture in the coffin, sometimes on their bed. It was pretty common. It’s not, like . . . weird.” I shook my head slowly. “No, not at all.” He sipped his coffee. “They’re kind of hard to come by. I’ve only got about fifty. A lot of antique-store owners aren’t even aware of the custom.” He reached into his back pocket 34

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and pulled out his wallet. Flipping it open to the plastic photo pages, he said, “I always carry a few with me, so they’ll know what I’m talking about when I ask. Reproductions, of course.” “Of course.” Through a half squint, I peered at the photo he’d laid on the table. It showed a woman who looked like the Whistler’s Mother, white bonnet and all, resting peacefully on a satin-ruffled coffin lining. Over her head, in elaborate white script, was the word Mother. I managed to steer my gaze up to Sam’s face and waited for him to give me the punch line. Perhaps this was his idea of a great first-date gag, or else some kind of a test of how tolerant or compassionate a person I was. Unfortunately, it was a test I was about to fail. “I have other ones,” he offered, his tone hopeful. With his index finger, he fl ipped through a few of his other samples. “A tree-cutting accident, an epidemic victim. Back at my place I even have one from Hawaii. That’s very unusual. Maybe I could show it to you sometime.” I raised my eyebrows as high as possible and answered with an excited nod. When I’d walked into this Starbucks, my goal had been marriage and children. Now, it was to leave without seeing any more dead people. “Well, I’d better head out,” I said, glancing at the wrist I’d forgotten to put a watch on. “Lots of papers to grade.” “Sure.” Sam fl ipped his wallet closed and moved to tuck it back into his pocket, then hesitated. “Hey, you forgot to give me your phone number. I’m free next weekend, if you like. We can go antiquing, maybe. Or you could come over to my place and I can show you my collection.” “Sure. Sure.” I peeked into my purse. “Oh, I don’t have a IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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pen or paper.” “I do.” He tore a corner from the celebrity magazine and handed me a pen from his pocket, then winked at me. “I won’t lose it. Promise.” I breezily wrote down a string of ten random numbers, properly punctuated, and handed it to him with a smile. “Give me a call,” I said, with as much cheerful warmth as I could muster. “If I’m not there, just leave a voice mail. And it’s been great meeting you.” X

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Jerry, my lovelorn mystery poet, called me later that afternoon, just as I was returning from the trip to the mall I’d taken to calm my nerves after my date with Dr. Death. I squinted at the unrecognizable phone number that popped up on my cellphone screen and, idiotically, answered it. “Hey, Karen. It’s Jerry.” My stomach seized up. “Oh, hi.” “I got your e-mail. Thanks for the compliment. You never know what somebody’s going to think, you know, when you put yourself out there like that.” “Uh, well, no problem.” “So, are you doing anything tonight? I mean, I know you said you’re busy these days, but it’s Saturday and I figured it can’t hurt to ask. I only live up in Kensington, so if you want to get together, it’s not much of a drive. I can pick you up.” “Oh, well . . .” My mind raced frantically, trying to come up with some excuse. I glanced at my calendar and named the first thing I saw. “I’ve, uh—got a dentist appointment.” 36

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“On Saturday night?” “Yeah, well, it’s one of those emergency ones. I’ve had problems with a—with a wisdom tooth. You know how that is.” I cringed as if he could whack me for an excuse that lame right across the phone connection. “Yeah, I do. Well, that’s too bad. I was thinking about that fondue place. Have you ever done fondue?” “Once, when I was in Girl Scouts.” He laughed. “This is probably better. How about next weekend? Saturday, say.” “Um . . . I’m not sure what I have going on. Why don’t we get in touch later this week and decide then?” “Sure, sounds good. I’ll keep that night open. I’ll give you a call Wednesday, okay?” “Okay. Yeah.” That evening I cornered Lauren in her bedroom as she was changing from her gym clothes into PJ pants and her favorite Tshirt, pale blue and a size too small, that said Viagra across the front in bold white letters. “Help me,” I said. She turned around, pulling her hair out of the collar with both hands. “What’s the matter?” “Jerry called me a couple of hours ago. He’s trying to get me to go out with him.” “He’s trying to get you to go out with him, or he’s trying to get Karen to go out with him?” She picked a few cat hairs off of her comforter. “Karen. But he still thinks I’m Karen. Get me out of this, Lauren. I can’t do this much longer. I’m a horrible actress.” “I’d say you’re a wonderful actress. You’ve got some poor IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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desperate guy believing you’re the woman of his dreams.” “Stop it. I feel bad enough already.” “You know, I’ve heard they do this in Japan all the time. Teenagers, I mean. They just dial random phone numbers and try to hook up with whoever answers. Of course, I don’t think they pretend they’re other people, let alone send each other mediocre love poems before the first date. That just screams ‘stalker.’” I twisted my fingers into my bangs. “Lauren. Do you have an idea or don’t you? He’s going to call me back in a couple of days. I need to know what to tell him.” “You know what you need to do?” She looked at me over her glasses, fl icking her fingers over the trash can to make the cat hairs fall. “You need to send him a nice honest e-mail explaining exactly what happened. That way he’ll stop nagging you, you won’t have to talk to him, and he’ll know that you meant well. Then you can get on with your life.” “You think I should?” “Yes. This is just silly, Phoebe, really. I’m not trying to be critical, but you’re really painting yourself into a corner here. You think you’re being nice, but you’re just leading him on. He’s a grown man. He can take the news.” I sighed. “Maybe you’re right.” “I am right. Go in there right now and write the e-mail. You’ll feel so much better once you’re done.” “I can’t do it right now. I can’t deal with men anymore. You know who I went out with today? A guy who collects photos of dead people. Dead people, Lauren. My nerves are shattered.” “Don’t be melodramatic. You’re going to meet some weirdos, all right? Everybody does. You can’t let it get to you. It’s just like in sports, okay? The best therapy for an injury is to get 38

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right back in the game. So go in there and set up your next date. Then, once you’ve done that, deal with Jerry. You’ll feel a hundred percent better.” “You think so?” “I’m sure of it.” I went to my own room and double-clicked on my mail software. You’ve got mail. There it was again, Jerry Sullivan. I clicked on the message. Dear Karen, It was great to talk to you earlier. I’m looking forward to hopefully seeing you next weekend.

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thought I ought to tell you a little more about me, since I know the conference was pretty crazy and I don’t remember what I already told you. I’m 33, and I teach English at Kensington High. I got my B.S. from Towson and my M.S. from Georgetown. In my free time (ha) I do a lot of reading, mostly new fiction—I’m a big fan of Don DeLillo— and I really like to cook. Last summer I took a class in Vietnamese cooking over at the Culinary Institute, and I’m great with knives now—don’t let that scare you. Right now I’ve got my sister and her kids living with me, and they’ve kind of taken over, so I don’t get a chance to do much else. Usually on the weekends I’m taking the kids places so she gets a break. Well, that’s my life, I guess. Not all that exciting, but some would say that’s a good thing. Talk to you soon. Jerry IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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My mouse cursor hovered over the “reply” button for a moment, then dropped down to the bottom of my screen and disconnected. I just couldn’t do it. By now I didn’t even mind his calls and his e-mails. I just wanted him to stop calling me “Karen.” X

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“How did Jerry take the news?” It was Wednesday evening, and Lauren was standing beside the oven with her arms folded, waiting for her steak to finish broiling. For a woman, Lauren was a seriously dedicated carnivore. Rarely did she eat a meal that didn’t involve red meat, whether it was a sandwich or Chinese take-out or an ordinary middle-of-the-week dinner. It didn’t have anything to do with the Atkins diet or anemia or anything like that. That’s just what she liked to eat. “I didn’t tell him,” I admitted. “You didn’t?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Didn’t you say he was going to call you today?” “He did, actually. We’ve got a date on Saturday.” “Oh, no. Tell me you’re joking.” “No joke. I’m kind of curious to meet him. He sounds like a nice guy.” She gave me a look of complete dismay. “He thinks you’re another woman,” she reminded me slowly. “I know. I’ll straighten it out when I see him. He seems to like me, after all. I’m just thinking of it as kind of a weird blind date.” 40

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“Phoebe! Are you out of your mind?” She stared at me, then suddenly remembered her steak and opened up the oven, smoke pouring out the top of it. She put on an oven mitt and carefully lifted the cookie sheet, trying not to spill meat juice all over herself. “It’s not you he likes, remember? It’s the woman he met at the teachers’ conference. You can’t just jump in as her substitute. It doesn’t work that way.” “Well, I’m a teacher, too. We’re even both from Takoma Park, Karen and I. What are the odds, huh? Maybe it’s fate.” “It’s not fate. It’s a wrong number. Sheesh, Phoebe. Why don’t you start taking those collect calls we get from the state prison? Or hitting on the fund-raising guys who call us at dinnertime?” She stabbed her steak with a fork and shook it onto a plate, a bit of the juice splattering against her thumb. “Ouch.” “Maybe I will. Maybe it’s like sending someone else to the salad bar for you. They’ll come back with something you wouldn’t have picked on your own, but it turns out to be pretty good after all.” “You’re nuts. You just need to keep doing the Kismet thing a little longer.” “I am. I’ve also got a date with another guy from the Web site. This is the last one, though. I mean it. I’ve been out with Saint Nick and the Grim Reaper. I think I’ve given it a fair shot already.” She sighed. “You just have to be selective, okay? I Google every one of my matches before I set up a date, did you know that?” “That sounds kind of kinky.” She smirked at me. “I type their name into a search engine. You’d be amazed what you can find out. I found one guy’s update on his high-school class Web site talking about his kids.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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She gave me a knowing look and pointed her fork at me. “Think about that.” I shrugged. “You’re just as single as I am.” Lauren did a little loosening-up-for-a-fight dance, her hips wiggling, searching through the spice cabinet for the steak sauce. “Fine, see if I care,” she retorted. “He’s your stalker.” X

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I pulled into the parking lot slowly, mentally sorting through the people standing around the entrance to the restaurant. Two heavyset, permed women laughing with a sheepishly smiling teenage boy in dress clothes; a twenty-something guy in lowslung trousers and an overly long belt impatiently smoking a cigarette; and then, standing with his arms behind him and leaning against the wall, a short-haired middle-aged man in pleated khakis and a navy blue sweater. That had to be him. I parked my car and made my way cautiously toward where he was standing. He wasn’t bad looking: fairly tall, clean-shaven, the features of his shy-looking face ordinary but balanced. Slightly paunchy at the front of his sweater. His hair was fine and fawn-colored, a bit of a red tinge to it, receding somewhat into a widow’s peak. He was average, a solid five out of ten. That was okay; so was I. He glanced at me and then away, still looking for Karen. I decided I liked his build, nice and solid across the chest, with good strong shoulders. “Jerry?” He looked at me perplexedly. “Ah, yes?” I put my hand out. “My name’s Phoebe.” 42

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He shook my hand politely, looking utterly lost. His handshake was okay, a little light, but passable. “Look, there’s something I need to tell you, and I’m not quite sure how.” Jerry stood up a little taller; I could tell he was bracing himself for rejection. In a somber voice he said, “All right.” “This is going to sound crazy,” I warned him, “but apparently, um, the Karen you met gave you my phone number instead of hers, and I’m the one you’ve been talking to all this time. I’m really sorry. I tried to tell you, but I just felt really bad, and I didn’t know how to break it to you.” He gave me a long pausing look, as if he was either waiting for the punch line or hoping reality would come back into focus. “Say that again?” “The number you’ve been calling. The e-mail, too. They’re mine. I’m sorry, I really am, but I don’t have any idea who Karen is or how you can get in touch with her. I wanted to email you, but after you sent the poem I just couldn’t—” “You’re the one I sent the poem to?” “Yeah, but I’m not Karen. I mean, obviously. But I did like it. It was awfully sweet.” “But the person who e-mailed me back signed everything ‘Karen.’” “Yeah, that was me, though. Gosh, I’m really . . . I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t think it would get this far, I guess. I’m not very good at these things.” He looked at a point on the sidewalk for a minute, dumbfounded, trying to put this together. “So . . . then why did you say yes when I asked if you’d meet me here?” “Well, because I didn’t want to let you down, and anyway, I kind of wanted to meet you, to tell the truth.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“And you don’t even know Karen?” “I don’t have the slightest idea who she is. Apparently she and I come from the same town, but the only Karen I knew growing up lives in Wisconsin now. And I tried to think if there’s anyone I work with who would have been at that conference, but I can’t think of a single person.” “It was a local teachers’ conference.” “I know. I’m a teacher, too.” “You are?” “Yeah, I teach first grade at Meadowbrook Elementary.” He smiled. He had nice, even teeth. “Really? I’m a highschool teacher.” “Yeah, I know. You told me.” “Oh, yeah. I guess I did.” “So . . . anyway, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to think I stood you up. Or Karen did, or . . . well, whoever.” I put my hand out again. “It’s been nice meeting you.” He shook my hand again and then looked at his watch before he let go. “I’ve, uh . . . I’ve got a reservation for 6:30.” “Oh, I’m sorry . . . that you went to the trouble, I mean.” “No, I mean . . . are you hungry?” I laughed. “Actually, yeah.” “What did you say your name was again?” “Phoebe. Phoebe Kassner.” “Well, uh, Phoebe, if you’re not too busy, would you like to join me for dinner?” I grinned at him, my fingers curling nervously against the top of my leather purse. “Sure, that would be great.”

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CHAPTER FOUR

Inside the restaurant it was dark and intimate, with highwalled booths and light fi xtures obscured by clumps of colored glass bottles hanging low over the tables. Soft easy-listening music played as black-vested waiters walked back and forth with bottles of wine wrapped in white napkins. It was a lot nicer than I had expected. “So you teach English, right?” I asked him. He sat across the table from me, with the burner for the fondue pot warming up between us. Even if I hadn’t already known what he did for a living, I probably could have guessed. He radiated that quiet, intelligent, borderline socially inept high-school-English-teacher vibe. I could easily see a woman like the one he’d described in the poem giving a guy like him a fake phone number. It probably wasn’t the first time a girl had done that to him. “Yeah. I’ve been teaching for eleven years now. I started out teaching social studies. After a few years I begged them to move me to the English department.” “Why was that?” “Social studies is too stressful. All the students are liberal, and all their parents are conservative, or at least that’s what it feels like. If you cover a lot about culture, the kids love it, but their parents write you angry notes accusing you of dishing out liberal propaganda and complain their kids aren’t learning any geograIN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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phy. And if you cover geography or civics, the kids hate it and whine that you’re trying to brainwash them with patriotic propaganda and they don’t do their homework. It’s too much hassle.” “I could see that. Earlier this month my class did apple prints, you know—the seeds form a star when you cut it across the middle, and then you dip it in paint and print it—and one of the parents complained that I was trying to turn her daughter into a devil worshiper. Because of the pentagrams.” Jerry laughed, cute and young-sounding, a lilt of pleasant surprise to it. Right away I loved it, the sound of that laugh, and all of a sudden I knew that whatever else happened in the next hour or two, I liked Jerry Sullivan, and I wanted to hear everything he had to tell me. I liked him more in that split second of laughter than I’d ever liked Bill. Possibly more than I’d ever liked anyone. “I’ve gotten that, too,” he said. “One time I ended a unit on Asia by bringing in a whole bunch of Hindu festival stuff for a class party, and three of the parents went nuts. They called my principal and everything. It was annoying, because I’d felt like I’d finally gotten them to care about the culture, and I’d gone home that day feeling great. And then the next day I’m getting angry notes about pagan elephant gods, with Bible tracts stuffed into the envelopes. Teaching English is easier. It’s challenging, still, but at least no one accuses me of trying to start a Hindu cult in my classroom.” “You weren’t, were you?” I asked, grinning. He laughed again. “No. I’m Presbyterian. If I started talking religion with the kids, they’d all fall asleep.” I nodded and reached for my water glass. “Speaking of boredom—you don’t get bored teaching the same books over 46

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and over?” “No. I like those books. Catcher in the Rye, One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Native Son. They really make an impact on the kids, even if they don’t realize it right now. I get a lot out of teaching them.” The cheese in the fondue pot began simmering at the edges. Jerry speared a piece of bread with his fork and dipped it in. “You’ve got the hard job. First grade, right? That can’t be easy. I’ve got one four-year-old living with me, and she’s exhausting just by herself. I don’t think I could handle thirty of her.” “Well, they’re good kids. The hardest part is getting them to understand what I’m saying. Most of them speak Spanish at home.” I followed Jerry’s lead, poking through the bread basket with my fork in search of a crusty piece. “So why is there a fouryear-old living with you, if I may ask?” “Oh, my sister and her husband are getting divorced, and he won’t give up the house, so she moved in with me. She’s also got a one-year-old, but I can deal with him. When he screams, there’s a reason for it. With the four-year-old, everything’s a drama. This morning she threw herself on the bed and cried because I wouldn’t let her wear her bathing suit and Hello Kitty shorts to the park. It’s fifty degrees out.” “You don’t have any of your own kids, do you?” I asked worriedly. Not that I would necessarily care. At twenty-nine, I was pretty resolved to the idea of being somebody’s stepmother. He shook his head. “No. No kids, never been married. I think I might have missed my window.” I cocked my head a little. “Why is that?” “I don’t know. Nagging suspicion. I was pretty immature for a long time. Then all of a sudden, I was mature, but I was thirty. IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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At least, I think I’m mature. I guess I still have my moments.” “That’s true of everybody.” He looked up, catching my eye. “You think?” “Definitely. You should meet my sister. In some ways she’s totally independent, and in others, she’s still about six years old.” He took a sip of his Coke. “You have a sister? How old is she?” “I have two sisters and a stepbrother, actually. My stepbrother is thirty-four, and my half-sister is fifteen. The one I was telling you about is my twin, so she’s the same age as me, obviously. Twenty-nine.” “Your twin, really? What’s her name?” “Yeah. Her name is—her name is Grace, but we call her Madison.” “Are you identical or fraternal?” “Um . . . identical, technically.” He smiled. “Identical, technically?” “It’s kind of a long story. We used to look exactly alike, but then she dyed her hair blond and had some plastic surgery, and now we don’t look that much alike anymore.” “She sounds like an interesting character.” “She is. She’s on a TV show right now. Belle of Georgia.” He swirled an apple slice around the edge of the fondue pot with his fork. “No kidding. One of my students has a sister on that show, too. She’s taking a lot of flak for it.” “Her name’s not Alexa Kassner-Phillips, is it?” He looked up at me in surprise. “Yeah, do you know her?” I laughed. “She’s my half sister. When you mentioned you teach at Kensington, I wondered if you’d know her. She was mortified when Madison went on Singing Sensation, too, but 48

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Maddie got eliminated in the first round.” “A few weeks ago? Hey, I watched that. Which one was she?” “She sang ‘America the Beautiful.’” “Oh, I think I remember her. She wasn’t too bad.” He cleared his throat. “Her voice, I mean.” I tried not to smile. “Thank you. She’ll be happy to hear that. I think the reason they cast her on this fake-Americana show is because her singing was so, uh, memorable.” “Well, when is it on? I’ll watch it, if you want. Then I’ll know what you’re talking about when you tell me what’s going on.” “Thursdays at eight.” I blew the steam off a piece of cheesecovered baguette. “Maybe you could come by later this week and watch it with me.” “That would be kind of fun.” There was an awkward pause in which, I suppose, he was trying to decide if I had officially invited him, and I was trying to decide the same thing. “You want to come by?” I asked. He nodded, poking through the bread basket nervously. “Yeah, sure. Sure. I’d like that.” X

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Antonia huddled near me in her big canvas barn jacket, the sleeves pulled down over her small, olive-skinned hands. The wind blew her long hair around in dark, witchy tendrils, making her look a little more foreboding than her usual timid self. Maybe it would help keep the kids under control. We were on recess duty for about a hundred small children who were only in their third week of school, still a little wary in their friendships IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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and forgetful of the playground rules. “How was your weekend?” she asked. “It was good. I met a new guy.” “Oh, really?” “Yeah, a teacher. He was nice. We got along really well.” She squinted into the sun, watching a couple of kids who were flailing their arms at each other, trying to determine if they were just playing or throwing sand. “So Bill’s really out of the picture, huh?” “I’m starting to wonder if Bill was ever in the picture. Have you ever had a relationship like that? Where you break up and you wonder what the point of the whole thing was all along?” “Honestly, no.” “Well, just trust me. I really like this guy, though. He’s sweet and he’s kind of shy. He’s coming over on Thursday to watch Belle of Georgia with me. We’ll see if my sister scares him off. Or my roommate. She thinks he’s a total weirdo.” “Has she met him?” I stepped in between two kids who were playing tug-of-war with a beaded plastic jump rope. “Hey. Hey. No pulling, all right? No, Lauren hasn’t met him yet, but she’s already worked out that all of the astrology is wrong and his Myers-Briggs personality test results would make us totally incompatible. She says he sounds like an INFJ, which is bad, because I’m an INFP. I’m meeting another guy for coffee tomorrow afternoon, though, and she approves of him. He’s an INTJ.” “What does that mean?” “I have no idea. And she keeps telling me to read The Secret Language of Relationships and leaving it on the coffee table. She says it’s just plain dangerous to even think about dating until 50

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you’ve read it.” “Are you going to?” “I don’t know, maybe. I don’t know that she’s wrong, but it’s astrology, and I have a hard time with astrology. Madison and I were born four minutes apart, and look at us. The stars couldn’t have changed that much in four minutes.” “Does Lauren have an explanation for that?” “Yeah,” I grinned, jogging off to the blacktop where two kids were fighting. “Birth order.” X

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My half sister, Alexa, called just as I was sitting down to dinner, which in this case was a piece of gourmet cheesecake and a Diet Coke. I’d decided to cut calories by skipping the leftover mozzarella sticks Lauren had brought home for me. It didn’t make me feel as virtuous as I’d hoped. “I need you to pick me up from the hospital,” Alexa said grouchily. “The hospital?” I ran a forkful of cheesecake through the whipped cream. “What are you in the hospital for?” “I got bit by some chinchillas.” “Some chinchillas? How did that happen?” She sighed loudly. I could hear a lot of beeping in the background. “Look, can you pick me up or not?” “Shouldn’t you be calling your mother? Or Dad?” “Phoebe. God.” I pushed Pepper out of the way with my foot and began hunting around for my shoes. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” I felt sorry for Alexa. Since she’d begun high school the IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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year before, she’d been trying desperately to rebel, but her mother’s unrelenting coolness made it impossible. Melody, her mother, bought chakra stones and supported the legalization of marijuana. Melody practiced yoga, quoted from Fear of Flying in conversation, and attended poetry readings at side-street coffeehouses with awkwardly painted signs. Melody held an ironclad monopoly on self-actualization, and at fifteen, Alexa had had enough. Last fall Alexa had begun her rebellion by announcing that she wanted to get her nose pierced. Melody turned it into a mother-daughter thing, taking her to a piercing and tattooing place and chatting up the piercing guy as he did his job, then taking Alexa out for sushi. A few months later, Alexa decided that she was going to be a lesbian and made an announcement at the dinner table. Melody responded by fi lling the house with books with titles like Understanding Your Gay Teen and by having a heart-to-heart under the frilly canopy of Alexa’s bed about her own teenage same-sex crush. When Alexa started blasting scary-sounding music at top volume, Melody dutifully looked up the lyrics on the Internet and printed out copies, sitting at the dining-room table with a highlighter pen studying them like they were T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land. Recently Alexa had discovered a chink in her mother’s left-wing armor: Melody still ate meat. Ever since then Alexa had been an evangelical vegetarian, which didn’t come as much of a surprise, considering. “Good grief,” I said as I found her slouched sullenly in a plastic chair in the ER waiting room. Her black-dyed hair was tucked in limp strands behind her ears, and her entire right hand was wrapped in gauze and medical tape. “How were you planning to hide that?” 52

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“I just don’t want to hear it from Mom and Dad right now. I’ll explain later.” I scribbled my signature on the sign-out sheet and flashed my ID to the woman at the desk. “I’ve owned chinchillas before, Lex. They’re friendly.” “Not these two. They mauled me. Some gratitude.” “What were you doing? Feeding them?” “No. We were setting them free.” “Whose were they?” “I don’t know. A neighbor of my friend Allie’s. He had them in a hutch in the backyard. It was inhumane.” I stopped in the doorway and turned to her. The automatic doors lurched in their frame, trying to close and then opening again. “You set someone’s pets loose?” “We liberated them. They were all cooped up in their own poop, eating that gray pellet food. It wasn’t fair.” “Alexa. You can’t do that. You released them to predators, do you realize that? You can’t just send domesticated animals into the wild and expect them to know what to do.” She shrugged. “Live free or die.” I rolled my eyes and fumbled in my purse for my car keys. “You read that on a bumper sticker. Get in the car.” “Are you mad at me?” “I’m upset with you, yes. You can’t sneak around behind your mom and dad’s backs and then expect me to come running to get you out of trouble. I’ve got a life I’m trying to live here, Lex. I’ve got a job to do. I’ve got a social life.” She laughed and plunked herself down in the passenger seat. “No, you don’t.” “Speaking of gratitude . . .” I slammed her door and stuck a IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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finger in her face through the open window. “I’d shut up about those chinchillas if I were you.” X

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My coffee date with Carter, my last-chance date from Kismet, was off to a bad start hours before I even got off work. The mother of a six-year-old birthday girl had shown up two hours early with a double batch of chocolate cupcakes, and so instead of simply loading my sugar-crazed students onto their school buses and calling it a day, I was stuck in the classroom with them for the long, rainy afternoon. Two threw up: one from the cupcake, one from the inspiration of seeing someone else throw up. By the time I walked in the door of my cozy apartment, going out on a blind date sounded about as appealing as accompanying Alexa to a pet store. “Go anyway,” insisted Lauren. “I’ve got a good feeling about it. He feels like a winner.” I groaned and flipped a sofa pillow onto my face. “I thought you were into analysis, not ESP.” She nudged me with her knee. “Go, Phoebe. Maybe he’s The One, and you’re going to leave him sitting in a Starbucks with his coffee getting cold. You know how sad that is? That’s even sadder than the dog in How the Grinch Stole Christmas.” I threw the pillow to the other end of the sofa and sat up. “You’re manipulative, you know that?” She shook her head vehemently. “I’m motivational. Think of me as your live-in life coach. God, are you ever getting a bargain.” Carter was already there by the time I grouchily pushed 54

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through the swinging door. As far as first impressions were concerned, he wasn’t much to look at. He was tall and unnervingly thin, with brown hair and brown eyes and brown clothes. All of his clothes: shirt, slacks, tie, corduroy blazer, shoes. At least he matched his coffee. “Sorry I’m late,” I said, shaking his hand and dropping my handbag on the seat beside me. “That’s no problem. I’ve just been catching up on the news. I’ve been out of town a lot.” “Oh? Where were you?” “Just in Pennsylvania. I travel a lot for work.” I laughed uneasily. “You’re not a professional Santa, are you?” He grinned. His teeth were crooked, but he had a nice genuine smile. “A professional Santa? Is there such a thing?” “Believe it or not.” He shook his head. “No. I don’t think I’m really built to play Santa. Hope you’re not disappointed.” “Not at all.” I decided not to inform him that Santas needed to keep in good shape, or why. “So what do you do?” “I’m a professional show-dog handler.” I restrained myself from burying my face in my hands. Would it never end? Why couldn’t I just find a nice accountant, or computer programmer, or maybe even a store manager? Sure, Sam had a normal job, but he didn’t count. His veneer of normalcy had been wiped out by his photo collection. “Sounds interesting,” I said politely. “Yeah, I enjoy it. I’ve always been kind of an animal lover. And I like traveling, so . . .” He shrugged. “Perfect job, as far as I’m concerned. Do you have any pets?” And so I told him about the cats and Pepper and the rest IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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of the herd, even the ungrateful iguana. He listened with rapture, and asked one question after another, and an hour later, I realized I’d never even gotten myself a cup of coffee. When he asked for my phone number, I gave him my real one, with my last name written in my best schoolteacher handwriting. By the time we shook hands again, our next date was already planned: Saturday night, dinner and a movie. One with subtitles.

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CHAPTER FIVE

On Thursday I opened the door to Jerry, his hair wet-looking and neatly combed, holding a bouquet of flowers—carnations, daisies, freesia, and baby’s breath. He was wearing khaki Dockers, a blue T-shirt with a collar, and nice leather Rockport shoes. He looked like he was on his way to church. That was probably for the best, under the circumstances. My mind was already spinning with thoughts of the weekend and my upcoming date with Carter. If I’d realized how well the coffee date was going to go, I never would have invited Jerry over for Belle of Georgia. It almost felt unfaithful. “Oh, thank you,” I said, taking the flowers. I stepped back, kicking Pepper out of the way. “Come on in.” He looked around the room. “So this is your place, huh?” “Yeah. I have a roommate, but she’s out right now.” Lauren had vanished to the library when I told her Jerry was coming by. “Let me just get these in some water.” “Wow,” he said, looking around the living room. “You’ve got a lot of pets.” “I know. I hope you’re not allergic.” “No, no. I’ve got a few cats myself.” I cut the bottoms off the flowers under running water and arranged them in a vase. One of Lauren’s many rules for dating was that men with cats were not to be trusted. I didn’t believe IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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in her rules, exactly, but I was afraid to totally discount them. After all, I hadn’t been any luckier than she had. Maybe she was on to something. “The dog is my sister’s,” I said. Jerry was scratching her back, crouched down and balancing unsteadily. “Do you want some popcorn?” “Yeah, sure.” I put the bag in the microwave and walked back out into the living room. “Have a seat.” He tickled the parakeets’ cage, where Tristan was sticking his beak out through the wire. “Aren’t you going to do the introductions?” “Oh.” I nodded toward the cage. “That’s Tristan and Isolde.” “Like the lovers?” “Yeah. I didn’t name them. They used to belong to the music teacher at my school. They hate each other.” He laughed. “Really?” “Yeah. They fight all the time. The cats are sisters—Pippi and Socks. Pippi’s the one with red ears. Socks has the white paws. I got them for free.” “You adopted two cats at the same time?” “Well, I didn’t want them to get lonely. That’s the same reason I got the rabbit. I felt sorry for the guinea pig. I’m not getting a second iguana, though. Her name is Lucy.” “Where did she come from?” “My sister’s ex-boyfriend. He was going to get rid of her.” “I used to have a snake,” he offered. “You did? What was its name?” “Ozzy. It was a boa constrictor.” “Ozzy?” I smiled. “Like Ozzy Osbourne?” 58

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“Yeah. I thought it was cool. I was a headbanger back then.” I looked over at him to see if he was joking. “You were a headbanger?” “Yeah. I had a mullet and everything. I spent every Saturday night at Hammerjacks up in Baltimore.” He reached into the guinea-pig box and let Hugo sniff him. “Those were the days.” “Are you serious?” “Of course I’m serious. You don’t believe me?” “I’m not sure.” He pushed up his shirtsleeve. “Can you see that?” I looked closely. Faintly on his skin there was the shadow of some kind of skull-and-sword tattoo, just under his shoulder. “Yeah, a little.” “That one didn’t remove very well. I used to have six. Now I only have three.” “You had them removed?” “Yeah. They weren’t very professional-looking.” “Where are the other three?” He blushed. “They’re under my shirt.” “Oh.” The microwave timer went off. “I’ll go get the popcorn.” We settled down on the sofa with the bowl of popcorn between us. Pepper came over and plunked herself down on my lap. Jerry ran his hand over Socks, who had curled up beside him. I didn’t care what Lauren said about men and cats—a guy who was nice to my pets was a guy I would have a hard time not liking. The cats liked him, too. Socks rolled over to get her neck scratched and nearly fell off the sofa. “This week on Belle of Georgia,” intoned the voice-over, “a very special first date . . . a candlelit evening . . . and an unforgettable showdown between the Rebel ladies and their Yankee sisters!” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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With that, my sister’s face appeared on the screen, her blond hair fl ipping around her smooth spa-treated shoulders, her eyes almost lost in an angry, eyeliner-darkened squint. “You little butt-kissing lesbian bitch!” she screamed. “Uh-oh,” I said. “Don’t tell me that’s your sister,” said Jerry. “That’s my sister.” He took a handful of popcorn and shook it gradually into his mouth. “You sure you want me to stay for this?” he asked. “Unless you’d rather not.” “Are you kidding?” He reached for the remote between us and turned up the volume. “This I’ve got to see.” As it turned out, it was Madison’s day to go out on a big romantic date with Rhett. They showed her getting ready in the mirrored dressing room, combing an off-center part into her long hair, penciling her eyebrows, complaining about the bad position of being chosen third when there were so many girls to come after her. “Tenth would have been better,” she said. The scene switched to Rhett standing in the dim paisleywallpapered hallway with an adorable blonde in a tight crimson evening gown, their bodies casting shadowy silhouettes on the red carpet as they whispered privately to each other. “How did she get over there?” asked Jerry. “I thought she was still getting ready to go out with him.” “That’s a different girl,” I told him. “That’s one of the Rebels. Her name is Debbie Jo.” He looked confused. “But she looks just like her.” “There’s about five of them who look almost exactly the same. They probably use the same color hair dye and have the same plastic surgeon.” 60

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“Including your sister?” “Yeah. She had her nose done in Hollywood. It’s probably a pretty popular nose.” “Oh, okay.” Madison’s date with Rhett was at some Moroccan restaurant that looked like a cross between a nineteenth-century brothel and an opium den. The two of them sat on red velvet pillows spread out on the floor, watching a belly dancer and scooping up their food with big pieces of bread. That was probably good for her. Madison was terrified of carbohydrates. She ate hamburgers wrapped in lettuce and considered celery sticks with peanut butter to be a dessert. The camera caught lots of footage of them making meaningful eye contact over the bread basket and, a little later, snuggling on the floor pillows as they watched the belly dancers. After a limo ride back to the plantation, Madison changed into a microscopic bikini and settled down with Rhett into the very un-Civil-War-era hot tub that was bubbling on the deck. “They look like they’re having a good time,” said Jerry politely. A white-jacketed waiter came by with a bottle of Moet & Chandon and poured each of them a glass. Madison was practically sitting on Rhett’s lap. By the time they cut to the next scene, she was sitting on his lap. Backwards. “Uuuuuugh,” I groaned. Jerry picked up the remote. “Want me to change channels?” “No, no, I have to watch.” I curled up on my side, putting my face against his upper arm. “Tell me what happens.” “I thought you said you were going to watch.” “I can’t.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“A bunch of other girls just showed up.” I peeked out at the TV and saw the Rebel girls wandering onto the deck, just happening to be passing by in their bikinis at that particular moment. “Oh, hello,” said a girl named Marci in her syrupy Mississippi voice, sticking her foot in the hot tub up to the level of her ankle bracelet. “Mind if we join you?” Rhett smiled. “Not at all.” It was after the commercial that Madison delivered her teaser line. She and a few of the other girls gathered in a beautifully decorated period room with textured mauve wallpaper and gold cherub statuettes on the dark, carved wood furniture. Madison and the other girls had changed back into their calico dresses and hoopskirts, their shoulders bared like the women in cameo jewelry. “You little butt-kissing lesbian bitch!” Madison screamed, again. Marci raised an eyebrow, her arms folded in front of her. Her petal-pink manicure fanned out across her gently toned bicep. “Honey, your being a slut doesn’t make me a lesbian,” she tossed back. “Egad,” said Jerry. “She’s really not like that,” I offered. “She’s just trying to get camera time.” Madison pressed her lips together and smacked Marci openhanded across the face. There was a little gasp, and two of the other Rebel girls gathered at Marci’s shoulders, pressing in close so they’d be in the shot. Spiraling curls fell gently around their faces, their seed-pearl combs glittering in their high-piled hair. 62

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“You sure about that?” Jerry asked. That night the Yankees won the immunity competition. The Rebels voted off the black girl. Jerry and I saw it coming. He nodded slowly and tipped the bowl toward me, offering me the last handful of popcorn. X

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Lauren was beside herself with delight that my date with Carter had worked out well. That Saturday evening, as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror with the curling iron in hand, she barged in and cheerfully began her “I-told-you-so” lecture. “Didn’t I tell you?” she enthused. “I said I had a good feeling and I was right. I knew it.” “You were right,” I agreed. “I looked him up myself. He’s as good as it gets, Fee. I’m telling you, everybody should go on Kismet. It’s like the eBay of dating. If you’ve got old crap you don’t want, put it up for bid! There’s somebody out there who’ll be crazy about it!” I looked at her in the mirror, standing behind my shoulder. Her chunky black glasses and goofy grin made her look like Velma in Scooby-Doo. “You’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?” I asked. “Oh, come off it. You just don’t want to admit I was right.” “I already admitted you were right. I’m trying not to set my hair on fire, and you’re distracting me.” “Fine. I’ll leave you alone. I’m just relieved you’ve given up on your little Lord Byron e-mail buddy. That’s all I’ve got to say.” I fluffed out my bangs. “I haven’t totally given up on him. IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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I’ve just sort of got him on the back burner in case Carter doesn’t work out.” She shook her head. “Listen to you. Two weeks on Kismet, and you’re juggling men. I’ve created a monster.” “You’re the one who wanted me to keep my options open. Aren’t you going out tonight?” “No, I’m taking the week off. Both of the good candidates turned out to be married. But I want to hear all about how it goes with Carter. Every last gory detail.” I rolled my eyes. “You’ll be the first to know.” X

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When Carter came to pick me up, he was in a bouncy, energetic mood. He wore a subtle variation on his outfit from the last time—brown corduroy pants that looked like they matched the previously worn blazer, an off-white shirt, and a tan Windbreaker. But the smile on his face was ear-to-ear, and as soon as I saw him, I felt fluttery with anticipation. “Let’s go out to Royal Jade,” he suggested. “Royal Jade?” I repeated doubtfully. After dinner we’d planned to go out to a movie theater in downtown DC that was showing one of the Cannes Film Festival winners. “Kind of a long drive from Dupont Circle, isn’t it?” “We’ll make it. Don’t worry.” He opened the passenger door for me. “Hop in.” But we didn’t. As we got back in the car after dinner, Carter checked the dashboard clock, looked at me apologetically, and asked, “So what’s Plan B?” “Local theater or Blockbuster, I guess.” 64

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“You wanted to see something with subtitles, right?” I laughed. “Yeah, kind of.” “Then let’s do Blockbuster. I’ll give Trudy a call and tell her to get lost.” “Who’s Trudy?” “The dog’s nanny. She shares the apartment with me, but she doesn’t mind giving me space when I ask her to. I do the same thing for her all the time.” “Your dog has a nanny?” “Well, she’s not my dog. She’s the Danforths’ dog. They live in Connecticut. I’m just the handler. I take her to the shows and all that. The kind of breed she is—she’s a Chinese crested— they really like having company around. So she’s got a full-time nanny.” He turned the car down the street toward Blockbuster. “I guess if you’ve got the money.” “Oh, believe me, they’ve got the money. This is just a hobby for them. They like to fi ll up the trophy room, and I’m happy to help them.” He pulled into a parking space. “Let’s see if we can dig up the most obscure movie in the store.” We came up with The Sea, which was not only subtitled, but originally in Icelandic. Carter called Trudy while we were at the store, and by the time he unlocked the door to his apartment, she was nowhere to be seen. “Excellent,” he said, stepping into the living room. I looked the place over in stunned silence. The living room was empty of all furniture except for a loveseat pushed awkwardly against the far wall and a chintzy TV stand. Taking up most of the floor space was a collapsible crawl tunnel, a teeter-totter, a couple of jumps, and what looked like some kind of cone obstacle course. The carpet was littered with latex chew IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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toys and mauled stuffed animals. Carter whistled, and from a distant bedroom came the low thump I recognized as a dog jumping off a bed. A moment later, into the room trotted what may have been the ugliest dog I had ever seen. It was gray-skinned and hairless, except for tufts of billowy white fur that grew around its paws and fell in a floppy mane over its eyes. It was also small enough that my cats would have considered it a rodent. “This is Empress Ming,” said Carter. I leaned over and stroked her gingerly. “I’ve never petted a hairless dog before.” “Yeah, it’s kind of a change of pace. Trudy and I put lotion on her a couple of times a day. And sunscreen—that’s kind of a pain. Can’t take her out for a walk without sunscreen.” “Sunscreen on a dog?” “Yep. SPF 35. We have to watch the ingredients on everything because she’s allergic to lanolin. At least she doesn’t shed much.” He popped the DVD in the player. “Want to help me move the sofa? I have to keep it out of the way so she doesn’t get mixed up about what the course looks like.” “Oh, okay. Yeah, sure.” We dragged the loveseat in front of the TV and then Carter went off to the kitchen to get drinks. “You need me to do anything else?” I called. “No, just settle in and get—ow!” “Are you okay?” “Yeah.” He sat down in one of the dining chairs and examined his ankle. “She bit me again.” I looked at Empress Ming, who was sniffing at Carter’s leg with interest. I’d been nipped at by dogs a few times in my life, 66

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but never by one of my own. “Seriously? Does she do that a lot?” “Kind of. She doesn’t mean to. She’s got these extra teeth that point forward—they’re like tusks. They’re part of the breed. She sort of nibbles to get my attention and ends up gouging me. Usually it’s just when she’s hungry.” He picked her up and scratched her neck. In a sugary voice he asked, “Did Miss Trudy forget to feed you?” I sat down in the loveseat while Carter opened up a can of food for the Empress. As he settled down beside me with a fresh Band-Aid on his ankle, I was starting to wonder if he was going to become one more bead on my string of weirdos. He threw his arm companionably over my shoulder. “Ready for the movie?” “Yeah, sure.” He pressed the “play” button. “You don’t speak Icelandic, do you?” I laughed. “Uh, no.” “Too bad. I’ll have to try not to distract you.” “That’s okay. I’m more interested in the company than in the movie.” “Yeah, me, too.” I smiled and rested my head against his shoulder. Neither of us had ever turned the lights on, and as the sun set, the room grew gradually darker, until finally the fl ickering glow of the TV was the only light in the room. Carter’s chest rose and fell softly beside me as he breathed; his fingertips stroked my shoulder gently. When the romantic music swelled and the movie’s two lovers swam toward each other, I wasn’t surprised to feel Carter turn to me, bringing his face close to mine. I closed my eyes and let him kiss me, stirring at the way his mouth felt IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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against mine, feverish and urgent and startlingly unrestrained. “You’re so beautiful, Phoebe,” he murmured, when he came up for air. Carter was a fast mover. Down on the clean-swept carpet in front of the TV, he planted his body on all fours above mine and hungrily worked his way down. I luxuriated in it, drinking it down like too much wine. His tossed-off T-shirt lay over the arm of the loveseat; sweat beaded his forehead and made his messy hair spike every which way. When he rose up on his knees, the TV threw a banner of light over his wiry chest. His smooth stomach was touched by a thin trail of hair that ran down from his navel and disappeared into his pants. I put my hands behind my head and looked over him appreciatively as he fumbled with the button on his corduroys. “No,” I said. The look on his face was something between alarm and horror. “No? Why not?” “Just no. Save it for another day.” He groaned and ran his hands through his scruff y hair. “I’m going to explode.” I sat up and straightened myself out. I didn’t feel as bad as he probably wanted me to. He was definitely jumping the gun. “Don’t you want to get together next weekend?” I asked. “Hell, yeah. I want to get together right now.” “That’s not what I meant. No exploding, okay? We’ll go out next Saturday. If you’re available.” “I’m available any time you want.” I stood up and smoothed the back of my hair down. He sighed and rose to his feet, pulling his shirt on grumpily. “I had a great time,” I told him. 68

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He combed his hair with his fingers and then, setting his hands on his hips, let out a sigh as deep as a yoga breath. He smiled at me. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Me, too.” X

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“So what’s the verdict?” asked Lauren on Sunday morning. “I think he’s a keeper. His job’s a little weird, but there’s definitely potential there. And he seems to really like me.” “Apparently. I see you’ve got some serious bed head going there.” I touched the back of my head. “Oh. No, that’s just from the carpet.” Lauren laughed. “Wherever love takes you. Is he a good kisser?” “Yeah, he’s a great kisser. He’s kind of skinny and gangly looking, but there’s like a fire to him—you know what I mean?” “I think so, yeah.” “He makes me feel like he’s totally lusting after me. It’s kind of funny. I mean, I don’t exactly see myself as an object of lust. But I’ll take it. It makes me feel good.” “I don’t blame you. So you’re cutting the other guy loose?” “Who, Jerry? I guess, yeah. I can’t really date both of them. He left a voice mail for me last night while I was out with Carter. He wants me to go out for pizza with him tomorrow. All that trouble not to hurt his feelings, and now I have to deliver the really bad news.” “No big loss.” “Well, it’s all relative, right? I mean, he’s a nice guy, but IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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Carter’s a little more, I don’t know—” “Is that your cell phone?” We both got quiet. From my bedroom I heard the electronic chime of “Für Elise.” “Be right back,” I said, scrambling to my bedroom. It was Carter. I turned on the phone and closed my bedroom door simultaneously. “Hey,” I said happily. “Hey, Phoebe. Look, about next Saturday.” He sighed noisily into the phone. “I’m going to have to cancel. I’m sorry.” “Oh, that’s okay,” I said, trying to conceal my disappointment. “Something come up?” “Yeah. Yeah. The Danforths—look, I’m not going to BS you. They’ve got this brilliant idea that they want Empress Ming to start doing shows out West. Like, California and Nevada and places like that. They’ve got her booked for the next three weeks already. They drop this crap on me today, like, an hour ago. I’m leaving Wednesday. I’m not happy about it.” “So . . . you’ll be back in three weeks, then?” “Maybe, maybe not. It depends on how she does. If I do my job right, we’ll be out there longer. And the National Dog Show is on Thanksgiving, and now they want her to do that, so I don’t know when I’m going to be back. I just don’t have a date I can give to you.” I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the wall. “Well, good luck.” “Jeez, Phoebe, I really wanted to spend some more time with you. You know it, right? Last night was really—” His breath thundered in my ear. “I mean, whoa.” “I know. I felt the same way.” But my voice sounded light, 70

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conversational. I didn’t want to think about last night anymore. I knew it wasn’t his fault, but I felt annoyed at him anyway. I was itchy to get off the phone. “I’ll call you when I get back in town, okay? I mean, if you’re not available, that’s fine, but I’ll still call.” “That’s fine. Take care, okay? I’ll talk to you whenever.” “Okay, yeah. Talk to you then.” I stood beside the door with my phone in my hand. The blue bedspread was pulled tightly over my bed, folded around the pillows like a linen store display. It looked prim and tidy, the sheets drum-tight and spotless. It looked lonely. I scanned through my phone’s history until I hit Jerry’s phone number. Then I stepped into the corner of the room nearest the closet so that Lauren wouldn’t hear me, and I waited as it rang. “Hey, Phoebe,” he said cheerfully, his accent twanging just enough to make his voice sound like home. “How’s it going?” “Great,” I said quietly. I slid my back down the wall and pulled my knees against my chest. “Hey, you still up for pizza?”

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CHAPTER SIX

Jerry lived about fifteen minutes down the road from me, in an old tree-lined neighborhood of brick colonials and shady yards dense with flowerbeds and ivy. His house was mediumsized and neatly kept, with evergreen-painted shutters and giant azalea bushes under the front windows, carefully trimmed down to the windowsills. We were supposed to be going out to Egyptian Pizza, a place that Jerry said had terrific food and, given how well he’d done in choosing the fondue place, I wasn’t about to argue. Timidly, I rapped with the brass door knocker, waiting on the cement landing. The door opened, and Jerry stood there in jeans and a maroon collared T-shirt, with a diapered baby on his hip. “Come on in,” he said. “I just need a minute.” I picked up the baby’s hand as I stepped inside. “What’s your name, little guy?” “This is Marco. Watch out, he’s stinky. His sister’s around here somewhere.” I looked around. The living-room walls were painted a sunny yellow, with a big, rustic stone fireplace taking up the better part of the larger wall. The furniture had a lake-cabin theme going; the sofa and a chair were made out of polished logs, with the cushions upholstered in an outdoorsy hunter green and brown print. Everything was very clean, except for a 72

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pile of baby toys spilling out from a basket and a Madeline doll sprawled on the floor beside the rocking chair. “So this is your house, huh?” “Yeah. I can give you the tour if you like.” Jerry pulled a basket from under the sofa and tried to wrestle Marco onto a plastic changing pad he had spread on the carpet. “Sure, I’d like that.” “Let me just get this kid changed fi rst. No fair leaving my sister with a dirty diaper I knew about.” “That’s pretty nice of you.” He looked up at me, amused. “It’s just common courtesy.” A pair of blue eyes peeked at me around the corner under a mop of red curls. I crouched down to eye level. “Hello,” I said. The little head pulled back behind the wall. “That’s Betsy,” Jerry told me. “She’s shy.” I picked up the doll from the floor beside the rocker. “Betsy, do you want your Madeline doll?” She reappeared in the passageway, wearing a rainbowstriped sweater under a flowered jumper and sandals with smiling frog faces on the toes. “Yes,” she whispered. “She dressed herself today,” explained Jerry. “I figured.” “Follow me, I’ll show you around.” Marco bolted across the room, and Jerry stood up with a diaper in his hand, folded up into a neat little rectangular package. “Starting with the kitchen, since I need to wash my hands.” The kitchen was decorated as nicely as the living room, with a lot of natural wood trim and brass pots hanging on the walls, the bottom cabinets painted a weathered-looking blue-green. The formal dining room had dramatic, deep-red walls and goldIN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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framed still-life prints, a big Oriental rug under the dining table. Even his bedroom was tidy, with a kind of Ikea simplicity to it, just clean pine furniture and a duvet with a navy blue cover draped neatly over the bed. There was an Ansel Adams print on the wall above it, and on the desk beneath the window, an open laptop computer beside an overflowing fern. A TV armoire stood at the foot of the bed, the doors decorously closed. “Who decorated this place?” I asked suspiciously. Jerry’s eyebrows furrowed. “I did.” “It’s pretty . . . coordinated.” “Yeah, I guess so. Sorry.” “Sorry?” I offered a nervous laugh. “It was supposed to be a compliment.” “I have a dirty little secret,” he said. I nodded. All the signs were there. He liked to cook. He was a cat person. He was thirty-three years old and unmarried, hadn’t tried to kiss me so far, and had a copy of The Bridges of Madison County on his DVD shelf. I could see where this was going. “You do, huh,” I sighed. “Yeah.” He sat down on the bed, sinking into the duvet. Carelessly he brushed a loose thread from the fabric. “I’m a huge Trading Spaces fan.” I cleared my throat. “Um . . . you are?” “Yeah. I have all the books and everything. I had to TiVo it last week to watch Belle of Georgia at your place.” I giggled. “That’s, like . . . the whole secret?” “Were you hoping for a better secret?” “Not really.” “I have some good stories,” he said. “I don’t have any good 74

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secrets.” “Can you tell me one of your good stories?” He stood up. The duvet was creased down where he had been sitting. “Sure. I’ll tell you over dinner.” A little while later, sitting under the fake King Tut frescoes at Egyptian Pizza, I asked him, “So what’s the story?” “Story?” “Yeah, the good story you have instead of a good secret.” “Oh, yeah. There’s a couple of stories. I’ll give you one of them.” “Go ahead.” “Okay. When I was twenty-one, I was in a pretty bad motorcycle accident. A drunk driver ran me off the road on his way into a tree.” “Oh, jeez. I’m sorry.” “I’m fine now. At the time, though, they had to take me to the shock-trauma center in a helicopter. That’s what they told me, anyway. I don’t remember anything about the helicopter.” “I’m not sure I like this story.” “I’m not at the good part yet. This was down in Lusby, where I grew up. My parents had just moved to Florida, and I was coming back from going over some stuff about the house with the real-estate agent. It was raining. The other driver, the one who was drunk, he died in the crash. It was big news down in Lusby, on the front of the newspaper and everything. Somehow or another, the information got mixed up, and they thought that both of us had died. A buddy of mine from high school was working on the paper, so he knew who my family was and all that, and he wrote up an obituary for me that was published in the same paper. I’ve got a copy of it at home.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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I laughed. “You’ve got a copy of your own obituary?” “It gets better. They next week they printed a correction that I hadn’t actually died, but it was really small and jammed in with all the other corrections, so I guess a lot of people didn’t find out. So about five years ago—I guess it was seven years after the accident—I went to my ten-year high-school reunion. You should have seen the looks I got walking in. I was thinking, wow, these people must have hated me even more than I remembered. I’d known about the article, but I’d just assumed that everyone had found out that it was a mistake. But no. I go over to the punch bowl, and there’s this big bulletin board that says, like, ‘We Will Never Forget You’ across the top. There’s a bunch of pictures on it, like maybe four or five. This girl who died our senior year, and some other girl I didn’t know, and a picture of me. My yearbook photo.” “They all still thought you were dead?” “Not everybody. My friends knew I wasn’t, obviously. But all night long I had people coming up to me saying, ‘Jerry?’ like they thought I might just be haunting the place or something. Basically, I faked my own death without even realizing it.” “That’s completely bizarre.” “I thought it was kind of cool. I felt like Elvis. It was the most popular I’ve ever been in my life.” The waitress came by with our Mediterranean pizza. The scent of yeast bread and fresh tomato sauce rose up with the steam. Jerry and I both sat up straighter to make room for her to set it down. “So do you ever do that ‘write your own obituary’ activity with your students?” I asked as I carefully pulled off a piece. “I do, as a matter of fact. I always tell that story. It’s fun 76

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to see what they write. Half of them write about their all-star careers playing for the Lakers or how many Oscars they won. One time I had a kid write that he was survived by his twelve children by twelve different actresses, and he named every one of them.” “Did you make him redo it?” “No, I gave him an A. Far be it for me to shoot down his dreams.” We smiled at each other. “Would you mind passing the Parmesan?” he asked. I handed it to him over the pizza. His warm fingers bumped up against mine as he took it, sending little zaps of electricity down my hand like minnows through the water. X

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Lauren was sitting at the dining-room table when I got home, her heavy-rimmed glasses on, tapping her highlighter pen against the open book in front of her. “How was your date with Jerry?” she asked. “It was fun. He’s coming by on Thursday to watch Belle of Georgia with me again, and we’re taking his niece and nephew to the Baltimore Aquarium on Saturday.” “Wow. Meeting the relatives, huh?” I hung my jacket up in the coat closet. “Only sort of. His sister and her kids live with him, so it’s the kind of thing he does on the weekend anyway.” “So, is he a good kisser?” I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. I haven’t kissed him yet.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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She gave me a disbelieving look over her glasses. “Not really.” “What’s so wrong with that?” “How many dates have you been on?” “Only three, and that’s if you count last Thursday.” “I left you guys alone for four hours. He didn’t even try?” “It was only the second date. Sort-of date.” Lauren turned back to her book. “I’d be getting worried if I were you.” “He’s just shy, that’s all. He’s not gay or anything.” “Are you sure?” “No, but he doesn’t act like he is.” “Sounds like he doesn’t act like he’s not, either.” “It’s not a big deal, Laur. He’ll get there.” I sat down on the sofa with a stack of handwriting papers to correct. Seinfeld was on. “How’s it going with all your men?” “I’ve got a policy analyst this weekend. We’ll see how it goes.” “What do your tarot cards say?” She scowled at me. “His user profi le says he’s a Capricorn, he works out, and he just finished reading The Da Vinci Code. I’m cautiously optimistic.” “What does he drive?” “I don’t know yet. We’re meeting at La Grenouille. You know, you’re really taking your chances with Jerry. I know exactly who I’d set you up with if you’d let me. You know my friend Prabath? The tall Indian guy?” I laughed. “I’m not going out with Prabath. I know you’ve got your rules and all, but I’ve got mine, too, you know. I don’t go out with guys my age who still wear Stüssy shirts and Vans.” “I’m not talking about setting you up with Prabath, Fee. He’s got a friend who’s perfect for you. It’s this guy Brad—he’s 78

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kind of cute. He looks sort of like Nicolas Cage.” “I’ll pass.” She shrugged and thumbed back a few pages in her book. “Suit yourself. I really think you’d like him. He’s a youth mentor. And a Taurus.” Seinfeld went to commercial. A woman in her thirties with wavy brown hair hanging over one eye looked earnestly into the camera and said, “It’s everybody’s little secret.” “My little secret,” said a black woman with a headful of sassy highlighted curls. “Our little secret,” added a sporty-looking blonde with a colonial-blue cardigan folded around her shoulders, her open hands patting the chest of a brown-haired guy with a big jaw who looked like Prince Valiant. A paper napkin, thick like the ones they give you when you order ribs at a restaurant, floated out of a box across the screen. “Soft for when you need it to be soft,” whispered the voice-over. “Strong for when you need it to be strong. Afterglow Disposable Freshening Towelettes. For the two of you.” I shook my head and ran my red pen over the handwriting paper in front of me, correcting W’s with long sweeping lines like Japanese brushstrokes. Across the room, Lauren sat absorbed in the hardcover book before her, orange highlighter in hand, reading The Dewey Color System. X

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gingerly, his fingers curled into a fist at my waist so that only his wrist touched me. In his other hand he held a six-pack of A&W root beer, which he set down on the coffee table as soon as I let him go. “I’ll go make some popcorn,” I said. “Great,” he said. “I love your popcorn.” I smiled at him over my shoulder, on my way to the kitchen. “It’s just the regular microwave kind.” “Maybe sometime we can do dinner instead.” I arranged the flowers in the vase from last week. “Like over here?” “Or at my house. Either-or. I make really good flank steak.” “Oh, yeah?” I put the popcorn in the microwave and came back out to the living room. Jerry was still standing near the door, his hands behind his back. “I’ll come over to your place, then. It’s always a little scary to cook in someone else’s kitchen.” Jerry gave me a nervous smile. His feet shifted a little. “Come sit down,” I said. “The show’s coming on in just a minute.” He moved over to the sofa. “I’d better sit down, then. Especially if your sister says anything like what she said last week.” The competition was heating up on Belle of Georgia. The girls all lined up in the same garden where they’d had the barbecue, each wearing a bikini top and cheerleader shorts with her team’s flag stitched to the seat. They had some kind of elaborate, obstacle course-looking thing set up, with a bridge over the koi pond. “All right,” said Brent Holloway, his hands folded behind him so that his pecs looked bigger. “In front of each of you, you’ll find a bucket fi lled with whiskey and a gourd dipper. Fill the gourd, run over the rope bridge, and pour it out over 80

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your bale of cotton. Once you’ve emptied your bucket, take the matches you’ll find beneath your flag and set fire to your cotton bale. Remember, the more whiskey that actually makes it to the bale, the hotter and higher your fire will burn. Once the fire burns through the rope that’s holding down your flag, your flag will rise. First team to raise all of their flags wins immunity. Ready? Go!” The cameras jumped back and forth between back views of the girls crouching down to fi ll their dippers and front views of them running across the rope bridge. Every last one of them struggled with the matches. Madison’s flag was the second to go up for the Yankees. Finally, the last Yankee flag slowly unfurled, and the girls jumped up and down in a bouncing, screeching huddle. “Congratulations,” said Brent. “This evening, the Stars and Stripes will fly from the flagpole on the porch. Rebels, in a few hours you’ll be sending someone home.” The camera caught the defeated group standing off to the side, blinking mascara and sniffl ing. As the rest of them walked back into the mansion, Marci stood under a magnolia tree talking to the camera. “We were that close,” she said unhappily. “We’ll make it next time. The South will rise again.” The show went to commercial. For the fourth time that week, the ad came on with the brown-haired woman in close-up looking me in the eye. “It’s everybody’s little secret,” she said. Jerry coughed and scratched Pepper behind the ears. His knee jiggled. “What are they talking about, anyway?” I asked. He glanced at me for a tiny split second. “What do you mean, what are they talking about?” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“What they’re selling. What are those things?” He cleared his throat. “You know.” “No, I don’t. They don’t actually tell you. They just talk about how they’re everybody’s little secret. Apparently I’m not in on this secret.” “But they do tell you,” he insisted. “Afterglow Disposable Freshening Towelettes,” said the voice. Jerry nodded toward the TV. “See?” “See what?” I asked. “What’s the little secret? What are they even for?” Pepper ducked her head as Jerry scratched her too hard. He rubbed his hand up and down his face quickly, his eyes squeezed closed. “You really don’t know?” “No, do you?” “Afterglow, Phoebe. Afterglow.” I looked at him blankly. “For after two people . . . you know. So you don’t have to use a T-shirt or a towel or whatever, I guess.” “For what?” He looked at me suspiciously. “Are you messing with me?” “No, I’m not messing with you. I just have no idea what you’re talking about.” Slouched over with his elbows on his knees, he turned bright pink, pushed his hands back through his hair, and said, “They’re for cleaning up the mess after you make love.” I laughed. “Is there normally a mess?” He sat back against the sofa. “You are screwing with me.” “Jerry, I’m not. I just didn’t know.” “How can you not know? It’s not like it’s easy to miss.” “Well, it is if you’ve never done it before.” 82

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He cut his gaze in my direction, his hands still against his knees. “You haven’t?” “No. I guess I just assumed everything sort of . . . stays where it goes.” “You mean, you’re still a . . .” He coughed, like he was choking on a bit of saliva. “Yes. I’m not necessarily up on all of these things. All I know is what I’ve heard from my sister, and she’s not exactly going to share things like cleanup hints. Anyway, she makes the same assumptions as everybody else, and so half of what she says goes over my head anyway.” “I’m sorry. I didn’t, uh, know.” “That’s okay. I just don’t want you to think I’m stupid. They didn’t cover that part in health class, that’s all. When I hear ‘afterglow,’ I’m thinking about what they taught us about light in my physics class in college. There must be some sexual meaning I didn’t know about.” “Not exactly. It’s just referring to the cuddling part afterward.” He touched my knee with his knuckles. “I don’t think you’re stupid. It was stupid of me to assume. Sorry.” “No problem.” I rested my head against his shoulder, and we watched the rest of Belle of Georgia together, his folded-up fingers still touching my knee.

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CHAPTER SEVEN

“I’m going crazy,” said Lauren. I shook a box of Rice-a-Roni into a pan of boiling buttertinted water and turned down the heat. Lauren was leaning against the wall edge by the refrigerator with one fist on her hip, giving me a tight-mouthed, irritated look. “Why is that?” I asked. “Because of that.” She pointed to the six-pack of A&W root beer on the breakfast bar. “I know you don’t drink that stuff.” “No, that’s Jerry’s. I don’t like root beer.” “That’s my point. Men aren’t supposed to do things like that. It’s women who do the leave-behind thing. Scrunchies and earrings and things like that. Men don’t.” “It’s not a leave-behind thing. It’s just practical. He’s been over here two Thursdays in a row, and it makes more sense to leave it here than to bring over a can of it every week.” “You’re one to talk about practical. I’m telling you, you really ought to let me set you up with Brad before you get too fi xated on Jerry. Just give him a try, Fee. He really wants to meet you.” “You mentioned me to him?” “Not exactly. Well, sort of. We can do it like a double date, okay? Me and Prabath and you guys. He’s so right for you. He’s an AB-group Taurus. For an A-group Pisces, it doesn’t get any 84

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better than that.” “I thought you said I was an INFP.” “That’s your Myers-Briggs type. I’m talking about your blood type this time. I bet you don’t even know what blood type Jerry is.” “No idea. I know he’s a Cancer, though. I thought you said water signs go together.” “Yeah, but he must have something weird on the cusp. Even a guy who’s a Cancer can’t be that pro-commitment unless he’s a little mental. How long did you and Bill go out? Th ree months?” “Yeah, three and a half, four. Something like that.” “And I don’t remember Bill ever leaving anything over here. See, that was nice and normal. A date on Saturday night and then get on with your life for the rest of the week.” I turned on the heat under a pan of chicken broth and set a chicken breast in it. “That’s because Bill is an extremely ambitious grad student who never does anything but work on programming projects. He also still lives with his mother and couldn’t get together on Friday nights because he was watching old episodes of Dr. Who on the Sci-Fi Channel.” “He was a little, uh, geeky.” “I like geeky guys. Jerry’s geeky, too. He plays Scrabble with a dictionary. He’s on a different level from Bill, though. His geekiness doesn’t interfere with his life.” “You guys play Scrabble together? See, I need a guy like that. I kick ass at Scrabble. Maybe I need to be more open to guys who are Leos. They’re competitive. Or the intellectual guys in 20912.” I shrugged. “Or you could try returning wrong-number IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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phone calls.” Lauren threw her hands up in the air and walked away from me. “I’m just going to have to convince myself that there’s some kind of numerology operating there somewhere.” X

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Holly, the school speech therapist, nudged me with her elbow as I spooned French onion dip onto my little pink-and-blue paper plate. “I see your sister behaved herself last night,” she said out of the corner of her mouth. I sighed. “Yeah. You never know, though, with Madison. Next week she could shave off the Southern girls’ eyebrows in their sleep or something.” Holly giggled. “That could be fun. Boy, that Rhett guy sure is cute, isn’t he? He’s got everything but the white horse.” Antonia came over to the table with a bowl of mini gherkins, setting it down beside the tub of ice cream. “I read he actually went to West Point, just like the real Rhett Butler.” “The real Rhett Butler got kicked out of West Point,” I reminded her. “I don’t believe it,” said Holly. “I think he must have gone to Princeton or someplace like that. He’s got that whole blueblooded, Martha’s Vineyard thing going.” “You think?” I asked doubtfully. “I think it’s just his look,” said Antonia. “I’m pretty sure I saw him in a Tommy Hilfiger ad once.” Holly pointed to the pickles and ice cream beside each other on the table. “Does Claire actually expect us to eat those things together?” 86

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Antonia shrugged. “It’s a baby shower. Who knows? Sarah might have requested it. Phoebe, did your mom ever say anything about having weird cravings when she was pregnant with twins?” “Only when she’s whining about what an insensitive jerk our father was to her. She said she wanted sweet-and-sour shrimp all the time, but he got sick of Chinese food and said she was spending too much money.” “Nice. Hey, Sarah, did you hear that?” The guest of honor followed her belly into the dining room, ducking under the little shower of tissue-paper baby booties her best friend had hung in the doorway. She made a face and pushed down against the top of her stomach with her hand. “Somebody’s got their feet in my lungs,” she said. “You ought to ask Phoebe for advice,” Antonia told her. “I bet she knows all the secrets of how twins conspire against their parents.” “She’s having a girl and a boy, though,” I reminded Antonia. “That’s totally different from having identical twin girls. If you ask me, it’ll be a lot easier.” Sarah dug the scoop into the marble-fudge ice cream, removing about half of it from the container at once. “Why is that?” “Because there’s nothing worse than having two little girls going through all the same stages at exactly the same times. There’s the dramatic four-year-old stage, and the mouthy sixyear-old stage, and the hypercritical eight-year-old stage, and that’s before you even get to middle school. There’s not enough wall space in a house for two girls who are both going through the obsessed-with-boy-bands stage.” Holly laughed. “Which band were you guys obsessed with?” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“The NYC Boyz,” I told her. “Remember them? There were five of them, and they did really nice harmonies on all these awful songs—” “I remember them,” said Sarah happily, swallowing a mouthful of ice cream and waving her spoon in the air. “They did ‘Dancin’ after Midnight.’ I had a crush on Clint. He was the hot one.” “He was the blond hot one,” Holly corrected. “I had a thing for the Hispanic hot one. José. I wonder if that was his real name.” Antonia smiled at me. “So did you and Madison have a crush on the same one?” “Of course not. She was obsessed with Derek, the ‘bad boy’ one who always wore a motorcycle jacket. I was in love with C. J. Anastasio.” “The clean-cut one,” Antonia remembered. “That sounds like you.” We wandered out to the living room, and I sat down on the far side of the sofa with my plate of veggies and dip in my lap. “I can still remember everything about him,” I said wistfully. “His birthday is July 8th. He likes Chicago-style hot dogs and Hawaiian Punch, his favorite subject is math, and he likes girlnext-door types.” “Is that what sold you?” asked Sarah. “You thought you had a chance with him?” I ran a piece of broccoli through the dip. “What do you mean, had?” Antonia laughed, putting a hand over her mouth self-consciously. “Awwww,” she said in a little-kid warning voice. “I’m gonna tell your boyfriend.” Holly perked up. “Phoebe has a boyfriend? How did I 88

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miss that?” “He teaches at Kensington,” said Antonia. I elbowed her in the arm, but she just wiped the ranch dip from the side of her thumb and added, “Jerry Sullivan.” Holly’s face lit up with a rapturous smile. “Jerry Sullivan! No kidding!” I paused with a red grape halfway to my mouth. “You know him?” “Sorta kinda. When I was at Lincoln Middle School, I shared an office with the chick he was seeing at the time. Serena. Guidance counselor. Her car was always in the shop so he came to pick her up a lot.” I swallowed and rearranged my plate on my other knee, feeling my heart beat a little harder. In my mind I could hear Lauren loudly chewing me out over how stupid it was to feel jealous. After all, hadn’t our relationship begun with his effort to pick up somebody else? “Nice guy,” she continued. “Quiet. Probably couldn’t get a word in edgewise with Serena, anyway. I ran into him at a conference over the summer, as a matter of fact. I said hi, but he didn’t recognize me.” “A conference?” Suddenly my interest shifted from Serena to Karen the Mystery Girl. “Was there a woman named Karen there?” Holly shrugged. “I dunno. Could have been. I just did my workshops and went home.” “But not that you remember?” I persisted. She shook her head and dug her spoon into her ice cream. “Nope.” Taking a bite, she went on, “I’m not surprised to hear they’re not together anymore. I’m sure she’s moved on to make IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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some other guy miserable.” I grinned. “Go on, keep telling me how awful she was. It’s good for my self-esteem.” Holly rolled her eyes and wadded up her napkin in her fist. “Get comfortable,” she said. “We might be talking until Sarah gives birth.” X

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Saturday was my Aquarium day with Jerry. I was waiting outside my apartment building when he pulled up in his little Volkswagen Jetta with Betsy and Marco crammed into their car seats in the back. He parked the car at the curb and walked around to the passenger side door to open it for me. “Thank you,” I said, slipping into the seat. He closed the door gently, and I turned around to smile at the kids. “Hi, guys.” “Hi,” Betsy whispered. She was eating Goldfish crackers from a Cheerio-shaped plastic container with a small flip-up lid. Her chin was covered in dusty orange crumbs. Marco was asleep. “We’re going to see some real fish, aren’t we?” I asked her. She nodded solemnly. “Yes.” “Don’t mind her,” said Jerry, getting back in on the driver’s side and putting his seat belt back on. “By the end of the day, she’ll be bouncing off the walls.” “I’m sure your sister appreciates the break.” “Yeah, well, I feel bad for her. She’s still really upset about what happened with her husband. Giving her a place to live and getting the kids out of her hair once in a while is the least I can do.” “Can I ask what happened with her husband?” 90

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He dropped his voice and turned the radio balance toward the back of the car. “He cheated on her with some woman he met on the Internet. It didn’t sound like it was the first time. Maybe she just got fed up, I don’t know. I never liked the guy in the first place.” “Why not?” “He was always profi ling. You know, talking about how big and successful he was, what a big football star he was in college. Always talked louder than everyone else. He’s a putz.” He readjusted the radio balance. “Speaking of family, you said you’ve got a stepbrother, right? He’s the only one in your family you’ve never told me about.” “Yeah, it’s complicated. He’s my stepmom’s son by her first marriage. His name is Pete.” “Do you get along with him?” “I get along great with him. I don’t see him very much, though. He lives on a cruise ship most of the time. He works a lot of holidays because he’s a minister. A lot of people want to get married over Christmas and Easter and things like that, at sea.” “That sounds like an interesting job.” “He’s an interesting guy. His partner works on the ship, too, as a chef. That’s where they met. His name is Dominic.” Jerry peered down at his side-view mirror to merge onto the highway. “What does your family think of that?” “They don’t care. I mean, we all like Dominic. He’s Filipino. He makes a great chocolate truffle cake.” Jerry was right about Betsy. She perked up during the dolphin show, giggling as they caught rings on their noses and did their little swimming tricks. By the time we’d finished looking IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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at all of the exhibits, she was chattering our ears off and starting to negotiate for what she would be allowed to get from the gift shop. “One stuffed animal,” said Jerry. “But I need an eraser for my eraser collection.” “One eraser, then.” “But I need a stuffed animal for my stuffed animal collection.” “One or the other.” We made our way toward the exit walkway. A giant, three-story aquarium surrounded the ramps on three sides. Somewhere around the middle, the sharks swam by, their slow slippery bodies scattering the smaller fish around them. At the bottom, where we were, green seaweed waved like mermaid hair; anemones in all shades of pink and fuchsia made little sucking motions, and little yellow fish nibbled at them before zooming suddenly upward, as though startled or stung. “Whoa,” said Betsy. “Like being underwater, isn’t it?” asked Jerry. “Yeah. Like being a fish.” In the stroller, Marco had fallen asleep. His little chipmunk cheeks were relaxed, fat little legs curled up beside him. Jerry pushed the stroller toward the ramp, weaving his way past all the people who had stopped still, staring up at the surrounding water. “My sister used to want to be a mermaid,” I mentioned. Jerry looked over at me. “She did?” “Yeah. That’s how she got her nickname. From the movie Splash. When we were kids she’d put on her swimsuit top and a long skirt and safety-pin it really tight in the back, so it was like 92

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a tail, and pretend to do the backstroke on the carpet. I guess she was waiting for Tom Hanks to come along.” “Still is.” “Yeah, I guess she is, isn’t she? I hope she wins. I think she has a good shot at Rhett, don’t you think?” He stopped on the landing. We were only halfway up to the second story. People flowed by from behind us; Betsy leaned against the metal railing, her shoulders and chin bunched up against it. “Look, there goes a shark,” she said. I watched the shark go by, then turned back to Jerry. “You know, maybe if she—” He put his hand under my chin and I caught my breath, heart racing, its rhythm pounding in my neck and in my ears, and when he kissed me he wrapped his arm around my waist to pull me closer, his other hand still resting on the stroller. I closed my eyes, drifting along into the touch of his lips, the pressure of his hand on my waist, the deep muted somnolent sound of the water. He kissed me slowly until Betsy tugged on the bottom of his T-shirt, his lips still parted as he moved away, his stone-blue eyes still locked on mine. “Can I have my stuffed animal now?” she asked. X

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On Monday morning my mother left four hysterical voice-mail messages on my phone. I called her back on my break, hiding in the teachers’ lounge that was empty except for a nineteen-yearold student teacher with a fairy tattoo on the small of her back and a stack of worksheets to photocopy. “Will you please explain this thing I just read in the Star?” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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she asked indignantly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t read the Star.” “Well, I don’t, either, you know. I was just having a piece of pecan pie at the linger-longer after church yesterday when Rosalie Welsh—do you remember Rosalie Welsh?” “Yeah.” “Rosalie Welsh comes up to me and apologizes for what she read about my daughter. So you don’t know what I’m talking about?” “I don’t have the slightest idea.” I heard the sound of paper wrinkling, being folded. “Former Playboy Playmate Looking for Love,” she read aloud. “Mom, okay. First of all, she wasn’t a Playmate.” The college student at the copy machine glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. My mother kept reading, her voice rising in a blend of accusation and dismay. “Grace Kassner, twentyfour-year-old Maryland schoolteacher and Belle of Georgia bad girl—” “Mom, stop. She had a really short part in a Playboy video, like thirteen seconds, but she wasn’t even naked. She had everything, uh, covered.” “It says right here that she was a Playmate.” “In the Star. Yeah. It also says she’s a schoolteacher, right? None of these people seem to do a lot of fact-checking.” “Honestly, Phoebe. This is not the way I raised you girls. Every week I brought you to church. Every week. Even during that horrible divorce when I didn’t even want to get out of bed. And this is what I have to show for it. My own daughter in the Star. In Playboy. I’m beside myself. I don’t even know what to say to you.” 94

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“Well, nothing, I hope. I’m just her twin, remember? I didn’t pose for Playboy, Mom, I swear. Neither did Madison, actually, but—” “A video. My daughter, the actress. Nobody ever told me she was doing pornography. Oh, just wait until you have children of your own. Then you’ll understand what it’s like to have Rosalie Welsh of all people, with her daughter pregnant at seventeen, apologizing to me about my daughter. I could die.” “Look, save it for Madison, okay? It wasn’t my idea. You chewing me out about what she did isn’t going to do any of us any—” “When was this, if I may ask? This video of hers?” “About six years ago, I think. Right after her, uh, surgery.” “Oh, for goodness’ sake. You know, I blame your father. There’s only so much I can do when he takes off with some oversexed secretary and sets such a lovely example for his preteen daughters. I’m sorry, Phoebe, I can’t take any more of this conversation. I’ll call you in a few days when my nerves aren’t so much on edge.” I turned off my phone and let my head drop back to rest against the back of the sofa. The college student at the copy machine turned around and smiled at me shyly. “You’re her sister?” she asked. “Really?” X

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Lauren was on a date the next time Thursday rolled around, and so Jerry and I decided to watch Belle of Georgia at my place again. It was the first time I’d seen him since our Aquarium trip, and just seeing him through the peephole made my pulse go up to about three hundred and forty beats a minute. I had IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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it bad. Radio songs had taken on an eerie significance. I was suddenly aware of the shoddiness of my underwear collection. And the night before, while I was supposed to be typing up “Ms. Kassner’s All-Star Class Report” to send home in my students’ folders, I’d ended up typing nineteen variations on “Mrs. Phoebe Sullivan,” each in a different font, color, or style. My fifteen-year-old sister would have rolled her eyes and told me I was acting juvenile. Jerry hadn’t brought any flowers this time, but he did bring a half gallon of cookie-dough ice cream and a bottle of whipped cream. I took both from him and headed for the kitchen. “The whipped cream’s for the ice cream, right?” I grinned. He blushed. “That was the idea.” “Just checking.” “My dad used to have that on an album cover,” he said, folding his arms against the breakfast bar and leaning his weight against them. “Had what on an album cover?” “A woman covered in whipped cream. She had brown hair. The album cover was, like, mint-green. The Tijuana Brass, that was the name of it.” He paused, his eyes up toward the ceiling like he was remembering. “And I mean, she was really covered. I guess they meant it to be sexy, but it looked more like she was about to drown in the stuff.” “Not very erotic.” “Not really. Do I still have any of that root beer around?” I handed him one from the fridge. “I hope you appreciate it,” I said. “Lauren gave me a hard time about you leaving it over here.” “Sorry. I can take it home if you want.” 96

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“No, it’s fine with me. Lauren’s funny about her rules. She reads all these books about dating and relationships and really wants all the theories that she reads about to work. Guys leaving their own beverages at a girl’s house after—what, three weeks?—doesn’t work for her.” “Four weeks,” Jerry said. “Four weeks now. Three when you left them here.” “Oh, yeah. I guess so.” His mouth pulled nervously at the corners. “You think we need to slow down?” “No, no, no. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just Lauren. I’m not suggesting that I agree.” He took the ice-cream bowl I handed him. “Well, what are some of her other theories?” “Let’s see. That couples in the early stages of a relationship are better off spending at least half their time apart. And that they should have frequent meetings to discuss the status of their relationship—like, real meetings, where you might want to take notes.” Jerry ate a spoonful of ice cream. “I could prepare a PowerPoint presentation.” I laughed. “Right now she’s really into the idea of couples’ workshops. Going away to the Poconos or a ranch out in Nevada and having intensive communication sessions with ‘relationship guides.’ Now all she needs is a man to go with.” Sitting down on the sofa, Jerry propped a pillow under his arm and carefully scooped up equal parts ice cream and whipped cream. “I would agree that communication is important,” he said, “but it seems like you should be able to talk to your significant other without flying to Europe to do it.” “I’m inclined to agree with you.” I curled up on the other IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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end of the sofa and reached for the remote. “Let’s see what my sister’s up to this week.” Only a few minutes into the show, one of the Yankee girls was shown sitting on her bed with a bolster pillow on her lap, talking earnestly into the camera. “The individual immunity challenges start today,” she was saying, “and it totally sucks. The only girl who doesn’t need to worry about getting voted off is Grace. Everyone wants to be up against her in the Final Four because she’s so mean that she doesn’t have a chance of getting chosen by Rhett or Ashley. But the rest of us are totally on the chopping block.” “Well, that’s good news,” I said. When the challenge rolled around, all the girls were in the rose garden again, lined up behind individual little Louis XIVstyle side tables. Each wore a vintage afternoon dress with a wide hoopskirt and her little flag brooch pinned to her bosom. Brent Holloway smiled from beside a larger table, his hands behind his back again. I envisioned a whole walk-in closet full of those identical raw-cotton shirts, a team of wardrobe assistants pressing casually identical wrinkles into the bottoms with a steam iron. “Today we’ve got a very unique challenge ahead of us,” he grinned. “I’ll be setting a variety of foods in front of you that are all well-loved regional Southern dishes. Each food must be eaten in its entirety before you can move to the next round. There are eight of you left, so with each round, the last to finish her challenge item will be eliminated. Do all of you understand the rules?” The girls nodded somberly. “All right. For our first item, a good old-fashioned Louisiana 98

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bayou treat. Alligator garfish.” He set down the blue-flowered china plates in front of them, each with a small brownish-gray fish on it. “Go.” The last girl to finish was the one from Louisiana. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I grew up with them things. I’d rather eat garbage.” They worked their way through pigs’ feet and eggplant custard and boiled okra, which caused one Yankee girl to gag and disqualify herself by spitting the first spoonful back out onto the ground. “It’s supposed to be edible,” she protested. “Even I could eat that!” yelled the Louisiana girl from the sidelines. “Maybe you’ve had more practice swallowing stuff with that kind of a consistency,” the Yankee girl shot back. “Ladies,” said Brent in a reproving tone. “Next item. A traditional slave food that is still eaten today at soul-food restaurants all over the country. Chitlins.” The girls looked down at their plates with apprehension. “Made of fully cleaned hog intestines. Ready? Go!” Madison was one of the four girls left. She ate her chitlins with no trouble at all. One of the Rebel girls choked, but managed to finish the whole thing. The other remaining Yankee girl folded her arms in front of her chest and didn’t even try. “I’m not eating pig crap,” she said. “Forget it.” “Okay, then. We’re down to three.” Brent reached under his little covered table and took out three plates, each with a yellow square covered in a thick, tarry brown substance. “What’s that?” asked Marci, sounding as though she suspected it might be human flesh. “A favorite on Southern tables everywhere,” Brent said with IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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a menacing grin as the plates clinked against the table. “Homemade cornbread with molasses.” “We have to eat the entire thing?” asked the other Rebel girl, a blonde from Kentucky, with a nervous quiver to her voice. “The entire thing,” Brent confirmed. “Sixty-three net carbs.” The Kentucky girl folded her hands over her mouth and ran into the rosebushes to throw up. “All right,” said Brent Holloway. “Ready? Go!” Madison and Marci picked the cornbread squares up with their hands and devoured them like a couple of Rottweilers going after an Alpo can. Marci stepped back first, holding up both hands, her face smeared with molasses. “It’s Marci!” yelled Brent. “Oh, man,” I said. “That’s okay,” Jerry reassured me. “Remember? The other girl said she didn’t need the immunity.” The camera cut to Madison, looking dejected, cornbread crumbs still clinging to the hair around her face. “She totally cheated,” Madison complained. “She just rubbed the molasses all over her face. That’s like two hundred calories just on her nose. And I totally blew my diet for the whole week.” They ended up voting off the girl from Kentucky. Everyone voted for her, even Marci, whom I had guessed would vote for Madison on pure competitive impulse. Once the show was over, Jerry kissed me good-bye at the door, the tip of his tongue barely moving out past his teeth. He pulled back and kissed my forehead when I touched mine against it. “I’d better get going,” he said.

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CHAPTER EIGHT On Wednesday evening I found Lauren was sitting in front of her computer in her bedroom, typing rapidly and taking notes into a small spiral-bound notebook. The calendar above her desk showed the front door of a brick house with mums lining the stairs and pathway, a grapevine wreath on the door. In a big, stylized font across the bottom, it said, “Once-a-Day Aricept (donepezil HCl).” Most of the weekend blocks and a lot of the weekdays had men’s names scribbled in black ink. “Whatcha doing?” I asked, leaning against the door frame. She turned around in her computer chair and took off her glasses. “I’m Googling men. I’m going through my mail from Kismet and deciding which ones I want to answer.” “Oh, is this the thing where you look up their college transcripts and medical records and all that?” “Not that much. Usually the most I find is a résumé or a few posts on a music newsgroup. But take a look at this guy.” She tapped an entry in her notebook with her finger and clicked the “back” button on her Internet browser. “See, he looked great in his description, but then it turns out he’s got all these rightwing posts on this politics newsgroup. And this other guy has his diary posted online with links to the Web sites of four of his ex-girlfriends. See, it pays to do your research.” “Maybe that just means he’s good at staying on friendly IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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terms with people.” “Yeah, or maybe it means he’s got so much baggage his friends call him ‘Samsonite.’ They’re free to look me up, too, if they want. I wouldn’t be offended.” “How are they supposed to find out anything about a girl named Lauren Walker? There are probably ten thousand of you just on the East Coast.” She shrugged. “That’s their problem. They can track me down with a private detective for all I care. I don’t have anything to hide.” “Except that little Harriet the Spy notebook over there, I guess.” She tossed a wadded-up Post-it note at me. “Oh, screw you.” “Hey, I’m going to run out to the pharmacy. Do you need anything?” “Just a cute stock boy.” I dug around in my purse for my keys. “I’ll see what I can do.” The line at the pharmacy was long, five people deep if you didn’t count the three preschoolers clustered around the woman in hiking shorts with a baby in a backpack carrier. I was fourth, behind a middle-schooler whose basket held a copy of Teen Beat, a twelve-pack of Big Red gum, and a purple notebook to disguise the fact that she’d only come in to buy the box of tampons buried beneath the rest of the stuff. That was okay; I was doing the same thing. Slowly the line shifted forward. One of the preschoolers picked up a pack of Bubble Yum, sniffed it, and surreptitiously licked the back of the wrapper before shoving it back onto the shelf. I reached for a copy of Woman’s World magazine, carefully avoiding all the celebrity rags that pressed in around it. Keep Off That Holiday Weight! said the cover. Surviving Colon 102

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Cancer: Her Inspiring True Story. I flipped to an article about a woman who ran a rescue home for abandoned terriers. “Ma’am?” I blinked. The cashier gave me an impatient look, and I quickly stacked my things on the counter—a pack of Bic pens, a birdseed treat for Tristan and Isolde to fight over, a bag of peanut-butter cups, and oh, yes, that box of tampons. “You know who you look like?” The cashier was about twenty years old and Latina, with curly, red-highlighted hair. She spoke in a clipped little accent. My mother would have called it saucy. Her name tag said “Hildy.” “Who?” I asked. “That girl who’s on that show, Belle of Georgia. You know the one I mean?” “Gretchen?” piped up the woman behind me, looking me over. Gretchen was the fat one who’d been voted out the first week. I felt like kicking her. Just because I wasn’t as skinny as my sister didn’t make me fat, for goodness’ sake. “No, not her. That other one. Grace.” Hildy nodded in agreement with herself. “You look a little like her.” The woman behind me snickered. She was short and rather heavy, with wispy-ended brown hair tucked up messily into a butterfly clip. Her T-shirt said Sanibel. “That witch,” she said. “Oh, I know. Isn’t she awful?” Hildy cracked her gum and waved the bag of peanut-butter cups in front of her scanner. “You hear what she called that Marci girl?” “Maybe they took out her heart when they put in her fake boobs,” said the Sanibel lady. “She’s probably not like that in real life,” I said, handing Hildy my credit card. IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“You gotta wonder,” said Hildy. “Those girls who go on shows like that. All blond and pretty, and they still gotta win themselves a man like that. I never had no trouble myself.” The Sanibel lady laughed and shifted her basket around. “They just do it for the attention,” she said. “Ugly people doing ugly things.” I scribbled my name onto the receipt and stuffed my copy into my bag, rushing out the door quickly, before Hildy could notice my name. X

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Thanksgiving had arrived, and after hearing me complain all week about the horrible home cooking that my mother would force me to endure, Jerry took pity on me and decided to make good on his offer to cook me dinner. His entire extended family had gathered at his grandparents’ house in Lusby, but he promised me he could skip out early. I was grateful to have a ready excuse not to stay too long at my mother and stepfather’s place. Without Madison there to attract criticism like iron filings to a magnet, I knew I would be in for a long evening. While my stepfather dozed in the recliner in a turkey-induced slumber, I hung out on the sofa watching the National Dog Show, idly hoping for a glance of Carter. Sure enough, he got about ten seconds of screen time leading the Empress past the judges. As one judge inspected her back and tail, he pulled a small treat from his pocket and popped it in her mouth, then went on a final jog around the ring, keeping the Empress in a close heel against his suede loafers. It was hard to believe that this was the same guy I had seen consumed with passion. I was 104

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still a little sorry we hadn’t had more time to figure things out. I left my mother to her leftovers. Right around six I parked in Jerry’s driveway and made my way up to his open front door, tapping my knuckles gently against the metal frame of the storm door. He nearly bounced into the foyer and smiled widely, then unlatched the door and stood back to let me in. “Perfect timing,” he said. “I just took the steak out of the fridge.” I stepped inside. The house was quiet, all the toys in one of the baskets under the sofa. “Where are Betsy and Marco?” I asked. “At my grandparents’ house for the night, with Stella. You want to cut up some vegetables for the salad while I do the potatoes?” “Sure. Steak’s a good choice. I’m all turkeyed out.” I pushed up my sleeves and headed over to the sink. “So how’s your week been?” “When was the last time I talked to you?” “Tuesday night. Two days ago.” “Since Tuesday,” he said thoughtfully. “Since Tuesday I’ve watched The Lord of the Flies four times and graded thirty-two essays on the similarities and differences between Sonia and Raskolnikov in Crime and Punishment. Thirty-one. My juvenile delinquent didn’t turn his in. I’ve also broken up one fistfight, counseled one wayward teenage girl wearing entirely too little clothing, and gone on a nice long motorcycle ride in the country.” “That sounds like an interesting couple of days.” In his own house, moving around in his own kitchen, Jerry seemed much more animated, more talkative. He smiled more. I’d seen him both Saturday and Monday, and I still hadn’t been able to get more than a rudimentary kiss out of him. Lauren’s theory about IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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his sexuality wasn’t sounding quite as far-fetched anymore, and in any case I was ready to settle this argument once and for all. Things were already looking more promising. “Just business as usual,” he said. “It was nice to get out on my bike. It seems like it’s been raining for a solid week. How’ve you been?” “Good. Yesterday a cashier told me I looked like that girl on Belle of Georgia. Then she and the woman behind me had a conversation about what a witch my sister is. Quote-unquote. I just wanted to crawl under a rock and hide.” “Did you tell them you’re her twin?” “I was afraid to. I didn’t want to embarrass them. Besides, it gets complicated, you know. Because we don’t look much alike anymore.” “Still enough to get recognized, apparently.” He slid the pan into the oven, under the red glow of the broiler. Instead of closing the oven door back up, he just left it partway open, watching it. “You’re prettier, though.” I stopped chopping the tomato that was in front of me. “Prettier than my sister, you mean? Oh, no. No, especially since she had all her stuff done. She’s a knockout.” He shrugged. “To each their own, I guess. I told you what I think.” “That’s sweet of you to say that.” Ducking to check the top of the steak, Jerry cautiously let go of the oven-door handle and took a few quick steps across the kitchen to get a potholder from a drawer. As he passed behind me, I nearly jumped to feel his hand on my shoulder and the quick kiss that touched firmly against the back of my head. “It’s the truth,” he said. 106

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Jerry was a good cook. He sliced the flank steak paperthin and served it with homemade au gratin potatoes and green beans amandine and the salad. Just like last time, his house was spotlessly clean. His cats hid from me, one of them peering out from under the sofa with luminous green eyes as we ate dinner at his polished-cherry dining-room table. He poured Coke from a two-liter bottle into two blue-rimmed glasses nearly overflowing with ice. “Pretend it’s wine,” he said. I giggled and sipped my Coke, the ice bumping up against my lip. “You forgot to buy some?” “No, I just act like an idiot when I drink, so I don’t drink.” “Ever?” “Nah. It’s been years since I drank anything stronger than coffee. I drank a lot in college. A lot.” I set my glass down carefully. “Like . . . problematically?” “It was starting to go that way. That’s why I stopped.” “Sounds like the right thing to do.” He nodded, crunching down on an ice cube from his glass. “Yeah. It wasn’t as hard as quitting smoking. That took me three years. Why are you smiling?” “No reason.” “No, come on. Why?” “You just reminded me of something my roommate says.” “What would that be?” I dropped my gaze to my plate and picked up a piece of steak with my fork, folded like a piece of Christmas ribbon candy. “She says that people who eat ice are, you know, frustrated.” He stopped chewing. “You mean like sexually frustrated?” “Yeah. That’s what she says.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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He chuckled. “I do it all the time. I’ll have to remember not to do it in front of your roommate.” “Oh, she already thinks we’re wrong for each other. She’s got a whole system that she uses to get dates off the matchmaking Web sites. Zodiac signs, zip codes, blood types, what kind of cars they drive. She keeps warning me. She says you’re all wrong.” He crunched the last bit of ice that was still in his mouth and swallowed. “You don’t know my blood type.” “What is it?” “O positive.” “See, I’m A positive.” “Is that bad?” “I don’t know. I’m not sure what the system is for that.” His mouth twitched into a smile. “I think it’s perfect.” At eight o’clock we sat down on the sofa with bowls of Moose Tracks ice cream, Jerry’s arm bumping against mine as we settled in. The green-eyed cat darted out from under the sofa and raced off to another room, a streak of white fur through the darkness. Jerry pointed at the TV with the side of his spoon as we watched one of the Yankee girls go out on a date with Rhett. “Have you noticed you never hear him talk?” Jerry asked. “Who, Rhett?” I swallowed my ice cream. “You do hear him, a little. Anyway, they’re trying to make him mysterious. Maybe whatever he says gives away if he likes the girl or not.” Jerry shook his head. “I don’t think that’s it.” “Well, what’s your opinion, then?” “I think either he doesn’t have a Southern accent, or else he’s such a moron that it would break the whole Rhett Butler spell if you heard him say more than a few words at a time.” “You think?” I considered the theory, letting a spoonful of 108

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ice cream melt in my mouth. “No, I really think it’s the mystery thing. Ashley does talk more, but none of the girls really wants Ashley. Rhett’s the one they want to keep us guessing about.” I already knew from the teaser that tonight would be Madison’s date with Ashley. The date consisted of horseback riding through a park to a candlelit dinner under a tent with a harpist playing softly nearby. Madison had been riding horses since she was eight years old and was obviously thrilled at her good fortune, dressing in a tight pair of jeans and blousy white shirt that showed her lacy bra when the wind blew it against her skin. The camera caught lots of shots of her with her blond hair blowing around her face, her butt perfect in her stonewashed Levi’s, looking playfully over her shoulder at Ashley as he rode his horse behind her like Jefferson Davis inspecting the troops. “Come on, slowpoke,” she called teasingly. They settled down to a candlelit dinner under a romantic canopy in the woods. Madison managed to fake her way through a long conversation about fi lm and poetry and art, lowering her chin to let the candlelight catch her eyes, shadows cast along her very expensive cleavage. She smiled adoringly. By the end, Ashley actually seemed to like her. I turned to Jerry. “She’s a better actress than I thought. It almost looks like she likes the guy.” “She’d better be careful,” he warned. “She keeps that up, she might end up having to marry him.” “What happens if both Rhett and Ashley pick the same girl?” “Can that happen?” “Yeah, I suppose. The way it works is that the girls try to vote out the ones they think are the biggest threat, and once it’s down to four girls, Rhett and Ashley pick the ones they like best.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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Jerry looked thoughtful. “Maybe they’ll fight a duel,” he offered. “That could be fun. My money’s on Rhett.” “What if they don’t like any of the four girls who are left?” I shrugged. “Maybe they can both put the diamond rings behind their backs and ask each of the girls to pick a hand.” As we watched Madison and the rest of the Yankees lose the vase-throwing immunity contest and send a Wisconsin girl home, I snuggled up to him and nuzzled my nose against his neck. I felt him smile, and when I pulled my face back, he kissed me lightly on the lips. “You ready to call it a night?” he asked. “In a minute.” I caught his cheek with my index finger to turn his face back toward mine. “We both get to sleep in tomorrow, remember? Friday’s a holiday.” “I didn’t forget.” “So there’s no rush.” He smiled patiently. “Long day for both of us, though. All the family stuff.” “Are you tired?” I had my hand on his thigh, but he didn’t move. “Kind of, yeah. Driving to Lusby and back. It’s a long hike.” I took my hand off his leg and turned my face away. He’d made his point. “Well, I guess I’ll get going.” “What’s the matter?” I shoved my feet into my shoes. “What makes you think something’s the matter?” He rolled his eyes. “Oh, God. Here we go.” “Here we go, what?” I grabbed my parka from the floor and shrugged it on. 110

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“The ‘I make you read my mind and then I bitch you out’ game. I’ve played this one before.” “Not with me, you haven’t.” “Phoe-be,” he grumbled, drawing out the syllables. “How could I have done something wrong without either talking or moving? Come on.” “Don’t worry about it. You’re tired. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I was doing what I could to avoid storming out in a full-blown huff, because that wouldn’t be fair. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t feel the same way about me as I felt about him. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t interested in kissing me. Actually, it was, but I was determined not to address the subject until I was safely out of the house. Then I’d go home and scrawl it all in my journal, fi lling it with four-letter words that didn’t include “love.” “Can you at least give me a hint?” he asked, following me to the door. As I pulled it open, the chilly air rushed in, sending his cats scurrying for the heaters. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” “You’re doing this just to torture me.” True enough. I turned my face upward and gave him a peck on the lips. “I’ll call you.” He sighed and leaned against the door frame as I brushed past him, then hurried through the darkness to my car. X

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“Hello?” I mumbled. “Phoebe, it’s me. I need you to come get me. I’m at school.” I blinked and tried to read the numbers on my clock radio. “Alexa? It’s after midnight.” “I know that. Listen, I really need your help. I’m sort of stuck.” I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “Did Dad forget to pick you up?” “No, I mean really stuck. Like, literally. I’m in the third-floor science lab and the door slammed shut, and now I’m sort of—” “What are you doing in the science lab at midnight? Hold on a sec. Didn’t you have today off ?” “Yeah, of course I did. We were just sort of visiting the lab rats.” “Visiting the lab rats?” I shoved the covers down to the end of the bed and plunked my feet onto the floor. I was wide awake all of a sudden. “Releasing them, you mean?” “Well, they were doing all these behavioral tests on them in Allie’s AP psychology class, and it just wasn’t fair, Phoebe. Like all that running around just to get food, even. It’s barbaric.” She dropped her voice down a level. “Can you get us out?” “You want me to break into your high school and rescue you from the science lab,” I said. It wasn’t a question. “You don’t have to break in. The back door is unlocked. Like, by the gym.” I moved the phone away from my head long enough to pull on a sweater. “Does Dad know where you are?” “No. I snuck out. Please don’t call them, Fee. I’ll be grounded forever. Promise you won’t say anything to anybody.” “No.” I pulled on my jeans and snapped them closed. “How am I supposed to get you out, anyway? What do you think, I just have some kind of magical teachers’ key that opens every 112

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classroom door in the world?” “I dunno. You’re the teacher. You’re supposed to be smarter than me. Listen, can you bring a cardboard box or something? These stupid rat cages weigh about a zillion pounds. I don’t know how we’re ever going to get them down the stairs.” X

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Somewhere between when I merged onto the Beltway and when I reached the Kensington exit for the second time that day, it occurred to me that while I didn’t have the magical teachers’ key to Kensington High School, Jerry did. It was twelve thirty when I pulled up in front of his house; naturally, all of the windows were dark. Alexa would probably be safer if I just left her in the school all weekend. If I got my hands on her, I’d kill her. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Jerry’s home number. He answered on the second ring, sounding groggy. I cringed and started explaining. “So now I need to try to get her out, and I know it’s late and I’m really sorry, but—” “It’s no problem. Where are you, on the Beltway?” “Actually, I’m in your driveway.” There was a pause. “You’re kidding, right?” “Uh, no.” The shade went up on his bedroom window, and he peered down at me. He had the cordless phone up against his ear. I waved. He waved back and laughed. “I’ll be down in a second,” he said. He opened the front door for me, and I stepped into his darkened living room. He wore pajama pants and a T-shirt, IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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along with his glasses. I’d known that he wore contacts, but I’d never seen him in glasses before. They gave him a nice intellectual look, even in his pajamas. He set them down on the arm of the sofa and turned his back to me to pull off his T-shirt. I started to look away, but caught a glimpse of the tattoo on his back and stared. It was a cobra that covered his entire left shoulder blade. He popped his head out of the top of his clean T-shirt and grinned at me. “You checking out my ink?” he asked. I laughed self-consciously. “It’s kind of hard to miss.” “That’s the biggest one I’ve got. The other ones are a lot smaller.” He put his glasses back on. “Stay here a sec. I need to get my jeans out of the dryer.” We got into my car and drove out to the high school, parking across the street out of concern that a lone car in the school parking lot would attract attention. I followed Jerry past the bleachers and around to the back of the gym. The football field was wet with rain and soggy brown leaves, and our sneakers made squishing sounds with each step. A light misting rain had begun again, catching in Jerry’s hair and on the back of his shoulders in a fine spray. His back looked broad and solid in the dim light, and I was glad to have him with me. As he mucked through the field, I tried to picture him as a hard-partying headbanger, a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The image didn’t work, and that made me feel somehow relieved. “Look, I really appreciate this,” I said as we stepped onto the sidewalk that led to the gym. “I know you could get fired.” “Don’t worry about that.” Jerry pulled on a door. The chain clattered against the frame, and it jerked closed. “If it happens, I’ll let you support me.” 114

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“Very funny.” “I was glad to hear from you, actually. You seemed pretty ticked when you left.” “Yeah, well, that’s a conversation for another time.” “Sounds good,” he said. The next door opened easily, and we stepped into the pitch-dark hallway, cold as a mausoleum. I followed him down a side hallway and up a back stairwell, then through the labyrinth of hallways on the third floor. “My classroom’s on the other side of the building,” he said, gesturing toward the main stairwell. “I’ll show you sometime if you want. When we’re not rescuing anybody.” I laughed. “I’ll make my sister pay for this, I promise.” “No need to. It’ll be a great motivator for the rest of the year.” He turned down a hallway and pulled out his keys. “The rats are still in the cages, right?” “I hope so. I guess we’ll find out.” He turned the key in the lock, and there was a scuffle of noise inside. When he pulled the door open, a whole group of faces stared back at us, ghostly white in the darkness. “Mr. Sullivan?” asked Alexa, her voice lyrical with wonder and horror. “Everybody out,” said Jerry. “Game over.” The five kids shuffled out into the hallway. Two were boys, three girls, all in black shirts and jeans. Jerry didn’t crack a smile. Alexa folded her arms over her chest and looked at me helplessly. She didn’t look like she was going to say anything more about taking the rats with us. “Line up along the wall,” Jerry ordered. They all hurried into place like a group of military recruits. One of the girls twisted the hem of her shirt in her hands. Her IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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bottom lip quivered. “I ought to write every last one of you up,” Jerry said sharply. “Better yet, I ought to call the police and have you arrested for trespassing. Attempted theft. Breaking and entering.” He held up his cell phone. “You want me to?” “No,” said another of the girls in a small voice. “I could call your parents instead,” he added threateningly. “Jackson, I’ll bet I have yours on my speed dial. Which one of you wants to call your folks and tell them where you are?” All five of the kids cowered. I understood what Jerry was doing—he couldn’t give them the idea he didn’t take rulebreaking seriously. Even so, I felt kind of sorry for them. I stepped toward Jerry and touched his waist gently, and Alexa’s eyes bugged halfway out of her head. “Go home,” he said. “If any one of you isn’t in class on Monday, I’m calling your parents. Let me see you screw up once this year, and I’ll make sure nobody on this faculty is willing to write you a college recommendation. I’m watching you, all of you. All year. Got it?” They nodded avidly. “Now go. Except you, Alexa. I suppose Phoebe wants to give you a ride home.” The kids fi led solemnly through the building, murmuring quietly to each other. They were paired except for Alexa, who followed behind us, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her black zip-up sweatshirt. She got in the backseat of my car and sat silently as Jerry played with the radio buttons. “That’s more like it,” he said, settling on some screechy Iron Maiden song. “Change it.” 116

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“Let me see if I can find you some Barry Manilow.” I smacked his arm lightly. “Hey. When we’re in my car, I don’t have to listen to your devil music. It’s only fair.” “Sorry, Tipper.” I shot him a dirty look, and he poked me in the side with his finger. He slid down in his seat and planted his foot against the dashboard, then reached for the stack of CDs in the console and started flipping through them. “Are you guys going out?” Alexa blurted. I glanced at Jerry and wrung my hands on the steering wheel. “In a manner of speaking.” She leaned forward in her seat. “What does that mean?” “It means we’re going out,” explained Jerry. I grimaced. “Sort of informally.” He snapped his head to the side and looked at me. “What do you mean, informally?” “You know. Like, casually.” “Casually? Like, dating-other-people casually?” “No, like just-sort-of-hanging-out casually.” He crossed his ankle over his knee and sat back grumpily. “That wasn’t my interpretation.” I glanced nervously in the rearview mirror. Alexa’s eyes were moving back and forth between us as though she were watching a tennis match. “We’ll talk about this when we get home, okay?” I said under my breath. “Home?” asked Alexa. “You’re living together?” “No,” Jerry and I barked in unison. Alexa sank back against the seat. “’Scuse me for existing.” “I don’t see where you get ‘just sort of hanging out,’” said Jerry. “We’ve got standing dates. I call you every day. I’ve got IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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stuff over at your place, and—” “Root beer doesn’t count as having stuff over at my place, and anyway, that’s not what I meant.” “Well, what did you mean?” I took my eyes off the road long enough to give him a hardeyed stare. “We’ll talk about this when we get home.” His eyebrows rose with sudden comprehension. “Oh, that.” From the backseat, Alexa made a retching noise. “Oh, gag.” “Come on, Alexa,” I reprimanded. “Don’t be juvenile.” “Well, that’s just gross. I totally don’t want to hear you and Mr. Sullivan discussing your sex life. That’s totally vile.” “Thanks, Alexa,” said Jerry. She sighed loudly and thumped her foot against the back of my seat. “Isn’t that, like, unethical?” “Unethical?” asked Jerry. “For teachers to have normal adult relationships?” “No, for you to be going out with my sister. That’s almost like you dating my mom, isn’t it?” “Not exactly,” said Jerry. “Anyway, I didn’t know she was your sister until I was already going out with her.” Alexa rolled her eyes. “That’s a lame excuse. That’s like Oedipus saying he didn’t realize he was sleeping with his own mother.” “Excellent association,” Jerry affirmed, “but I’m not going to claw my eyes out over it.” Alexa shuddered and stuck her hands back into her sleeves. “Well, I might. And I thought I was catching a lot of crap because of Madison. Wait ‘til this gets out.” “I told you, it’s just casual,” I reminded her. She held up one hand. “Stop. Discuss it when you get home. Please.” 118

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Fortunately, my father’s house was only ten minutes away from Jerry’s, and so I managed to keep the conversation on safer subjects until we actually walked in the door. It was two o’clock in the morning, and although Jerry appeared to be wide awake and ready to talk all night, I was on the edge of exhaustion. I could barely stay awake while driving, let alone handle a conversation that was going to require the diplomacy of North Korean nuclear talks. “It wasn’t supposed to be an insult,” I explained as Jerry kicked off his muddy sneakers in the foyer. “I just didn’t understand that you were taking it that seriously.” “Why wouldn’t I be taking it seriously?” “I don’t know, Jerry. We get together, we have a good time, you kiss me like we’re related, you go home. You don’t exactly act like you’re consumed with passion.” He laughed. “You don’t know me.” “Maybe I don’t. That’s kind of what I’m afraid of.” He sat down on the sofa and ran his hands through his rain-dampened hair. “I’m trying to take it slow, that’s all. I don’t want to pressure you.” “I don’t mean doing that, necessarily. I mean anything. All I said was that I’m a virgin. I didn’t say I was a nun.” “Fine, I caught that part,” he said angrily. “And I’m an asshole. Now we’re clear.” One of the cats tried to curl up on his lap, but he lifted her perfunctorily and set her on the floor. In the awkward silence that followed, I twisted my thumbs in the back pockets of my IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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jeans and gnawed my bottom lip nervously. After a moment, he brushed a scattering of cat hair roughly from his thigh and said, “It’s hard to stop. That’s the problem.” “What do you mean?” “Once I’m wound up, it’s really hard for me to stop. I can be pushy. I turn into a jerk. That’s what I’m trying to get across to you. It’s the same way I am with drinking—once I get started, I’m no good at backing off. I’d rather not get started in the first place if I know I’m going to end up in trouble at the end of the night.” I leaned against the wall and tucked my hands behind my back. “Oh.” “It’s got nothing to do with whether I’m attracted to you, if that’s what you were thinking. Believe me, I’m attracted to you. But if I show you how much, I can bet you won’t be attracted to me anymore. Not once you see me all frustrated and pissy.” I considered that. “So it’s all or nothing for you, huh?” He looked pained. “I don’t know. Not necessarily. Your being a virgin—it’s sort of scary, to tell you the truth. The stakes are a lot higher. If I offend you, I’ll feel terrible afterward. I’d rather just keep the nice-guy thing going for a while.” I smiled. “I’m sure we can strike a compromise. You promise to ease up on being a perfect gentleman, and I’ll promise to poke you in the eyes if you cross the line into being a butthead.” He grinned and looked away. The cat tried to climb onto his lap again, and this time he let her. He looked at me questioningly. “Look, you want to spend the night?” The rain outside was picking up, pattering softly against the windows and the gutters. I thought of the way Jerry’s broad back had looked as he walked through the football field, and the 120

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idea of curling up with him under the covers in his orderly bedroom seemed particularly inviting and homey. But I was tired and rattled by the argument, and I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. I sighed. “I’m really sleepy right now, to be honest with you.” “Yeah, I can see that. I really don’t want you driving home half-asleep. Just come to bed with me, all right? I won’t try anything funny.” He laughed. “Unless you want me to.” He turned out the light, and I followed him up the stairs to his bedroom. The covers were pushed back, the cordless phone off the hook, just the way he’d left it when I’d called. The window shade was still up, letting in just enough light to cast the room in a palette of gray shadows. Jerry handed me a T-shirt and shorts from his dresser, then pulled off his shirt to change back into his pajamas. On his hip, half-hidden by the waistband of his jeans, was a tattoo of a griffin spreading its wings. I reached out to touch it, and he moved toward me, slipping his hand under my hair, his lips relaxed and expectant as he tipped his head toward mine. Drowsy and unsettled, but eager for his touch, I curled my hands around his waistband and drew him closer. And soon I learned that Jerry was the same in bed as he was everyplace else: once he was comfortable and in his element, he wasn’t uptight at all.

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CHAPTER NINE I placed a loaf of French bread in the kiddie seat of my shopping cart and then stopped short before getting in the grocery line, lifting a copy of People magazine from the rack. Flipping quickly to the “Reality TV Update” section, I scanned the page until I saw a photo of Madison at dinner with Ashley. Her elbow rested against the table; she held her wineglass close to her face, smiling. Don’t tell Marci! Grace’s date with Ashley went off like a dream, but will she be able to keep Rhett’s eye on her after his hot-and-heavy date with Debbie Jo? Up next week: Marci and Grace face off over a stolen kiss, and the girls make a touching visit to the National Civil Rights Museum. Tune in Thursday at 8! “Phoebe?” I ruffled the magazine closed and turned around. Standing behind me with a red plastic shopping basket in his hand was Bill, his blond hair uncombed, wearing a faded black Pink Floyd T-shirt and black jeans. “How’s it going?” he asked. “Great,” I smiled. I was happy to see him, much happier than I would have anticipated. All afternoon my mind had been on Jerry, calling up the memories of our previous night like a slide show, feeling the roller-coaster surge in my stomach over and over again. Never had there been a better time for Bill to show up in front of me with his sticking-out ears and socks 122

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with sandals and hair that needed to be washed. I felt like kissing him with gratitude for the fact that he had dumped me. “Yeah, wow. Hey, you look great. So whatcha doing?” I looked over at my cart. “Well, shopping.” “Oh, yeah. Yeah, evidently. Me, too.” I peeked down at his basket, fi lled with TV dinners and Red Bull and a multi-pack of highlighter pens. I looked up at him and grinned. I couldn’t stop grinning at him. I’d once heard that there was a warehouse in DC where they stored examples of the perfect measurement of everything—a one-liter bottle, a one-kilo weight, a yardstick precisely three feet long. I could imagine him sitting on a shelf somewhere in there, crosslegged, wearing exactly that ratty Pink Floyd T-shirt and with those grubby fingernails, with the word Wrong on a sign hung around his neck. “Well, I guess I’d better, uh—” He pointed toward the express lane. “You know.” “Oh, right. It’s Friday, isn’t it? Almost time for Dr. Who.” I could feel my cheeks tensing from smiling for so long, but I couldn’t help it. In a couple of hours Jerry was coming to pick me up; no feeling would be more sublime than looking out my bedroom window and seeing Jerry pocketing his keys on the way up the steps to my building, knowing that Bill would be spending the evening eating Stouffer’s Macaroni & Cheese on a grungy futon alone in front of the TV. Bill laughed nervously. “Yeah. Well, seeya. It’s been great seeing you.” He put out one arm in a semicircle, asking for a hug. I eagerly stepped into it and squeezed him tightly, tucking my chin up over his shoulder. IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“Definitely,” I said, patting him on the back. “It’s been great seeing you, too.” X

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I came home from the grocery store on Friday to find Lauren leaning over the bathroom sink on her tiptoes, her nose practically touching the mirror, wearing nothing but a lacy blue bra and matching panties. Her long brown hair was swirled back into a messy bun. She was plucking her eyebrows. Lauren had the sexy-geek-girl thing down to a science. All day long she talked about prescription drugs and drove from doctor’s office to doctor’s office in decorously colored business suits, wearing her heavy rectangular-lensed black-framed glasses, but she also had an incredible body, with a long elegant neck and high cheekbones that gave her an intimidating, absorbing kind of beauty. She looked exactly like the kind of women who show up in male fantasies about seducing the frigid librarian, but I knew Lauren. The guy would make it just as far as the part where he takes off his suit jacket, and from there, she’d eat him alive. “Big date tonight?” I asked her. “The biggest,” she said. She brushed her fingers against her eyebrow in feathery little strokes. “A Virgo, Year of the Dog medical-school resident in 20816. I think I just hit the jackpot.” “Have you met him yet?” “Not yet. I have to be in Bethesda at six. He said he’ll be driving an Integra.” She grinned like a used-car salesman and pointed a finger at me. “You see? Am I right?” “Right about what?” “About my system. I knew I’d find him eventually.” She 124

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leaned into the mirror again and started on the other eyebrow. “I am sooo going to fall in love.” “How do you know? You’ve never even seen the guy.” “You know what?” she asked slowly. She was still plucking. “If you can fall in love with some absolutely random guy who calls you up totally by accident, I can definitely fall in love with a guy who’s perfect in every category.” “I never said anything about being in love.” “Well, aren’t you?” “I don’t know. I think I am, but it seems like it should have taken longer. I’m worried that I might just be infatuated.” “With Jerry?” She laughed and put the tweezers back in the medicine cabinet. “Yeah, he’s definitely got that star quality.” “What are you trying to say?” “Nothing. When I think ‘infatuated,’ I think, like, Brad Pitt look-alike, expensive dates, sense of danger. I’m not thinking— what did you say he was? A high-school English teacher?” “Yeah. He rides a motorcycle, though. Does that count for danger?” “I don’t think so. But if you want to be infatuated, be infatuated. Where are you going tonight?” “I’m not sure. Jerry said he was going to rent Chicago, but other than that it’s still up in the air.” “Didn’t you just see Chicago last week?” “Yeah, but we really liked it. I probably won’t be back until late. But I want to hear all about your date, when I do.” She sighed and ran eyeliner lovingly beneath her bottom lashes. She had her contacts in; that meant she was serious. Usually she kept her glasses on for the first date. “Cross your fingers for me.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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Jerry came by at six to pick me up. The whole car smelled like rotisserie chicken. On the backseat was a big brown paper bag with the top folded over and a couple of rented DVDs. “I take it we’re staying in tonight,” I said. He frowned. “You know what the problem with dating is?” “No, what?” “Novelty. Always feeling like you have to be out someplace. I mean, if it were the spring or summer, fine. There’s plenty of things to do. But at the end of November ?” He shook his head. “I just want to be warm.” I smiled at him in amusement. “I don’t mind staying in.” “Good. I got Chicago and Gangs of New York. And I stopped at the Peruvian chicken place for carry-out—have you ever had that stuff ?” “I don’t think so.” “Oh, it’s great. We’ll have a living-room picnic. I’ve got salad at home.” He picked my hand up from my thigh and laced his fingers through mine. I looked over at him in surprise. He sat slouched down a little in the seat of the Jetta, still in his English-teacher work clothes. This was the most comfortable I had ever seen him, just chatty and relaxed, no edge of tension in his voice. It was as though, thanks to our romp in his bed the night before, he’d finally stretched out his legs into our funny little relationship and decided that we could move past our fi fteenth first date. “How was your day?” I asked him. 126

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“Good. Really good. I started my seniors on Native Son today. I love doing that book. It’s easy to get the kids into it.” I looked over at him. “Into Native Son? Seriously?” “Yeah. All I have to do is mention that there was an indecent part that was removed, and that they’re fortunate to have the clean version. They all run home like the cops are chasing them and look it up on the Internet. Once they’ve read the dirty scene, they all love the character. They’re totally into the book, at least for the first couple hundred pages.” “What’s the dirty scene?” “Oh, it’s just a page or so of the main character and one of his friends having sort of a contest in a movie theater. It’s kind of silly, but the kids can relate to it, I guess.” “Sort of a contest?” “Yeah, you know. A self-pleasuring contest.” He shifted into fifth gear. “And you wonder why I always want to sit toward the front of the theater, when we go to the movies.” “Oh, that’s gross.” “I agree. Both antisocial and unhygienic. It’s a nice little moment of character development, though.” “None of the parents have complained that you told the kids about it?” “I didn’t tell the kids about anything. We always do a little history-of-the-novel thing at the beginning of a unit. I just tell them which edition we’re reading.” I laughed. “That’s sneaky.” He turned off the highway onto the street that would take us to his house. “You’re pretty judgmental for a Satan worshiper.” We settled down on the sofa in front of his TV to watch Chicago, dipping our chicken in the mustard-and-green-chile IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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sauce and wiping our fingers, greasy from the French fries, on the little folded white paper napkins from the bottom of the bag. After all the chicken was gone, we snuggled down on the sofa beneath a big fluff y fleece blanket and watched the rest of the movie, feeling the air beneath the blanket growing deliciously warm and drowsy. My senses were nearly overwhelmed with the nearness of him, the soft fabric of his shirt, the scent of his skin, and the sounds of his heart and his breathing, muted the way things are when you hear them underwater. When I moved my head I could feel the coarseness of his chest hair beneath the fabric. Jerry stroked my stomach slowly, his hand under my shirt, his hips pressed snugly against mine on the narrow space of the sofa. Once the movie ended I wriggled a hand out from under the blanket to find the remote and turn off the TV. “Let’s go upstairs,” I said. X

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Later, lying beneath Jerry’s fluff y duvet with my head on his chest, I asked him, “So is this that afterglow thing you were telling me about?” “I think you actually have to have sex for it to be afterglow, but yeah, more or less. As far as I can remember, anyway. It’s been a few years.” “A few years?” “Yeah. That’s typical for me. A few months on, a few years off. I’m used to it.” I traced the tattoo on his chest with my finger, a cross with a bunch of flowery stuff around the bottom of it. “Lauren kept trying to convince me you were gay.” 128

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He snorted. “I’m not even remotely close to gay. She’s not the first woman to think that, though. Just because I don’t try to hump everything female that passes by. Women are funny about that. They get offended if you try to move in on them too quickly, but if you’ve got too much self-control, you must be gay. I don’t let sex rule my life, that’s all. I like sex, but there are plenty of other things I like, too.” “Like Trading Spaces, for example.” He grinned. “Yeah, Trading Spaces. And Don DeLillo novels and Iron Maiden and my bike. And Chicago. Sex is good, too, though. Can I ask you a personal question?” “Of course.” “How have you managed to make it to age twenty-nine and still be a virgin?” I moved my head and nestled it beneath his shoulder, between his arm and his chest. “By accident.” His laugh was electric in the dark room, resonant against those shell-blue walls and thin white curtains. “I don’t believe that for a second.” “It’s pretty much true. I was—am—waiting for the right guy.” “For marriage?” “Not necessarily. For love, at least. Real love. I didn’t set out to be a twenty-nine-year-old virgin. That’s just the way it worked out.” “So it’s not, like, a religious thing?” “No, I suppose not. Well, maybe a little bit. I’d expect that if I was in love enough to sleep with someone, I’d be in love enough to marry him. Save it for that one guy, I guess. Maybe that’s risky, if you’re not actually married yet. I don’t know. Marriage is risky, too. It doesn’t guarantee anything.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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For a moment the room was quiet, and then Jerry said, “Yeah, that’s right. Your parents are divorced.” “Yeah. They got divorced when we were ten. Madison lost her virginity when she was fifteen. I think that had a lot to do with me holding on to mine.” “Fifteen’s pretty young.” “Yeah. How old were you?” “I was twenty-one. I think I was the last person in my entire college class to lose it. I started out philosophical about it, too. It just didn’t work out that way.” “You changed your mind?” “No, I got drunk and it just happened. It’s a bad story. You don’t want to hear it.” “You can tell me.” “No, seriously. You don’t want to hear it. Tell me about your sister.” “Oh . . . she just got her heart broken a lot. It seemed like every month she was petrified that she was pregnant. It didn’t seem worth it. It just kind of reaffirmed that my Sunday school teacher was right about why you should wait.” He wiggled his arm out from under my head and turned onto his side. “You want to stay here tonight?” I paused. “Again?” “Yeah. I mean, we’re comfortable, it’s late. Why bother getting out of bed?” “I don’t know. I already fed all the animals. I guess there’s no reason why not.” “I’ll make you chocolate-chip pancakes in the morning.” “Oh, that’s tempting . . . I don’t have a toothbrush here, though. Or any clean clothes.” 130

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“Big deal. Come on, I’ve got oranges in the vegetable bin. Valencias. I’ll make orange juice, too.” “You really want me to stay, don’t you?” “I really want you to stay.” I kissed him on the mouth and arranged the pillow more comfortably beneath my head. “Okay.” X

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On Saturday morning I awoke to my cell phone cheerfully tinkling the notes of “Für Elise” from somewhere on the vast endless desert of the bedroom floor. I fumbled around at the foot of the bed until my fingernails tapped against it, buried under Jerry’s pants. “Who’s calling at nine in the morning on a Saturday?” he groaned. “Probably Lauren.” I picked up the phone and hit the rightside button with my eyes closed. “Hello?” “Phoebe, it’s me. We need to talk.” It was Bill. I sat bolt upright in the bed. Jerry lifted his head from the pillow, looking at me curiously. “Um,” I said, panicking. “Look, I’ve been thinking. Maybe I was wrong. We really ought to get together and talk this out. You want to meet up for coffee?” “Not today,” I said breathlessly. Jerry was still giving me a funny look, his fingers moving ticklishly across my back. I could hang up, but then it would be obvious. Besides, I’d never hung up on anyone in my whole life. That damned cell phone. Who was it that ever decided cell phones were such a brilliant IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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idea? I was going to hunt them down and give them a piece of my mind. All mine did was produce men at the wrong moments, like genies popping out of a lamp I kept accidentally brushing up against. “What, you don’t even have an hour? Come on, Fee. An hour, that’s all I want. I’ll meet you at the Starbucks right around the corner from your place. Any time you want. What do you say?” “No. No, I’m really busy.” “Who is it?” Jerry finally asked. “Is that a guy?” asked Bill urgently. “Did I just hear a guy? At nine in the friggin’ morning on a Saturday?” “I really can’t talk right now,” I said. “Damn it, Phoebe! So, is that the deal? You won’t sleep with me, but you’ll sleep with him?” “No, that’s not it. I mean—no.” “No, what? Do I not hear some guy over there right now? I’m just hallucinating some guy in your bed at nine in the friggin’ morning? Some little angel you are.” “I’m not sleeping with him,” I hissed into the phone. That got Jerry’s attention. He sat up beside me and gave me a you’dbetter-explain-yourself kind of look. “What is it, then? A nice late-November tennis date? Fine, forget it, if you’re so busy. Give him my congratulations for getting that friggin’ padlock off your underwear. Have a nice life.” There was a little staticky thud as he hung up his phone. I sighed and let myself flop backward onto the bed. Jerry was still looking at me with a gravely patient expression, the way my father did when he sat me and Madison down and waited for one of us to ‘fess up about who recorded Beverly 132

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Hills 90210 over his Goldeneye videotape. “May I ask?” he said. “That was a guy I used to go out with,” I explained. “Really.” I put my arm over my forehead, my phone still in my hand. “He just wanted to get together and talk. You heard me. I said no.” “Would you have said no if I wasn’t here?” “Yes. I’m not interested in him anymore.” Jerry nodded. “Why’d you tell him you’re not sleeping with me?” “He was accusing me of it and it slipped. Sorry.” “Yeah.” Jerry stood up and pulled on his boxer shorts. I took my arm off my forehead. “Where are you going?” “I’m going to take a shower.” “Are you mad?” I reached for a T-shirt from the floor and tugged it over my head. “I’m not very happy.” “Why not?” He was already in the bathroom. I jumped out of bed and followed him. Outside the bedroom door I could hear Betsy and Marco playing in the living room, Jerry’s sister talking on the phone. Jerry started to close the door behind him, and I put my hand on it to stop him. He looked over his shoulder at me, annoyed. “Do you mind?” he asked. “Can we talk about this?” “I’d sort of like to take a leak right now.” “Will you come back out afterward?” “Can I take a shower first?” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“Do you have to?” His eyes narrowed angrily, and I stepped back to let him close the door. A minute later he opened it back up and stood in the bathroom doorway, one arm up against the door frame. I hadn’t really seen his body in the light before. He was nicelooking, a little squishy around the middle, but not too much. He had about as much muscle tone as you’d expect an English teacher to have, but his was an average build, not too skinny, not too thick. The hair on his head was a pale light brown, but on his chest and stomach it was a regular, darker brown, thicker than I had expected. I still wasn’t very familiar with the way men looked under their clothes, their furry solid bodies, their heaviness, how intimidating they were when they got out of their shorts. All that inviting radiant warmth and surprisingly soft skin and matter-of-fact arousal. Nothing hidden, nothing subtle. I didn’t think I would ever get used to it. And the way he was looking at me, maybe I wouldn’t have to. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “I just don’t see why you have to be spreading it around among your ex-boyfriends that we aren’t sleeping together. It’s none of their business. It’s nobody’s business but ours.” “I’m sorry. I mean, you’re right. He just got all mad, and I didn’t want him thinking I was cheap.” “What do you care what he thinks? Anyway, even if we were, you think that would automatically make you cheap? Is that what you’re thinking?” “No. Just—what he was assuming was wrong. That bothered me, and so I—” “It bothers you that people might think you’re sleeping with me?” 134

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“Jerry. No.” I folded my arms more tightly across my chest. “Are you jealous? Is that it?” “No, I’m not jealous. I’m annoyed to have my personal life turned into a game of Telephone. If you don’t want to make love, that’s fine. But I wish you wouldn’t make a general announcement about it.” He turned his back to me and pushed the shower door open to reach the tap. There was a squeal of the pipes and then the hiss of the water coming on, trickling down against the tile. “Jeez, I said I was sorry, didn’t I? It’s not like it reflects badly on you or anything. I mean, Bill and I never even—” Jerry turned around quickly and held one finger up between us, right in front of my nose. “Stop. I don’t want to know.” “Fine.” He gave me a long cold glare and closed the bathroom door. When I heard the shower door slide closed, I put my clothes on quickly, the bare branches in the Ansel Adams print above the bed a grayish blur, my fingers clumsy as I buttoned my shirt. I slipped past his sister with barely a wave and stepped out into the cold ash-scented November air, glancing for a moment at the foggy upstairs window as I backed out of the driveway, heading home.

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CHAPTER TEN

By the time Lauren got out of bed, it was one in the afternoon and I was curled up on my side on the cat-hair-covered living-room sofa, watching an old episode of Saved by the Bell. “You look like crap,” said Lauren. I glanced over at her. She was standing next to the breakfast bar in her satin shortie pajamas, squinting, her hair sticking out as though she’d been rubbing it with a balloon. “You’re one to talk,” I told her. “What happened?” She plopped down in the armchair beside me. “Mr. Wonderful turn out to be Mr. Sub-standard?” “We had an argument.” “Over what? Who loves who more?” “No. Stop it.” I pushed the side of my thumb along my nose. “Bill called me while I was over there. It sort of went downhill from there.” “I bet. You know, I told you you’ve been spending way too much time with that guy. Of course he’s going to start thinking he owns you. You ought to take a break.” “I don’t want to take a break. I like Jerry. I like him a lot.” She rolled her eyes and got up out of the chair, heading for the kitchen. “I didn’t say you’re not allowed to like him. I’m just saying that there’s a difference between having a connection with somebody and actually acting like you’re Siamese 136

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twins. See, this is what happens when an INFP hooks up with an INFJ. I told you it was a bad idea.” “So what are you suggesting?” “Just breathe for a few minutes. Take some time to do something fun without the guy. Come on, I’ll take you out tonight. We’ll drive up to Baltimore.” “Baltimore?” “Yeah.” She poured herself a cup of coffee into her Prozac mug. “Girls’ night out. I know a really fun place.” “Maybe. I don’t know.” “Oh, come on, Fee. I know you’re not one of those girls who just sits around waiting for her man to call and give her a reason to live. I like Jerry, okay? But you two NF’s are sucking each other dry. You need some balance in your life. That’s where an SJ like me comes in.” I sighed. “You and your little personality equations annoy the heck out of me sometimes.” She picked up her mug and came toward me, grinning, sitting down on the coffee table right between me and the TV. “That’s so Piscean of you.” X

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In the car Lauren rolled down the windows, opened the sunroof, and cranked up the music until it competed with the throbbing bass of the Ford Impalas and tricked-out Grand Ams that pulled up alongside us as we crept through Baltimore. A nineteen-ish guy with spiky blond highlights and round purple-lensed sunglasses leaned out his passenger-side window and shouted at Lauren, “Your music sucks!” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“Kiss my ass, baby,” Lauren shouted back, grinning. She reached up through the sunroof and tapped the ash off her cigarette. “I am never going out with you again,” I informed her. “Oh, relax. You’ve been out with me before.” “I’ve been out to Starbucks with you before. That’s not exactly the same thing.” She leaned over and adjusted the vents. The top edges of her bra were sticking out of her shirt, her boobs jiggling. “You’ll like this place. It’s got a good vibe. Really laid back.” “You know, ‘laid back’ is not really an expression I’ve ever associated with you.” “I’m a goal-oriented person, that’s all. It doesn’t mean I don’t know how to have fun. Ask Prabath. He’s supposed to be there tonight.” “I thought you said this was a girls’ night out.” “It is. What’s more fun for girls than a couple of boys?” She looked at me with delicately raised eyebrows. “Boys being the operative term. I’m not talking about your medium-starch, NPRlistening squeeze here. I’m talking about guys like Prabath. He’d be a great catch if he were about ten years older mentally.” “Is that why you don’t go out with him?” “More or less. He’s hot, he makes decent money, he remembers your birthday, he’s respectful. The only problem with him is he still watches Animaniacs and decorates his living room with Star Wars figures in the packages.” She pulled up behind a short line of cars waiting to enter a parking lot. The guy behind us honked angrily. “So, who’s the other guy who’s going to be there? You said a couple of boys, right?” Lauren smiled. “Nobody you know yet.” 138

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“Oh, jeez. You’re trying to set me up, aren’t you? Is this the guy you said looks like Nicolas Cage?” “Look, I’m doing you a favor, that’s all. There’s no law that says you can’t meet people.” “Lauren, I’m going out with Jerry. Just because he’s mad at me doesn’t mean I can run off and start dating other people.” I looked at her uncertainly. “Does it?” “Nobody said anything about dating. All I said was meet.” She stuck her arm out the window and hit the parking-card button. “Here we are. You ready to walk a couple blocks in those heels?” The place was called Club Cabo, and just as I walked in past the bar, a woman in a skintight nurse’s outfit and pigtails walked by me with a caddy full of pink-fi lled feeding syringes. “Explain that to me?” I asked. “Oh, that’s just one of those novelty drink things. You know, you give her five bucks, she gives you a ‘shot.’ Get it?” Lauren stood on her tiptoes and peeked around. “You see Prabath anywhere?” “Yeah, he’s behind the girl in the green bikini.” “Oh, okay. Yeah, there he is.” She took my hand and I followed her through the crowd to where Prabath was grinning and waving. He was pretty cute. He had curly black hair and the deepest dimples I’d ever seen on a guy. I hung back behind Lauren and waved timidly. “I was wondering where you girls were,” he said. He pulled a chair out from the table beside him and sat down next to some guy in a button-down short-sleeved shirt with a computer-programmer haircut. “We’re fashionably late. You wouldn’t believe what it takes IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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to get Phoebe ready for a night out.” She sat down and plunked her purse on the table. I sat beside her. “I was ready before you were,” I reminded her. She smiled at me and patted my arm. Her perfume circled around me like a tourniquet. “Phoebe, this is Brad.” “Hi, Phoebe,” said the guy sitting across from me. Saying that he looked like Nicolas Cage was kind of like saying I looked like Madison. In everything but height he reminded me very much of my minister stepbrother. Even his handshake was like Pete’s, a slow, reassuring squeeze that lasted a split second longer than it should have. I glanced over at Lauren, who played with one of her dangly earrings and threw me an innocent smile. While Lauren and Prabath picked up our drinks from the bar, Brad asked me questions. I could see why Lauren had picked him out for me; he was charming and funny, if not exactly attractive, and he listened attentively to everything I said to him. He did Meaningful Work. He went to church once in a while. He didn’t smoke. After about ten minutes back at the table, Lauren squeezed my fingers and excused us to the ladies’ room. “So what do you think?” she asked urgently. We were stuck in a corner beside a trash can overflowing with paper towels, while a pack of girls in black stockings and Lycra half shirts crowded around the mirror in a cloud of hairspray and Tommy Girl cologne. “He’s really nice. I’m pretty impressed with you, actually. There’s practically nothing I don’t like about him.” Her face bobbed back and forth searchingly. “Practically nothing?” 140

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“Yeah. I mean, technically, he’s got just about everything I’m looking for in a guy.” “Except what?” I shrugged and folded my arms against my chest. “Except he’s not Jerry.” “Oh, for God’s sake. Phoebe, you’re not really dating Jerry. Jerry’s like a match, okay? It’s got a little tiny bit of chemicals on it, and when you strike it, it flares up like crazy, and then whoosh, it’s gone. Brad’s like a . . . like a campfire. He’s got the logs and the kindling and the little bit of newspaper crumpled up inside. He’s got everything you need, arranged, like, geometrically.” “No offense, Laur, but I think Jerry would tell you that’s kind of a dumb analogy.” She pressed her lips together and shook her hands at me. “Phoebe. You can’t just take two random people from the dating pool and throw them in a room together and call it a relationship. Jerry’s a nice guy, okay? But you two have nothing in common except that you’re both kind of desperate. Give Brad a chance. He’s a sweet guy, and he’s funny, and he really cares about his job.” “Yeah, I noticed all that. He kind of reminds me of Jerry.” “You see? You’re set. If you want some time alone, just let me know, all right? Prabath and I can go off somewhere for a while. It’s not a problem.” “Thanks. I’ll let you know.” We pushed our way back down the hall, through a crowd of shrieking girls who reminded me of Madison’s high-school friends. Dance music throbbed at migraine-inducing levels, and the stage lights cast everyone on the dance floor in a fluorescent pink glow. I followed Lauren through the crowd toward IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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Brad and Prabath. “Phoebe!” I spun my head around at the sound of my name. It seemed as though my brain was a moment behind the rest of me, and I swayed slightly on my feet. “Whoa,” I said out loud. “Phoebe. Hey, over here.” I blinked, trying to make a familiar face appear in the puzzle of hot-pink people. Finally one came into focus—a smiling guy with gel-spiked brown hair and a shirt with a Chinese dragon on the front. “Carter?” I asked incredulously. “What are you doing here?” He shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’m here with a bunch of friends.” “Yeah, me, too. Wow.” He looked adorable. The spiky hair and absence of corduroy made all the difference in the world. “I thought you were out of town.” “I’ve been back and forth. The Danforths keep changing their minds about which shows they want her to be in. I never know where I’m going to be until a couple days before. Hey, you look great.” I grinned. “Thanks. So do you. I’m not used to seeing you in . . . uh . . .” “Cool clothes,” he finished, and I blushed. He jerked his thumb to the side, indicating a guy at a table a few feet away. “They’re his. I’m supposed to be making a good impression. They’re trying to set me up.” I giggled. “Same here. My roommate checked with her Ouija board and found me the perfect guy.” He smiled tepidly. “Really?” “No. He’s perfectly boring, though, if that counts.” 142

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Carter laughed and tucked his thumbs into his back pockets. “Mine’s an airhead. She’s fun, though, and she’s cute. I don’t think she likes me. The feeling’s mutual.” “We should run away together,” I joked in a stage whisper. He grinned. Someone behind me jostled me forward and Carter took a half step backward to keep me from bumping into him. “You want to go outside?” he asked. “Seriously. It’s packed to the gills in here. And it smells like the prep room at the AKC Championships.” I looked over my shoulder at Lauren. She was right under the disco ball, dancing back-to-chest with Prabath. Brad was sitting by himself at our table, a sweaty glass of water in his hand. I felt sorry for him. I could go over and sit with him, but then, what difference would it make? I’d still feel just as sorry for him, except I’d be bored and uncomfortable and fi lling him with false hope. I turned back to Carter. “Sure.” We slipped out through the back door of the club into the cold winter air. The sudden silence rang in my ears, and the long city street seemed dizzyingly empty and open. “Much better,” said Carter with satisfaction. “You want to go sit in my car?” “Yeah, sure.” “It’s kind of messy. I never seem to get a chance to unpack.” “That’s all right. It won’t bother me.” We walked to the pay lot across the street from the club. Carter opened the passenger door and held it open politely. His car was messy, all right, but none of the mess was his. The backseat was filled with latex chew toys, doggie sweaters, a blanket, a box of IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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Beggin’ Strips, and a tangle of balled-up plastic grocery bags. He sat in the driver’s seat and turned on the heater and the radio, playing with the buttons until he settled on a slow, reflective Natalie Merchant song. It was the kind of music that would have made Jerry gag. Light from the security lamps glinted in Carter’s hair, and I remembered the way he had looked on our last date, his hair spiked-up and shiny with sweat. The memory sent a swirl of electricity through me. “My friends are going to be so ticked at me,” said Carter. I lolled my head against the headrest and looked at him foggily. “Maybe next time they’ll find you a better date.” He smiled and leaned back, resting his hands on the bottom of the steering wheel. The shadow of stubble on his cheeks was uneven, adolescent-looking; he wouldn’t be able to grow much of a beard. His arms, too, were nearly as smooth as mine. I thought of the way Jerry had looked that morning, fuzzychested and masculine, glaring at me from the doorway. The lonely feeling that had been stalking me since this morning settled into my stomach and made itself comfortable. He hadn’t called all day. “It doesn’t matter,” said Carter. “I’d rather be with you anyway.” He reached his hand out and traced a slow semicircle above my knee, questioningly. I didn’t stop him, but I looked lazily down at his hand, watching the way my black stockings darkened with the touch of his finger. He traced a squiggle up my thigh, stopping before he reached the hem of my short skirt, circling into a spiral. “I have a boyfriend, Carter,” I said quietly. His finger froze and then lifted. He laid his hand back on 144

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the steering wheel. “Sorry,” he said. “I thought, you know, since you were out.” “No, my roommate’s just meddling. I had a fight with him. My boyfriend, I mean.” I laughed unhappily. “And I’m drunk.” He squinted at me and grinned. “Is that a put-off or an invitation?” I laughed again. “It’s a put-off.” “Too bad. What was your fight about?” “I’m not sure. Dispensing personal information, I think.” “You mean ‘divulging’?” “Yeah, that. Sorry. He was all mad when I left this morning.” There was an awkward silence and through the fog of my consciousness I realized what I’d just admitted—or, at least, what he thought I’d admitted. I started to explain, but thought better of it. Judging by the look on Carter’s face, the clarification wouldn’t help much. “Well, I hope you work it out,” said Carter. “Thanks.” “Actually, I hope you don’t.” I grinned. “Thanks.” “If you get fed up with him, though, give me a call. If my friends keep setting me up like they did tonight, I’ll still be available.” “Maybe, maybe not. There’s someone for everyone.” He looked at me wryly, his feathery-lashed brown eyes luminous in the reflected streetlight. “Don’t start quoting Hallmark cards at me.” “Maybe it’s true,” I insisted. “Maybe it’s not a cliché.” He shrugged. “I guess you’d know. You’re the one who’s got a thing for guys who collect photos of dead people—and IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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bodybuilders in red velvet—” I smacked him, giggling. I’d told him about my other suitors during our last dinner date, and he’d found the subject hilarious. He curled up against the car door and tried to duck, but he didn’t stop talking. “Hey, baby—wait ‘til you see what I’ve got in my sack—” “Stop it. Stop it.” “—you wanna guide my sleigh tonight?” I reached for a copy of American Toy Breeds from the floor and swatted him with it. Suddenly my phone rang, and we both went quiet. I unclipped it from my skirt and checked the caller ID. “Is it him?” asked Carter warily. I nodded. “Yeah.” He sighed and popped the door open. “I’ll give you some privacy.” In half an hour Jerry was at the club, stepping out of his Jetta with a bouquet of roses in his hand. Carter waved to me from the entrance as I got in the car. He still hadn’t gone back inside. X

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I woke up beside Jerry the next morning, his arm around me and two of the cats curled up by our feet. As soon as I opened my eyes, I could smell the stale cigarette smoke in my hair, and my skin felt sticky with last night’s sweat. “Oh, yuck,” I said. “I smell horrible.” “You smell fine. It’s kind of nostalgic. Memories of my bar-crawling days.” “Ugh. I’m getting in a shower right now.” 146

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Jerry grabbed my arm as I started to climb out of bed. “Confession,” he said. “Confession? I didn’t do anything.” “No, me. You know yesterday morning when I said I wasn’t jealous about your ex calling?” “Yeah.” “I lied.” I laughed and turned toward him, the duvet twisting beneath my legs. “I’m not interested in Bill.” “What about Brad?” “Not him, either. Jeez, when did I get so popular? I passed by Bill coming out of Safeway the other day. Maybe that’s what inspired him to call me.” “Whatever. I’m warning you ahead of time, if you’re ever in the shower or something and your phone rings and his name pops up on your caller ID, I’m going to answer it and tell him I’m boinking your brains out. Sorry.” I smacked him on the arm. “Don’t be a jerk.” Jerry laughed. “Go get in your shower. I’ll go make you the breakfast I promised yesterday.” While Jerry made chocolate-chip pancakes, I sat in the living room playing with Marco and chatting with Jerry’s sister. Her name was Stella, and she looked a lot like Jerry, with those same eyes the color of anciently faded blue jeans and the same neat little angles to her jaw. She was a year older than me and had a friendly, Mom-like look about her. I felt a little shy around her, both because I knew a lot about her marriage troubles and because she knew I had spent the night in her brother’s bed. “So what do you think of my brother?” she asked. “I like him. He’s a nice guy.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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She narrowed her eyes at me. Even so, there was still a hint of a smile on her face. “Usually that’s why girls don’t like him.” “Oh, really?” “They think he’s too nice. They think he’s a pushover.” She leaned toward me secretively. “He’s not a pushover.” “He’s not?” “No. He’s forgiving, but once he gets fed up, stand back. Even at his school, he’s got a reputation for it. That’s why they always try to get him to break up fights, because he’s not afraid to dislocate somebody’s shoulder in the process. He’s finally found a good use for his lousy impulse control.” “Did he tell you my little sister’s in one of his classes?” “No. Did she set you up or something?” “No, actually, I tricked him into going out with me when he thought I was somebody else.” She gave a delighted laugh. “Did you really? That explains a lot. You didn’t seem like his usual type.” “What’s his usual type?” “The high-maintenance ditz. You know the kind. Those bubbly girls who want to be treated like royalty.” I braced myself as Marco plunked himself down on my lap. “Yeah, I went to grad school with a girl like that.” “Well, he gravitates to them. And then two months later, when they figure out all he really wants to do is stay home and watch movies, they get bored and dump him. His last girlfriend was one of those. She cheated on him and ditched him right before Christmas. That was two or three years ago.” “Oh, that’s mean,” I said. I wondered if she was talking about Serena, the ex-girlfriend Holly had told me about. “I could never do that to anybody.” 148

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“Has he invited you down to Florida for Christmas?” “No. I don’t think we’re really at that stage yet. He hasn’t said anything about it.” “Oh, I’m sure he’s going to. He talked about you nonstop at Thanksgiving. Mom wants to meet you.” She peered around the corner into the kitchen. “Hey, Jerry,” she called. “Almost ready,” he called back. “Are you inviting Phoebe to Mom and Dad’s for Christmas?” There was a long pause. “I was planning to.” She smiled at me. “See?” I sighed and shielded my eyes in embarrassment. Jerry appeared into the threshold of the living room, holding a spatula. “What is this?” he asked Stella. “Matchmaking at gunpoint?” “I’m just helping you along.” “I’m perfectly capable of managing my own relationship.” “Not from what I’ve seen.” He shot her a bloodcurdling look and pointed the spatula toward the kitchen. “Pancakes are on the table. You and the kids go eat while I repair the damage.” X

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Lauren was stretched out on the sofa when I got home around lunchtime, a mug of coffee resting on her stomach. “I saw you in line at Safeway this morning,” she said. “I didn’t go to Safeway this morning.” “No, I mean in a magazine.” She handed me a copy of In Touch that was sitting on the coffee table. “It’s dog-eared.” I sat down in the armchair and stroked the cat that had just crawled into my lap. “’Famous Siblings,’ you mean? This article?” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“Yeah, bottom left corner. Right under Britney Spears and her sister.” I scanned the page. Sure enough, there was a photo of Madison sitting on the sofa in Belle of Georgia, beside a photo of me that had been taken at Christmas three years ago at my father’s house. “Oh my gosh,” I said angrily. “One of my relatives must have sent that in.” “Did you read the caption?” “‘Dixie vixen Grace Kassner, 24, is little sis to Phoebe, 29.’ Oh my—Lauren, she’s older than me. She’s four minutes older!” “Not anymore. Now she’s five years younger.” “Who sent that in? Oooh, that makes me so mad! I bet it was my cousin Janet. She’s the type who would do something like that. Ugh.” “You should be happy. You’re in In Touch magazine, for God’s sake. You’re on the same page with Britney Spears. I’d love to be that close to fame.” “No, you wouldn’t. You can’t stand Britney Spears.” “Well, no, but it would be cool to get my picture in a national magazine, anyway.” I set the magazine back down on the coffee table. “You know, I’m getting tired of this. It might be kind of neat if Maddie were a real actress, but she’s famous because people hate her. They’re laughing at her. And that’s not even her. She’s really a sweet person. She catches bugs under a cup and takes them outside so she doesn’t have to kill them. She watched the end of Titanic through her fingers and then cried all night anyway. And she was in that movie. She saw it behind the scenes. She’s only evil on TV. It’s just how they’re editing it.” 150

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Lauren laughed. “That sounds like my old boyfriend telling me he only reads Penthouse for the articles.” “No, I’m serious. And everybody I know is following the show because they know she’s my sister, even if they don’t normally watch those things, just because they think it’s fun that they’re like two degrees of separation from her. So then I’m famous for being the sister of that . . . bitch. Who wants to be known for that?” “That’s kind of like the women who get famous for being groupies who slept with famous guys.” “Yeah. Kind of like that, I guess. At least they wanted to be famous. You know what the death knell is for a teacher?” “Getting pregnant by one of your students?” “Basically, yeah. When the parents start thinking you’re of questionable moral virtue. Nobody wants you to teach their kid if they think you’re a bad influence. It doesn’t even matter what a crummy influence they are at home. They could be living with two men at once, and they’d still pull their kid out of your class. I already have one parent who thinks I’m a Satan worshiper. And all the fifth-graders watch the show. It’s going to be total guilt by association. They’ll hang me at the next PTA meeting.” “I think you’re being too pessimistic. Have you talked to your English teacher boyfriend about this?” “Sort of. It’s a little different for him because he teaches high school, and the parents aren’t micromanaging their kids’ lives the way my kids’ parents are. He’s actually been using the show to teach historical revisionism. He’s comparing it with Across Five Aprils.” “But do you really think he’d still be dating you if he thought the county was about to fire you in disgrace?” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“Oh, probably. We’re getting pretty serious.” “Yeah, no kidding. Do I need to find a new roommate? Tell me honestly. I just want to know in advance.” I laughed. “I’m not going anywhere. I made an appointment with the gynecologist next week, though. I think at this point it might be prudent to go on the Pill, just in case.” “Just in case what?” “You know. In case it gets that serious.” She looked at me blankly. “But you just spent the entire weekend at his house.” “Yeah, but we didn’t, you know.” “You didn’t? Why not?” “We just didn’t.” “But you slept in the same bed? All three nights?” “Yeah.” She rolled her eyes and put her forearm over them. “I’m not even going to pretend to understand your relationship.” “Speaking of relationships.” I sat down on the ottoman. “How’d it go on Friday? You never told me.” “Oh—really well. Really well. He’s smart and good-looking, and he’s got a great sense of humor. Did I mention that he’s a resident at Holy Cross?” “You said he was in med school.” “Yeah. Perfect. His car’s clean, he’s got nice teeth. No tattoos.” “Are you sure? Jerry has some, but you can’t see any of them when he’s got his clothes on.” Lauren grinned. “I’m sure.” “Oh.” “We’re going out again next Saturday. It’s so going to happen, Fee. I can see the stars just lining up for it.” 152

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I patted her knee. “Well, I’m happy for you.” “Thank you. I’m just waiting for it to be ten o’clock in Arizona so I can try to call my sister again. She’s going to be so excited.”

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

I sat in the waiting room of the gynecologist’s office, twirling my ankle in a slow circle and turning the pages of a battered copy of Redbook magazine without really looking at them. Two small, messy-haired children were sitting about a foot away from the screen of the giant TV in the corner, watching The Lion King with the volume turned up several notches too loud for the small room. Their mother, I assumed, was back with the doctor. In the row of chairs perpendicular to me were a tired, heavy-looking new mother with a receiving-blanket-covered portable car seat on the floor beside her, and a tiny woman with a Jheri curl, black stockings, and a gold ankle bracelet. Mystified, I wondered why you’d wear things that complicated for a visit to the gynecologist. “Miss Kassner?” I set the magazine down on the coffee table and followed the nurse back to the examining room. She was short and chubby, her pink-and-white scrubs printed with cartoon clipboards and syringes. No wedding ring. When she popped the thermometer into my mouth, I smelled a hint of cigarette smoke in her gold-highlighted brown curls. “Get on the scale,” she said. She moved the markers around sloppily. “Five-five. One-forty-three. Sound right to you?” “I hope not.” 154

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She smiled wryly. “Everybody says that. Reason for your visit?” “I want to talk to the doctor about birth control.” She scribbled something on my chart. “What are you currently using?” “Nothing.” Her curls shifted a bit as she stared at me for a moment, then clicked her pen and reached with a pair of tongs into a metal container beside the sink, pulling out a speculum and setting it on the tray beside the examining table. “You can leave your socks and shirt on if you want. Everything else off. The coverings are down there.” Nodding to a shelf in the corner, she plunked my chart into the holder on the door and closed it firmly behind her. I unfolded the stiff paper sheet across my lap, swinging my legs like a kid at the dinner table. The doctor, at least, was nicer than she was. It was Lauren’s gynecologist, not my usual one. Mine had moved the previous year after his partner lost his license for improprieties. Lauren loved this guy, swore by him. “He’s like a grandpa,” she had said. That had given me a mild case of the creeps, but I’d made the appointment anyway. I couldn’t totally reconcile the idea of getting a Pap smear from a grandpa. “Birth control, huh,” he said, peering at my chart through his bifocals. “Any preferences?” “I don’t know. Maybe the Pill, I guess. I’m not totally sure what’s available.” “That’s fine. Let’s get the exam out of the way and I’ll explain it all to you. Lie back, please.” The nurse was still hovering in the corner of the room— IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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liability, I supposed. I thought of my previous doctor, the whole scandal with the other guy kissing his patient. Maybe it wasn’t all that uncommon. It had to be difficult to be doing that particular job all day long and— “Ow!” I yelled. “Sorry, did that hurt?” “Yes.” I stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed. There was an Ansel Adams print of a waterfall taped crookedly to the tiles. Through the pain, I thought of Jerry’s bedroom. I couldn’t remember a pelvic exam ever hurting this much. I’d been getting them every year since I was seventeen, just like I was supposed to. Maybe I was shrinking in my old age, from sheer lack of use. My sister used to tease me about that, back before I got a real boyfriend and she started assuming I was doing what everyone else had been doing for years. The doctor took one of those long scary Q-tip things the nurse handed him and, a second later, blinked in alarm. “Have you ever had intercourse?” he asked. “No,” I answered. “Apparently not.” He turned around and looked at his nurse. “Did you ask her?” Her mouth opened and closed a few times, quickly, like a fish. “She’s twenty-nine years old,” she said. “What difference does that make?” I asked. “She’s a virgin. Get me the other speculum.” He let his breath out through his teeth and clinked the first one into the metal can beside the examining table. Instantly all the pain went away. “Ask next time, will you, Nancy? Good gravy. Sorry about that.” I went home that day with a prescription for the Pill, a box 156

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of free samples, and a stack of literature three inches high that the nurse had given to me on my way out. At the first stoplight I flipped through the brochure on the top of the stack. How Pregnancy Occurs, it said. It was illustrated with colorful pictures like Disney cartoons. You cannot prevent pregnancy by jumping up and down after sex. I rolled my eyes. I had a master’s degree, for goodness’ sake. In a way, though, it was funny. You get to a certain age and everyone assumes that you’re sexually active. Then, if they find out you’re not, they assume you’re mentally retarded. I toyed with the idea that perhaps I should stay a virgin for the rest of my life, purely as a form of social protest. Jerry and I would get married and adopt a dozen children and never have sex. They’d interview us on 60 Minutes. We’d give lectures all over the country, and people would crowd in to see us, staring at us like we were carnival freaks. But then, I doubted if Jerry would go for it. He wanted to make love, I could tell. And he’d want kids who looked like him. That was okay. I was starting to want kids who looked like him, too. X

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Sometimes I wondered if maybe my sister was a little more clever than I gave her credit for. Jerry, for example, could see things in poetry that I couldn’t see; he could also look into a spice cabinet and instantly know ten things that would taste great when thrown into a bowl together, and get all philosophical about the meaning of a song called “Bring Your Daughter to the Slaughter.” Other people could understand the intricacies of tennis, or the symphony, or how elections worked. I didn’t get those things. IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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Usually I saw my sister as, at best, an airhead, and, at worst, a bimbo. But occasionally, her bimbo-ness was so transcendent that I suspected it was a gift I simply could not understand. Take Thursday night, for example, as Jerry and I sat in front of the TV with a plate of microwave s’mores, watching her duke it out with the other five remaining debutantes. The first thing she did was cry. The producers had arranged a heart-to-heart around a crackling fire in the parlor, lit softly by candlelight from the sconces along the walls. The girls all curled their bare feet up under them and pressed their glossy pink fingernails against their mouths and talked, really, about nothing in particular, but cried the whole time. Or at least, they sort of cried; mostly they looked upward and blinked back tears to spare their mascara, occasionally running a curled index finger beneath the bottom lashes, their upper lips pulled down the way men do when they’re shaving. “Oh, the pathos,” said Jerry. “I should have made this homework for my seniors.” Madison was the worst of all of them. “I just think of all those little girls in my class back home,” she said. “They’re just like I was, you know? Every little girl wants to meet a handsome prince who makes her feel just like Cinderella dancing at the ball.” Jerry looked at me. “Is that true?” “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I didn’t. I wanted to marry a zookeeper so he could take me to work with him and let me feed bamboo to the pandas.” He nodded understandingly. “You know, I remember Stella used to say she was going to marry this kid named Nick who lived across the street. He had this really cool go-cart that his 158

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dad had painted up to look like the Dukes of Hazzard car, but he wouldn’t let her ride in it because she was a girl. She thought if she married him, he’d have to, the way my dad had to let my mom drive his El Camino once in a while.” “Maybe some girls have that fantasy. I think it’s kind of a myth, though. It’s mostly middle-school girls who have those kinds of fantasies. I mean, I wanted to marry C. J. Anastasio, but you don’t see me crying into my popcorn because he never showed up to carry me away.” Jerry gestured to the TV. “Well, they are.” By the end of the scene, one of the Rebels had moved over to sit next to Madison on the sofa. She handed her a tissue, which Maddie crushed down in her hand as she hugged her. Maddie didn’t need it. It would have just smudged her makeup, anyway. Naturally, they saved the cliff-hanger for the last five minutes of the show. In ghostly blue night vision, Madison slowly opened her bedroom door, peeked up and down the hallway, and ran down the hall wearing satin mules and a short silk robe with marabou sleeves. Somehow, as luck would have it, there was also a camera upstairs by Rhett’s room. Madison took a last look around, huddled up against the door, and knocked; Rhett answered wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. “Grace,” he said, surprised. “Come on in.” “She is not,” I said, aghast. Jerry reached for the last s’more. “Uh, I think she is.” Next thing I knew, Rhett’s back was moving up and down in shadow, the bedsheets electric blue and shiny. “Oh, no. Oh, I hope my mother isn’t watching.” “Wow,” said Jerry, his mouth full of s’more. “I haven’t seen a porno that bad since the Paris Hilton video.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“Stop it. That’s my sister you’re talking about. Oh, Madison, how could you? You just totally ruined your career!” “Are you kidding?” asked Jerry. “She just made her career. Who’s ever going to forget her now?” X

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A week before the Christmas finale, it all came out. Rhett’s real name was Colby McGeever, and he was a plumber from Deerneck, Missouri. A master plumber, the studio said in a statement, like that made a big difference. He’d never even visited Charleston. He’d also spent some time in prison for fighting, solicitation of prostitution, illegal gambling, and failure to pay child support. The studio was unconcerned. “We haven’t been the least bit deceptive,” said a spokeswoman. “We chose the male contestants based on their attractiveness, acting skill, and similarity to the beloved cultural icons.” I was less concerned about Ashley, since Madison didn’t stand a chance with him, but he was getting even more tabloid attention than Rhett. His name was Les Applebaum, and he was an unemployed actor from Long Beach, California. Apparently he was fairly well known in the local gay community, although his friends and associates made sincere, emphatic statements to the news media insisting that he was not gay, only bisexual, and really a wonderful person and a great friend. A few days later there was a smaller item on Access Hollywood mentioning that his parents were second cousins. “We stand by our original statement,” said the studio. It was a huge scandal. USA Today had a column about it 160

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above the fold, splashed across newspaper boxes all over the country. Has Reality TV Gone Too Far? A woman from the Center for Media Responsibility spoke on one of the evening shows on the Fox News Channel. A couple of girls from past seasons of The Bachelor were on one of the network channels, offering their take on things. Rhett’s mother gave an interview with Barbara Walters. One of Ashley’s former lovers gave a tearful account of their relationship, standing with his hand on the doorknob of his house in San Francisco and speaking into a microphone. Jerry finally gave up and shut off the TV. “You want to play Scattergories?” he asked. We played until bedtime, my phone playing “Für Elise” beside us like a CD on auto-repeat. X

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My stepbrother, Pete, called the weekend before Christmas, several days into the Belle of Georgia publicity bonanza. He and Dominic were in town visiting my father and stepmom for a few days before they had to get back on the ship and head for Nova Scotia. I was over at Jerry’s, cleaning up the kitchen while he was on a run to the grocery store to buy ingredients for a crabcake recipe he’d torn out of the newspaper. “Happy holidays,” Pete said. “To you, too. Are you going to watch the finale of Madison’s show?” “Are you kidding? I haven’t missed a single episode. Have you caught any of the publicity about the Ashley character?” I laughed grimly. “Have I? I can’t even get a cup of coffee at 7-Eleven without seeing six different versions of it. What do IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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you think of it all?” “I think it’s a lot of fuss over nothing. Like anyone couldn’t tell that the man was gay. Excuse me, bisexual. He discussed Barbra Streisand movies on three of his dates. I mean, what more evidence do you need?” I could hear Dominic yelling in the background. “Hold on,” said Pete. “Dominic wants to talk to you.” I heard the phone being handed off and then Dominic’s voice came on, talking rapidly in his Tagalog-accented English. “So annoying. Such a terrible surprise, right? Oh no, gay fiancé. Maybe reality TV relationship won’t work out. My sister called me from New York and asked me if I know him. Like I know every gay person in United States. Let me look him up quick in my big Gay White Pages. The show been running for eleven weeks and now they realize. What else can he do, put on Indian headdress and sing ‘YMCA’? Hold on, Pete wants to talk.” “Sorry about that,” said Pete. “Dominic’s got some pretty strong opinions about Belle of Georgia.” “That’s okay. Are you guys going to be back in town for Christmas?” “Not this year. We’ve got a fourteen-day cruise from San Diego to Alaska and then back to British Columbia, and then we’re laid over for a couple of days before we head down to South America. We don’t get a real vacation until the middle of February. Speaking of holidays, I hear there’s a new man in your life. Mom says you’re going to Florida for Christmas. That sounds pretty serious.” “I’m keeping my fingers crossed,” I admitted. “I could really see myself settling down with this guy, Pete. He’s good with kids and he likes to cook and he’s responsible with money. He 162

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goes to church. He’s about as perfect as a guy can get.” “Nobody’s perfect, Fee. Everybody’s got something.” “I guess, but so far, so good. We just really enjoy each other’s company. He’s got everything I want in a guy.” “Does he love you?” “I don’t know. I’ve totally got it for him, but I don’t want to scare him off. We’ve only been together a few months, and you know how guys are about that stuff.” “Well, I wish you guys the best of luck. How are things working out with your housemate?” “Oh, Lauren? Fine. She’s found the man of her dreams, too. I’m over at Jerry’s right now, but she’s supposed to be going out with him again tonight. She’s been acting like a total goofball for weeks now. She just sits around reading relationship books and talking about how compatible they are, MyersBriggs-wise.” “What?” “Some personality test she’s really big on. Oh, I hear Jerry coming in the door. Have a great Christmas, Pete. Give Dominic a hug for me.” “I will. You have a good holiday, yourself. And tell your housemate I said congratulations.” Unfortunately, the man of Lauren’s dreams turned out not to be so dreamy after all. She told me on Sunday afternoon, the night after their third date, almost as soon as I walked in the door from spending most of the weekend at Jerry’s. “In his underwear,” she said angrily. “Can you believe that? I should have racked him.” “I wouldn’t have blamed you.” “He didn’t even have all his clothes back on yet, and then IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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he tells me. Like it’s nothing. Like I should have known. ‘Oh, and by the way, I won’t be around next weekend because I’ll be spending Christmas with my parents and my girlfriend.’ And then he pulls his pants on and says, ‘I think I’m free the weekend after, though.’” She smacked her commuter mug into the metal kitchen sink and turned on the water. The force sent a spray of water droplets across the counter. “I guess you weren’t up for that, huh?” I asked over the rush of water. “What the hell am I supposed to say? Not unless you dump your girlfriend? Then what? So I can get the guy who’ll do the same thing to me whenever he’s out of town?” “You don’t want that.” “I can’t believe it. That’s totally against the rules. If you’re going to drop the news that you have a girlfriend, you either do it right at the beginning, in the car, or on the phone the next day if you’re really a piece of shit. You don’t drop a bomb like that when you haven’t even left the bedroom yet. The bedroom’s a sanctuary from that kind of crap. People have been killed over things like that.” She grabbed the towel hanging from the refrigerator door, thin white terry cloth with the word PRILOSEC on it, and angrily wiped up the water. I moved out of her way as she stomped off to the living room. “Don’t overreact.” “Overreact? How would it be possible to overreact? That asshole. He totally misled me. I hate men. I’m just going to give up and become a lesbian.” “Good idea.” She flopped down on the sofa and put her hand against her forehead, staring at the ceiling. “Except that sex would be a 164

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problem.” “Well, I’m sure your medical resident will probably still be available for that, if you still needed him.” She gestured angrily toward the ceiling, a jerky little karate chop of frustration. “He was so perfect. I looked at everything, Phoebe. He should have been exactly the one for me. An ESTJ, a Virgo, a Dog—” “Sounds like he was a dog, all right.” “Ugh. I’m so pissed. I’m glad I’m not going home for Christmas. I don’t want to deal with my mom and sister after all this.” She looked over at me. “Are you going to your mom’s or your dad’s?” I sat down on the edge of the coffee table. “Um, actually, I’m going down to Florida with Jerry to meet his parents.” She raised her head a bit from the sofa pillow, her eyes getting buggy. “Seriously?” “Yeah. We’re driving down on Christmas Eve. I was actually going to ask you if you’d watch the animals for me, but I guess this isn’t the best time.” She dropped her head back against the pillow and closed her eyes. “Go out and get us some Chinese food before I strangle you.” X

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On the drive down to Florida, we talked about things. Big things and little things. Smart things and dumb things. Driving on the interstate, Jerry was completely at ease. His hand rested on the gear shift, rubbing back and forth like putting chalk on a pool cue, the palm of his left hand easy on the bottom of the IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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steering wheel. We talked about the kids in our classes. About John Dewey and Savage Inequalities and what we liked about teaching. About my sister and reality TV in general and what it said about our culture. About whether, in a package of Fun Dip, it was the flavored sugar or the sticks that tasted better. “Definitely the sugar,” insisted Jerry. “No way. The sticks are the best part.” “The sticks are a gimmick. An accessory. You know that originally the sticks weren’t even there? You ate it with your fingers, and your fingers would turn green from the dye.” “There’s no green anymore. It’s a color-changing one that starts out green and turns blue.” Jerry shook his head. “What’s this world coming to?” We stopped at a gas station in North Carolina and took two bags of potato chips from the metal clips beside the register, one cheddar, one salt and vinegar. Jerry’s Southern Maryland accent grew thicker as he talked to the cashier. He put his arm around my waist when I handed him his root beer, and when the cashier called me “the missus,” Jerry only smiled. His slateblue eyes crinkled at the corners when he looked at me, and I took the breath that was meant to come out as I love you, but then exhaled without a word. If I say it now, it’ll make everything awkward. No sense in ruining Christmas with the impatient truth. And in any case, I was happy. Jerry was happy, as well. He was looking forward to Florida and Christmas and seeing his family, but having company for the trip, he said, made it that much better. I drove all the way to the South Carolina border, and as we passed the singlewide trailers that bordered the road, we traded potato chips and talked about race and poverty and population control. 166

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“I could go for four kids,” he said. “Four?” I looked over at him. He was munching on one of my salt-and-vinegar chips, his eyes obscure behind his sunglasses. “I was thinking more like three.” “I could do three.” “Madison only wants one.” “I could do one.” He popped another chip into his mouth, his chest shaking in a silent laugh. “And then screw up three more times.” In South Carolina we pulled off the highway long enough to get a drive-through dinner from Burger King, switching seats in the parking lot so that Jerry could drive again. It was Christmas Eve, and he wanted to arrive at his parents’ house as early as possible on Christmas Day. I passed him French fries as he drove, holding his insulated coffee cup between my knees. He scanned the radio stations and complained about all the country music, fondly reminiscing about all the Metallica concerts he had been to when he was younger. “All the way up until they released the Black Album,” he said. “They sold out on that one.” “Isn’t that the one with ‘The Unforgiven’ on it?” He pretended to stick his finger down his throat. “Whiny dreck. That was a grunge song. It’s a stain on heavy metal.” “A lot of people liked it. It was like a breakout song.” “That was Nirvana’s fault. Heavy metal’s supposed to say, ‘’F’ you.’ It’s not supposed to say, ‘Why me?’” Somewhere around Columbia I told him about my trip to the doctor and the nurse who had made assumptions and my birth-control pills. “I’m just being precautionary,” I explained. IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“That’s probably not a bad idea.” “Why? Did you have plans?” “Me? No. The ball’s in your court. I told you I can wait forever.” “You’re happy with things the way they are?” “Sure, yeah. I’m not in any hurry. I know what you’re waiting for.” “You mean love?” “Yeah. That’s fine with me.” “But you’re not waiting for anything?” “No. I’m already in love.” My heart stumbled. My first thought was that he was confessing he was in love with another girl. I laid my hands on the map that covered my lap and asked, “With who?” He took his eyes off the road and looked at me over his sunglasses, his brows creasing, speaking as though it were perfectly obvious. “With you.” I stared at him in wild-eyed wonder. Inside of me, my heart was breaking open, spilling out all the love that I felt for him and had kept a secret. If someone had tried to fit the whole night sky inside my heart just then, it couldn’t have felt any bigger. Jerry caught the look in my eyes and laughed—that shy, wholehearted, pure-music laugh of his—and he said ironically, “But I’m waiting for just the right moment to tell you.” I swallowed against my dry throat. “Now’s a good time.” He checked his mirrors quickly and pulled onto the shoulder. Tossing his sunglasses on the dashboard and unsnapping his seat belt, he turned his whole body toward me and leaned in. The big green gas-food-lodging sign cast a shadow over the car, and the interstate was as empty of traffic as a country road. 168

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“Phoebe,” he said, “I love you, and I’m so damn head over heels for you, I swear there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you feel the same way about me.” In his eyes there was an optimistic hope, plain and unguarded. For a long moment I savored it, the feeling of those words offered up and waiting for me to take them. Whatever answer I gave him would change everything. “I already do,” I admitted. He grinned spontaneously and kissed me, once, and then again, and again. It wasn’t the kind of kissing we could do in the car for very long. He smudged the fog from the windshield with the palm of his hand and jerkily shifted the car back into gear. “What do you say we go find a place to celebrate?” he asked, pulling back onto the highway. I nodded. “Sounds good to me.” X

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The hotel we stopped at was a Travelodge that included a game room and an indoor pool—not that I cared, but it mattered to Jerry. As he checked us in at the front desk, he pointed to the glassed-in pool area full of shrieking preteens and pointedly caught my eye. “See?” he said. “It’s not a cheap motel.” “I wasn’t worried about it.” “Just for the record. I don’t want it to come back to haunt me in twenty years.” “My, you’re making plans, aren’t you?” He took the key cards from the desk clerk. “I’m just being precautionary.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“Famous last words.” We climbed the outdoor stairs and followed the numbered signs to our room. My insides did gyroscopic fl ips as I walked beside him through the corridors. There are times in people’s lives, every now and then, when they can see some kind of countdown taking place, as clear and rapid as the timer on the TV screen on New Year’s Eve. This was one of them. At the end of the hallway, a maid placidly stacked folded towels onto her yellow cart, as though nothing were strange. Jerry jiggled the key card in the door, and we stepped inside. Before the door had even slammed closed, he’d tossed his jacket over the dresser and had his shirt halfway over his head. It felt like the first time I’d ever seen him undress. My eyes dropped to the front of his jeans and stayed there. I hadn’t even touched him yet, but he was ready to go. I sat down on the side of the bed and pushed my fists into the bedspread nervously. “You want to, right?” he asked, dropping his shirt to the floor. “The whole thing?” “Yeah. You’re going to go easy on me, right?” He was running on pure hormones. I’d seen him like this before, but only when he knew he’d eventually have to curb it. “Absolutely.” He stepped around the bed and turned the radio on low. “No way would I let you down.” Suddenly I felt unbearably anxious. I had a flash of a memory of being at the front of a roller-coaster line with Madison, the moment when they loaded the car just ahead of ours. I’d gone on it anyway, but not without feeling like I’d left my stomach back at the entrance. “Have you ever done this before?” I asked him. He smiled at me over his shoulder, turning the radio dial. 170

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“You know I have. Plenty of times.” “I mean with a virgin.” “Nope.” He settled on a mix station. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I can figure it out.” In a few months I’d be thirty, but right then I didn’t feel a day older than fifteen. The desire I’d felt for him just a little while before was slipping away, and one intimidating thing after another was stepping into its place: Jerry’s buoyant enthusiasm, his inscrutable amount of experience, the strange room, my own fear of pain. I thought about the gynecologist’s office, the jabbing pain as I stared up at the Ansel Adams picture. That wasn’t how I wanted to remember his confession of love. “Jerry,” I said. He set his hands on his hips and smiled at me. “What?” I bit my bottom lip and looked up at him uncertainly. He got the point. His eyebrows lifted, and he offered me a disappointed smile. “You having second thoughts?” he asked. “Kind of. I don’t know. I’m worried, that’s all.” “I’m not going to get you pregnant, Fee. If you’re concerned about that, I can take care of it.” “No, not that. I just think it’s going to hurt.” I didn’t know how to explain the rest of it—that his experience intimidated me, that the power of his desire scared me. I couldn’t possibly satisfy something like that. There was too much of it, all careening toward me at a hundred miles an hour. “If it hurts, we’ll stop. Phoebe.” He sat down on the bed beside me. “Listen, it’s up to you. I didn’t tell you I love you because I thought it would get me in bed with you. But if you want me to make love to you, I’m happy to and I’ll make it IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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worth the wait.” I considered that. “Promise it won’t hurt?” He sighed. “I promise I’ll stop if you tell me to. And I promise I’ll do everything I can to make it feel amazing.” “Really?” “Really. I love you, Phoebe. I swear I’m not going to let you down.” I met his appealing eyes and weighed my fear against what I wanted. I wanted to be able to look at him, tomorrow or the next day, alone or in a gathering of people, and know that I’d held nothing back from him after he’d told me he loved me. I wanted to know what drove him, what lay at the end of the spectrum of his senses, the shape of the passion he had been holding back. And I didn’t want to live any longer with the knowledge that there were women in the world who knew him in ways that I didn’t know him. I didn’t want to live with that at all. “I trust you,” I told him. He put his hand behind my neck and kissed me, not quite the way he had in the car, but with a mind toward my fear. I could feel my anxiety slipping away with the touch of his hands, and then, empty of fear, the love rushing in to fi ll the void.

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CHAPTER TWELVE

“Check it out,” said Jerry. We were stopped at a convenience store in Georgia, buying peach tea Snapples and a bag of pistachios and a local newspaper that Jerry would later read aloud from as I drove, quoting the conservative columnists in a deadpan Southern drawl that almost caused two accidents south of Savannah. He held up a copy of the latest edition of People magazine. Rhett, Ashley, and the four remaining Belle of Georgia girls decorated the cover in a photo montage. Across the bottom of the cover, in huge white letters, the text read, The Final Battle! I grabbed it from his hands and fl ipped quickly to the article. Across the counter, the gritty-looking man with gray curls under his Lot & Feed Stores baseball cap leaned toward me and said around his toothpick, “You going to buy that, missy?” Out on the cement curb, I pulled the magazine back open and scanned over the bubbly text. “The Rebel cry has been ‘take no prisoners,’ but it’s every belle for herself as Georgia rushes to its thrilling conclusion. The past week’s announcement that one winning couple will star on MTV’s Newlyweds has the contestants plotting anew to win the hearts of Georgia’s leading men. But true love is its own reward!” Jerry stood behind me with his head over my shoulder, looking at the pictures while he rubbed up against my backside in IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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full view of the locals passing in and out the door of the Circle K. Ever since we got back on the road toward Florida, he had been acting like a middle-school kid trying to grope his girlfriend behind the gym after a school dance. For a guy who had claimed that the decision between sex and Trading Spaces was a toss-up, he didn’t seem to be thinking too much about paint colors and the thousand-dollar budget. “Can you wait until tonight?” I asked. “I’m not sure. I can try.” “Try to focus on Christmas. That’ll take your mind off it.” “Yeah, I was just thinking about that. My parents are probably planning for us all to go to church this evening. They’ve got a pretty nice church where they live.” “See? Isn’t that better than just sitting around being frustrated?” “Yeah. If we tell them we went to church yesterday, we’ll have the house to ourselves for at least an hour and a half.” I handed him the magazine. “Get back in the car. I’ll drive for a while.” X

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Jerry’s parents’ house was a little Spanish-style place on a street lined with palm trees and impeccably tidy gardens. Sunhaven, said the sign at the entrance to the development. A Community of Active Adults. “If you consider the VFW to be ‘active,’” Jerry said as I read it aloud. “Is your dad in the VFW?” “No. He did a tour of duty in Vietnam, but the thing he’s 174

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interested in now is golf. He plays golf practically every day of the week. Sometimes my mom plays with him. I’m sure he’ll get me out on the course a couple times before we go home.” “You play golf, too?” “Sure, when I come down here. I don’t have the time back home. Or the money. But I like it. I’m okay at it.” “Heavy metal and golf, huh?” He smiled, blinking behind his sunglasses. “Don’t knock it. Everybody gets old eventually. My goal is to be one of those old guys who plays golf all day long and goes out to the Old Country Buffet for dinner every night to talk to all my old friends about prescription-drug coverage. And I bet Metallica will still be touring.” I laughed. “So, have your parents said anything about sleeping arrangements?” “Nah, they’re keeping me in suspense. Usually I get the sofa, but I’ve never brought anyone down with me before. Stella and her husband always got the extra bedroom, but obviously, her husband’s not here. My mom’s really nice, but I don’t know how she’d feel about us sleeping in a bed together. It’s never come up before.” “How conservative are they?” “Not overly. They’re like me. That’s why I can’t predict it. I don’t have a problem with unmarried people sharing a bed, of course, but if it were my kid asking, I might get a little jumpy. So we’ll see.” Jerry’s mother had a blue tin of butter cookies out on the coffee table when we came in. She shook my hand with both of hers and ushered us over to the plastic-covered sofa with a multicolored afghan draped over the back of it. She was about IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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five feet tall and very plump, with upswept dark brown hair in a style that looked like it hadn’t changed since 1969. “So you’re Phoebe,” she said. “I’ve heard so much about you.” I smiled and took a butter cookie. Why was that such a common thing for people to say during an introduction? Wasn’t it always a little frightening? Shouldn’t it be rude to imply that endless conversations about the person have been going on behind their back? “Thanks,” I returned. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.” “I understand you’re a teacher.” “Yes, I teach first grade.” “Jerry’s a teacher, too. No wonder you get along so nicely.” Jerry sat back and draped his arm across the back of the sofa. Like I was going to drive seven hundred miles with the guy to meet his parents and not know what he did for a living. I looked across the room, where the spindly, tinsel-strewn artificial Christmas tree stood beside a large, old-fashioned stereo cabinet. There were about two dozen pictures of Betsy and Marco lined up on top of the cabinet. Suddenly, I got it. To her, this wasn’t just a Christmas visit. This was like a college interview, with me as the admissions officer. It was potentially her one chance to get her thirty-three-year-old only son married off. “We do have a lot in common,” I agreed. “Did I tell you how we met, Mom?” asked Jerry. She smiled, her cheeks dimpling. “How?” “She was a wrong number. I got a phone number from a woman I met at a teachers’ conference and it turned out to be Phoebe’s number instead. How’s that for crazy?” “Sounds lucky to me.” 176

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“It gets weirder,” he added. “Her younger sister’s in one of my classes. The poor kid starts doing duck-and-cover maneuvers under her desk every time I start talking about Dante’s love for Beatrice in The Inferno or whatever. The whole thing’s killing her.” Jerry’s mother laughed. “Small world, I suppose.” “You got that right.” Jerry fanned his fingers out and rubbed them up and down my back, curled like he was holding a ball. “So Stella hasn’t gotten here yet?” “Your father’s at the airport picking her up right now. I’ve got the bed all made up for her. Shame about her and Rick. I never did like him any too much.” “Yeah, it’s a shame all right. She’s doing a good job holding herself together. So . . . where should Phoebe and I put our stuff ?” “Oh, just out here on the sunporch. Your father and I got a new bed and we moved the old one out here.” She stood up, and we followed her out to the glass-walled room, a little musty and tiled in white linoleum, with orange-carpeted cat perches along the windows. There was an old queen-sized bed pushed up against the wall, covered in bright white sheets, with an orange blanket folded down at the end. “That should do, I hope.” “Sure, it’s fine.” “Well, I’ll let you get settled in, then. Phoebe, it’s so nice to meet you.” “You, too.” She toddled off on her short legs, and Jerry grinned at me. “Slick, huh?” “What’s slick?” “You see how she pulled that off ? See, she’s letting us share IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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a bed.” He gestured to the windows. “In here. Where we can’t do anything.” “Is that what she’s thinking?” “Oh, I’m sure it is. She’s a smart lady. She even gave us the white sheets. I’m sure she’ll be going over them with a magnifying glass when we leave.” I giggled. “Maybe we should get a box of those Afterglow things.” “I should have warned you about her, though. Don’t take anything she says too seriously, okay? She’s kind of got an agenda. As you may have noticed.” “I noticed. Don’t worry about it. All mothers are like that, except mine.” “Just ignore it. I’m actually pretty surprised about this bedsharing thing. She never let Stella and Rick get away with that before they got married. She must really be desperate.” “Maybe she’s taking a cue from what happened to Stella and Rick.” “Maybe. After they got married, though, it was a whole other story. Nothing like hearing your sister and her husband going at it on the other side of the wall to ruin a perfectly good holiday vacation.” He sighed and fl icked the light switch off. “We’ll make it work. I can probably get Stella to distract her. She owes me big time.” X

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showing. I could see where Jerry got his talent for cooking. My own mother’s version of a Christmas dinner was a row of cans opened one at a time and heated in the microwave, plus a ham. This was the first Norman Rockwell Christmas dinner I could remember ever having been a part of. “Well, what do you want to know?” “She’s a twin,” said Jerry. “She’s also an Oprah’s Book Club fan, and she has appalling taste in music.” “Oh, Jerry.” This time she passed the green-bean casserole. “Are you really a twin?” “Yeah. My father has a set of twin sisters, too. They seem to run in my family.” His mother smiled. “Oh, my. Look out.” “Good thing you like kids, Jerry,” said Stella. Jerry took a bite of mashed potatoes and gave her a reproving glare. “We’ve had twins in our family,” his mother said. “Your father’s aunt had twin boys. We have a picture somewhere. Two cuter little boys you never did see.” Stella swirled her fork in her gravy. I could see her slipping into her role around the dinner table, the pesky little sister. “Maybe you guys’ll have quadruplets.” “You want to live to see them?” Jerry asked. “Knock it off, you two,” said his father mildly. Jerry’s father looked very much like him, tall and blue-eyed and honest-looking, but with a gregarious self-confidence that Jerry had none of. “So you’ve got what, Phoebe? A sister, then?” “Yeah. Her name is Madison.” Jerry’s mother reached for the gravy. “Is she married?” “Um, not yet. She’s sort of working on that.” They gave me a IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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quizzical look, so I continued. “She’s on a TV show where you can sort of win a husband. One of those reality shows. The finale is tomorrow night, actually. Jerry and I are planning to watch it.” “Well, I should hope so. Do you think she’ll win?” “She might. She’s been kind of, uh, pulling out all the stops.” Jerry coughed and reached for his iced tea. I couldn’t tell if he was laughing or choking. “Are you all right, Jerry?” asked his mom. “I’m fine.” “Well, let’s all watch it together,” said his mother warmly. “I’d love to see this sister of yours. She sounds like such an interesting person.” Jerry hastily swallowed his tea. “You don’t have to. I’m sure you’ll meet her eventually. I mean, if, uh—” “Oh, nonsense. It’ll give us something new to talk about at the clubhouse. Won’t it, Allen?” Jerry’s father shifted a mouthful of food to his cheek. “Darn right.” “So,” said Jerry’s mother. She smiled at me across the table again. “Has your sister talked about what kind of a wedding she’d like?” Jerry sighed and stabbed his fork into a piece of ham. Stella grinned at us from across the table, wiping Marco’s face with a poinsettia-printed dinner napkin. “Maybe she’d like a double wedding,” she suggested cheerfully. X

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above his white socks. “Please tell me you’re going golfing,” I said as soon as I saw him. “How’d you guess?” he asked dryly. “Do those shorts actually belong to you?” “As a matter of fact, they do.” “See,” I said, shaking a finger at him knowingly, “you did have a dirty little secret, after all.” “You want to come with us? I’ll teach you to play. It’s fun.” “Maybe in ten years. I’ll stay here and get schmoozed by your mother.” And that’s exactly what she did, settling me onto the slippery plastic-covered sofa with a stack of dusty fake-leather-bound photo albums filled with pictures of Jerry’s Southern Maryland childhood. At least half of the pictures framed him in front of the long blue horizon of the Chesapeake Bay, crabbing or swimming or sitting on the grass at a church picnic. He had been a skinny little kid, his hair pale and coppery and buzzed into a crew cut all the way up until high school. Around age fourteen his hair was suddenly long and stringy, his clothes all black and covered with pictures of the Grim Reaper and skeletons with axes. In one he was crouched with his forearms on his knees, balanced on the balls of his black Converse-clad feet, smiling and squinting through the hair falling into his eyes. His mother smiled fondly. “He was a happy kid,” she said. I gave her a long, curious look. “Usually parents worry when their kids get all involved in heavy metal like that.” “Oh, not Jerry. He wasn’t ever angry or depressed. He just needed an outlet for his energy. The only thing I minded IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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was how loud it was. We got him a Walkman and then I took it away because I was afraid he was going to rupture his eardrums.” She turned the page. “He didn’t go in much for the serious stuff, the brooding kinds of songs. He liked the strange stuff. That over-the-top, ridiculous kind of heavy-metal music. He seemed to think it was funny. Teenagers. I guess they’ve all got to rebel somehow.” “I suppose.” She turned the page, revealing a picture of Stella with her Homecoming date and one of a sixteen-year-old Jerry asleep on the sofa, a copy of The Great Gatsby open across his chest. “I did start getting worried when he was in college. It wasn’t the music; it was the people he seemed to be meeting. A lot of partying. Too much, I thought. His grades weren’t very good, and there was all that drinking and smoking. It was starting to give him some trouble.” “He said something about that. About the drinking part.” “That was the part that was trouble. When he drinks, he’s a different person. It was good that he stopped. That was the responsible thing to do. I think the accident shook some sense into him about it, to know that the other man died and could easily have killed him, too. He got help after that, and sobered up.” Gradually I took in what she was saying. The plastic pages crinkled as she turned them, the old photos shifting in their sleeves. “Well, they say the first step is admitting you have a problem,” I said, partly to fill the silence, partly to see what she would say next. “Yes, that’s the thing about alcoholism. Often it takes a crisis of some sort to help the person face reality. I think his being in the hospital for nearly two months cut it off at the pass, so to 182

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speak. It was the first problem he’d had in three years that he couldn’t drink his way through. He’s grown into a good man.” She looked me in the eye. Hers were hazel, the green flecked with gold and brown. “You think so, too, I’m sure.” I smiled anxiously. “I do. You made me a little nervous, though, just now.” “He loves you,” she said firmly. There was a ferocious note just below the surface of her voice, restrained but fighting to be heard. “He’s quiet and unsure of himself at times, but there’s a lot going on inside of him. He needs understanding more than he needs love. Do you understand?” I nodded. Her hand rested over mine on my lap, her fingers cool and somewhat leathery. I imagined the way they must have felt stroking his hair back from his forehead the way he liked for me to, smiling faintly, his eyes closed. “He says your parents are divorced. Is that so?” “Yes,” I answered. “Then you may not know,” she said. “People always say that life is short, but while you’re living it, it doesn’t feel that way. It’s one day after another, years and years, and on some of those days and for some of those years, sooner or later, each of you will find yourself at rock bottom. You may fight. You may even cheat. You may say and think terrible things. You may find yourself wishing to be a widow so that you could start all over again with someone new. But if your spouse loves you, they’ll carry you through those times. They’ll love you twice as much to make up for all the love you don’t have to give just then. And then someday it will be your turn to do the same. That’s what marriage is—two people with compassion for one another, so much that each alone has enough to hold the bond together.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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I nodded again. “My son,” she said, “he has his flaws. Don’t be afraid to break his heart if you can’t abide them. He’ll be all right. He’s waited all his life for the woman who has empathy for him. He’ll make a wonderful husband to the woman who does, and a terrible husband to the woman who doesn’t.” “Thank you for telling me,” I said. She patted my hand and folded the album closed. “You’re welcome, dear. It’s the least I can do.”

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jerry and his dad got back around the middle of the afternoon, cheerful and sunburned and speaking animatedly in the foreign language of golf. From what I could interpret, his father had won, but Jerry had done better than he had expected. He steered me onto the sunporch and flopped down on the bed, rubbing his eyes and face tiredly. “Sorry I was gone so long,” he said through his hands. “I didn’t realize my dad wanted to play eighteen holes. And then we run into his friends, and they start talking. You know. They all want to hear about my girlfriend, like I’m twelve years old.” “That’s okay. I read and played with the kids and chatted with your mom all day. I wasn’t bored.” He rubbed the corners of his eyes. “So what did you and my mom talk about?” “What do you think?” “Me, probably.” “Yep, that’s pretty much what we talked about.” “Should I ask?” “She showed me pictures of you when you were a kid. We talked about your teenage years. She told me about your paper route and your first car. And your drinking problem.” He put his hands behind his head. “Oh, yeah?” “You want to talk a little about that?” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“There’s not much to tell,” he shrugged. He glanced at me, looking for signs of trouble. “I already told you all there is to say. Did she say something that worried you?” I sat down beside him on the bed. “She used the word alcoholic.” He laughed humorlessly. “Thanks, Mom. Always in my corner.” “So you wouldn’t describe yourself that way?” He sighed. “I’ve been sober for eight years, Phoebe. I was very up-front with you that I’d had a problem and dealt with it. You’ll just have to forgive me if I’m not all that comfortable turning to a girl on the second date and saying, ‘My name is Jerry, and I’m an alcoholic.’” He pushed himself up on his arms and then stood, walking over to the doorway and playing with the dimmer switch on the light. “Could you sit back down?” “The light’s in my eyes.” “Well, turn around, at least. I don’t want to have this conversation with your back.” He stopped tinkering with the switch and turned to face me, pressing his back against the wall. A nervous look was taking over his face, the look I recognized from the first time I met him, trying to explain why I wasn’t Karen. It made me feel distant from him and that pained me. “Your mom said you stopped drinking because of the accident,” I persisted. There was no point in cutting this discussion short. “Yeah, that’s what she thinks, but it isn’t true. I’d already started going to AA by the time I got run off the road. She just didn’t know it until after.” 186

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“Why was it, then?” He hesitated. “It was because of the girl.” A warm, oppressively humid breeze blew in through the screened windows that lined the sunporch, ruffl ing the fur of the cat who sat on one of the orange-carpeted perches. The cat closed its eyes and huddled against the carpet, the fine feathery ends of its fur rippling like goose down. “You mean the first girl?” I asked him. “Yeah, her, whoever she was. That sort of drove home the fact that there was a problem. I already knew it, I just wasn’t ready to deal with it.” “You don’t know who she was?” “Not really. Not her name, not her face, nothing. I can tell you she was a brunette and that she had on a yellow T-shirt from the Greene Turtle.” He gnawed on his bottom lip, bouncing against the wall with his hands behind him. “Yep, that’s about it.” I looked at him suspiciously. “What do you mean, not her face? How can you not know what she looked like?” “Because I’d blacked out. No memory of that night whatsoever. All I know is, I woke up the next morning in a house off-campus, and there was this girl sitting on the side of the bed pulling her shirt on, and then she stood up and walked out of the room. She didn’t turn around, and I didn’t recognize her. By the time I managed to crawl out of bed and find my clothes, she was gone.” He closed his eyes for a split second, then shook his head. “It was bad.” I twisted a corner of the sheet around my finger. “How do you know you actually had sex with her, though?” “It seemed like a safe guess.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“But if you were drunk—” “Don’t overanalyze it, Phoebe. I was there, I know what happened. If there was any way I could have stayed in denial, believe me, I would have.” I nodded. I didn’t want to make him regret what he’d told me, but when I thought of the way he’d been with me in the hotel room the night before last, tender and sweet and endlessly patient, what he was describing seemed impossible. The Jerry who would do something like that was so unlike the Jerry in front of me, I couldn’t even feel angry at him for not telling me before. Don’t worry, I thought, I know this isn’t you. “I’d been blackout drinking for months by then,” he continued. “Every weekend. It was a joke with my friends, like, get a case for the party and a case for Jerry. But the difference between them and me was that they could stop after a couple if they had an exam the next day, and I couldn’t. I really just could not stop. And I wasn’t a funny drunk, either. I was obnoxious. Not violent. Just obnoxious as hell.” He sat down beside me on the bed. “Not violent, though.” “Never. They say alcohol brings out your deep-down personality, you know? So you can rest assured I’m not an aggressive person, deep down. Just an—” “Annoying sex fiend. But I already knew that.” He laughed. “With lousy impulse control. Yeah.” “So why did that one incident turn you around?” His face turned serious again. He leaned his elbows against his knees and rubbed his palms together. “The paranoia, partially. Every hour I was convinced I had a different STD. Plus, even though I didn’t know who she was, I figured she might 188

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know who I was, so with practically every female acquaintance that came up to me, I wondered, Was it her? Was it her? Is she expecting me to call her, or, Does she think I’m being an asshole? And, Oh, God, what if some girl shows up at my house in three months saying, ‘Hi, Jerry, I’m pregnant and it’s yours?’ It’s enough to drive you crazy.” “Sounds like it.” “And then there was the guilt. I wasn’t exactly waiting for marriage, but I was waiting until it felt right on an emotional level, at least. I figured God would appreciate that when it happened, my heart would be in the right place. And then the way it worked out—” He ran his hand back through his hair. His scalp was sunburned pink at the back of his head, where his hair was thinnest. “Even a month later, when I laid my bike down, I sort of suspected I was being punished for it. I know that’s not true, but it gave me something to think about while I was staring at the ceiling.” I rubbed his knee. “People make mistakes. God wasn’t punishing you.” “I know. He’s been good to me. I’ve got no complaints.” Jerry’s mom stuck her head in from around the corner, in the kitchen. I rose immediately, like a guilty child. “Dinner,” she said timidly, realizing she was interrupting. Jerry stuck out his hand toward me. “Pull me up,” he said. X

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room and watched the nauseating pan-in of the camera from somewhere five thousand feet over Georgia to the front door of the mansion. Brent Holloway was standing between the tall white pillars with his hands on his hips, his white cotton shirt rippling in the breeze. “Tonight, the incredible conclusion of our epic story,” he shouted toward the camera. “Join us as we follow the last struggles and final triumph of two amazing contestants—here on Belle of Georgia!” A few notes of “Dixie” played as the show went to commercial. “Well, that certainly sounds exciting,” said Jerry’s mother. “Just you wait,” said Jerry. “Just as the struggles of the Northern and Southern women grew greater as the Civil War entered its last stages,” said Brent Holloway when the show returned, “so, too, grow the struggles of our lovely contestants. Only five remain, and now they must fight for the immunity that may make the difference between who goes home to the arms of her family—and who wins the love of one of our gallant gentlemen!” A shot of Rhett and Ashley fi lled the screen, sitting on a couple of horses looking down at the camera. “Which one is the gay one?” asked Stella. Her mother looked at her reproachfully. “Good heavens, Stella.” “The blond one,” Jerry told her. “He’s actually bisexual,” I clarified. “Sure, he is,” said Jerry. “Today we recreate the realistic struggle a woman alone might have faced to protect her family and valuables when confronted with a group of Northern soldiers or a ruthless 190

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Confederate deserter,” said Brent Holloway. “Each step of the course must be correctly completed before moving on. First, retrieve your leather wallet from the dresser in front of you and place it in the diaper of the plastic baby doll. Next, holding your baby doll, load all of the silverware from the basket into the bucket of your well and lower it to the bottom. Once you have completed that, you must release your baby pig from its pen and chase it from one end of the maze to the other, then close the gate at the end, which is labeled ‘Swamp.’ Do not let go of your baby at any point or you will be disqualified. Finally, lay your baby at your feet and shoulder the rifle at the shooting gallery at the end of the course. You must hit the target to complete the challenge. Do you understand?” All of the girls nodded. Marci gathered up her hoopskirts to her knees and got into a runner’s crouch. “Aren’t they mixing up two different scenes in Gone with the Wind?” asked Jerry’s mother perplexedly. “Because the part where she shoots the deserter is different from—” “I don’t think they’re really going for authenticity, Mom,” said Stella. “Go!” yelled Brent Holloway. All the girls took off like racehorses, throwing the clothes in the dresser drawers every which way, grabbing the baby dolls by their arms, and shoving the wallets down into their diapers. “Grace and Marci are dead even at maze!” shouted Brent. Madison’s pig turned around and tried to run back to its cage. “Damn you!” she shouted at it, her baby doll’s head banging against her hoops as she ran. Marci already had her pig in the swamp and was running toward the shooting gallery. “Grace is falling behind,” called Brent. IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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Madison slammed the gate behind her squealing pig and dashed for the shooting gallery. But it was too late. Marci planted a bullet right into the heart of her target just as Madison dropped her baby to her feet. “It’s Marci!” announced Brent. “Damn it!” yelled Madison. “So does that mean she wins?” asked Jerry’s mother. “No, that just means they can’t vote her out,” Jerry explained. “They only win if they get chosen by Rhett or Ashley.” “Chosen for what?” “To get engaged,” I told her. “For real?” “Ostensibly.” “My goodness. I don’t know about this.” She folded her arms over her bosom. “What does your mother think of all this, Phoebe?” “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I don’t think she takes anything Madison does all that seriously. Unless it’s, um . . . especially remarkable.” Once the girls had voted off a Yankee girl, Madison was the only one remaining against three Rebels. She bit her lip as the girl grabbed her train case and hatbox and waved good-bye. After the commercial, the scene opened on Brent Holloway receiving a pair of small velvet ring boxes from across the counter at a jewelry store. He set them into an authentic Confederate ammo case and walked purposefully out the door to a waiting train, steam pouring from the locomotive. As he pulled into the station closest to the plantation, he hung off the side of the front car, ammo box under his arm, his cotton shirt fluttering in the wind. He jumped off and ran slowly toward a covered 192

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horse-drawn carriage. A guy in a coat and tails closed the little door behind him, the top-hatted driver cracked the whip, and he was off to the mansion. “I certainly hope those girls say yes,” said Jerry’s mother. “They will,” I assured her. “Saying no would be like throwing away a winning lottery ticket.” The four girls were gathered in the parlor, wearing gorgeous silk dresses and sitting carefully in their armchairs so their hoops would stay down. Madison was wringing her hands. Brent came in with Rhett and Ashley in ascots and short coats, each with a red rose boutonniere. “Ladies, these men have thought long and hard about which of you they would like to spend the rest of their lives with,” said Brent Holloway, his smile sending a little shadow into the cleft in his chin. “If your name is called, please take your gentleman’s arm and accompany him to the piazza for your special moment together.” “I think your sister and Rhett already had a special moment together, didn’t they?” asked Jerry. I smacked his arm. Ashley chose Marci. As they walked off together, the two remaining Rebel girls reached for each other’s hands and squeezed them until their knuckles turned white. I waited impatiently through the proposal and grumbled in frustration when the show went to commercial. “Oh, come on,” I said. Jerry patted my hand. “You know he’s going to pick her.” “Not necessarily. That other girl on the sofa was the one he was talking to in the hallway the night they went out on their date.” “Was she really?” Jerry stroked his chin. “You know, I can’t tell them apart.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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A palpable silence had settled over the parlor where the three girls remained. Brent handed the last jewelry box to Rhett, who slipped it into his jacket pocket and folded his hands behind his back. A breathless pause. Brent raised a knowing eyebrow. Rhett extended one hand toward Madison. “Grace,” he said, “will you please join me on the piazza?” I jumped up from the sofa. “Aaaaaah!” “She won!” yelled Stella. Jerry rubbed my back as I jumped up and down. “She won!” I shouted. “She won!” Out on the piazza, with Ashley and Marci off for a walk in the rose garden, Rhett got down on one knee and proposed to Madison with a gigantic ring that glittered like a disco ball. Tears beaded her eyes. They hugged. The edges of the picture fogged, and a McDonald’s commercial came on. I reached for a tissue from the plastic-canvas box cover with the state of Florida done in needlepoint on its side. “Congratulations,” said Jerry’s mother. She reached forward and patted me on the knee. “Thank you,” I said, blowing my nose. “I wish I could talk to her. She must be so happy.” “Why don’t you give her a call?” Jerry’s father asked. “I don’t mind the long distance.” I shook my head. “No. I mean, I have my cell phone. They just won’t let us talk to them until tomorrow.” “Is that right?” asked his mother. “Yeah. They haven’t been allowed to talk to anybody since they got there.” I wiped my nose again. “No outside contact.” “So . . .” Jerry turned to me, caught his breath, and then asked, “She doesn’t know about his prison record and his kids 194

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and all that?” “No, I guess not.” “Oh, my,” said Jerry’s mother. I waved my hand and reached for another tissue. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “She’ll just be so happy she won that she won’t even care. I’ll be right back. I need to call my mom.” I left Jerry and his family sitting in front of the fl ickering TV, watching the post-finale reunion special: A Very Special Civil War Christmas. X

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Later that night, after the excitement of Madison’s win had died down somewhat and Jerry’s mother had gone off to bed in her ancient pink bathrobe and curlers, Jerry and I lay in our bed facing each other and talking quietly. His father was still out in the living room watching My Three Sons in the dark. Jerry stroked my hip softly under the covers, both of us conscious of the wide-open doorway, the windows all around us. “I love you,” he said. “I love you, too.” “Are you happy for your sister?” “Yeah, I’m really happy for her. She wanted this so much. I can’t wait to meet the guy.” “You think he loves her?” “I don’t know. If he doesn’t, he will. She’s a great person. I’m sure he’ll see that when he really gets to know her.” He lifted his hand from my hip and stroked a finger along my cheek. “Then maybe she’s more like you than you think.” I smiled. “Thanks. You’re not too bad yourself.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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He smiled back abashedly. “Hey, Fee?” “Yes?” “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the drinking thing sooner. I kept putting it off, and then I wasn’t expecting everything to move as fast as it did on the drive down here. It sort of snuck up on me.” “That’s okay. I can live with it. You said you’ve got it under control, right?” “Yeah. It took me a few years to get it down, but I’m fine, really. When I’m under a lot of stress, it gets trickier, but I haven’t screwed up in eight years. Not once.” “I believe you.” I tucked my hand under the pillow. “Hey, can I ask you a question?” “Sure.” “Are you ever sorry you didn’t get to go out with Karen?” “You mean Karen from the conference?” “Yeah, that one.” He shook his head against the pillow. “No. I’m glad I met you.” “But, I mean, apart from that. Do you ever regret that you didn’t have a chance with her?” “There is no ‘apart from that,’” he said. “I couldn’t be happier that she blew me off. Anyway, I only talked to her for two minutes. I really don’t care at all that I didn’t see her again. Don’t even give it another thought.” “You wrote a pretty nice poem about her.” “I’m an English teacher. You could hand me a pen right now and I could write a poem about you.” He grinned. “Softly breathes my love beside me . . . the warmth of her skin a place for dreaming . . .” 196

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I laughed. “That’s cheesy.” “So’s the other one. I never said I was Shakespeare.” Jerry’s dad pointed the remote at the TV; the picture snapped into a long vertical line and disappeared, and the room fell silent. He stood up and wandered off down the hall, tapping the light switch on his way out. The tree frogs outside were singing; above our heads, the fans on the mint-green ceiling turned steadily, sending a ticklishly cool breeze sweeping down over our shoulders in waves, like a bird’s wings beating the air. “Let’s give it a try,” he whispered. I hesitated. The night before, Jerry’s mother had made what seemed like two dozen trips to the hallway bathroom, preventing us from doing anything more than some R-rated cuddling. “What about your parents?” “Don’t worry. My dad and I had a ‘guy talk’ on the course earlier. I think I got my point across.” “Are you sure?” He put his arm around my waist and pulled me against him, belly to belly. “No, and right at this moment, I don’t really care.” I didn’t care, either. I was hungry for the way his body had felt the first time, long and warm and tangled up in mine, and for the fire I had seen in him when we were together. I didn’t want to think about Karen or Serena or the girl in the Greene Turtle T-shirt. I only wanted Jerry, alone with me in the spare privacy of the thin-blanketed bed, with no room for anyone else in between. X

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When I got out of bed the next morning, Jerry was already sitting at the kitchen table with his parents, chatting about golf and drinking a cup of coffee. His pink sunburn had already faded into a nice-looking tan. As I wandered into the kitchen, he smiled at me and got up from the table, kissing me on the cheek. He smelled like wintergreen shaving gel. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “Hey, get your shoes on. We need to get on the road.” “Do I have time to get some breakfast, at least?” “If you insist. Get your shoes on, anyway. We can have breakfast outside.” “Outside?” “Yeah, it’s a nice Florida morning. Trust me.” He smacked me on the butt and gave me a nudge toward my sandals. As I slipped them onto my feet, he pulled the back door open and in his best Rhett Butler voice said, “Phoebe, will you please join me on the piazza?” I looked out into the backyard. “I don’t see a piazza.” “Yeah, my parents are cheap. Say, you want an orange? You can eat them right off the tree this time of year.” “Sure.” I followed Jerry over to one of the orange trees and started to pull one off of one of the bottom branches. “No, not that one. That one’s not ripe.” I looked at it. “How can you tell?” “Color and shading. Anyway, the ones closer to the top of the tree get ripe first. I’ll show you.” He pulled himself up onto one of the lower branches and slowly climbed his way up the tree. I put my hand up against my eyes to shade them. “What on earth are you doing?” 198

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“I’m getting breakfast. What does it look like I’m doing?” “It looks like you’re getting ready to break your neck.” “Oh, that’s overrated. I’ve already done that once.” He picked an orange and started descending back through the branches. At the bottom he flipped the orange over and showed me the navel on the bottom. “See? Look at the shape of the navel. That’s how you can tell it’s ripe.” “Really? Jeez, they never tell you that at the grocery store. I know the thing about pressing at the top of the cantaloupe, but I never heard the navel thing.” “Local secret. Here, you try.” I laughed. “You want me to climb that tree? I don’t know.” “Come on, it’s easy. Don’t tell me you’re willing to commit breaking and entering on school property, but you’re not adventurous enough to climb an orange tree.” “You actually committed the breaking and entering. I was only an accessory.” “Oh, just go.” He put his hands against my waist and steered me toward the tree. “I’ll spot you if you fall.” I climbed up a few branches, dodging the bees that buzzed around between the leaves. About eight feet up, I reached for an orange and looked down at Jerry. “Is this one okay?” “Nope. That one would taste like battery acid.” “Are you sure?” “Positive. My parents have been living here for like twelve years, remember? I know my oranges.” I sighed and climbed up a few more feet. “Keep going,” Jerry called. “I’m not sure I want an orange this badly. How about this one?” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“Nope. Look at that navel. Nowhere near.” “Jerry, I’m like fifteen feet up. You can’t even see the navel.” “I’ve got a well-trained eye. No, not that one, either.” “How about this one?” He squinted and made a little acquiescing nod. “Yeah, that one looks okay.” “Finally.” I climbed back down the tree quickly. “You’re nuts. I’m not doing that again.” Jerry sat down with his back against the tree trunk and started to peel his orange. “You city folk don’t understand the value of a little hard work.” “City folk. You’re from Maryland, same as me.” I sat down beside him and stuck my thumb into the top of the orange peel. “Yes, but you’re from Takoma Park. I’m from Lusby. I spent the first fifteen summers of my life dangling chicken necks in the bay to catch crabs while you and your kind were buying them off the back of a truck.” “Excuse me. You’re the one who thinks carry-out is too much work when there are a zillion delivery—” I pulled my orange in half and something fell out into my lap. I let out a little screech, thinking it was a bee. “Something wrong?” “Yeah, there’s something in my orange.” I stood up and brushed off my shorts, then bent over to pick up the thing that had fallen to the ground. It was a diamond ring. “Oh, you got one of the lucky ones,” said Jerry. I held it in my palm and looked wide-eyed at him. He nodded earnestly, eating a section of his orange. “I told you I could tell by the navel,” he said. I looked down at the ring in my hand, then back up at Jerry. 200

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Finally he laughed, carefully balanced his orange skin-down in the dirt, and shifted forward onto one knee. He took the ring from my palm and reached for my left hand. “I love you, Phoebe,” he said. “You’re the best doggone thing that ever happened to me, and I want to be with you forever. Will you marry me?” I swallowed hard. “Of course I will.” He slid the ring onto my finger, and as I held my hand up in front of me, I thought of Madison, the tears beading her eyes, her impossible hopes made real.

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

We got back into town late the next evening, surprised to find that an inch of snow had fallen in our absence. The plants were a little droopy, and the floors were wispy with cat hair, but everything was otherwise quiet and normal—from Jerry’s perspective, at least. As I stepped into the foyer and looked over the living room and kitchen, letting the cats rub up against my legs, I realized I was standing in the house where I would live with Jerry as his wife. It was exciting and disorienting at the same time. He went across the street to pay the teenager who had watched the cats, and I waited for him, sitting on the sofa without taking off my coat. When he came back inside, he grinned at me and leaned against the wall to kick off his snow-crusted sneakers. “Is it that cold in here?” he asked. “No, it’s fine. Why?” “You’ve still got your coat on.” “I’m going to head home in a minute. Lauren’s been watching the animals for almost a week.” “Oh, she can handle them for one more night. It’s almost nine o’clock. Just stay over here.” I tucked my hands between my knees. “I don’t know. I don’t want to take advantage of her.” 202

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He hung his coat in the closet and shrugged. “You’re not. Just move your animals over here tomorrow. Solve that problem once and for all.” “Then you’ll be stuck dealing with them all the time.” “Not if you come with them.” I frowned. “What do you mean?” “I mean you’re over here half the time anyway. And we’re going to get married, right? So they’ll all be over here sooner or later. So will you, and—” He put his hands on his hips and gave me an appealing look. “I’m asking you to move in with me.” I folded an arm over my waist and bit my knuckle. “Oh.” “You don’t really want to go back, do you? Sleep alone all week long? Make dinky little one-person dinners? I mean, what’s the point in both of us living like we’re single when we don’t have to?” Lauren would have a million answers to that question, but I didn’t have even one. The truth was, I’d fallen asleep in Jerry’s arms for four nights in a row, and the idea of going back to my apartment and sleeping alone sounded downright repellant. I could have moved in with him that night and never looked back. But it wasn’t quite that easy. “Lauren’ll be mad at me,” I told him. “She’s already afraid I’m going to move in with you and stick her with the rent. It wouldn’t be fair.” “So give her a month. Say you’ll pay it through January. She’ll be able to find someone else, Fee. People do that all the time.” I gnawed my bottom lip and looked around the room. I wanted to be with him, I’d said yes to his proposal, and yet there was still a part of me asking, What about giving up my own IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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space? What if something goes wrong? What if I find out it really is too good to be true? He walked over to me and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Sleep on it, okay? You don’t have to decide tonight, but stay the night anyway. We’ve been up since six. We’re both tired.” I smiled at him a little. “Not that tired.” He grinned back. “Well, let’s go to bed anyway.” The next day, while Jerry was out grocery shopping, I loaded Tristan and Isolde’s cage into the front passenger seat and the guinea pig and rabbit’s box into the back and left them in the spare bedroom at Jerry’s house, closing the door against the cats and leaving a note taped to the freezer door. And when I came back a little later with Lucy the iguana and an armful of clothes on hangers, I found half of the bedroom closet already empty, for me. X

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“We need to talk,” said Lauren. “I know. I was going to catch up with you after dinner.” “I’ve got time now.” She closed the fi le folder on the table in front of her and turned toward me in her chair. She still had her work clothes on, her smooth bluish-gray suit and suntan stockings and black high heels. Behind her black-framed glasses, her green eyes were sharp and businesslike. I wondered if this was what it felt like to be sitting across a restaurant table from her on a date, watching her mentally checking off the boxes of the application form in her head. “Where’d all the animals go?” she asked. 204

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“I took them over to Jerry’s. I was going to tell you. Thanks for taking care of them, by the way. Listen, I’m not running off on you. I’m going to be here another month, and then I’m moving in with him. February first.” “I thought you said you weren’t going to go off and stick me with the rent.” “I’m not. It shouldn’t be that hard to find a new roommate. I can ask around if you want.” She stood up and walked over toward me. “Damn it, Phoebe. You’re out of your mind. You’ve known the guy all of three months. He could be a psychopath for all you know.” “He’s not a psychopath. He’s a nice guy.” “Yeah, sure. You said you weren’t going to do this. Not two weeks ago, you told me I didn’t have to worry.” “Well, I didn’t know. I didn’t realize he was going to ask me to marry him.” Her eyes widened, and her gaze dropped down to my hand. “Oh, God!” “Anyway, obviously one of us is going to move out eventually. That’s the whole reason why we’re month-to-month in the first place. You’d do the same thing if one of your guys worked out. I’m giving you a month, okay? That’s as fair as I can make it.” “Yeah, that’s really fair. It must be really nice for you to just stand there and tell me how great a deal I’m getting, since you’re about to get a house in Kensington and free rent for the rest of your life.” “Free rent?” I folded my arms in front of me. “That’s a little snotty, don’t you think? I work, you know. And he’s not exactly a millionaire. You know what I think?” “No. What do you think?” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“I think you’re jealous. I could tell you I’d pay half the rent for the next six months and you’d still be just as mad at me. You’re just angry that I got an A on a test I didn’t study for.” “Oh, bull. I am not.” She sat down in my armchair and kicked off her high heels. “I’m glad for you. Really.” The living room fell silent around us. Without the animals, the room seemed empty, like a house on moving day. Lauren stretched her toes out in her stockings, the maroon nail polish still perfect, her calves shapely and long in the muscles, like a tennis player. There was something a little babyish about her bottom lip, the way it tucked under the top one. She ran her hand along her cheek, her fingers slipping up under her glasses for a moment before resting at her temple. “I just want the same thing everyone else wants, you know?” she said. I nodded. “I know.” “Why does it have to be so hard?” “Maybe you should try looking for a guy who’s not perfect.” She smiled wearily. “You think I should lower my standards?” I thought about that for a moment. “No,” I said. “Just add in another category. Keep looking for all the same things, plus something to forgive him for.” X

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Madison finally called me on Wednesday evening, almost a week after she’d won Rhett on Belle of Georgia. I’d watched her on Entertainment Tonight every night since then, making one appearance after the other in Los Angeles and New York and at a ski resort in Colorado, and I hadn’t even bothered to try 206

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to get in touch with her. She looked happy, waving that little Queen Elizabeth wave at the crowds as flashes went off around her. Even when she called, I could hear someone in the background giving directions in a loud, authoritative voice, telling other people where to stand. “Where are you?” I asked her. “Ummm . . . St. Augustine. No, Orlando. Orlando. Only for another hour, though. I need to be in New York tomorrow.” “That’s neat. I was just in Florida last week.” “Oh, you were? Listen, Fee, I’ll be back in a month or so, but do you mind watching Pepper until then, at least? Everything’s way too crazy for me to try to take care of her right now. Do you mind too much?” Pepper rolled onto her back, her little hind legs stretching out over my lap. On the other end of the sofa, Jerry scratched her stomach as he fl ipped through a copy of The Great Gatsby with his thumb. “No, I don’t mind. I’m sort of in the process of moving, and now that she’s got a yard to run around in, it’s really no problem at all.” “Oh, good. Are you renting a house now or something?” “Actually, I’m kind of moving in with somebody. A guy.” Jerry grinned and scribbled something on the notebook he had perched on the arm of the sofa. “A guy,” he mimicked in a dramatically deep voice. “Get out. You are not.” “Yeah. We’re, um . . . we got engaged.” “No way. No way. Just since I left? Do I know him? Is it Bill?” “No, no . . . it’s actually that guy who kept calling to talk to IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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Karen. Remember him?” “You got engaged to him? What does he look like?” “He’s six feet tall and extremely sexy,” I said. Jerry’s eyes scrunched up with embarrassment, and he ruffled the fur on Pepper’s stomach. “Wow, I can’t wait to meet him. When’s the wedding going to be?” “We’re thinking June-ish.” “Oh, that’s perfect. We’re looking at early February for mine, but it’s not for sure. They want to do a Valentine’s Day special, but some people want it to be during the sweeps season, so it’s kind of up in the air right now.” “They’re going to do it on TV?” “Of course. That was part of the deal. Hey, I need to go. They’re calling me. I’ll give you a buzz in a week or so, okay? And congratulations. What’s his name?” “Jerry.” “Okay, give Jerry a hug for me. Love you.” She made a loud kissy noise and hung up. I set my phone down on the side table. “Madison sends her love.” “Hi, Madison. I feel like there ought to be some way to incorporate all this into my Great Gatsby lesson, and I just can’t figure out how.” “The pitfalls of excess, you mean?” “Something like that. Did I hear you say her wedding’s going to be on TV?” “Yeah. I guess they’ll actually get married, then. There’s no way she’d turn down a publicity opportunity like that.” “Well, as long as it’s all for the right reasons.” 208

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I pushed Pepper’s feet off my lap, and she fl ipped over, looking at me through the floppy hair around her eyes. “No, you know what?” I said, padding off to the kitchen in my bare feet. “She’s a little nutty sometimes, but she wouldn’t marry him if she didn’t really love him. Even Maddie would draw the line at that. She’s a good girl.” X

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I lugged a box of old file folders and presents from my kids up the stairs to the second story, dropping it on the landing with a thud. Since the day I’d moved the animal cages over, my afternoons had been a nearly constant shuffle of moving things from the apartment over to Jerry’s, unpacking, and shifting things around. Jerry was happy and cooperative, clearing off shelves for me and emptying drawers, but it still felt a little strange to be moving my stuff into his place. It was his territory and, try as I might, I knew that for a while I would feel like not much more than a visitor. Even with all of Jerry’s cheerful hospitality, little reminders kept popping up that this house had been his for a very long time. Storage space, for example: there was none. Jerry was a tidy, organized, dyed-in-the-wool pack rat, and every square inch of usable space was either appealingly decorated or packed with Xerox paper boxes full of crap. Pushing the dust ruffle up under the mattress, I breathed a sigh out through my teeth and started shoving boxes aside. He, too, already had a box under there full of fi le folders and gifts from kids; I supposed it was only fair to leave that one there, under the circumstances. I pulled out the box beside it and tossed the top aside, glancing at its contents. Just a bunch IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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of magazines and videos—but oh, my. Not just any magazines and videos. For a moment I stared; then I picked up a stack of tapes and fl ipped through them, checking to see if they were all what I thought they were. It was somewhere near the bottom of the stack that I found the powder-blue-covered Playboy Lingerie Fantasies video with a picture of Madison in the photo collage on the cover. I dumped the rest of the videos back in the box and kicked it back under the bed. Downstairs Jerry was sitting at the dining-room table, reading the newspaper and eating an afternoon bowl of Crispix. He still had his glasses on. I padded barefoot through the living room and tossed the video down on the table, where it skidded over and bumped gently against his cereal bowl. “What’s this?” I asked him. He glanced over from the paper, looking at the upside-down tape beside him. “It’s a videocassette tape,” he replied. “Yeah, I found it in your stash that you’ve got hidden under the bed.” This time he looked over his glasses at me, his eyes direct and level. “There’s nothing hidden anywhere in this house. It’s stored.” “Fine. Stored in an unlabeled box behind the dust ruffle under the bed.” “Well, what do you want me to do, put it all out on the livingroom shelves?” “Actually, I was thinking maybe you could decorate the curb with it on trash day.” He shrugged. “If you want.” I twisted my fingers into the side belt loops of my jeans. 210

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“You don’t happen to have any explanation of why you’ve got a porno video of my sister?” “Yeah, I didn’t realize your sister was in it until you said something just now. I’ve had that video since long before you and I got together. You want me to throw it out, I’ll throw it out. Honestly, I wouldn’t want to watch it again, knowing your sister’s in it.” “Oh, well, that’s a relief. I thought we just agreed you were going to throw all of it out anyway.” He set the newspaper down. “Look, Phoebe. If you’re uncomfortable with the fact that I’ve got the same damn thing under my bed as every other man in North America, then go ahead and throw it all out. I think it’s a little silly considering you’ve got your own stash on the top shelf of the closet, but I’m not going to stop you.” “Excuse me? I don’t own any porn, Jerry. Apparently that’s your little hobby.” “Well, what do you call that box that’s filled up to here with Valentine cards and teddy bears and carnations that’ve been dead since—” “That’s memorabilia. There’s nothing pornographic in there. Go ahead and look if you don’t believe me.” “I don’t. It’s emotional porn, is what it is. I ought to be more offended by you keeping that stuff than you are by me having a box full of pictures of women I’ve never met in my life.” I came up to the kitchen table and wrapped my hand around the edge of one of the chairs, my engagement ring digging into my finger where it bumped against the wood. “That’s completely different,” I said. “There’s no reason on earth why you should have a bunch of sexual stuff around with other girls in it when IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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we’re engaged. That’s just wrong.” He folded his hands in front of him and leaned toward me. “There’s no reason on earth why you should need reminders of other guys who’ve had a thing for you when you’re living with the guy who has a thing for you now. So, why aren’t you volunteering to throw that box out?” “Because it’s got nothing to do with our relationship.” “Neither does my stuff.” We stared at each other without blinking for a long moment. Finally I said, “You’re just being insensitive, you know that? Those are my memories. I don’t have to throw them out for you.” “But it wouldn’t even matter if you did, would it? It wouldn’t stop you from thinking about them. Not one damn bit.” I scowled at him. “Gee, that’s so comforting to hear when I just dug a video of my sister out of your porno collection.” “That one’s going in the trash. It’s up to you whether you throw both of those boxes out, or only mine, or neither of them. But I’ll tell you what, Fee. I would say it’s not in our best interest to put each other in a choke chain before we even get the rings on. If you know I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy, throwing my stuff at me really isn’t necessary. And I’m not in love with the idea of you coming in here like some kind of Taliban morality officer and caning me for owning ten stinking videos. But do what you want. It’s not like I have a lot of use for that stuff these days, anyway.” I left the boxes where I’d found them—both of them.

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Madison came back into town for a few days in mid-January, leaving Rhett somewhere in either Texas or possibly Montreal, depending on whether the network or its cable affi liate won the scheduling disagreement. They set her up at a boutique hotel in Washington, DC, but she decided to stay at our dad and stepmom’s for a day. Late that afternoon I got a call from Alexa, who sounded like she was watching alien spacecraft landing in the front yard. “It’s wild,” she said excitedly, her mouth close against the phone. “There’s an RV set up in our driveway with her people in it. Mom and Dad had to park on the street.” “Her ‘people’?” “Yeah, her bodyguard and assistant and some manager guy and a couple of other people. She’s in here with us, but they’re all out there on the lawn, and my mom’s getting really mad because they keep throwing their cigarette butts in the driveway.” “How’s she doing, though?” “Good. Weird. Madison’s always weird. This morning she was freaking out because her Mystic Tan’s flaking off and the only tanning place around here is the regular kind. She’s in the bathroom right now arguing with her assistant over whether she should get a bikini wax if there’s no way to replace her tan until sometime tomorrow.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“What are you talking about? What’s a Mystic Tan?” “It’s one of those things where you take off all your clothes and—oh, wait a minute. Maddie’s coming out of the bathroom now. Hey, Maddie! You want to talk to Phoebe?” Madison’s voice came on breathlessly. “Hi, Fee. God, you wouldn’t believe how this trip is going. I feel like I’m in the Congo or Africa or something. I forgot how backward this place is.” “The Congo’s in Africa, Maddie. Anyway, what’s so backward about Kensington? It’s the DC suburbs, for goodness’ sake.” “I know, Fee. I don’t need a geology lesson. Anyway, listen. I want to take you out tonight before I have to leave for New York. Are you busy?” “I don’t know, I guess not. Hold on.” I put my hand over the receiver. “Jerry. Are we doing anything tonight?” He turned the page of the newspaper on his lap. “Not anything your sister can participate in.” I took my hand off the receiver. “I’ve got some time.” “Great. I’ll pick you up at eight. You’ve got club clothes, right?” “Kind of.” “Well, put them on. Oh, oh, Colby’s calling. Gotta go. Bye.” At eight thirty Jerry peered curiously out the curtains of the front window and gave me a funny look. “I think your ride’s here.” “My ride? You mean Madison?” “I guess.” I stepped into my high heels and opened the front door. Outside was a black stretch limo with little purple lights running around the bottom. 214

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“Holy cow,” I said. “God, I’m jealous. I wonder if there’s a bar in there.” I narrowed my eyes at him as I slipped my arms into the coat he was holding up for me. “Jerry.” “What? I’m sure they’ve got Coke and stuff, too. That’s all I meant.” “Yeah.” I kissed him on the mouth, forgetting about my lipstick. “I’ll be home around midnight, I guess. I don’t know. I’ll call you if it’s later.” “Okay. Have fun.” He leaned his shoulder against the wall, peeking out through the curtains again and sighing. “I think I’m going to cry.” As soon as the driver opened the limo door for me, Madison screamed and pulled me in by my hand. “Look at you!” she shrieked. “Look at me? Look at you!” She looked incredibly good, like she’d just stepped out of one of those magazines I’d been seeing her in for months. She looked like a star. It was a little intimidating, and at the same time, utterly bizarre. She was my identical twin, but I didn’t look anything like that. “I’m talking about your hand, goober. How could you just go off and get engaged since I left?” She held my hand up toward the center light, admiring my ring—a simple gold band with a very pretty, modestly sized diamond at the center. Her own engagement ring was a dazzling white-gold creation that covered the entire bottom joint of her finger. The diamond in mine was the size of one of the twelve or so diamonds set into the band of hers, surrounding the three big ones in the middle. I had already seen it half a dozen times in magazine pictures, circled or in close-up, along with all its vital statistics. IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“Well, you did the same thing, you know,” I pointed out. “But I did it for a reason.” I giggled. “Yeah, you’re right. I just did it for the money.” “Oh, shut up. You know Playboy’s offering me five figures?” “Playboy? For what?” “To pose. Ka-ching. We haven’t gotten back to them yet.” “Like, naked?” “No, in a chicken suit, doing the Macarena. Of course naked. Good thing I had that boob job. I’d hate to have to go on camera looking like—well, you know.” I dug my heels into the carpet, trying to keep from sliding around on the leather seat. “Are you seriously going to do it? I mean, doesn’t Rhett mind?” “You mean Colby? I don’t know, I haven’t asked him. The offer just came in last week. I can’t imagine he’d care, though. I don’t know. Why?” “Well, it just seems like the sort of thing you ought to—I mean, Jerry gets all alpha male if I even get a phone call from another guy. Sheesh, Mom is going to kill you. Say no, Maddie. She chewed me out about your video thingy while you were on the show.” “We’ll see. They’re talking to Marci, too, so that could change things around a little. And if they try to get a shoot with both of us together, then—” “Oh, God. Maddie, don’t. Mom will die. And that’s my body, too, you know.” “It is not. Please.” “Yes, it is. We’ve got exactly the same DNA. That’d be like me posing naked in a magazine. It’d be embarrassing. Sheesh, they should at least offer me a cut. Like how you have to pay 216

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royalties for sampling somebody else’s song.” “Hey, I didn’t ask to be twins with you, you know.” She reached into the bar and pulled out a couple of glasses. “You want anything?” It turned out that Madison and her manager, a breathtakingly gorgeous guy with blinding-white teeth and short dreadlocks whose name was Zane, were taking me out to a club in downtown DC. Over a tiny door with a line about three blocks long trailing out of it, the club’s name was set in understated white typeset letters, all lowercase with a period after them. It said, “angst.” “Well, I guess it’s better than ‘Götterdämmerung,’” I said. Madison narrowed her eyes at me. “What?” “Don’t worry about it.” “Don’t say stuff like that in here, okay? We’re on the list. I’d like to stay on the list.” She got out of the limo with a stylish little swing of her legs, smoothing her skirt down simultaneously. I tried to do the same thing. Inside the club, they quickly whisked us through a black door that blended into the wall and into a room draped in crushed red velvet curtains and throbbing with remixed Madonna songs. A guy with spiky black hair and an eyebrow piercing sat us down at a little white-marble-topped table and set down an architecturally arranged sushi roll between the three of us. “Wow,” I said. “That looks yummy.” Madison rolled her eyes. “Don’t be dorky, Fee.” “It’s a compliment, Maddie. Anyway, I’m not the one who ate boiled okra with my bare hands.” “Oh, shut up. Don’t make me bring up that time I dared you to eat a Jerky Treat and you actually—” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“Oh, my God.” I ducked behind Madison’s head and then peeked out past her hair. “Is that C. J. Anastasio?” She turned around with careless unconcern and glanced at the guy seated at a table just on the other side of the dance floor. “Probably. Looks just like him.” “Seriously? You really think that’s him?” “Well, this is the VIP room. Hey.” She tugged at our waiter’s sleeve as he set our drinks down. “That’s C. J. Anastasio, right?” “Yes, it is.” “Oh, wow.” I wrapped my fingers around my water-beaded Long Island Iced Tea glass. “I wonder if he’d give me his autograph.” “Why don’t we just invite him over? He doesn’t look like he’s with anybody.” I gasped. “No way. No, no, no. I’d wet my pants.” “Oh, come on, Fee. Live a little.” She nudged Zane. “Is it okay?” He shrugged. “Sure. Want me to go get him?” “No,” I said. “Yeah, ask him over,” said Madison. I watched in slow horror as Zane meandered his way across the half-empty dance floor, shook C. J. Anastasio’s hand, and patted him on the back as he stood up and started making his way over toward our table. He looked pretty much the same as when I had been in love with him, except his face was a little rounder and, of course, he was a lot older. He still wore his blond hair combed straight back, spiking out a little in the front. I was starting to sweat in places I hadn’t realized I had sweat glands. 218

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“I’m absolutely going to kill you for this,” I told Madison. “I’m going to drive straight back to Mom’s and put all of your old Beanie Babies into a bag and set it on fire. Even Peanut. Even Seaweed, the one that cost you four hundred dollars. And then I’m going to take that picture of you in your Friendship Hat and those orange shorts at Girl Scout Camp and send it to People magazine with a note that—” “Hi, I’m C. J.” Madison smiled and shook his hand while I sloppily wiped mine off on my little black miniskirt. “I’m Grace,” she said. “And this is my sister, Phoebe.” “Hi,” I said. I could feel the sweat on my hand squelching against his palm. He sat down in the seat next to mine, and my toes curled so hard in my shoes that it felt as though someone was driving finishing nails into my toenails. “So, have you ladies been here long?” he asked. “Just got here, actually,” said Madison, raising her mostly full martini glass. “How about you?” “I just dropped in. I’m staying at the Omni next door. I’m probably heading back there in a few minutes. Not much going on here tonight.” “It’s early yet,” said Zane. C. J. shrugged. “I’m not really somebody who waits for stuff to happen. It’s happening or it’s not, you know?” Zane nodded, playing with a matchbook. “I hear you.” “Would you mind giving Phoebe your autograph before you go?” Madison asked. “She’s a big fan of yours.” C. J. grinned and turned to me. I wrapped my ankles around my chair leg and each other like one of my kids doubleknotting their shoelaces. “You are, huh?” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“Yes,” I squeaked. “What would you like me to autograph?” My eyes darted around wildly on the little table with the untouched sushi roll in the middle. There was nothing to write on or with, and all I had in my purse were my license and keys, a tube of lipstick, my cell phone, a box of Altoids, and an O.B. tampon. “You need a pen?” Madison asked. “Yeah. And some paper,” I whispered. “Not necessarily,” C. J. said, nudging me with his elbow and nearly knocking me off the chair. “Sometimes girls like me to do a little temporary tattoo.” Madison laughed, taking a pen and paper from her purse and plunking them down on the table. “Go for it, Fee. Your shirt’s stretchy enough.” “That’s okay,” I said. I bit on the inside of my bottom lip until I winced and tasted blood. C. J. scrawled his name left-handed in big swirling letters and started to hand it to me, then pulled it back just as I reached for it. “So. What’s your favorite NYC Boyz song?” I wondered if it was a trick question. It was a little embarrassing, after all, to put my bubblegum music tastes into the present tense. “’Dancin’ after Midnight,’ I guess. It reminds me of middle school.” He grinned at me again and handed me the autograph. “Party girl, huh?” “Well, I also liked—like—’Only the Memories.’ They played that one at our eighth-grade dance.” “You are a fan, aren’t you?” He twisted his mouth off to the side, like he was sizing me up. “Tell you what. Why don’t you 220

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come on upstairs and hang out a while? Unless you’ve got other plans, of course.” “We’ve, uh—” I widened my eyes across the table at Madison, pleadingly. “Got plenty of time,” she finished, smiling. She zipped her little pink baguette purse back up and tucked it under her arm. “Let’s go.” X

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C. J. Anastasio’s hotel room was a weird, loftlike space done up in chrome, glass, and concrete, with an orange wall here and there. It was at least twice as big as the apartment I’d shared with Lauren. As soon as I walked in, I could hear Jerry’s laughter in my mind, his giggly doubled-over joy when they did a reveal on Trading Spaces and led the homeowners into a completely hideous new room. Madison, on the other hand, smiled and gave a happy little shrug of her shoulders, as though she’d just taken a breath of fresh spring air. “What a fantastic room!” she enthused. “It’s very nice,” I lied. “Come on over to the entertainment room,” C. J. said. He was already back at the built-in bar, which looked like someone had put an Airstream trailer through a tree-shredding machine and bolted it to the floor. “Anybody want anything?” “I’ll have a Cosmopolitan,” said Madison. “What do you want, Fee? Another Long Island Iced Tea?” “Sure,” I said. “Have a seat,” said C. J. Madison perched on the edge of a metal chair; I sat down on a puff y orange sofa and felt it halfIN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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collapse beneath me like the air coming out of a balloon. Zane wandered around the room, inspecting the décor. “Pretty cool collection you’ve got here,” he called. He was standing in front of a glass cabinet filled with lunch boxes, blister-packed toys, folded T-shirts, and trophies. “Yeah, I take that everywhere I go.” C. J. grinned and brought our drinks over to us, then plopped down next to me on the sofa with an icy amber-colored drink in his hand. “I was so psyched when I got my first action figure. It looks like me, don’t you think?” “Looks like you.” “My favorite’s the twelve-inch poseable one. The outfit they put me in is totally fly. And it sold better than Derek’s.” He pointed both index fingers at Zane and danced them up and down a little. “Who’s your daddy, D-man?” Zane smirked. “That’s cool.” C. J. pulled himself off the sofa and tapped the “on” button for the flat-screen TV. “Say, Phoebe, you ever seen the video for ‘Pink Corsage’?” “I didn’t think there was one.” “Only released in Japan.” He winked at me. “Wanna see it?” I smiled. “Sure.” He put a DVD in the player. The blue screen of the TV flicked over to all five of the NYC Boyz dancing around on a set that looked like a high-school gym with better lighting. Cut in between the dancing scenes were scenes of Derek kissing a blond girl in a prom dress, her bangs done up in a sticky haze of Aqua Net.

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And I know It might not last—for—ever But, baby, for tonight You’ll wear a pink corsage . . . “What do you think?” asked C. J. “It’s—interesting. Nostalgic.” I laughed. “I can’t believe that hair. How come they didn’t release the video over here?” “I don’t know. Some legal thing. It went to number two in Japan on the MTV charts.” Zane’s phone started chirping across the room, where he was standing examining a painting that looked like an old drop cloth someone had mistaken for an original Jackson Pollack. “So, what’s Derek doing these days?” asked Madison. “He’s got a ranch out in Mendocino. Last I heard he was writing a memoir about his experiences in rehab.” Zane folded his phone back up and stuck it in his pocket. “We’ve got to run, Grace,” he said. “Why?” she asked. “What’s going on?” “Quentin Tarantino’s just walked into the back room down at Angst. We’ve got to get down there.” “Oh, crap,” she said. She stood up, tugging her skirt down and fluffing her hair back from her face. “We’ll be back, Fee.” “What? No.” I struggled to get up from the depths of the sofa. “No, I’ll come, too.” “We’ll be right back,” said Zane. “You can just hang out here. You mind, C. J.?” “Not at all,” he smiled. “Mmmmwah.” Madison blew me a kiss. “See you in a few.” Madison’s heels clicked against the polished cement floor as IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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she followed Zane out the heavy door. I looked after them in a half panic, then over at C. J. beside me on the sofa. He had one of his ankles crossed over his knee, bouncing his foot up and down, his arm stretched out over the top of the sofa. “So,” he said. I took a long drink of my Long Island Iced Tea. The room was starting to get a little foggy under the citronella-colored high-hung lights. Maybe I’d drunk more of my first one than I’d realized. I’d sort of lost track after the love of my preteen life had appeared and planted his cologne-scented body within sniffing distance of me. “So,” I echoed. I cleared my throat. “Do you ever see any of the old NYC Boyz guys?” “Now and then. Couple of them are married. José’s got a daughter. I still hang out with Clint once in a while. We’ve talked about doing a reunion tour. Can you see that?” He laughed and got up from the sofa, walking back over to the bar. His foot caught on the rail that ran around the base of it and he hopped to stop himself from tripping. “All five of us up onstage with thirteen-year-old girls throwing their panties at us. Not. At seventeen you can still do that. Not at thirty-five.” “I guess that’d be kind of creepy, now that you mention it.” He poured himself a whiskey, then made it a double and sat back down beside me, half a foot closer this time. “Be pretty cool, though. Who knows? Probably fall back into the groove of it pretty quick. But not as a nostalgia thing.” He pointed a finger unsteadily toward me. “Top 40. Right? No goddamn Retro Lounge segment of some mix station. Write some new stuff. It’s not that hard.” “My fiancé writes poetry,” I said. Mostly I just wanted to 224

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point out the fact that I had a fiancé. I could almost hear my thirteen-year-old self screaming in indignation. “Does he? That’s sweet. I co-wrote a couple of the songs on my solo album. And I bet we could all still do the dancing. You think I could still get my thirty-five-year-old ass into some of those costumes?” “Um . . . probably?” “Bet you’re right. Hang tight a sec.” He finished the rest of his drink in a single swallow, swished it around in his mouth, and got up from the sofa again. “I think I got one back in my closet.” I gazed over at the door, praying that it would open and Madison would walk back through, preferably with Zane close by her. I’d left my watch at home; it was probably only about ten-ish, but it could be later. I searched around for my purse, hoping I could get my cell phone out before C. J. returned. His bedroom door was still open. “Nope. Can’t do it.” I spun my head around and looked over my shoulder. C. J. was standing just outside the bedroom door with a pair of black leather pants pulled up to around the middle of his thighs. Other than that, he wasn’t wearing anything but a pair of Fruit of the Loom tighty-whities. I spun back around and put my forehead against my hand, my hair falling over my face like a curtain. “Happens to everybody, I suppose. Oh, well. Doesn’t matter. Still got the—whatchacallit—muscle memory. You know what I mean?” I peeked up at him. “What?” “Muscle memory. You know, the way you can remember how to do stuff you haven’t done in years.” He was stepping IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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out of the leather pants, walking across the cement floor in his underwear. “Like riding a bike and stuff. I still know all the dance moves for all those songs. “’Only the Memories’—that was a slow one. But ‘Dancin’ after Midnight’—God, we did that one so many times.” “I bet.” “Your momma said you better be a good girl, that you got no reason to be late.” He started doing a little late-eighties Janet Jackson routine over by the dining table, his shoulders shifting up and down in that semi-robot move. He spun on his heel and turned his back to me; there was a patch of hair right above the elastic of his jockey shorts, on the small of his back. He swayed his hips back and forth, singing. “But you and me are stayin’ till it’s over, and I bet you that your daddy can relate.” I gnawed on the knuckle of my index finger, my other hand clutched around my purse. I remembered this routine. A bunch of the girls at my middle school had done it for the Spring Talent Show, complete with the triple backflip that José did in the middle of the second verse. Thank God Madison hadn’t hooked us up with José. C. J. spun back around and put his fists together at chin level, then jerked his elbows out straight, one at a time. Holding his fists up, he pumped his hips back and forth wildly. “We’re dancin’—after midnight—” I stood up and started edging toward the bathroom. “I’ll, uh—I’ll be right back, okay?” He wasn’t paying attention to me. He just tucked his hands behind his head and did that hip-swaying thing again. “We’re dancin’—until three—” I stumbled into the bathroom in my high heels and locked 226

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the door behind me. There were mirrors all over the textured cement walls, a gigantic bathtub, and one of those Japanese toilets with buttons and dials all over it. I unzipped my purse and dug out on my cell phone, terrified that I wouldn’t be able to get a signal with all that cement all over the place. “We’re dancin’—after midnight—you and meeee . . .” “Hello?” “Jerry,” I whispered into the phone, curled up in the corner between the tub and the locked bathroom door. “Jerry, you’ve got to come get me.” “Fee? I can’t hear you. Speak up.” “Jerry. I’m at the Omni Hotel, okay? In DC. You’ve got to come get me now.” “The Omni Hotel? Why are you there? I thought you and Madison were going to be—” “Listen, I’m calling you from the bathroom, okay? I don’t have a lot of time. I’m in a hotel room with C. J. Anastasio, and he’s doing dance routines in his underwear out in the living room. Please come get me.” “What?” Jerry laughed. “Seriously, Fee, where are you? I can get you if you want. Just let me jump in the shower real quick and I’ll be right over. I stink. I was on the treadmill for the whole second half of Lost.” “No. I don’t care if you stink. Come get me now. I’m in room 602, okay? At the Omni. In Northwest.” “With C. J. Anastasio? Is Kim Basinger there, too? Man, you and I could have a hell of a night on our hands.” “I’m not kidding, Jerry. Madison ran off and left me for Quentin Tarantino. Don’t even stop to pee, okay? Just get in the car.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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Jerry laughed again. “Yes, ma’am. And hey, no funny business with C. J. Tell him I’ll tie him up with those L.A. Gear shoelaces if he touches you.” Over the phone I could hear the creak of the front door opening. “Okay, I’m on my way. You want me to stop and pick up Vin Diesel so we can both kick his ass?”

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Antonia’s hand bumped against mine as we both dipped our slices of bread into the bowl of bruschetta that sat in the middle of the table. Beside me Jerry was looking a little annoyed; the music in the restaurant was turned up several notches too loud, and Jerry didn’t like having to raise his voice to be heard. He did it all day long at work. “I could hardly believe it,” he was saying to Carl, Antonia’s husband. “Here Madison’s supposedly taking her to some club called Schadenfreude or something—” “Angst,” I corrected. “—and she calls me and tells me she’s alone in a hotel room with C. J. Anastasio. Yeah, right. And I’m having a beer with the Dalai Lama. So I show up where she tells me to, and it turns out she actually is alone in a hotel room with C. J. Anastasio. If she hadn’t physically stopped me, I would have knocked those porcelain veneers right through the roof of his mouth.” Carl stirred his straw around in his Coke. “She physically stopped you?” “She grabbed me by the wrist. Lucky for her I can’t make a fist with my left hand since my motorcycle accident. Lucky for him, I mean. If he’d still been in his underwear, I probably would have tried to do it anyway.” “Man, you’re pretty scrappy for an English teacher.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“I’m not scrappy. What would you do if you walked in on Toni and some guy alone in a hotel room together? Shake his hand?” Carl gave an acknowledging nod. “Shake his spine out, maybe. Like you used to be able to do in Mortal Kombat.” Jerry nodded seriously, his arms folded against the table in front of him. “That’d be cool. I could probably do that with my left hand.” “Oh, stop it, you two.” Antonia wiped her fingers on her napkin and crumpled it beside her plate. “That’s just what Phoebe needs, is more appearances in the tabloids.” I finished my piece of bread and tapped Jerry on the arm. “Yours is a lot better.” “My what?” “Your bruschetta. This doesn’t have enough garlic.” Antonia laced her fingers through Carl’s and sat back in her chair. “By the way, are you guys living together now?” “Mostly,” said Jerry. “She’s hardly got anything left over at her apartment. It turns out she’s moving out just in time. Her roommate’s got some Indian guy over there twenty-four hours a day.” “Jerry’s finally going to meet my parents,” I added. “My dad and stepmom, anyway. Madison’s bringing Rhett over tomorrow to meet everybody. It’s kind of scary, you know? Both fiancés meeting the parents at the same time.” Carl grinned at Jerry across the table. “You intimidated, man?” Jerry shrugged. “Kind of. I don’t think anybody looks forward to meeting their girlfriend’s father. ‘Hello, sir. I’m the guy who’s sleeping with your daughter. Nice to meet you.’ It was probably easier a hundred years ago.” “No, I mean because of Rhett,” said Carl. “Coming up next 230

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to some celebrity guy who’s all charming and slick. I think I’d be intimidated.” “Who says I’m not charming and slick?” asked Jerry. Antonia giggled. “I think you’re very charming, Jerry.” Carl grinned, letting go of Antonia’s hand and stretching his arms back behind his head. “I think you’re kind of a geek.” “Kind of a geek?” Jerry shot him a dirty look and sat back as the waitress started setting our plates down. “Ask C. J. Anastasio. I’m a wolf in geek’s clothing.” X

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On the morning of the big meet-the-parents gathering, there was a layer of snow as fine as baby powder over the yard, dusting the tomato cages and the tricycle and setting a firm gentle chill along every windowsill in the old house. Pepper shook it off in a delicate oblong shape that melted almost instantly into the green tile of the kitchen floor. On the way to my father’s house, we compromised on Jerry’s Blue Öyster Cult CD after I vetoed his Stryper album. “No heavy metal when we’re in my car,” I reminded him. “It’s Christian heavy metal,” he insisted. “Headbanging for Jesus.” “Forget it.” “I think it’s kind of inspirational.” “I think Amy Grant is inspirational, but you don’t see me foisting it on you just because I’m the one driving.” He grimaced and slid the Blue Öyster Cult CD into the player. “Point taken.” “Now,” I said as the music began, “there are a few things you IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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need to know about my dad and stepmom. They’re a little odd.” “Great. I hadn’t picked up on that from having your sister in my class.” “Very funny. Now, about my stepmom. She’s one of the other professors in my dad’s department, and my dad left my mom for her. My mother still insists on calling her a secretary. She’s a not a secretary. She’s got a Ph.D. in English. But whatever you do, when you meet the rest of my family, don’t talk about her around my mother.” “Okay, got it. Don’t talk about the mistress around the exwife.” “Right. Now, the next thing is, my father thinks my mother is a psycho. He tries to keep it to himself, but it comes out every now and then. I don’t pay any attention to it anymore. He’s also got kind of a dirty sense of humor. Whatever you do, don’t talk about religion with my dad or my stepmom. My dad doesn’t like organized religion, and my stepmother’s got some kind of New Age spiritual thing going. If you try to listen for too long, your head explodes. So tune it out.” Jerry slowed for a stoplight, slumping a little in his seat. “You know, we’re only ten minutes from home. I don’t mind at all if you’d rather do this some other time.” “You’ve got to meet these people, Jer. You’re going to be related to them by this time next year.” “My family’s so much simpler.” “Just be thankful that the rest of my relatives won’t be there. One of my cousins is a member of the American Communist Party, and when you get him together with my born-again Christian aunt and my gay stepbrother and his partner—” Jerry held up one hand. “Stop. Just stop for now. I love 232

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you. I really want to marry you. Tell me about these people after the wedding, once it’s too late to change my mind.” When we got to my father’s house, most of the driveway was occupied by a shiny, cherry-red pickup truck with temporary tags and a Dale Earnhardt sticker on the back window, the slanted number three. On the chrome back bumper was another sticker that said, “Protected by Smith & Wesson.” “Whose car is that?” asked Jerry. “I have no idea. I’ve never seen it before.” He parked the Jetta at the curb, and we walked up to the front door. Madison let us in. She had on a short, strapless pink dress, her boobs floating out of the top like the bobbingfor-apples game at our class Halloween party. “Phoebe!” She gave me a big hug. “You look fantastic! And this must be Jerry.” “Nice to meet you,” he said. “You, too!” She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a shimmery, lopsided pink circle. “The mystery man. Finally we meet.” Rhett had stood up from the sofa and was hovering behind Madison, one hand in his pants pocket and a can of Budweiser in the other hand. He wore normal clothes, a pair of dark-washed Levi’s and a green oxford shirt with the sleeves folded up above the elbow, instead of all the sweaters and smoking jackets they’d put him in on the show. His dark hair flopped down onto his forehead, pushed out of the way of his eyes. He looked shorter, somehow, in real life. Jerry was an inch or so taller. “You must be Colby,” said Jerry. “That’s me,” he said. He switched his beer can to his left hand and shook Jerry’s with his right. Beside me, I could feel IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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Jerry shrinking back into his unfamiliar-territory mode. Rhett could see it, too. He smiled wider. Jerry sat down on the sofa and Melody, my stepmother, sat down in a chair across from him. She wore a long emerald green skirt and a flowing top that matched, her blond hair falling all the way to her elbows. She was fifty-five years old, five years younger than my mother. If I stood close to her now I could see the silver in her hair, but she was holding out amazingly well. So was my father, who had always been a good-looking guy. It didn’t improve my mother’s opinion of either of them. “So you’re Alexa’s English teacher,” said Melody. “It’s so nice to meet you. Alexa’s told me so much about you.” That was unlikely. My half sister was sitting on the sofa reading a novel, the headphones of her iPod tucked into her ears. A whisper of fuzzy, unidentifiable music buzzed softly around her. She met my eyes in acknowledgement but otherwise didn’t move. “Yeah. She’s one of my more advanced kids.” My stepmother beamed. Rhett put his feet up on the coffee table and smiled his thousand-watt grin. “A high-school English teacher, huh?” he said. “There’s a living.” “I like it,” said Jerry. “What do you teach?” asked Rhett. Jerry gave him one of those smart-kid-talking-to-the-classmoron looks. “English,” he repeated slowly. “I mean like what books,” Rhett tossed back, as though Jerry was the one who was an idiot. “All kinds of books. A Separate Peace. Their Eyes Were Watching God. Right now I’ve got my eleventh-graders working 234

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in A Catcher in the Rye.” “Oh, yeah?” asked Rhett. “That about farming?” My stepmother coughed. Jerry turned his head a little more toward Rhett, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “It’s about this country boy named Holden Caulfield.” “We’re kin to some Caulfields. Say, you ever read Romeo and Juliet?” “I think I’ve heard of it.” “Yeah, that’s like me and Grace, right there. We’re just like them.” He winked at my sister. She smiled back at him. She actually seemed to like the guy. Madison, really, wasn’t all that picky. She liked any guy as long as he was attractive enough, and Rhett was pretty darn attractive, even without a hairstylist and professional lighting. It wasn’t that Madison was phony. She was, as I’d insisted all the way through the TV season, a loving person, and she was happy to find something she could sincerely love in any guy as long as he fit the rest of her criteria. “That’s very romantic,” said Jerry. “Well. It must have been so much fun for you to be on that TV show,” said my stepmother cheerfully, lacing her hands together over her knee. “Yeah, it was great,” agreed Rhett. “Getting to go out with all those girls. None as pretty as Grace.” He grinned at my sister. “Don’t ask me how they picked ‘em, though. I told them I wasn’t going to pick no black girls, and they had one in there anyhow. Like I could have brought her home to Momma.” Melody blinked rapidly. On the sofa beside me, Jerry stifled a laugh by taking a drink of root beer from the can. Jerry was a pretty solid Democrat, but even he would have called my stepmom a bleeding-heart liberal. This could get entertaining. IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“Oh, I’m sure she was a nice woman,” she said. “Could be. Each their own, I guess. I figured I’d let the queer guy have her.” “Excuse me?” asked Melody. She hadn’t actually watched the show. As far as I knew, she didn’t watch TV at all. Sitcoms and comic strips confused her. She didn’t get the humor. “Les, the Ashley guy. Queer as a three-dollar bill. You didn’t see him?” “Um, I’m afraid not.” “Oh, he was a fairy if ever I saw one. Hell, I’m not biased against homosexuals and such. I just made sure they didn’t try to stick us in the same trailer. You never know when one of ‘em’s going to try any funny business.” “Well, perhaps I should finish getting dinner ready.” Melody smiled and rose from her chair. As soon as she left the room, Alexa tugged the headphones from her ears and set her book on the coffee table. “Hey there, Lex,” I said to her. “Hey,” she muttered back, not looking at Jerry. Her blackdyed hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail at the base of her neck, her thin shoulders squarish under her black Linkin Park T-shirt. She was probably going to make a voodoo doll in my likeness for bringing her English teacher home to meet her parents. “So your mom’s an English professor, huh?” Jerry asked conversationally. He craned his neck to look at the bookshelf across the room and Alexa shot me a look of wide-eyed terror. It was the shelf on which Melody kept her old ’70s and ’80s copies of Delta of Venus and The Joy of Sex and My Secret Garden. She supposedly kept them out in the open so her daughter 236

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would grow up with a healthy attitude toward sexuality. I understood at once, with sisterly intuition, that if Jerry saw what was on the bookshelf, Alexa would instantly vanish in a puff of humiliation. “The good books are on the shelf in the dining room, actually,” I said, jerking on Jerry’s hand a little too firmly. “Oh, yeah?” Jerry stood up and wandered over to the other bookshelf, and Alexa offered me a smile of pained and abject gratitude. Once again, I felt sorry for her. Every child should be entitled to have two sexually repressed parents. It was so much healthier, psychologically. Madison plopped herself down beside me in the spot that Jerry had just vacated and handed me an envelope. “Merry Christmas,” she said. I took the envelope from her. “A little late, aren’t you?” “You’ll forgive me. It’s two tickets to Jamaica for Valentine’s Day. You want ‘em?” I laughed. “Sure. You just happened to have them lying around?” “Sort of. Colby and I were supposed to do an appearance at a resort, but they changed the schedule on us again. Now we’re going to be in Miami. I’m getting sooo sick of Florida.” I tore the envelope open and took out the sheaf of tickets and brochures. “Hotel and everything? Why doesn’t the studio just cancel?” “Oh, by the time they get around to it, it’ll be Easter. The flight leaves Friday afternoon. I know it’s kind of short notice, but I figured you wouldn’t have any other plans. So, Lexie—did you watch my show?” “Not really,” said Alexa, politely ignoring the glare I was IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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giving Madison. “I don’t watch TV.” “Oh, you should have. Not even the finale? When your own big sister’s in the final four?” “Everyone at school told me enough about it,” Alexa sneered. “They teased me nonstop. Even more than when you were in that breath-freshener commercial. Couldn’t you just get a normal job? Like be a waitress or work in a store or something?” “You just wait, Lexie,” Madison said patiently, patting her on the knee. “I’ll bring you to the Emmys with me. I’ll take you to the spa and we’ll get massages and manicures and pedicures and anything else you want. Then you’ll have the last laugh, just like I’m having it right now.” Alexa looked down at her stubby fingernails. “Can I get black?” Suddenly the door swung open and along with a blast of chilly wet air came my very tall stepbrother, stepping through the doorway in his black wool coat with a scarf tossed cavalierly around his neck. “Hell-oooo!” he called. Madison and I jumped up at once. “Pete!” we both squealed. “No autographs,” he said, grinning. He unwound the scarf from his neck and hung it on the coat tree as a shorter, tanned guy with a black crew cut came in behind him. That was Dominic, Pete’s partner. No one had been expecting either of them. They were supposed to be somewhere around Juneau. Melody popped her head around the entrance to the living room. “Pete? Is that you?” “Yes, indeedy.” He and Dominic made their way around the living room, giving out hugs and shaking hands. Pete had that clean-cut minister look about him, with dark combed-over hair and a squared-off jaw, and an earnest look in his eyes, ap238

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pealing yet authoritative. He had a great tan from all the time he spent around the equator, and wore stylish flat-front khakis with a navy blue sweater and a striped tie. Dominic had on baggy cargo pants and a rugby shirt. He was about five foot four, and although he was thirty years old, he looked like he was eighteen. “I thought you were working,” said Melody as Pete hugged her. “I was supposed to be.” He stopped at Rhett and stuck out his hand. “You must be Colby. I’m Pete Ledford. I watched your show.” Rhett stood up and shook his hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” “So to what do we owe this honor?” asked Melody. “We’ve got a surprise,” said Pete. Dominic reached into the shopping bag he’d brought in with him and pulled out a bottle of champagne. “Guess what? We got married!” Madison and I both shrieked as Jerry and Rhett clapped their hands. Melody ran over and gave him a big hug. “Where did you go?” she asked. “Vancouver, BC,” he said. “Very spur-of-the-moment.” “That’s fantastic,” said Melody, hugging Dominic. “Oh, I wish I’d been there.” “We’ll have a reception next time we’re in town,” Pete promised. Jerry shook Pete’s hand again. “Congratulations! Where are you registered?” Pete laughed. “It’s all going to be Crate and Barrel, once we get around to it. We’re both looking for stateside jobs now.” “Can I get on the computer?” asked Alexa. “I’ve got to send IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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out an e-mail.” “Later,” my father told her. Rhett pulled himself unsteadily out of his chair again and shook Pete’s hand. “Congratulations to both of you,” he said. “That’s a big step to take.” “Thank you. I’ll go get the champagne glasses.” Dominic pulled the little wire cage from the top of the bottle and uncorked it expertly, with a little flourish. “Have you told your family yet?” asked my father. Laughing, Dominic slipped the cork into his pocket. “Oh, no. Maybe later. Don’t want to make my mother cry.” “Oh, she wouldn’t,” said Melody. “She would, she would.” He filled the glasses one at a time as Pete lined them up on the sofa table. “She gonna ask me, why, Dominic? Why no Catholic ceremony?” We all laughed and passed the champagne flutes down the line. “To Pete and Dominic,” said my father, raising his glass. “May you have many happy years ahead.” “Amen to that,” added Rhett. “And keep that fi re burning. Your mommas ever tell you about the penny jar?” “What’s that?” asked Pete, sipping his champagne. “Mine says if you put a penny in a jar every time you make love the first year, and take one out every time after your first anniversary, you won’t never get all the pennies out of the jar.” Pete laughed. “I don’t see that becoming a problem.” Rhett chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll drink to that.” We all sipped our champagne, except for Jerry, who had fi lled his glass with Sprite, and Rhett, who finished half of his in one swallow. 240

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“So,” asked Rhett, setting his flute down on the coffee table, “where are your wives?” Pete and Dominic looked at each other. “Our wives?” “Yeah, your wives. Are they at home or something?” “We don’t have wives,” said Pete. Rhett gave them that you-must-be-stupid look that he’d given Jerry not long before. “You just said you got married,” he reminded them. Dominic giggled. “We got married to each other,” Pete explained. Rhett just stared at them for a moment, his mouth partly open. Finally he echoed, “To each other? You two?” “Yes,” said Dominic. “But you’re both guys,” Rhett pointed out. “We know that,” said Pete. Rhett’s face crumpled up in a look of disgust. “Oh, shit,” he said. “Oh, man.” He turned to my sister with a very ungentlemanly snarl at the corner of his lip. “You couldn’ta warned me about that?” She shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t know they were going to get married.” “You couldn’ta told me they were—” He stole a glance at Pete, who crossed his legs. In a stage whisper, he said, “You know.” “I did. I told you Dominic was his companion.” “Dammit, Grace, that ain’t hardly the same thing at all. Blind people call their dogs that. It doesn’t mean they’re having sex with them.” “Just to clarify,” Pete offered, “there’s much more to our relationship than sex.” Rhett leaned across his knees and pointed a finger at Pete. IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“Don’t you even say ‘sex’ right now.” Pete looked miffed. “Well, I think it’s important to distinguish—” “It’s okay, Pete,” said Alexa. “Nobody’s accusing Dominic of being your one-night stand.” Rhett grimaced, his face turning pea-colored. My father turned to Alexa and growled, “Where’d you learn a phrase like ‘one-night stand’?” Alexa pointed to the bookshelves. “From Mom.” My father turned to Melody, red-faced. If he’d stood next to Rhett, they would have looked very seasonal. Just then my phone chirped. It was a text-message from Jerry, who was tinkering with his cell phone beside me. “I still want 2 marry U anyway,” it said.

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Jerry and I arrived at our beach house the day before Valentine’s Day, and by the time he slid the key card in the lock and pushed open the double French doors, he was downright giddy. The flight had been first class, with limo service from the airport to the resort, and once we arrived at the main building, we discovered that the cute little cabins we had seen lining the beach were going to be nothing compared to the vacation minimansion that had been reserved for Rhett and Madison. The desk guy told us we had our own concierge service. We didn’t even know what that was. “I never thought I’d say this,” said Jerry as he wandered into the vaulted living room with its walls of windows and view of the sea, “but I’m so glad your sister’s a celebrity right now.” I lifted the tag of a gift basket placed in front of a vase of fresh flowers in the foyer. “Welcome Grace and Colby,” I read aloud. “We hope you enjoy your stay at the lovely Sunrise Resort.” “How great is that?” asked Jerry. Our footsteps tapped against the glossy tile floor as we made our way to the freestanding spiral staircase. “Want to check out the master suite?” “Of course I do.” “Holy cow.” A gigantic bed draped in a veil of netting looked out over a wall of glass that showcased the deep blue ocean just outside. Off IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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to one side of the room was a marble Jacuzzi tub set beneath an enormous skylight; to the other, a sitting area of chaise lounges and puff y chairs decorated with a zillion little tasseled pillows. “Wow.” Jerry unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it over the vanity table. “Let’s get this party started.” I smiled. “Men. You’re only ever thinking about one thing.” “Hey, it’s a big house. We’ve got a lot of territory to cover. And I’ve always wanted to try it in a Jacuzzi.” He walked over to where I was standing in front of the windows and put his arms around my waist, kissing my neck. “I’m going to keep you soooo busy for the next two days.” I peered over his shoulder at a shape moving across the beach. “What’s that?” “You have to ask?” “No, not that. That.” I pulled back from him and pointed at the shape rustling in some tall beach grass. “Did you see that?” “It’s probably a rabbit or something.” “Not unless it’s a mutant rabbit. It looked like a guy.” “Can’t be. It’s a private beach. See, there’s a privacy fence the whole way around.” He walked over to the window and squinted. “It does look like a guy.” “Call the desk. Or the concierge thingy.” “Later. Let’s just go downstairs for now.” Downstairs, Jerry and I settled down onto the pillowy white sofa. His eyelids fluttered up as he kissed me, and he stopped, rubbing his lips together. “I think I just saw it again,” he said. “You’re probably imagining it. It’s a whole other side of the house.” “No, I’m serious.” He got up from the sofa and walked up to the windows again, putting one hand against the glass. “Oh, 244

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great. It’s a guy, all right. With a camera.” I groaned. “You know what, they probably think we’re Rhett and Madison.” “Oh, for crying out loud. Well, they’ll figure it out soon enough.” He breathed an aggravated sigh and trudged upstairs to find his shirt. “Let’s just unpack for now. I’m sure they’ll be gone by tonight.” X

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“This is ridiculous,” Jerry whispered to me the next morning, as we lay cuddled up under the blankets of that beautiful bed. “Shouldn’t there at least be blinds or something?” He’d spent an hour and a half on the phone the night before, first with the concierge, then with the desk clerk, and finally with the resort manager. They had passed him around like a hot potato until he eventually realized that although we were paid guests, we were insignificant ones, and they were peeved at getting passed over for Rhett and Madison’s other engagement. I thought he was being a little compulsive about it, and that annoyed him. “You can’t put blinds on windows that big,” I told him patiently. “Anyway, that’s why it’s the Sunrise Resort. Look, you get a beautiful view of the sunrise.” “Yeah, well, right now we’ve got a beautiful view of that ship that’s got a bunch of guys with telephoto lenses pointed at us. Don’t they ever go away?” “Maybe we could try moving down to the living room.” “We tried that last night, remember? They just jumped around in the grass like the VC guys in those old Vietnam War IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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movies. Come on, let’s make love anyway. They probably can’t see anything through the netting.” “You want to bet?” Jerry sighed and rolled over onto his back. “It’s Valentine’s Day, Phoebe. You’re really going to let a bunch of paparazzi ruin all the romance?” “I’m just pointing out to you that we’re being watched. I mean, they probably can’t get any good pictures from here, but they can still see in. So it’s up to you if you want to let a dozen people watch us having sex.” “We’ll stay under the covers.” “You, stay under the covers? What are you planning to do, safety-pin them down?” Jerry threw off the blanket and walked up to the windows in his boxer briefs, waving both of his middle fingers at the ship floating just past the breakers. He turned around to face me. “There’s two of them now. Can you see the other one? It’s smaller, over to the left. This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen. They’re spending thousands of dollars, and we aren’t even who they think we are.” I nodded sympathetically. Paparazzi or no paparazzi, he was in coffee withdrawal. After six weeks of living with him, I was starting to learn the nuances of his personality. Sex, food, caffeine, and even the need for order—his desires hit the critical level quickly, and the discomfort made him explosively cranky. It was beyond me how he had ever managed to quit smoking. This morning, all of his hot buttons were being pushed simultaneously. It was probably the worst possible way to kick off Valentine’s Day. “Come on, Jerry,” I said. “I’ll call room service, okay? We’ll 246

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get some breakfast.” “Go right ahead. Get me a cup of coffee and a bagel, with an AR-15 on the side.” “Don’t start getting violent. Jesus said we’re supposed to turn the other cheek, remember?” Jerry reached into his suitcase and took out a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. “Yeah, easy for Him to say. He was a celebrity before there were paparazzi.” “Jerry.” He raised his eyebrows at me as he pulled on his shorts. “No, you know what? I’m not having this. I’m not going to let it ruin my vacation. It’s our first Valentine’s Day together, and it’s going to be romantic, damn it.” “That’s fine. You want to take a shower together? There’s no windows in the bathroom.” He pulled his T-shirt over his head and nodded toward the hot tub. “No. I want to get in the Jacuzzi together. All my life I’ve fantasized about getting laid in a Jacuzzi. There’s no way I’m letting anybody get in the way of my big chance.” “So why are you getting dressed?” “Because I’m going to run down to Housekeeping and see if I can get some extra sheets to—” His voice vanished into a thunder of noise overhead. We both looked up and, at the same moment, saw a helicopter pass directly over the skylight. “That does it,” said Jerry. He crossed the room in three steps and grabbed his glasses from the night table. “This means war.” I scrambled out of bed and followed him to the bathroom, where he jerked the trash bag out of the wastebasket before heading for the stairs. IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“What are you doing?” I asked, hurrying down the stairs behind him. He bent over the kitchen trash can and fished out whatever he could find: a limp coffee filter speckled with spent grounds, the fat from the room-service steak we’d eaten the night before, a pile of shrimp shells. He tossed it all into the bathroom trash bag and deftly tied the corners in a knot. “I’m setting a trap,” he said. “A trap.” “Yes. I’m fed up. I thought about this last night while I was lying there feeling pissed off and horny. I’m a hundred percent sure it’ll work.” He carried the trash bag over to the front door. “Come help me out.” “Help you out with what?” “I just need you to stand right inside the door and wait. When you hear screaming, open the door.” “Screaming?” He peeked out the front door and looked both ways. The front of the house had the fewest windows, and so we hadn’t really had any photographers hanging around on that side. Jerry took off his glasses and handed them to me. Then he set the trash bag at the edge of the porch, stepped down the two stairs to the ground, and crawled under the lattice on his stomach. “You’ve really gone crazy, haven’t you?” I asked rhetorically. “Jerry, come on back inside. You know you haven’t had your coffee yet this morning? They’ve got all kinds of gourmet stuff in the gift basket. And vanilla sugar. That could be interesting, huh?” “Maybe in a few minutes. Go on back inside. Whatever you do, don’t come out until you hear yelling.” “We can ask to be moved to a smaller cottage. Did you 248

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think of that? We could probably be in a different place in twenty, thirty minutes. Then we can be as romantic as you want. Did I tell you I packed the baby oil? I can give you a really nice backrub.” “I want the Jacuzzi,” he said from under the floor of the porch. “Go back in the house. This won’t take long. Go.” I closed the door with a sigh and went over to set up the coffee machine. If I opened a window, the smell would probably draw him back inside. Just as I tore open one of the little foil packs from the gift basket, I heard a high-pitched shriek from just outside the door, followed by the sounds of a struggle. I rushed to the door and threw it open. “Get off of me, you son of a bitch!” A short, unshaven guy in a trucker’s cap was hopping around next to the patio, his camera swinging from a black strap around his neck. His belly jiggled beneath his undersized T-shirt. Jerry was still under the porch, but his fingers were wrapped in a death grip around the man’s white-socked ankle. The trash bag had tumbled down the steps and ripped open, spewing out a pile of Kleenex and a blue disposable razor. The screen door slamming shut behind me caught the man’s attention, and he snapped his head around to look at me. With that, Jerry jerked hard on his ankle and he lost his balance, falling flat onto his back on the sandy lawn. Without letting go, Jerry wrestled himself out from between the pieces of lattice and pinned the man’s body down with his own. The guy was at least six inches shorter than Jerry, but probably weighed about the same. Jerry twisted his wrists and held them against the ground. Suddenly I understood why Jerry was constantly being called on to break up hallway fights. I was impressed. IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“We’re not Grace and Colby,” Jerry hissed. The guy huffed indignantly. “I don’t give a crap who you are.” “They’re not here. You got it? They’re not here. Tell all your colleagues to leave us alone. We’re teachers. We’re not on TV. We’re the most boring people in North America.” “Get off me, asshole. I ought to have you charged with assault.” Jerry shifted his weight and shoved a knee into the man’s beer gut. The man’s eyes goggled, and he rapidly exhaled whatever air had been left in his lungs. “You going to tell them to leave us alone?” Jerry asked threateningly. “What do you think, we’re all hooked up by walkie-talkies?” the guy replied in a strangled voice. “I don’t know who they are. I work for myself. You want to tell them, go swim out to the damn boat. And get your friggin’ knee out of my intestines.” Jerry let go of the guy and stood back up. He still looked intimidating, but also defeated. His knees were gritty with sand, and there was a dirty wet patch on the front of his shirt. “Get out of here,” said Jerry, “and stay out of my trash.” “You got it, Poindexter.” The guy shuffled off through the tall grass that lined the access road. He hadn’t been the same one we’d seen the day before. The one from yesterday had been olive-skinned and skinny. Jerry watched his retreating back for a moment, then looked out at the water, where the two boats sat as placidly as cruise ships. The helicopter circled over the water, then swooped over our heads again. Jerry looked straight up at it. The wind ruffled his hair and blew through his clothes. He tugged at the front of his shirt and gazed down at the dirt stain, then threw a half smile in my direction. 250

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“Looks like I could use a shower,” he said. He sighed. “Want to join me?” X

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The Egyptian Pizza Parlor was packed for a Wednesday night. The servers squeezed carefully through the narrow spaces between the tables, steaming pizzas lifted high above their heads. Jerry and I sat at a corner table with Antonia and Carl, waiting on our usual Mediterranean and an Italian Classic, a sausageand-basil creation that the menu said was “fit for a Pharaoh.” “The worst part was getting off the plane the next day,” said Jerry. “We passed a newsstand in the terminal, and there I was on the cover of the National Enquirer, trying to make out with Phoebe. And there’s this stupid headline that says, ‘Georgia’s Hot Jamaican Rendezvous.’” “Can anyone tell it’s you?” asked Carl. “I can tell it’s me. You’d think they’d realize that Colby McGeever doesn’t have a huge striking cobra tattooed on his back. At least you can’t really see Phoebe. That would have pissed me off. I was already mad as hell about not getting a chance to use the Jacuzzi.” “But it was kind of fun, anyway,” I said. “Once we gave up and moved into the bathroom, we had a decent time. We played Scattergories a lot.” “How was your family get-together?” Antonia asked. I rubbed the back of Jerry’s shoulders. “It was pretty good. We finally got to meet Rhett. I mean, Colby. It’s hard to remember to call him that.” “What was he like?” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“He’s a redneck,” said Jerry. “It’s a riot.” Antonia looked at me for confirmation. “A redneck?” “Yeah, he’s kind of a good old boy. Gets a little noisy after a couple of beers. I could see Madison putting up with him, though. She’s got a pretty good tolerance for crude jokes and bodily functions.” Carl looked confused. “This is the guy who was playing Rhett Butler?” “Not exactly. He was just putting on this kind of charming, sophisticated act for the cameras. Apparently they paid him about forty grand to do it. That’s more than he makes in a year, normally.” “I heard he was a plumber,” said Antonia. “Yeah, but he also used to be a male model,” I added. “I guess that’s why he knew how to look right on camera. He’s pretty buff.” Jerry gave me a dirty look. “Is it true he has a criminal record?” asked Carl. The server came up with our pizzas and set them down in the middle of the table, wiggling them free of the dishtowels he was using as hot pads. “Does he ever. What all has he been arrested for, Jerry?” Jerry’s eyes rolled upward, thinking. “Let’s see . . . simple battery . . . illegal gambling . . . public intoxication, of course . . . was it auto theft?” “Once, I think,” I affirmed. “Failure to pay child support, and solicitation of prostitution.” Carl and Antonia laughed. “The guy’s been busy,” said Carl. Antonia looked at me questioningly. “And this doesn’t bother your sister?” “It doesn’t seem to. She always dated bad boys in high 252

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school. They’re not very serious offenses, really, except for the auto theft. Like the child support one, I think the mother of one of his kids fi led for four years of back support at once and he couldn’t pay it fast enough.” “The mother of one of his kids? How many does he have?” “Two or three. I’m under the impression that the jury’s still out on one of them. It’s the prostitution charge that would really bother me. That would be ‘have a nice life,’ right there.” “I would think so,” agreed Antonia. “And your sister’s a very pretty girl. It seems like she could get anyone she wanted. She doesn’t need to settle for some scummy drunk.” “I know, but not every guy comes with an entourage of cameras from every major network.” “No, I guess not. Are they really going to get married?” “Madison seems to think so. Jerry’s not in agreement. He thinks they’ll get fed up with each other once they’ve spent some time in the real world. I don’t know how much they even see each other, though. They always seem to be in different cities.” Antonia smiled at Jerry. “You don’t think it’ll last?” “I don’t know,” Jerry shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe.” “Oh, come on. That’s not what you said yesterday.” I nudged his arm and noticed he looked ghostly white, with pinpoint beads of sweat around his hairline. “Hey, are you all right?” He nodded and wiped the sweat off with the side of his hand. “The wedding’s going to be on TV, right?” asked Antonia. I wiped the tomato sauce off of my fingers with a paper napkin. “Yeah. My father’s just relieved to hear that the studio’s going to pay for it. He was afraid he’d get stuck paying for two weddings at once.” Jerry stood up and pushed in his chair. “I’ll be right back,” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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he said. I frowned, watching him walk back toward the bathroom. Most of his pizza was still on his plate. “So are you guys going to have a big wedding?” asked Carl. “We haven’t really talked about it yet. It’s already overcomplicated, between Madison’s crazy schedule and my father’s work schedule—he travels a lot. Plus my stepfather might need knee surgery. We’ll get it figured out. Did you guys have a big wedding?” “Catholic,” said Carl. “Oh, that says it all, doesn’t it?” “And my family’s Jewish,” he added. “Up until the day before, we weren’t even sure which relatives would refuse to come. In the end, they all came. It was pretty uncomfortable, though.” “Yeah, we have a situation kind of like that. You can’t put my parents in the same room together. My mom still refers to my stepmother as a floozy, and she and my dad have been divorced almost twenty years. The hardest part is that I like my stepmother, and that hurts my mother’s feelings. But I’d hate to ignore her just because my mom’s around. And the invitations—I can’t even think about it. If my stepmother’s name is on them, my mom will cry and make me feel horrible forever.” We talked weddings for a little while longer, fi lling the time while Jerry was in the bathroom. Eventually he came back to the table, making his way slowly through the noisy crowd. “You okay?” I asked as he sat back down beside me. He still looked drained. “Yeah.” “We were just talking about weddings,” Antonia told him. “Take my advice, buddy,” said Carl. “Try to keep it small. 254

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The more people you have to keep track of, the less you notice that you actually got married.” “Yeah,” Jerry said again. “Have you picked out a church, at least?” asked Antonia. “It looks like we’ll be going to Jerry’s. He’s the more religious of the two of us. I mean, we’re really about the same, but he’s the one who’s more intent on getting to church on Sunday. So it’ll probably be Presbyterian.” I nudged him with my elbow again. “You’re not eating.” “I’m not all that hungry.” Antonia reached for a second slice of pizza. “What are you?” “Methodist. That’s what my mom is. My dad’s nothing. I think he was brought up Congregationalist and he didn’t like it, so he just dropped the whole subject.” “What about Madison? She sure doesn’t seem like a Methodist on TV.” I smiled. “She’s something. I think she’s a Baptist at heart. She believes in new beginnings.” The whole way home, Jerry was quiet. He let me pick the radio station and didn’t say a word about it, not even when a Fleetwood Mac song came on that usually sent him scrambling for the buttons. After an uncomfortable long moment, I changed the station myself. Silence stretched thin between us; Jerry went through a yellow light, doing his usual routine of kissing two fingers and touching them to the car ceiling, but listlessly. “What’s the matter, Jerry?” I asked, more statement than question. “Nothing. Dinner just didn’t agree with me.” “You looked like you’d been throwing up.” “It’s not a big deal. Remember who you’re talking to. IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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Throwing up’s second nature to me.” “Well, I’m sorry you didn’t have a better evening.” He shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry about. I was with you, right? And you know I’m crazy about you.” I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. “Thanks.” “Head to toe. Man, I wish I’d met you ten years ago. Can you imagine? We’d probably have a whole bunch of kids by now. ‘Course, ten years ago I was still an idiot, but if I’d had someone to straighten out for, I would have done it. I know I would.” Under normal circumstances I would have been giggling from the flattery, but something was wrong here, and it felt creepy. A chill was creeping up through my fingers, and I felt relieved when we turned onto Jerry’s street and he pulled into the driveway. “Pretty sweet of you to say that,” I said. “My pleasure.” He pulled his car door open and stepped out without making eye contact. “I thought you should know.” Jerry unlocked the door, and we slowly climbed the stairs to our room. He took off his watch and set it on the night table, then set his wallet beside it. “You’re not too tired, are you?” he asked. He threw me a tepid smile. “I don’t know.” I leaned against the wall and folded my arms in front of me. “What was it that set you off ?” “What do you mean?” “I think you know. You started getting weird as soon as we started talking about Rhett and the whole wedding thing. Are you afraid to get married? Is that it?” He chuckled. “Hell, no. I can’t wait to get married.” “Did it bug you when Antonia called him a drunk?” 256

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“No. Sit in on an AA meeting sometime and you’ll hear a whole lot worse than that. It doesn’t bother me in the least.” I nodded. Two things had become clear: one, that there was something he wasn’t telling me, and two, that he wasn’t going to volunteer the information. He started cleaning out his pockets into the bowl on the dresser, looking guilty as anything. My anger had already reached a slow simmer. I didn’t like having to pry things out of my fiancé. “Then what is it, Jerry?” I demanded. “And don’t try to tell me it was the pizza. I’m not an idiot.” “I never said you were an idiot. I think you’re brilliant.” “Jerry.” He turned to face me and stuck his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, scrunching his shoulders up a bit, then leaned back against the dresser. “Soliciting a prostitute,” he said. I felt something like a hand squeezing my throat from the inside. “What?” “Yeah. I got arrested for that once, too. Well, I thought she was a prostitute. But it turned out she was actually a police officer.” He tried to smile, but it turned into a wince. “Story of my life, huh? No intuition about women.” I just stared at him. I was afraid I was going to throw up. “You?” He looked toward the window. “It’s not on my record, though. They do this deal where they let you go through a sensitivity class in exchange for them dropping the charges. Otherwise—” He laughed humorlessly. “Otherwise I would have had a hell of a time keeping my job.” Mentally, I put together the fact that this couldn’t have IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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been some stupid thing he’d done in college—something we could both blame on the booze, the pre-accident past life he was so proud to have left behind. I closed my eyes. “When did this happen?” “The arrest, or the sensitivity class?” “The arrest.” The muscles in his jaw tensed. “July.” “July?” “Look, I screwed up. I took responsibility. I did my—” “That was like a month before I met you!” “Well, it was almost three months, really. Because I got arrested at the beginning of July, and then you didn’t actually let me meet you until, like, practically October, and I did the class a week or two later, before we were really an item, so—” I dug my fingers into the bedspread. “You’re not going to get out of this by shooting off a bunch of technicalities about the time frame, Jerry. You should have told me. You should have said something a long time ago.” He raised his eyebrows so high his forehead crinkled all the way to his hairline. “I’m just telling you how it happened. By the time you got done deciding between me and the dog guy, I’d already put it all behind me.” Raising my voice a level, I added, “And you aren’t going to turn this around by dragging Carter into it.” “I’m not. I’m not. You do realize I didn’t actually do anything, right, back in July? I didn’t actually see a prostitute. All I saw was—well, a cop.” “But you were trying to get a prostitute to have sex with you.” “No, I wasn’t. I mean, not intercourse. I wouldn’t do that, Phoebe. Does that sound like the kind of thing I’d do?” 258

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His eyes looked panicked, but I stared him down. “You’re telling me you tried to get a blow job from a hooker. And you didn’t think this was something I needed to know about you.” He threw his arms out wildly. “Well, it’s not like that’s something I’d have any desire to do when I’m with you, so, no, I didn’t think you needed to know it. You don’t have any idea what it’s like, Phoebe. You’ve never been in a sexual relationship and then tried to be abstinent for years after it’s over. You get a little pent-up after a while.” I swung my feet over the side of the bed, feeling the sudden coldness of the hardwood floor beneath them. “It doesn’t sound like it’s the only time you did it, either.” He looked away again, and I grabbed my pillow from the bed. “Tell me how many times you’ve done this, Jerry.” “I don’t know.” His voice sounded weary. “A few.” “How many is a few?” “Three or four.” “Is that counting the cop?” “No.” I glared at him and stepped toward the doorway. “So—the night you gave me that whole line about not wanting to be too pushy, when you asked me to spend the night—did it feel special to you because you saved forty bucks?” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Hey. That’s not fair.” I could see his anger stirring, but I didn’t care at all. In fact, I wanted to get his temper going, set off a good screaming match, whatever it would take to put an end to him acting weak and whiny and defensive. “How could you do that?” I shouted at him. “How could you just ask some random stranger to do that for you?” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“I didn’t think I was ever going to settle down with anybody!” he yelled back, and for a moment the savage edge to his voice almost made me cringe. “I thought I was going to be alone for the rest of my life. I wasn’t sitting there getting blown and thinking, gee, I wonder if this is going to piss off my future wife?” “And it also never crossed your mind that your future wife might want to know you’ve been arrested?” His face was turning a dark shade of pink. “Sure, it crossed my mind. And so did the fact that if I came clean about it, I wouldn’t have a future wife anymore.” “So you decided to lie about it.” “I didn’t lie, Phoebe. Sheesh, it’s not like you dug this one up on your own. And I knew you’d go off like this, which is a lot of why I didn’t want to tell you.” “Yeah, okay,” I replied, hearing the shakiness in my own voice. “So you just hoped you’d manage to pass yourself off forever as the nice religious guy who doesn’t let sex run his life?” He laughed, surprising me. “To be who you wanted, because I wanted you? Yeah. And you’re one to talk about passing yourself off for that kind of reason. Karen.” One of the cats darted between us and down the stairs. I turned and followed it, the shadows leaping around me as I hurried down to the living room. The sofa where I’d snuggled with Jerry in front of the TV, warm beneath the fleece blanket, didn’t look nearly as welcoming as it did on our movie nights. But it would have to do. “Phoebe, come back up,” he called, his voice pleading but tired. “I’m sorry, okay? Come on up and let’s try to get this worked out.” I threw my pillow on the sofa and plunked myself down, 260

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swallowing against the lump in my throat. I knew if I came back upstairs, he’d grovel and apologize, praise me for my virtues and beg my forgiveness, all mixed in with urgent coaxing to make love. For all my anger, his efforts would probably work, and this was a matter too serious to allow him that opportunity. So I pulled the blanket up to my chin and closed my eyes, my hearing tuned to the room’s hollow silence, both hoping for and dreading his footsteps on the stairs. But he didn’t come down. He was considerate enough to take me seriously and give me my space. And that only made things even harder.

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I woke up early from the light coming in through the big living-room windows, groggy and sleepless, my mouth feeling fuzzy from not brushing my teeth the night before. My mind had that nauseated, hung-over feeling that you wake up with when something terrible has happened the night before, something irreconcilable with no resolution in sight. I sat up, looking over the orderly living room and the cats asleep on the armchair and windowsill. Already I was homesick for the bed with Jerry, the warmth of his body and his hand on my waist, the murmuring conversations about dreams and the quality of our sleep. I sighed and got off the sofa, my muscles stiff and sore, the cats milling around my heels in anticipation of breakfast. A few minutes after I started the coffeemaker, he came downstairs, dressed for work in khakis and a red-pinstriped shirt and looking like he’d been out partying all night. “Good morning,” he mumbled. I took a yogurt from the fridge and said nothing back. Standing at the counter with his back to me, in his neat professional clothes and conservatively short hair, he looked as clean-cut as ever, yet somehow different in a sinister sort of way. His body under those clothes seemed hungry and unknowable, full of passions that I couldn’t understand. My mind threw out an image of him looking just like this in the front seat of his 262

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Jetta, in his button-down shirt and pleated khakis and leather belt, his head back against the headrest, unzipping his pants, pulling them open. I could picture it exactly. He poured a cup of coffee, and I imagined his hand buried in the teased-up, permed blond hair of whoever had been doing it for him. That was probably right, too. He looked over his shoulder at me. “You want one?” “No.” He’d done it over and over again. Reaching into his worn leather wallet and handing them the money. He took his cup of coffee over to the table and sat in his usual place, looking over the newspaper he’d brought in from the doormat. I could see him with his eyes closed, his chest heaving the way it did right before he let go. I wasn’t the only one who had seen it. A lot of women had seen it. They did it for a living, making their money off of being good and fast. Next to them, I’d be an amateur. He’d known that the whole time, that I couldn’t possibly compare. It was a secret he had kept. All the things I had seen him doing, handing me flowers and changing Marco’s diaper and tossing his golf clubs in the trunk while wearing his funnylooking shorts, and this was something that had been there the whole time, the thing I hadn’t known about. It was something else he did. I showered and got dressed upstairs, dawdling so he’d be gone by the time I came back down. His school started earlier than mine by half an hour. But he was still there when I came back down, standing by the door with his shoulder bag on the floor beside him. He smiled crookedly. “Just wanted to kiss you good-bye.” “Don’t bother.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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His smile went away and he sighed. “We’ll talk this evening, okay? I’ll try to get back early.” “I really don’t have anything to say to you.” “Work with me, Phoebe.” He looked at me imploringly. “We’ll talk. We’ll fi x this.” I hurried back after work and let myself in, gathering up some clothes, my toothbrush and shampoo, my journal, and a couple of CDs. I threw it all on the passenger seat of my car and loaded Pepper in the back, her food and dish in the trunk, her leash trailing across the floor. I didn’t leave a note or break anything or take anything that didn’t belong to me. I just drove home. My mother didn’t ask any questions. She didn’t seem surprised. X

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It didn’t take Jerry very long to figure out where I was. “Is Phoebe here?” I could hear his voice from where I lay in my room upstairs. It was a dumb question. He could see my car perfectly well, parked right in front of his along the curb. “She’s busy,” said my mother. “I need to talk to her.” My mom dropped the charade. “I don’t think she wants to talk to you.” “Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I want her to come home.” “She’s already home.” “Look, can I just talk to her for a minute?” “No. She knows where you live. If she wants to talk, she’ll come by.” I heard the door close. My mother was good at being 264

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hard like that. She’d brought up two teenaged girls by herself. She knew how to close a door in a guy’s face. Ten seconds later, my phone rang. I let it go to voice mail. It rang again. And again. “What do you want, Jerry?” “Phoebe, don’t make me stand outside the damn window with a boom box playing ‘In Your Eyes.’ Come out and talk to me, all right?” “I don’t want to talk to you.” “Yes, you do. You’ve still got your engagement ring on. You want to work this out as much as I do.” “You don’t know that I’ve got it on. Just because I didn’t leave it on the dining-room table with a sappy note. Maybe I threw it in the gutter next to your house.” “You want me to go look?” “Yeah, and while you’re down there, see if you can find your morals.” He sighed. “Will you just come outside?” “No. Go home. You can talk to me in a few days when I come to get the rest of my stuff.” “Come on, Phoebe, work with me here. You’ve made your point, all right? I’m sorry. Just come home, okay?” I hung up on him and dropped the phone on the bed beside me. Hearing his car’s engine turn over and slowly fade off into the distance made me even angrier, and I lay with my hands behind my head, fuming. The diamond of my ring dug into the palm of my right hand. I tugged it off and slapped it down on the night table. Then, impulsively, I picked up my phone and dialed, the same way I had when Carter had ditched me for the dog shows all those months ago. IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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He answered on the second ring. “Hello?” “Hey, Carter,” I said cheerfully. “It’s Phoebe. Whatcha up to?” X

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Carter looked like his normal self again—all brown corduroy and farmhand-styled hair. When he opened the door to me, I noticed right away that he’d moved things around—the teetertotter and flexible tunnel pushed over to the wall, the loveseat moved closer to the TV. There were drag marks in the carpet, as though he’d moved everything within the past ten minutes or so. Empress Ming, reclining on a jade-green velvet dog bed in the corner, looked up when I stepped into the room. Her mane of white hair flopped into her eyes. “How’ve you been?” Carter asked, jamming his hands down into his pockets. “Good. Busy. We’ve been doing standardized tests all week.” I hadn’t said anything about Jerry during the phone call. I’d hoped Carter would have either the intuition not to ask, or no intuition at all. “That’s cool. The Empress won Best of Show in Tucson. I just got back in town the day before yesterday.” He stretched his long body to reach the remote and snapped off the TV. “Can I get you something to drink?” “Yeah, I’ll take a Coke, if you’ve got one.” I followed him into the kitchen. His pants weren’t intended to be baggy, but on his body they looked that way anyway. “Congratulations on your win.” “Thanks. The Danforths were happy. They’re thinking 266

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about getting another Chinese crested from the same breeder. I’m kind of into the idea. It wouldn’t be much more work, but it’d be more money.” I took the Coke he handed me. Empress Ming was sniffing around my feet, snuffling deeply. She could probably smell Pepper. “I’m surprised they aren’t worried about sibling rivalry.” “They are, actually. They’re trying to find a doggie shrink in the area who makes house calls. There’s one, but she mainly deals in large breeds.” “Is there a difference?” He shrugged. “Beats me. Probably. Little dogs do seem to think differently from big dogs. And the Empress probably won’t like sharing the attention. Speaking of sibling rivalry, I heard your sister won that show. Congratulations.” “Thanks, yeah. They’re getting married next month.” “I know, I saw the promos for it on TV. Bet you can’t wait to gain a sleazebag brother-in-law. What do your folks think?” I leaned against the counter while he poured himself a Sprite, trying to let the comment about Rhett roll off my back. “They’re just sort of going along with it. I think they expected that anyone Madison married would be . . . sort of a character.” Carter laughed. “That’s putting it nicely. So did you ever hear back from the dud your roommate set you up with at Club Cabo?” “Once, but I didn’t call him back. How about you?” He shook his head. “She told my friend she thought I was weird-looking.” I frowned sympathetically. “That’s not true. I thought you looked great that night. The way you had your hair—it looked good. You should keep it like that.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“You mean with the gel? It’s too much trouble. Anyway, I can’t get it to look right. My buddy’s girlfriend did it for me.” “Oh, it’s easy. Do you have any around?” He set his soda on the counter and gestured toward the hallway. “Yeah, in the bathroom.” “Well, come here. I’ll show you. You’re probably just using too much.” We walked down the hall to the bathroom, along with Empress Ming, who minced along next to Carter’s ankles. Carter found the tube of gel in the medicine cabinet and handed it to me. “Good luck,” he said. I hopped up to sit on the gold-flecked counter beside the sink and squirted a dot of gel into my palm. On my ring finger there was a pale indented line. I rubbed my hands together and tried not to think about it. “Come here,” I said. He stepped up to the counter, bumping against my knees. Empress Ming sniffed frantically at the bathroom rug, getting high on the smell of hair gel. I rubbed my hands through Carter’s thick hair until it spiked up in little clumps. Except for the dingy tan shirt, he looked just like he had at the club. I was impressed with my work. He looked at himself in the mirror over my shoulder. “Not bad.” “Not bad at all. See what a difference it makes?” “You really think so?” “I sure do. You should let me take a picture of you like that so you can put it up on Kismet. You’ll be fighting the women off with a stick.” He laughed. “I don’t really see that happening.” 268

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I wiped my sticky hands against my thighs. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.” He smirked and slipped his hand around my waist, sliding me closer to him. My knees moved apart, the insides of my thighs touching his hips. I caught my breath as his other hand went up into my hair, turning my face toward his. If he had looked into my eyes he would have seen my surprise, but he wasn’t looking at my eyes at all. He was looking at my mouth. “Ain’t that the truth,” he said quietly. He closed his eyes and I did, too—whether out of anticipation or fear, I wasn’t sure. His lips brushed softly against mine, and then, abruptly, he jerked his head back and let out a yell. “Ow,” he called. Empress Ming’s collar jingled as she hopped backward from his ankle. A thin trickle of blood ran down across his foot. “Damn it. No. Empress, sit. No.” I dropped my head back and stared at the ceiling. “Damn dog,” I grumbled. “Hey, watch your mouth.” I looked at him sharply. “What did you just say to me?” “I said, watch your mouth. Don’t talk to my dog like that.” “Excuse me?” He pulled a drawer open and took out a cotton ball. “It’s just her protective instinct. It’s her house, remember?” I hopped down from the counter. “Oh, sorry,” I snapped. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” He dabbed at his ankle with the cotton ball and rubbed Empress Ming’s neck. “I think she hit bone that time. I hope she didn’t hurt her teeth.” I brushed past him as he pulled the dog’s lips back, examining her mouth. She looked up at me, grinning like the Big IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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Bad Wolf. “Nice knowing you, Carter,” I said. “It’s been real.” His reply was belated and distant, coming from the bathroom as I stepped over the chew toys in my path. “Seeya,” he called distractedly. X

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I showed up at the door of my former apartment with my old grad-school backpack heavy on my shoulders and my ski jacket zipped all the way up to my scarf. My bangs stuck out from beneath my winter hat, snappy with static electricity. Lauren answered the door in a too-short T-shirt and pajama pants. “When did you get your belly button pierced?” I asked immediately. She looked at me like I was one of the Ghosts of Christmas Past materializing at the foot of her bed. “What are you doing here?” “That’s a nice welcome-home.” “No, no. I mean, come on in.” She whisked me inside and gave the hallway a quick check before closing the door behind her. The first thing I noticed was a Playstation beneath the TV—that was new—and then, in the corner, boxes and boxes of records and a few crates of CDs stacked beside them. Next to Lauren’s teal hand weights was a set of plain black ones about four times their size. As if on cue, Prabath stuck his head around the corner from the kitchen and waved. His hair was slicked-back and shiny, like he’d just gotten out of the shower. “Hi, Phoebe.” “How’s it going, Prabath?” I dropped my backpack heavily 270

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to the floor. Lauren stood with her hands on her hips, looking at me warily through her clunky glasses. “Everything okay with Jerry?” “Could be better.” “Uh-oh.” “You think we could talk for a minute?” I threw a pointed glance at Prabath. “Yeah, sure. Sure. Just come on back to the bedroom.” I followed her down the hall. My old bedroom was empty except for my stripped-down bed, which I’d left behind, and a bunch of stereo equipment strewn all over the floor. We stepped into Lauren’s room and she closed the door snugly. Lauren had always been a slob, but now the room was twice as messy with Prabath’s T-shirts and cast-off boxer shorts, Beastie Boys CDs, and anime cartoon sketches taped to the wall. “What’s going on?” she asked. I sat down on her bed and crossed my legs in front of me. “Jerry had a surprise for me.” “Oh, no. I knew this was coming.” “I know you did. You warned me and I didn’t listen.” “You looked in his cookies, didn’t you.” I peered at her in confusion. “What?” “On his computer. Guys will usually remember to clear out the Internet history, but then if you look in the cookie fi le, you’ll find out they’ve been hanging out at every porn site they can get their hands on.” “Oh. Probably, but no, that wasn’t the surprise. You’re on the right track, but it’s a lot worse than that.” She sat down backwards in her computer chair and scooted toward me. “Come on. Out with it.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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I frowned and looked over her shoulder, where her calendar hung on the wall. Instead of the squares being inked-up with men’s names, they said things like “Moby Concert—9:30 Club” and “meet @ Bennigan’s 4:00.” The shock of Jerry’s confession had faded, but I still had to gather my courage to say it out loud to Lauren. It didn’t reflect well on me, that was for sure—either on my taste or on my judgment. I took a deep breath. “He’s hired hookers,” I said. “And got arrested for it once.” She whistled and sat back in her chair. “That’s a doozy.” I lay back on her bed and rubbed my eyes. “But not for regular sex,” I added, with all the irony that Jerry’s reassurance had to offer. “Just for oral. I guess he’s too cheap to pay for the real thing.” “He’s done this since he’s been with you?” “No, before. Jerry wouldn’t cheat. He’s too attached to me.” I groaned and tucked my hands behind my head. “I’m so mad at him, Lauren. The whole time I’ve been with him he’s been giving me this sweet-talking sex-is-love routine, and now I find out it’s all an act. I feel like an idiot. And if you say ‘I told you so,’ I swear I’ll throw one of these Star Wars figures at you.” “Hey, I’m as shocked as you are. I didn’t even realize Jerry had a libido. Last I heard, you guys were curling up in bed and playing Scrabble all weekend.” “That was before I moved in with him. He’s got a sex drive like a teenaged boy.” “And the same level of emotional maturity, apparently. How could he have been arrested? I looked him up way back in September. His record was clean.” “They dropped the charges because he went to some sensitivity class for men who get caught with their pants down. So 272

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to speak.” “Sheesh. Sounds like he needed it.” “Yeah. Can I stay here tonight? My mother’s driving me crazy. She keeps telling me that all men are pigs and I shouldn’t be surprised. I didn’t even tell her what Jerry did—it’s just her catchall lecture about men. There’s only one TV, and my stepfather watches World War II shows on The History Channel all day long. And then it’s dinnertime—and Lauren, I swear my mother is the worst cook in the universe. I’m used to Jerry making these three-course meals out of his Emeril Lagasse cookbooks, and the stuff my mom does with boxed macaroni and cheese just doesn’t cut it anymore.” “So you’re actually moving out?” “Well, what am I supposed to do, move back in and pick up where we left off ? Get back in bed with him? Since November I’ve been listening to him talk about intimacy when he’s really just describing a financial transaction. He’s screwed everything up. It’s over.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re the one who lectured me that I needed to be more forgiving of men and their loser qualities. You see where it got me? The entire apartment’s been taken over with LPs and deejay equipment.” “Yeah, I’m happy for you, really. Prabath’s a nice guy. I always thought you guys had some really good chemistry. But when I said you should be more forgiving, I was talking about things like video-game obsessions and tattoos. I didn’t mean actual issues with the guy’s character.” “Oh, please. Don’t be melodramatic. It’s sex, Phoebe. Entire religions have been built off of trying to get people to control their sex drives. It’s not like Jerry’s the first one to get run over IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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by his own hormones. They don’t call it the world’s oldest profession for nothing.” I nodded. “So if you were in my shoes, you’d go back to him?” She laughed. “Hell, no. Stay with a guy who feels like he’s entitled to what he wants out of women because he happened to be born male? Like he’s got some kind of a right to it, whether or not it’s freely offered. Last I heard, it was ‘life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.’ There’s nothing in there about blow jobs.” “Depends on how you define ‘happiness,’ I guess.” “Yeah, well, I’d find myself a guy who doesn’t make me feel like dinner and a movie is a down payment. I’ve got a couple of guys I can set you up with, you know. One’s a pharmacist who lives about two minutes from here. He used to be in the Peace Corps, and he’s cute, Phoebe. He swims at the gym I go to.” “Does he wear one of those weird little Speedo suits?” “No, he wears trunks. He’s got a nice body. I see him a lot, for work. I can ask if you want me to.” “If he’s so great, how come he’s single?” “He’s divorced. No kids. His wife left him for a guy she met in a chat room.” “That sounds like baggage.” “Like Jerry’s got any less.” I sighed. “You’re right about that.” Lauren stood up and regarded me sympathetically, her hands on her hips. Light from her bedside lamp reflected off her glasses. “Come on, I’ll help you make up your bed. I’m sorry for you, Fee, really. You see the best in people, and I admire that. But every guy’s got good qualities. It’s the scuzzy qualities that really make the difference. And then, it’s all in 274

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how they strike the balance.” “I’m getting tired of telling you you’re right.” She laughed and put out her hand to me. “Come on, chica. Let’s get a move on. Prabath needs to be at the club at eight.” X

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I spent the next hectic day finishing up the testing we’d been doing all week and thinking about everything Lauren had said. Just as I was cramming a box of standardized test papers into the backseat of my car, my phone rang. I assumed it would be Jerry, but when I flipped it open, a picture of Alexa was up on the screen. Relieved and slightly disappointed, I answered. “What’s up, Lex?” I said flatly. “Hey, Phoebe. I need you to come and get me from school.” I drove my knee into the side of the box to make it fit and slammed the door. “For crying out loud, Alexa. I just got off work. Why can’t Dad come and get you?” “He’s stuck in a meeting. And Mom’s phone is off. I got detention, and so I didn’t get to go home on the bus, and my stupid teacher made me miss the activity bus, and now I don’t have any way to get home.” “Don’t you have any friends who can come get you? What about those guys who went on that little rescue mission with you?” “No. They’re off at—I can’t remember their numbers. Please, Phoebe? And I’ve got the worst cramps ever, and they don’t even let you bring Midol to school because they say it’s a controlled dangerous substance, and I’m starving because they said the school lunch would be vegetable chili but it turned out to be IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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hot dogs, and—” “All right, all right. I’m on my way. I want you to be standing right at the curb when I get there, okay? I’m not getting out of the car.” “Actually, you sort of have to come in to get me. I’m in room 226.” I stopped midway to turning my key in the ignition. “What?” “It’s this stupid teacher. He says you have to come and get me because it’s detention. He won’t let me go until he talks to a responsible adult.” “It’s not Jerry, is it?” “Jerry? Who’s that?” “Mr. Sullivan, Alexa. Come on.” “Oh, him. No, it’s my chemistry teacher. I guess I was goofing off in class or something. Hurry up, Phoebe. I’m like totally out of Tampax, and it’s going to be gross if you don’t get here in, like, fifteen minutes or less.” I sighed. “You sure you can’t get in touch with Dad? I can try to call him if you want.” “No, don’t do that. It’s like some kind of thesis defense or something. Really important. He already yelled at me when I called. Are you coming to get me or not? ’Cause if you’re not, I need you to tell me so I can go raid the paper towels in the bathroom.” “No, no, no. I’m on my way.” When I got to the school, I parked illegally in the bus lane and hurried inside. The security desk was empty. I took a back stairwell to the second floor and came out in exactly the hallway I was looking for. Perfect, I thought. All of the classrooms were dark except for 226. I opened the door slowly and peeked 276

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inside. All of the student desks were empty. “Come right on in and have a seat,” said a familiar voice. “I’ll be right with you.” My eyes froze on the teacher sitting at the desk. He sat bent over a stapled essay scrawling a note in red pen, but there was no mistaking that voice, those hands, or that bald spot. It was Jerry. I stood in the doorway, unmoving. He looked over at me blankly, then with guarded surprise. He had his glasses on. “Hey there, Fee,” he said cautiously. “Hey.” He looked past me, as if he was trying to see out into the hallway. “Did your stepmom get hung up at work?” “Yeah, Alexa said—where is Alexa, anyway?” He shrugged. “Beats me.” “She said I had to come here to pick her up from detention. Her chem teacher kept her late.” “Who, Ed Harvey? He left an hour ago. I ran into him in the front office.” “So . . . why are you still here?” “Alexa’s mother sent in a note requesting an emergency conference this afternoon. Something about the C I gave her for her Pride and Prejudice essay. I can go over it with you, I guess, if Melody can’t make it.” I took a step out the door and rechecked the room number. Then I stepped back in and folded my arms in front of me. “You set this up, didn’t you?” I asked. “Set what up?” “You got Alexa to lure me here. Admit it.” He gave me a dirty look and turned his attention back to IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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the essay in front of him. “Question my sexual ethics all you want, Phoebe. If you want to start questioning my professional ethics, you’d better leave.” “That isn’t what I meant.” “Sure sounded like it.” I pulled one of the student desks up to the front of his and sat down in it. He glanced up at me fleetingly, but he didn’t stop writing. His desk here was as tidy as the one in his bedroom. There was an in/out box, a daily tear-off calendar of SAT vocabulary words, a mug crammed full of pens and pencils, and the red commuter mug that he washed out every evening, the one he’d gotten at the conference where he met Karen. I sniffed the air and then looked at him suspiciously. “Have you been smoking?” I asked him. “No,” he said quickly. “Why do I smell cigarette smoke?” “Beats the shit out of me.” “Jerry.” He glanced at me impatiently and I realized why he was wearing his glasses. His eyes were completely bloodshot. There was no way he’d be able to wear his contacts with his eyes like that. “I’m just trying to make it through the day, Phoebe.” He gestured to a corner of his desk. “Your sister noticed I put away your picture. She tried to ask me about it yesterday and I told her it was personal. Believe me, I wouldn’t try to lure you to my classroom to talk about this kind of stuff. I value my job.” I touched his hand, and he stopped writing for a moment, his eyes closing. “You want to go talk somewhere else?” He dropped the pen and pushed it aside with his fingertips. “Yeah, sure.” 278

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We each got in our own cars and drove back to his house. He pulled into his driveway just ahead of me; the slam of my car door was an echo of his. Without looking at me, he climbed the steps and unlocked the door. I was starting to realize he wasn’t in the same hopeful, groveling mood he’d been in a couple of days before. He was angry, and as I took the screen door he held open with grudging courtesy, I was already beginning to feel a defensive anger of my own. “I see you took your ring off,” he said accusingly, heading straight back toward the kitchen. “So much for ‘for better or for worse.’” “Don’t start turning this around, Jerry,” I warned him. “You know why I left. Don’t start acting like a victim.” He took a bottle of root beer from the fridge and leaned back against the counter as he unscrewed the top. “So that’s it, huh? We fall in love, get engaged, move in together, I tell you something you don’t want to hear, you leave me. Nice meeting you. Is that it?” The anger in my belly flared to life. “Unless you can come up with a good reason why I should stay with a guy who gets blow jobs from streetwalkers.” He nodded. There was a peevish expression on his face, like he was as fed up with me as I was with him. “I like the way you say that in the present tense, as if I’m going out and scoring them while you’re at work.” “You’re not helping your case here, Jerry.” “No, I’m starting to think you’re right. I mean, I don’t blame you for being pissed off, but if you’re just going to pack up and walk out on me because of it, then we don’t have what I thought we had. Better to find out now than later.” He drank from the IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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bottle and swished the root beer around in his mouth. I rolled my eyes. “Boy, are you ever throwing yourself a pity party. I walked out on you because you weren’t straightforward with me about something you should have told me long before it was forced out of you.” “It’s embarrassing, Phoebe,” he said harshly, and slammed the bottle against the counter with a clatter. Both of my cats raced for the dining room. “I didn’t want to tell you because I’m embarrassed as hell about it, all right? I wasn’t trying to put one over on you. I sure wasn’t trying to lie. I just didn’t want to come out and tell you I’m a loser.” In the silence that followed, he turned his back to me and shook his head hopelessly. His hands braced against the counter, but his shoulders slumped with fatigue. “But you told me about the drinking thing,” I said, my own voice halting and uneven, “and you told me about the first girl.” “Only because I had to,” he answered, his voice climbing. He turned to face me once again. “I’ve done a lot of embarrassing crap in my life that I’d rather forget about. When I screw up, I make it a point to learn from my mistakes and put it behind me. Sure, I knew I should have told you about this one, but for months I’ve been scared out of my friggin’ mind that you’d find out and walk out on me. And now you do, and what am I supposed to think, huh? I should have kept my goddamn mouth shut. It’s not like I’d ever have a reason to do it again, or like you’d ever have found out otherwise. But instead I had to go and be honest, and I accidentally flushed my entire relationship down the toilet.” I sat down in one of the kitchen chairs and rubbed my eyes tiredly. I thought of his mother’s voice, the determined way she 280

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had held tight to my hand as she spoke to me about his flaws. Don’t be afraid to break his heart if you can’t abide them. I wondered if she had suspected that something like this was lurking in her son. I wondered if she had been trying to warn me. “You seem like the last person in the world who’d do something like that,” I told him. “I feel like I don’t even know you.” “Do you want me to tell you how it happened?” “Do I want to know?” “I don’t know. It might help.” I sighed. “Well, I guess it can’t hurt.” He let out a slow sigh and sat down in the chair across from me. With his glasses on it was harder to read his face, but he looked older to me all of a sudden, and tired. He crossed his ankle over his knee and slouched back, his jacket barely staying on his shoulders. “Five or six years ago I was driving back from Florida,” he said. “It was Christmas. Stella and Rick had been there, doing it on the other side of the wall every doggone night. They’d just gotten married. I hadn’t been with anyone in a couple of years, at least. I was feeling kind of bluesy and bummed out. I stopped at a rest stop on I-95 and went in to take a leak and get myself a root beer. It was pretty late, like around ten, and I was telling myself I needed to find a motel pretty soon so I wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel. So I’m sitting in my car, drinking my root beer, and blasting the heater, and this girl comes over and knocks on my window.” “You didn’t know what she was?” “It never even crossed my mind. I was thinking she needed directions or something, who knows, maybe her boyfriend took off and left her there. So I roll down the window, and she says, IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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‘You want some company?’ And I kind of laughed, because I figured it out then, but I was in a crappy mood and I kind of wanted somebody to talk to. So I said sure, get in. I figured it didn’t cost anything to chat with the girl. I’d have a conversation, she’d get warm, and we’d all be happy. She didn’t really look like a prostitute. It was winter, and she had on jeans and a sweater and a parka, just like any other girl.” I watched him as he talked, picking up one of Pepper’s rope toys from the floor and wrapping the strings around his fingers one at a time, remembering. He just looked like the regular Jerry again, a face you’d pass by a hundred times a day, in a train station or a grocery store or on a crowded street. A trustworthy stranger. “I sat there and drank my root beer and talked to her. I could see the rest station out the windshield, with the big Christmas wreath on it and the streamers, and it was kind of depressing. Christmas was over, and I was in my late twenties with no girlfriend or hope of a girlfriend. Even my kid sister was married. All I wanted to do was go shopping for my wife and all my kids and wake up to all of them hugging me and being all excited about what I bought them, but instead I was sitting at a deserted rest stop on I-95 talking to a prostitute because I was lonely. It was enough to make a guy want to put a bullet in his head.” “That is pretty depressing.” “Yeah. So the conversation kind of drops off, and there’s this pause, and the girl says, ‘So is there anything I can do for you before I go?’ I set my root beer down on the dashboard and I think for a minute, and then I ask her, ‘Got any suggestions?’ And she says, ‘Forty bucks and you don’t even have to move.’” “So you did it.” “Yeah. I wasn’t even really all that horny. I just wanted to 282

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get rid of that awful lonely feeling I had looking out the window at the Christmas wreath listening to a hooker quote me her rates. It’s pretty hard to be lonely when someone’s that happy to get a ‘yes’ out of you.” “That doesn’t explain why you did it the other times, though.” “It gets easier after the first time. You know the drill. It’s something I’ve only done when I was out of town, going to a conference or to Florida or wherever. It’s easier when you’re on the road, I guess. You can just do it and forget about it. It feels like you’re driving from one point in your life to another, and what happens in between doesn’t really count.” “Do you really believe that?” “I don’t believe that at all. I think it’s completely wrong. It goes against everything I believe about sex and women and obeying the law and following God. But it’s just so easy. It’s like sticking to a diet all week long and then driving by Burger King and smelling the Whoppers they’re grilling. You don’t even have to get out of the car. All you have to do is get into the drive-through lane and pull out your money and they take it from there, and in ten minutes, it’s all over and you just blew that whole week of hard work and starvation.” I looked at him for a long minute, slouched in the chair in his work clothes, his eyes reflecting a mix of resignation and embarrassment. “There’s a real difference between breaking your diet and paying a stranger for sex,” I pointed out. “I know. Believe me, I figured that out when I accidentally picked up the cop. That was humiliating as hell. Whether you’d come into my life or not, I never would have done that again anyway.” He shook his head, then sighed through his pursed lips. IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“There’s no amount of horny I could get that would make me risk being tossed in the back of that squad car again. All I could think was, oh, God, what if this shows up in the papers . . . what a friggin’ beautiful example I just set for my students.” I sighed and raked my fingers through my hair. “But if you hadn’t gotten arrested, you could have kept doing it forever, right? Even though you knew it was wrong. You knew, but it didn’t stop you.” His gaze flicked up to meet mine. “Please forgive me, Fee. I wish to God I’d known you’d come along one day. What I did before—it’s just me being shortsighted and stupid. It’s got nothing to do with us.” “I believe that,” I told him, “but it’s got something to do with you.” He set his jaw and looked away from me, over to where my cats were curled up together under a chair. The dismal silence settled over us like a sticky layer of pine tar. I could feel my disappointment in him spreading inside my chest, flat and hopeless, covering all the spaces where I fi lled in what I didn’t know about him with a giddy dose of optimism. He was a good guy, in a lot of ways, but he was still just a guy. Like every other guy I’d ever met, there was a part of him that was a pure and self-centered jerk. Like every other guy, the civilized self that he presented to the world was only half of who he was; there was still that primitive animal inside him that only wanted to hunt and copulate and shake itself free of the leash. I had to decide if my love for the first part of him could live in the presence of the second. “I’ll stay,” I said, finally, “but only while I make up my mind. And downstairs, where Stella was. Not in your bed.” 284

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“I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep you here,” he said. “Just give me plenty of space.” I plunked my keys on the table and got up listlessly. “I’m not making you any promises.”

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CHAPTER NINETEEN I made up the creaky twin bed that was tucked into a corner of the damp basement and slept there that night, the silence strange and solid around me, tomblike in the unsettling darkness. The muted ticking of the water heater and whirr of the furnace made the silence seem louder when it did come, like an awkward pause in a conversation, the discomfort growing by seconds. Jerry had made dinner that night, fixing up a plate for me and setting it on the counter; I hadn’t noticed until afterward, once he was already done. By the next night, when I came upstairs to find that he’d done the same thing again, I was starting to be sorry that I hadn’t stayed at Lauren’s. He was trying everything—making my favorite foods and stocking the freezer with my favorite ice cream and cleaning out the animal cages for me. In the morning he fi lled the coffee machine with the hazelnut coffee that he hated and I loved. He renewed my library books and picked up my clothes from the cleaners. And every time I looked at him, all I could think about was how magical it had seemed the fi rst time I felt that shudder run through his belly, how sweet his gratitude when he’d curled up with me afterward, and, in the end, how meaningless it all had been. Whether I loved him enough to fi ll the measure of my soul or didn’t even care what his name was, it made no difference at all. I could have been anybody. 286

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The second night I turned sleeplessly under the blanket tucked hotel-tight against the mattress, the basement dampness touching the sheets with a clammy humidity. Finally I sat up and wiggled my feet into my slippers, rising up from the bed’s squeaky protests, and pulled on my bathrobe. The upstairs light framed the closed basement door in a dim halo. As I shuffled up the stairs, I could hear Jerry still awake in the living room, the TV turned down low. I microwaved a cup of water and dropped a chamomile teabag into it, tapped in a teaspoon of sugar, and peeked out into the living room as I walked back over to the basement stairs. Jerry was lying on the sofa in a gray T-shirt and plaid PJ pants, a few inches of his hairy stomach visible between the two, his cheeks sandpapery with stubble. His gray-blue eyes looked oddly pale in the reflected light from the TV. One of the sofa pillows was tucked between his head and his arm; open on the floor was a bag of swirly red-and-white Starlight mints, one of which was tucked into his cheek. He fl icked it down with his tongue, and I could hear it clicking against his teeth as he sucked on it. I hesitated, then stepped into the space between the kitchen and living room, leaning my shoulder against the wall. “What are you doing?” I asked. He glanced over at me and for a moment his eyes went back to their regular color. It was the first thing I’d said to him in two days that I didn’t have to say. “I’m not getting drunk,” he said. “I know.” “I mean that’s what I’m doing. There’s no verb for it. There ought to be.” He shifted the Starlight mint to his other cheek. IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“You don’t eat, you can say you’re dieting. You don’t spend money, you can say you’re saving, and if you stop jerking off, you can say you’re abstaining. There’s no verb for not drinking. Language fucks up sometimes.” I looked at him strangely. He never talked like that; if he wasn’t making a point of the fact he wasn’t drinking, I might have suspected he was drunk. “Well, I’m glad you’re not drinking, anyway,” I said. “Cool.” He dropped the mint down into his mouth and clicked it against his teeth again. “Funny, huh? I know a hundred ways to say I’m getting drunk and none to say I’m not. Maybe that’s our version of how the Eskimos have a hundred words for snow. Cultural priorities. They probably don’t have any word for saying it’s hot outside.” For a long moment I stared at him watchfully, then glanced over at the TV. “What are you watching?” “Lord of the Flies.” “Again? It’s eleven o’clock. There’s probably something good on regular TV.” “There’s booze commercials. This movie’s safe. It’s on my list.” “Your list?” “Yeah, my mental list of movies where nobody’s drinking. Now’s not the time for me to trip over a Miller Lite commercial. I’ve already got my car keys in the icemaker.” I set my cup down on the side table and sat down beside him on the sofa, rubbing his thigh with my full hand. “You want me to come upstairs with you?” “No. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” “It doesn’t sound like you’re doing very well. I don’t want to make things any harder for you.” 288

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“It’s not on you. It’s my problem. God’s problem. Whatever. Anyway, I’m doing fine.” With a fl ick of his index finger he gestured to the bag of mints on the floor. “It’s hard to imagine how a beer would taste when your mouth tastes like these things. You ought to see what I can do to a jar of pickles when it gets like this.” I slid my hand up his arm and rubbed his shoulder in circles. “I don’t know what to tell you, Jer.” “You don’t have to tell me anything. Getting drunk wouldn’t change anything, anyway. All it would do is convince you I’m even less worth your while. That’s not my goal.” He sat up and clicked off the TV, then folded his hands against his face, his elbows balanced on his thighs. “See you in the morning.” “Are you going to bed?” “Yeah.” “You want to get your keys out of the icemaker fi rst?” “No, it’s too early. The bars don’t close until two. I’ll defrost it in the morning.” He stood up and kissed the top of my head. “I love you. Sleep tight.” “Jerry . . . I’ll come to bed with you, okay? I don’t like sleeping alone, either.” “I’m fine sleeping alone. I’ve done it my whole life.” I tucked my arms, folded, close against my body. “You don’t even want me to come to bed with you?” He sighed and turned at the foot of the stairs. “If you get in bed with me, either we’ll end up making love and cluttering up the problem, or else we won’t make love because of what’s going on and we’ll both just end up feeling even more alone.” “Not necessarily. If we’re just next to each other, at least, we won’t be as lonely.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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He smirked. “That’s exactly what got me into this mess. I think it might do me some good to have a good goddamn dose of lonely.” X

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Alexa called the next afternoon, almost the moment I got off work. From the background noise, I could tell she was on the school bus. Her hesitant whisper was barely audible over the din. “Are you mad at me?” she asked, in answer to my “hello.” I sighed as I hurried through the parking lot to my car. “No, but it wasn’t really your place to meddle. It’s between me and Jerry, Lex. We’re grown-ups. We can handle it ourselves.” “He’s being pathetic, Phoebe. He had this picture on his desk of you and him in some restaurant, and now it’s just gone. He couldn’t have done anything that bad. I mean, he’s Mr. Sullivan. What did he do, correct your grammar? Or, like, make some really bad puns? Because he does that sometimes, but I mean, it’s nothing to dump him over.” “Honestly, it’s really not your business, okay? I can handle my own relationship. I don’t need advice from a girl who’s never even had a boyfriend.” “Well, neither have you. Not a decent one, anyway. Dad said you and Madison were in a contest to see who could bring home the biggest loser. She’s totally got you this time, Fee, but boy, you had us all going for a while.” I fumbled in my purse for my keys. “Alexa . . . you’re really starting to get on my nerves.” “So, are you guys all patched up now?” “No. I’m thinking about my options. And they’re my op290

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tions, all right? So stop trying to involve yourself. It isn’t going to make any difference one way or another.” “Whatever. If a guy was totally puppy-dogging over me, I wouldn’t just sit around torturing him. He’s so nice, Phoebe. He’s really boring, and he’s not all that cute, but he totally thinks the universe revolves around you. To be perfectly honest, I’m going to think you’re the world’s biggest dork if you dump him. And it’s not just me, either. There’s a whole group of freshmen who’ve started a petition that you should get back together.” “Oh, well, make sure you turn that in. Every vote counts.” “Fine, dump him if you want. I swear, you and Madison. She’s madly in love with a total freak and you’re ditching the nicest guy you’ve ever hooked up with. Were you guys, like, Siamese twins connected at the brain or something? Where you each only got half when they separated you?” I threw my purse forcefully onto the passenger seat. “Hey, watch it. Show a little respect. Who came to your rescue when you and your little friends screwed up your rat-liberation attempt?” “Mr. Sullivan did. You see what I mean? I’m totally not speaking to you until you kiss and make up. So there.” She clicked off her phone and left me standing in the parking lot with the silent phone against my ear, the wind rippling in my skirt. Alexa was naïve if she thought her temper tantrum could make any difference at all in how I weighed my options. My mind was already made up. Now all I had to do was wait for Jerry to come home, and then break the news. X

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Jerry came home from work with flowers. He’d done the same thing the day before. Today, instead of chickening out and laying them on the table, he stood across from me in the kitchen, holding them out to me. I looked at him for a few seconds, my arms crossed, before I took them. “How was your day?” he asked guardedly. “Fine.” He bit his lip. “Do you want to go out to dinner?” “No. I want to talk to you.” “All right,” he said, perking up. “If there’s anything else you need to come clean with, now’s the time to do it. I don’t want to find out a month from now that you’ve got herpes or slept with somebody else’s wife.” He shook his head quickly. “You’ve got all my dirt.” My eyes drifted past him, out the window, to that orderly yard with its stacked chairs and tomato cages and garden hose rolled up neatly against the garage. “There’s nothing okay about what you did,” I told him. “Either the lying or the thing you did to get arrested in the first place.” “I know.” “No, you don’t know. If you knew, you wouldn’t be comparing it to Burger King and making it clear enough that you could have kept doing it forever if you hadn’t gotten caught.” Tapping the counter with the backs of his fingers, he looked down at the floor, his skin turning pink beneath his thinning hair. “I don’t know what else I can tell you, Fee.” “But I’m going to let it go anyway.” He looked up at me. “You are?” “Yeah. I’m going to forget that you did that, and I expect you never even to think about doing anything like it again. Deal?” 292

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He put his hand against the counter and laughed in relief, just once, that kidlike delighted sound that I’d loved from the first time I’d heard it. “Deal. I can’t even begin to tell you how much I appreciate that.” “Don’t screw up,” I warned him. Shaking his head, he put his arms around me and squeezed me so hard that I couldn’t draw a breath. “I won’t.” X

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Toward the middle of March I got a call from Madison, on a Sunday evening while Jerry and I were snuggled up on the sofa watching The Producers for the third time. We’d come home from church around noon and had lunch and then spent most of the afternoon making love, which was pretty much all we did on Sundays, besides watch movies. Jerry claimed to have a strong conviction about Sunday being a day of rest, which might have been true but also seemed like a pretty convenient excuse to avoid the mall and spend the day enjoying his favorite hobbies. “It’s going to be on March twentieth,” Madison said emphatically. I could practically see her sitting on the edge of a bed in a hotel somewhere, her free hand chopping the air on every other word. “At Cottonwood Farms Plantation in Fowler’s Creek, Georgia.” “Hold on a second.” I gestured for Jerry’s notebook and pen and he passed them to me. “Okay. Is that sweeps week?” “No, but my network’s having a ratings battle with one of the other networks for the day-before-Easter prime-time slot. It’s a tight competition, but hopefully we’ll win it.” “Oh, really? What’s the other network running?” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“The Passion of the Christ. Hopefully we can knock it down to the number-two spot if we do enough promotion. Oh, and I got a commercial with one of the show’s sponsors, but I have to get married before they can release it.” “What? Why?” “Because it’s for Afterglow Disposable Freshening Towelettes. Obviously they can’t put my face on the product if everyone knows I’m not married.” “Why not? You had sex with the guy on national TV.” “That’s beside the point. And there’s another thing I need to talk to you about, too, just real quick.” “Are you seriously doing a commercial for those things? Boy, I remember when you used to laugh about the women in the Massengill ads in Mom’s magazines. Are you going to have to be, like, a spokesperson for them?” “I don’t know. Listen, Phoebe—” “That’s just totally funny. You know what they’re missing, though? Like, one of those easy-release adhesives on the back, so you can stick them to the sheets. I mean, the waterproof backing is nice and all, but they shift all over the place. They’d sell like crazy if they made a sticky version. I mean, you know. ’Cause I mean, we’ve got a dark blue duvet cover, and—” “Phoebe. Stop it for a minute. I need to talk to you about my wedding. Listen, you can’t tell them that you’re my twin, okay? Just say sister.” “I can’t?” “No. You just can’t. I mean, it’s one thing for Colby to know, but if everyone else finds out how old I really am, I’ll be screwed for good. I’ve got a career to think about, okay? Do this for me. I’ve worked way too hard to come all this way and 294

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lose everything just because I’m almost thirty. I’m on the cover of Modern Bride this month, Fee. The cover.” “But they’ll figure it out anyway. All they have to do is go to our high-school yearbook, for one thing. That’s practically the first thing they check.” “I’m Madison in the high-school yearbook, though. Just do this for me, okay? All I need is one good acting job and then it doesn’t matter what they find out. Please, Phoebe. I’m the closest I’ve ever been.” I sighed and tickled Pepper with my toe. “Okay.” X

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The studio called us a week before the wedding to give us all the details—the name of our hotel, the schedule of events, the date and time we needed to report for duty. The day before the welcome reception I picked Jerry up after work and we set off for Blacksburg, a single suitcase and an overnight bag in the back of the Jetta and our dress clothes hanging in their dry-cleaning plastic from the little hook above the back window. We stayed at a Days Inn overnight and the next morning got back on the interstate to Atlanta, still a day’s drive away. “You’d think they’d fly us down there,” I complained. “They fly out a zillion people from California and won’t pay for two measly tickets for us. I’m her twin, for goodness’ sake.” “They don’t know that.” “Oh, yeah, that’s right. I guess I’d better not let that slip. The last thing I need is my picture in People with the word ‘Before’ over it.” “Don’t be down on yourself. I keep telling you, I think IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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you’re better looking. You’ve—” He stopped short. “I’ve what?” “Never mind.” “No, tell me. What were you going to say?” He cleared his throat. “You’ve got a nicer ass.” I laughed. “Oh, well, thanks. I guess I’ll just take the compliment and not ask why you were looking at my sister’s butt.” “Your sister doesn’t have a butt. She needs a good homecooked meal. I’d be afraid I’d snap her in half.” “Okay, you can stop right there.” “Sorry.” He moved over to the left lane, ducking to look in the side mirror. “What’s this event we’re supposed to be at tonight?” “It’s just some kind of reception. Madison said something about feeding everybody so they can get the lighting right and have people get to know each other so the real wedding reception tomorrow will look more natural. You know how usually people are wandering around in circles because they don’t know anybody there.” “I guess. I hate parties like that.” “I know you do. When we have ours, it’ll be small, okay? Like fifty people.” “I was thinking more like twenty.” “See, the problem with twenty is that four of them would be my parents and stepparents, and since they all hate each other except for my stepfather, that’s kind of a small group to have to mingle without setting off World War Three.” “Oh, for crying out loud.” “Look, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do about it. And then there’ll be Rhett, if he’s still around. You’ve seen what he’s 296

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like at family gatherings. Imagine what he’d be like with an open bar. We need more people so we can blend him in.” “Since when are we having an open bar?” “My dad’ll want one. He’d be afraid people would think he was cheap if he didn’t.” “Do you think you could bring up the fact that the groom is a recovering alcoholic?” “Do you want me to?” “Not particularly.” “I didn’t think so. Why, do you think it would be a problem for you?” “No, but I can’t guarantee it won’t make me cranky to be around all that booze when I can’t drink any.” “That’s fine. I can explain it to him. I don’t want you getting cranky at your own wedding.” He sighed grouchily, glowering out at the road. “We ought to just elope.” “No kidding. It would certainly make things less complicated.” “Okey-dokey.” He checked his right-side mirror and shifted over one lane at a time. “Let’s go do it.” “Go do what?” I laughed. “Elope?” “Yeah, sure. We’re in Tennessee. It’s like Vegas. You can get married whenever you want.” “You’re not serious, are you?” “I’m completely serious. I mean, I’ll do any kind of wedding you want. Big church wedding, little church wedding, skydiving with a minister, I don’t care. I’m just telling you, we can get off two exits from here and be married by dinnertime. By a minister. Probably a Southern Baptist, but I mean, we’re IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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in Tennessee. God will forgive us.” I looked out at the road and then over at Jerry, his bluegray eyes jumping back and forth between me and the car in front of us. He raised his eyebrows at me and bit his lip. “You want to?” I smiled and nodded at him. “Yeah, okay,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

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CHAPTER TWENTY

Jerry and I stopped at the Welcome Center to pick up brochures for every wedding chapel in the state and then dropped by the Sevier County Courthouse to get the license. He stuck it in the glove compartment, and we drove all over the city of Gatlinburg, looking for just the right place to sign the thing. “This one says it’s the most talked-about chapel in Tennessee,” I said, holding up a brochure. “Uh-oh. That could mean anything. That could mean there was a murder there or something.” “Oh, that’s a good point. Well, how about this one? There’s a waterfall, and you get an angel keepsake magnet with every purchase of $229 or more. And they’ve got Friday specials.” “Right here,” Jerry said suddenly. His flat palm turned rapidly on the wheel as he steered into a parking lot. Next to the road was a giant backlit pink heart printed with white lace, like a box of Valentine candy. In swooping powder-blue cursive it said, “Forever ‘n’ Ever Wedding Chapel.” “You want to get married here?” “Yeah. Did you see the sign?” He gestured out the window. The marquee under the pink heart said “CHRISTAIN MARRIAGE SERVICE.” “But they’re all Christian marriage services. We’re in the middle of the Bible Belt. I have yet to see a single shotgun wedIN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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ding synagogue.” “First of all, it’s not a shotgun wedding. You’re not pregnant, at least, not that I know of. Secondly, did you really read the sign? They didn’t even spell it right. It’s perfect. It’s exactly what one of these places should be.” A bell tinkled on the front door as we came in. A secretary in a white suit with long bottle-blond hair and lavender acrylic nails looked up at us and set down her Reader’s Digest. “We want to get married,” said Jerry. She looked down at her desk blotter. “We don’t have any openings until eleven.” Jerry looked at his watch. It was ten-fifteen. “We can wait,” he said. We sprang for the $379 Romance Special that included a lace-edged silk bouquet, a red rose boutonniere for the lapel of the suit Jerry had brought for Madison’s wedding, a videotape of the ceremony, and eighteen professional photos. We tossed in a couple hundred bucks more for rings they sold for an outrageous markup and a rented wedding gown and veil. The chapel was like a life-sized Barbie playset, with silk roses and stained glass everywhere and the ubiquitous carved unity candle promised by every brochure we’d left in the car. It was heavy-handed, full-throttle romance. Low country music from the secretary’s radio drifted into the dressing room as she helped me get dressed in a frilly white gown I’d chosen from the closetful they had on hand. “Your man’s going to think you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on,” she said, fluffing out my veil. “I hope so.” “Don’t you worry, honey.” She handed me the bouquet and then fidgeted with it, straightening the wires on a few of the 300

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flowers. “He’s been in the chapel ten minutes and hasn’t even so much as looked at the emergency exit. You don’t see that every day.” The secretary got stuck on the phone with the florist, so the minister pulled in the guy who was repairing the copy machine to be a witness. He stood respectfully beside a candelabra with his hands folded in front of him, his stiff baseball cap with the strip of braided trim across the brim crumpled against his thigh. It all felt like make-believe until I slid the ring onto Jerry’s trembling finger and, looking up into his eyes, saw the unflinching depth of the emotion that had brought him to stand in that place. We could have been in a minister’s office or Saint Paul’s Cathedral, and it would have made no difference to him either way. He just wanted to marry me. “You may kiss the bride,” drawled the minister. Jerry put his hands against the lacy upper arms of my rented gown and gave me a kiss that made the minister clear his throat and the copier repairman look away and scratch the back of his head. And as Jerry took the plastic salad-bar box containing the heart-shaped white cake that the secretary handed him, I picked up the blue Paper Mate pen and signed Phoebe Kassner for the last time. X

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We spent most of our twenty-three-hour honeymoon at the Whispering Pines Chalet & Suites, which boasted free HBO and ESPN, heart-shaped whirlpool tubs, and the best pecan pie in the state of Tennessee. Jerry almost cried with happiness when he saw the Jacuzzi in our honeymoon suite. He took IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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pictures like crazy—pictures of me, pictures of the view from the balcony, pictures of us together that took several attempts with the digital camera to get right. He took pictures of the pecan pie and the Jacuzzi tub. He loaded them all onto his laptop computer and e-mailed them off to his parents and sister in an obnoxiously huge fi le with the subject line, “My Weekend.” “Boy, are they going to be surprised,” I said. He fl ipped his laptop closed. “Wait ‘til I tell my students. By the way, are you going to be Mrs. Sullivan now?” “Oh, jeez. I hadn’t even thought about that. I guess so.” “Lots of things to think about.” He grinned and zipped up his suitcase. “Come on, let’s go turn these keys in. We’ve got somebody else’s wedding we need to get to.” Once we arrived in Fowler’s Creek, we could have just put the car in neutral, like at a car wash, and been carried along to the wedding on a tide of obsessive preparation. On the historic main street, painters were heaving buckets of forest green and sunset mauve up the ladders to their partners in white overalls. A streetsweeping machine whirred beside the curb, and in the little park area bordered by a wrought-iron fence, a greasy-looking teenager was spearing trash and dropping it into a Hefty bag. There were small green signs that said Cottonwood Farms all along the roadways, with arrows pointing us in the right direction, but it was the satellite towers that we followed, rising up from the studio trailers and twisted with cable like the snake-and-staff insignias on medical-school diplomas. The sea of trailers extended out from the plantation for a quarter mile. A guy wearing a hooded sweatshirt under his orange plastic vest leaned down to our car window and pointed down the dirt road. “Guest parking’s over by the slave quarters,” he said. 302

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“Is that supposed to be symbolic?” asked Jerry. “’Scuse me?” “Never mind.” He rolled up the window, gravel crunching under the Jetta’s tires. They herded us into the solarium at the back of the house, where my mother and her husband were standing beside an artificial ficus trimmed in small white Christmas lights. “Where were you yesterday?” she demanded. “In Tennessee. Sorry. We stopped off to get married.” “You what?” “Mother of the bride,” called a guy in a reedy, lispy-sounding voice. “Mother of the—oh, there you are. Geraldine will take you to trailer six for hair and makeup.” “Can my daughter come with me?” He flipped up a paper on his clipboard. “Name?” “Phoebe Kassner,” said my mother. “Actually, it’s Phoebe Sullivan now,” I corrected. My mother dropped her face into her hands. “Oh, God. What did you do? Why can’t you girls just get married like normal people?” “Nope, Phoebe Kassner is trailer nine. Follow Kenisha. She’s taking the trailer nine people right now.” My mother gave him an impatient look. “Couldn’t you just switch her to trailer six?” “Honey, that’s a liiiittle more complicated than just a quick switcheroo. Are you her husband?” he asked Jerry. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “Oh, God.” There went my mother again. “Okay. Follow me.” He waved a hand in the air. “Let’s move, people.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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I didn’t see Jerry again until they filed us all into the ballroom for the ceremony. He was standing on the other side of a red braided rope arguing with a guy in a tux who looked like he’d been recruited from Parris Island. “I am family,” he was saying. “You’re not on the list.” “I’m married to her sister. You can’t stick me in the back with the extras.” “I sure can, when you’re not on the list.” “Listen, you’re getting yourself on my goddamn list, and if you don’t—” I broke out of the line and ran over to the bouncer in the tux. “He’s my husband,” I said, the words sounding funny in my mouth. “Who are you?” “Phoebe, uh, Kassner.” I held up my wrist with the green paper bracelet on it that showed I was family. The guy looked down at his clipboard. “If he’s your husband, how come he’s not on the list?” “Well, we just got married yesterday.” “Oh, yeah?” The guy smiled menacingly. “Well, maybe you should have gotten married two weeks ago, sweetheart, before the list was finalized.” “Don’t call her sweetheart,” Jerry said threateningly. “Listen, you two. I’m on strict instructions not to let anyone without a green bracelet past this line. I don’t care whether you’re her brother, her baby’s daddy, or her friggin’ identical twin. If you don’t got a green bracelet, you’re sitting back there.” He pointed to the back of the room with his walkie-talkie. “Can’t you just call somebody on that thing?” I asked him. “No, damn it. The family seating’s booked. We’re taping 304

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in five minutes, and we’re not moving people around now. You want to sit with your hubby, step right this way and you can sit in the back with him. I’ll fill your seat with someone else’s ass.” Jerry and I looked at each other across the rope. “She’s your sister,” he said. “Go ahead. I’ll meet up with you after.” “No. No, no, no.” I looked at my parents and stepparents, all of the cousins and aunts and uncles and my grandma. “No, I want to be with you.” “Make up your mind, sweetheart,” said the tux guy. Jerry gritted his teeth the same way he had right before he’d grabbed C. J. Anastasio by the neck and shoved him against the wall. “Damn it, you say that one more time and I’m going to—” I lifted up the rope and ducked underneath it. “Where are we sitting?” I asked Jerry. And so I watched my sister’s wedding from the fourth row from the end, feeling the blast of cool air when the bells of the horse-drawn carriage jingled and she came through the ballroom doors, her cheeks glowing with happiness and bronzing powder, on my father’s arm. Orchids trailed from her bouquet; she wore a diamond tiara, lent, I had overheard in the dressing room, by Harry Winston Jewelers for the occasion. Five of my cousins carried her train. Alexa, looking comically uncomfortable with her black hair piled on top of her head and a long strand of bangs smoothly running down her forehead and tucked behind her ear, stood nervously to the left of the altar, holding a small bouquet. Her ankles trembled in her strappy high heels. She looked like a Skipper doll someone had dressed up as some kind of Unforgettable Evening Barbie. Rhett, once again, looked as debonair IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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and sophisticated as he had when he was on the show. He stood at the end of the red carpet with his hands folded in front of him, impeccable and gorgeous in his tuxedo. I thought about all the women who would watch this show and envy Madison, not having any idea that the guy drove the pickup version of a lowrider and had Copenhagen Smokeless Tobacco rings on the back pockets of his jeans. At the end of the red carpet, my father passed Madison over to Rhett, who smiled his Elvis half smile and offered his Armani-suited arm. The string quartet fell silent. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today to celebrate the marriage of Grace Kassner and Colby McGeever . . .” Jerry leaned toward me and hummed the theme from Deliverance. I smacked him. “Both Grace and Colby have chosen to write original vows as tokens of their love for one another. Colby, if you would please turn to your bride at this time and offer her your words of devotion.” “Grace,” he said in his deep, drawling voice, folding his hand over hers, “my love for you is as endless as time, as broad as the ocean, and when I look into your eyes that shine like stars in the light—” “I need a cigarette,” said Jerry. “You don’t smoke anymore,” I whispered. “No, but I’m willing to start again if it’ll get me out of here.” “I vow to love and cherish you for as long as our love shall grow and flourish, like the vines along the grape arbor where we first kissed—” “Did you hear that?” Jerry hissed in an urgent whisper. “That meant absolutely nothing. Those vines die in the winter. 306

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These metaphors are killing me.” “Will you please stop heckling my sister’s wedding?” I whispered back. “But he’s not even vowing anything. He’s just reciting bad poetry.” One of the ushers shined a flashlight on Jerry. He squinted at the light and sat back up straight. Now it was Madison’s turn. She smiled at him, her teeth gleaming wetly, like they were covered in a shiny layer of spit. “Colby, ever since the day I met you, I knew that you were the knight in shining armor who would carry me away to be your princess—” “That would be lady, actually,” corrected Jerry. “I promise to show my love for you in every way, to cherish our bond, and to forever be faithful to the love we have for each other this day—” “I’m telling you, it’s going to drive me to drink,” he whispered. The adorable little ring bearer, a combed little boy I recognized from a Cheerios commercial, offered the rings to the minister on a frilly silk pillow. From where we were sitting, I really couldn’t see at all when Rhett slipped the ring onto Madison’s finger. I did notice Pete and Dominic sitting together in the second row, Pete with a placidly happy expression on his face and Dominic grinning manically. “May your union be blessed with eternal love and devotion on this day and forever,” said the minister. “May your journey through life together be fi lled with joy and prosperity.” “They’ve already got that,” I whispered to Jerry. “They each got half a million bucks for actually getting married.” “Isn’t that guy a minister?” asked Jerry. “Shouldn’t he be mentioning Jesus somewhere in there? Maybe a Bible quote or IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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something?” “Shhhh. Not on national TV. They’d alienate a lot of viewers.” There was a long pause during which Madison and Rhett smiled at each other beatifically and the minister looked at them with a kindly expression. The little ring bearer stood perfectly still. Alexa rubbed her red-painted lips together and shifted her weight from one ankle to the other. “What are they waiting for?” I asked Jerry under my breath. Suddenly, a guy in Wrangler jeans that bagged in the seat and a “Veronica’s Closet” T-shirt with a microphone headset appeared from the wings. “Okay, you go over there,” he said to one of the cameramen. “You. Hey, Fred. Your mark’s over here. Bob, let’s get another take on those rings. Just take it from the part where he slips it on her finger.” “Am I okay?” asked Madison. “Yeah, you’re fine, honey. Just give your ring back to Colby real quick.” The people around us shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Finally they moved the cameramen back around to the right places and the guy with the headset yelled, “All right, quiet on the set. I mean, wedding.” “You may kiss the bride,” said the minister. Madison and Rhett kissed passionately, and the crowd erupted in a hoot of excited approval. “No, no, no.” The headset guy came back out onto the red carpet. “All right, let’s do another take. We need romance here. You can’t all be screaming like a bunch of girls at a sleepover party.” Madison grimaced. I knew she was having flashbacks to Singing Sensation. A woman with a clear fishing tackle box 308

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rushed over to stand between Rhett and Madison and started touching up her lipstick with a small brush. “Was the kiss okay?” asked Madison. “Yeah, the kiss was fine. Just do that same kiss for me again. Okay, people, let’s try this again. No yelling this time. We’re on in five, four . . .” “You may kiss the bride,” the minister said again. Once again, Madison and Rhett kissed passionately, and this time we all sat still and looked at the decorations on the ceiling. “Ladies and gentlemen,” said the minister, “I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Colby McGeever.” Rhett and Madison turned to the crowd and smiled. We all clapped politely, afraid to make too much noise. “Perfect,” said the headset guy. “Okay, now, Bob, I need you over here . . .” X

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The producers had set up a small city of enormous heated tents in the garden and filled them with everything required by a gaudy, over-the-top wedding reception: gigantic top-heavy floral arrangements, a champagne fountain lit from beneath with floodlights, centerpieces in the shape of kissing doves made of spun sugar. Jerry and I admired the life-sized ice sculpture of Rhett and Madison in their wedding clothes, melting slowly into a drippy puddle, that sat beside the five-tier wedding cake. “God, that’s the most painfully symbolic thing I’ve seen in my entire life,” said Jerry. I shook my head. “No, that would be the fact that someone IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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accidentally stored it in the same room with the hundred white doves they were planning to release, and the carbon-dioxide fumes from the dry ice killed every last one of them.” “Oh, jeez.” “Yeah, I just heard one of the coordinators screaming at some poor woman in Spanish.” Jerry looked around. “Are Ashley and Marci here?” “No, they broke up. Oh, look, here come Rhett and Madison.” Jerry and I hugged the edge of the crowd and clapped as Madison emerged from a shimmering, tulle-draped entryway, wearing a shorter wedding dress with a different neckline, holding Rhett’s arm and waving. Pete and Dominic sidled up to me and nodded hello to Jerry; they had been docked in Orlando for two days and had driven up for the occasion. Dominic looked very spiff y in a baggy Italian suit; Pete, in his conservative gray suit, looked more like a minister than the guy who had married Rhett and Madison. “Beautiful, wasn’t it?” Pete asked sincerely, in his minister sort of way. I gave him a knowing look and he gave a sheepish shrug. “Well, I’m happy for her, anyway.” “Very romantic,” said Dominic enthusiastically. “Madison is so nice of a girl. They will be very happy together.” “Have you tried any of the food yet?” I asked Dominic, watching the waiters walking around with platters of elaborate hors d’oeuvres. “The food is crap,” Dominic said with equal enthusiasm. “All cheap. Bad quality olive oil. Caviar like fish bait. Don’t eat smoked salmon.” He rubbed his fingers together. “Bad edges. Like pencil erasers.” “Yuck,” I said. 310

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“I guess you can’t tell if you’re watching it on TV,” said Jerry. “Good champagne, though.” Dominic held up his champagne flute. “Go near the table with the bridal party, you get Cristal. Very expensive. Later on, you watch me on the dance floor. I break-dance better than Michael Jackson. Get on national TV.” Jerry grinned. “We’ll be watching.” “When’s your reception going to be?” I asked Pete. He looked irritated. “I have no idea. We had actually planned on having one back in February, when we were on vacation, but the entire family’s been so preoccupied with this wedding that we felt like it would just be an inconvenience.” “We’ve had that same problem,” said Jerry. “Oh, yeah,” I said, remembering. “Pete, I almost forgot to tell you. We got married yesterday.” Pete stopped smoothing his hair over and widened his eyes at me, then looked at Jerry and back to me again. “You did?” Jerry nodded his head. “Yeah, in Tennessee.” “Good for you!” said Dominic. He reached up and patted Jerry on the shoulder. “Welcome to the family. I can’t wait for my nieces and nephews.” “Me, either,” agreed Jerry. “Well, congratulations,” said Pete. “So when is your reception?” “We weren’t planning on one,” I told him. “We went to the drive-through at Jack in the Box and then straight to a cheesy hotel with a heart-shaped Jacuzzi. That was all the party we needed.” Dominic smiled and did a little shuffl ing disco dance. “Sound much more like fun. Make love and eat much better food than here.” IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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“We should at least take you out to dinner,” offered Pete. “We’ll take a rain check,” Jerry said. “This thing’s going to go all night, and we need to get back on the road by noon tomorrow.” “No problem,” Dominic told him. “We fake it. Have a big celebration all by ourselves. Come on, we can get our coats and go.” Pete squeezed Dominic around his shoulders and leaned down toward his ear. “There’s no way we can get our cars right now. They’re completely blocked in.” “Don’t need our cars. Trust me, right? I know how to have fun with no car. All year I live on a cruise ship. Just don’t go out the left-side exit. Smells like dead birds.” Pete collected our coats and we headed out the right-side exit of the tent. As soon as we turned the corner, Dominic unbuttoned his trench coat with one hand and retrieved the bottle of Cristal he had been holding by the neck with his other hand, through the pocket. “You stole a bottle of champagne?” asked Jerry. “Not stealing. We’re guests. Whether we drink it here or there, it doesn’t matter. We don’t waste, it’s not stealing.” Jerry looked Pete in the eye. “You need to have a talk with your husband.” “Sorry,” Pete offered. “There’s nothing in the Canadian vows about obeying.” “No one even notice I walk out with it,” Dominic bragged. He tucked it under his coat again, demonstrating. “See? Everyone thinks it’s really me. You hear the rumor about Filipino men? Eat so many oysters all the time?” “I hadn’t heard that,” I told him. “I heard a completely different rumor about Asian men,” 312

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added Jerry. “Not true,” insisted Dominic. “See, I prove it just now. You try sneaking out some champagne like that and see if people notice.” “People ask me if I’m doing that even when I’m not wearing a coat,” Jerry said. “Jerry,” I warned. We followed Dominic to the big old stable building, where he jiggled the lock and walked right in. He felt around for the light switches and Pete grabbed his hand. “Someone will notice,” he whispered. “Only the little lights,” Dominic assured him. “Not the big ones.” He turned on the candle-sconce lights along the walls, and all the horses came up to the stall doors. A couple of them snorted and shook their heads. Dominic set the Cristal on the floor and hung his coat on a peg by the door, then added his blazer to the peg beside it. The rest of us looked at each other and hung up our own coats as Dominic jogged across the cobblestone floor to a small room at the end and turned on the light. “Little refrigerator,” he called. I heard things clinking around. A tape player made an angry clicking noise; Dominic ejected the tape and flipped it over. Elvis’s voice blasted out, singing “Viva Las Vegas.” Dominic hopped back out of the doorway with a plastic container in one hand and four small Styrofoam plates in the other. “Half a chocolate-chip cake from Kentucky Fried Chicken.” “Sounds great,” said Jerry. He pulled over the little rickety wooden table from over by the door, propping the sign-in clipboard against the wall. I walked over to the horses and let one IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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of them nibble at my hand. It looked at me with its big brown eyes as I stroked its nose. Dominic handed Jerry the cake. “Now we only need glasses.” “No champagne for me,” Pete called. “Me, either,” said Jerry, cutting up the cake and placing the slices carefully on the plates. “Bad sports. No fun,” Dominic called back. He looked out the doorway at me, holding up two glasses. “Only ones are Care Bear ones from Pizza Hut. You want the pink one with a rainbow or green one with a clover?” “I’ll take the rainbow,” I said. “Okay. Mine is lucky.” He jogged back over and handed Cokes from the fridge to Pete and Jerry. He shook the champagne bottle, then popped the cork and sprayed the horses with Cristal. “Ha! Plenty for everybody!” “You did not just spray down a bunch of horses in two-hundred-dollar champagne,” said Jerry. “Special occasion,” Dominic said. We gathered around the little table with the leftover chocolate-cake slices arranged on it, the horses whinnying gently behind us and lapping at the champagne soaking into the stall doors. Elvis had switched to singing “Fools Rush In.” The candle sconces cast a golden glow over the bales of straw stacked against the wall, and although it was only about fifty degrees outside, it was warm in the stable. Dominic poured the two Care Bear glasses a third full and passed one to me. He held his glass aloft. “To true love forever and ever.” “To serendipity,” said Jerry. “To our marriages,” said Pete. “May they ever grow and prosper.” 314

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“To Rhett and Madison,” I added. Dominic and Jerry both looked at me. “May their marriage be a great success,” Pete added gallantly. We clinked our glasses and Coke cans together and drank to love.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache and Jerry smiling at me from three inches away, perched around my body on all fours. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said. “Want to make love?” “Uuuuugh,” I groaned, trying to pull the edge of the comforter over my head. “Just kidding.” He lifted his hand from beside my shoulder, his fingers curled into a fist. “Here’s a couple of Tylenol. There’s a glass of water next to the bed.” “Thanks.” I struggled to sit up against the pillows. The room rippled as though I were looking at it through a piece of security glass. “Ohhhh.” “I know exactly how you feel. Champagne hangovers are the worst.” He sat on the side of the bed, already dressed in jeans and a green button-down shirt. “Go jump in a shower and then we’ll go out to IHOP. Get some food in your stomach.” “I’m not going to be jumping anywhere this morning.” “You’ll feel a lot better after your shower. Take it from me. I’m an expert in the field of hangover remedies.” I swallowed the Tylenol and climbed unsteadily out of bed. “I guess I ought to be grateful that I’m dating an alcoholic.” “Married to, remember? That was the whole point of our wedding reception. How quickly you forget.” 316

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“Oh, yeah. Yeah.” I turned on the shower and leaned against the wall as the water warmed up. “Did anyone ever tell my father? Or Madison?” “I’m not sure. I kind of doubt it. I pretty much tossed you over my shoulder and threw you in the car once you and Dominic finished off the champagne. He let us have the bottle. By the way, the water should be warm by now.” “Right.” I took off my clothes and stepped into the shower, putting my face directly into the water. The water had a funny, foreign smell to it, the way hotel water always does. Not as much chlorine as back home. I peeled the soggy beige wrapper from the little bar of soap and rubbed it between my hands. Slowly I realized I was extremely hungry, and that I had an anxious, impatient urge to call Alexa. It seemed like a horrible oversight that she still didn’t know we had gotten married. I shut off the water and stepped out into the room wrapped in a white towel. Jerry looked up at me from where he was lying on the pink bedspread, reading the newspaper. “Call Alexa,” I said. “Do you have her number?” “Yeah, it’s in my phone. She’s got her own phone. Ask her if she wants to come to breakfast with us.” I went back into the bathroom to get dressed where it was warm. Through the door I could hear Jerry on the phone, saying, “Hey, Alexa? It’s Mr. Sullivan. Guess what?” X

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but this Billboard Greatest Hits of the ‘80s crap, and they didn’t stuff cake in each other’s faces or anything.” I frowned. “I’m surprised you’d want to see them do that. That seems like exactly the kind of tradition you would hate.” “It is. I just wanted to see someone do it to Colby. I was willing to do it myself if Madison wouldn’t. And then he got drunk and hit on me.” “Did he really?” I asked. “Yeah, but I think he got mixed up and thought I was you. He breathed his vodka breath in my face and said something about how he’d always wanted a roll in the hay with a set of twins. That’s what he said, not me. You know I wouldn’t make that up.” “That asshole,” muttered Jerry with a mouthful of French toast. “I ought to knock his goddamn lights out.” “Jerry, we’re in public,” I reminded him. “Anyway, they kicked us all out around nine,” said Alexa. “I guess they had enough footage. They made the guy who caught the garter and the girl who caught the bouquet give them back. They said they didn’t want them turning up on eBay. Oh, and they confiscated my iPod. They said it was a recording device. Dad has to drive back this morning to get it.” “That sucks,” said Jerry. “So now I’m the only one who’s not married,” Alexa mused. “I’ve got three brothers-in-law all of a sudden. And not one of them is normal.” “Hey,” Jerry said defensively. “I’m normal.” She looked at him with cool appraisal. “Is it true you’ve got a snake tattoo on your back?” “Yeah,” he confirmed. “How’d you know about that?” 318

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“Adam Markoff said he saw it through your shirt one day.” “Oh. I must have been out of undershirts that day.” “And also because you’ve got a West Coast Choppers coffee mug and that picture in your desk of you with the lead singer from Megadeth, giving the camera the finger.” Jerry cleared his throat. “Yeah. I think of that as a motivational tool on days when I can’t get any of you kids to listen.” “That still makes you not normal,” Alexa told him. “But that’s okay. At least you’re not burning crosses in anyone’s yard, like my other brother-in-law. And you don’t have a sticker on your car window that says ‘Starfleet Academy.’” “Alexa,” I warned her. Jerry furrowed his eyebrows and took a drink of orange juice. “Who does?” “Her last boyfriend. He actually owned a set of Spock ears.” She gestured with her index fingers jutting out from the tips of her own ears. “For conventions. Cons. He kept a Klingon dictionary on his Palm Pilot, and—” “He gets your point, Alexa,” I said. “That’s okay,” he said, patting the back of my shoulder. “I used to have a girlfriend who was into medieval reenactment. Half of her friends called her ‘Lady Branwyn,’ and they spoke with British accents even though they were all from Baltimore.” “All the time?” asked Alexa. “All the time.” “Boy, you guys were made for each other.” She dug around in her pancakes, looking for blueberries. “So are you going to have kids?” “Yeah, in a year or so,” said Jerry. “Is that a fact?” I asked him. “You think we’ll be ready to IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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start trying in just a year?” “Actually, I was hoping that in a year we’d be ready to leave for the hospital.” I laughed. “Were you planning to discuss this with me at any point?” “We did discuss it. We both want kids, right?” “Yeah, but not necessarily right now.” Jerry crunched on a piece of ice from his water glass. “Then maybe you should have taken your birth-control pill yesterday.” “Oh, crap.” Alexa looked back and forth between us as I dug through my purse. “Okay,” she said cheerfully, setting her napkin beside her plate. “How about I let you two get back to your honeymoon?” X

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We’d been back for barely three days when Jerry came home from an extremely long birthday-shopping excursion with a big grin on his face and a surprise, of sorts, for me. “I got some ink done,” he said. “You did what?” “Check it out.” He beckoned me over and rolled up his sleeve, where the shadow of the sword-and-skull tattoo was. High up on his bicep, just under his shoulder, was a new tattoo of a heart-shaped sign that said Forever ‘n’ Ever across it in script. On the marquee beneath it, in block letters, it said “PHOEBE & JERRY.” “Is that real?” I asked. “Of course it’s real. Cool, huh? I brought in the picture we 320

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took and had the guy copy it. He did a nice job, don’t you think?” I laughed and shook my head. “That’s so trailer-park.” He made a noise of pretend indignation and rolled his sleeve back down. “Some romantic you are.” “No, it’s sweet, Jerry. Is that a present to me or to you?” “Little bit of both. Don’t look in my car. All your stuff ’s still in there. We’ve got a reservation at the fondue place for tomorrow. I’ve blown our budget for the month all to hell.” “That’s okay. We’ll be all right. We need to leave for the party in a few minutes.” Jerry rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah.” Over at Madison’s and my old high school, a giant party had been organized to watch the wedding special. Madison’s old friends had done the same thing for the finale of Belle of Georgia, but of course, I’d been in Florida with Jerry then. I had to at least make an appearance at this party or it would come off as a huge insult to Madison and her marriage, actual feelings notwithstanding. Madison herself was in Los Angeles at the moment, taking a break from her honeymoon with Rhett to do promotional interviews on Jay Leno and the Today show. When we got to the high school, a big banner hung over the central hallway that said Congratulations, Grace & Colby. People were bustling back and forth with party trays from the grocery store, mini sandwiches and sliced veggies and cold cuts arranged on green leaf lettuce, for the after-party in the gym. Someone was wheeling a giant helium tank down the hall on a dolly. A couple of girls I recognized from high school sat at a card table in front of the office, examining their fingernails from behind an enormous pile of pale purple T-shirts screenprinted with a publicity photo of Rhett and Madison. T-shirts IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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$10, said a sign written in purple marker. Autographed T-shirts Available! $25. “Good grief,” said Jerry. “Want a T-shirt?” I asked. “No, thank you.” We made our way through an archway of twisted crepe paper to the school theater. The entire place was packed with people calling to each other and waving from their seats. Even the balcony seating was full. A velvet-roped section at the front had a handwritten sign taped to it that said, “Family.” “I guess we’re over there,” I said. Jerry peered down the aisle. “Doesn’t look like I’ll have to fight anyone for it this time.” “Want to buy a soda?” asked a voice from behind us. I turned around and saw another card table set up with about six picnic coolers beneath it and an assortment of movietheater-sized candy boxes on top. Several high-school girls were crammed in behind the table wearing the purple T-shirts we had just turned down and mismatched red-and-white cheerleading shorts. “All the profits go to support the cheerleading squad,” one of them said. “Plus, with a purchase of $5 or more, you get entered in a raffle to win Grace’s old cheerleading uniform.” She pointed to a uniform tacked to the bulletin board behind her. “She’s my sister,” I said. “I’ve got more of her junk than I know what to do with.” “Oh,” said the girl. “Well, do you want to donate any of it?” “Phoebe!” Across the room, I saw a woman jumping up and waving to me. “Go grab us a seat,” I said to Jerry. “Let me go run over 322

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and see who that is.” Jerry patted me on the hip as I squeezed through the crowd to where the woman was still waving to me. Finally, I recognized her—sort of. She was someone who had been in my Testing & Assessment class the year before, a very good-looking brunette whom I recalled as being friendly and outgoing and nowhere near as smart as I’d hoped she would be when I’d been assigned to work with her on a group project. For the life of me I couldn’t remember her name. “How are you doing?” she asked me excitedly. “Wow, look at all these people! Your sister’s a popular girl these days!” “She sure is. I’ve barely even talked to her for months, it seems.” She shook her head and looked around, marveling at the crowd. “Just incredible. I didn’t even realize she was your sister until they announced the finale party was going to be held here. Then I put it all together. I didn’t see you here, though.” “No, I was down in Florida with my—well, he’s my husband now. We got married the day before Madison did.” “Oh, fabulous! Congratulations. I’m still single.” She laughed humorlessly and waved her ringless hand in the air. “Probably will be forever. So, how did you do in McGovern’s class?” “I got an A. I graduated last spring.” “Good for you! So did I. I only got that A thanks to that group project we did together. Boy, did I ever get off the phone with you? I should have sent you flowers afterward. That whole assignment was murder.” She laughed. “No kidding. So, are you a teacher here?” “Yeah, I transferred here this past fall. They’ve got me teaching English. Not my favorite subject. I’d much rather be IN STEREO WHERE AVAILABLE

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back teaching drama, but you’ve got to take what you can get these days.” “Oh, my husband’s an English teacher, too.” “Is he really? Maybe he could give me a few pointers. Is he here?” “Yeah, he’s just over this way. Here, follow me. Just leave your jacket.” She followed me down through the crowd to the place where Jerry was sitting with his feet perched against the backs of the seats in front of him. “Hey, hon,” I said, scratching his shoulder. He turned around and looked at me, then did a double take. “Hey,” he said. Still blanking on her name, I decided to do the introduction backwards. “This is my husband Jerry,” I said. “Hi, Jerry,” she said, smiling warmly at him and extending her hand. “I’m Karen.” “Karen and I went to grad school together,” I explained as he shook her hand slowly. She tipped her head at him, her eyebrows knitting thoughtfully. “Haven’t we met somewhere before?” Jerry smiled with his lips pressed together, shaking his head. “Can’t say as I remember.” “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” she said. “And congratulations to both of you. Phoebe’s a great girl.” “She sure is,” he said, scratching my back lightly with the hand Karen had finally let go of. “She’s the best.”

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A family conceals a cruel secret. Emma Perkins’ life appears idyllic. Her husband, Jared, is a hardworking farmer and a dependable neighbor. But Emma knows intimately the brutality prowling beneath her husband’s façade. When he sends their children away, Emma’s life unravels.

A woman seeks her spirit. Deep in despair, Emma seeks refuge aboard her uncle’s riverboat, the Spirit of the River. She travels through a new world filled with colorful characters: captains, mates, the rich, the working class, moonshiners, prostitutes, and Gage-the Spirit’s reclusive engineer. Scarred for life from a riverboat explosion, Gage’s insight into heartache draws him to Emma, and as they heal together, they form a deep and unbreakable bond. Emma learns to trust that anything is possible, including reclaiming her children and facing her husband.

A man seeks revenge. Jared Perkins makes a journey of his own. Determined to bring his wife home and teach her the lesson of her life, Jared secretly follows the Spirit. His rage burns cold as he plans his revenge for everyone on board. Against the immense power of the river, the journey of the Spirit will change the course of their lives forever.

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What do a trigger-happy bootlegger with pancreatic cancer, an alcoholic helicopter pilot who is afraid to fly, and a dead guy with his feet in a camp stove have in common? What are the similarities between a fire department that cannot put out fires, a policeman who has a historic cabin fall on him from out of the sky, and an entire family dedicated to a variety of deceased authors? Where can you find a war hero named Termite with a long knife stuck in his liver, a cook named Hoghead who makes the world’s worst coffee, and a supervisor named Pillsbury who nearly gets hung by his employees? Sequoyah, Georgia is the answer to all three questions. They arise from the relationship between A. J. Longstreet and his best friend since childhood, Eugene Purdue. After a parting of ways due to Eugene’s inability to accept the constraints of adulthood, he reenters A.J.’s life with terminal cancer and the dilemma of executing a mercy killing when the time arrives. Take this gripping journey to Sequoyah, Georgia and witness A.J.’s battle with mortality, euthanasia, and his adventure back to the past and people who made him what he is—and helps him make the decision that will alter his life forever. ISBN#9781933836386 US $25.95 / CDN $34.95 Hardcover Fiction June, 2008

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killed my husband, a town hero, and then called the police and turned myself in. “He’s dead as a doornail,” I said to the officer and then spit on Harland Jeffers’ bloody, dead body. With my head held high, I allowed myself to be escorted to a squad car outside my house. A house which had been more of a prison than the cell I was headed for. Cameras flashed. “Why did you kill Harland?” Because he needed killing. And I, Montana Ines ParsonsJeffers did just that. So begins the rest of what’s left of Montana’s life. Not that she ever really had one. Now she’s headed for prison. There’s no escaping it. It was the ultimate destination in her Flight to Freedom. But one man might be able to help . . . ISBN#9781933836379 Trade Paperback US $15.95 / CDN $19.95 Fiction May, 2008

Bertie Byrd is unique. To say the least. She calls Sweet Meadow, Georgia, home, where she works for her father doing auto repairs. She also drives the tow-truck, although Sweet Meadow’s rather colorful denizens tend to treat Bertie more like the local, free taxi service. You know, someone has to get to a doctor’s appointment or pick something up at the dry cleaners. Bertie’s favorite day of the week is Friday, when she leaves the wrecker with her father for the whole weekend and joins her friends at the Dew Drop Inn for a night of dancing. Her best friend, Mary Lou, sometimes fixes her up with dubious dates, although Bertie has to remind her friend not to tease her hair too high for those occasions. Like the time when they went to Carrie Sue’s open house, and a ceramic cow with angel wings hanging from a ceiling fan locked its hooves into Bertie’s big hair and refused to let go. She had to wear it all night, dangling chain and all. Bertie’s nearly perfect life is about to take a downhill turn, however. It starts when her landlord, Pete, currently a resident in a nearby nursing home, starts showing up at her house. In his birthday suit. A very badly wrinkled birthday suit. And then she goes to her mailbox, a rubber large mouth bass, and finds a notice from the zoning commission saying she can no longer park the wrecker in her driveway. The notice is signed by George Bigham. But when she goes to the courthouse to take care of her little problem, it is only to discover George Bigham is deceased. And Mary Lou’s pregnancy test just came up positive. Can it get any worse? In a word . . . yes.

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Bertie Byrd Fortney never thought she’d be spending her wedding night in a maternity ward. But her best friend went into labor right in the middle of the conga line at Bertie and Arch’s wedding reception, and it wasn’t until her friend’s son made his entrance into the world that Bertie, her husband, and her stepdaughter could leave on their motor home honeymoon. The trip’s trials, however, leave Bertie wondering if a honeymoon is some kind of test a woman must pass before becoming a wife. To add to her tribulations, Bertie returns to Bertie’s Garage and Towing to find Linc, her tow truck driver, is being threatened by the Redneck Mafia. The mob boss has told Linc to return to Atlanta to marry his daughter, or he will move him there himself . . . one body part at a time. And then Bertie is taken hostage by a man who has taught his goats to bark and his twins to talk. A mistake on both counts, in Bertie’s notso-humble opinion. Finally, a bizarre accident involving an elderly drunken citizen Linc mistakes as a hit man, a golf cart, a trip to the hospital, and a positive pregnancy test has tongues wagging in Sweet Meadow, Georgia. Did Bertie really get knocked up on a golf cart by her tow truck driver? Will Bertie be able to douse the rumors? Will she be able to save her faithful employee from the mob? More importantly, will she pass the wife test?

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Bertie is at it again. It starts when she wants a traffic light at a dangerous intersection. But because the purchase of an automatic traffic counter would cut into the city council’s Christmas party fund, Bertie is forced to count each car personally and present a report. Then Bertie, in her inimitable fashion, gets into it with one of the council members. When he dies of a heart attack, she’s accused of causing it. Goaded into running for the now-open position, an unlikely political career is launched. That’s not all. She finds herself running against Booger Bailey, he of barking goat fame. That’s going to be interesting. Who, for instance, is the mysterious donor financing his campaign? And then there’s the two octogenarians who talk Bertie into backing them in a business venture: street vending their boiled peanuts. But what are they really up to? Seemingly insignificant events once again twist Bertie’s life into a series of improbable, and hilarious, misadventures. Because Bertie is off . . . and running. ISBN#9781933836119 Hardcover Fiction US $24.95 / CDN $33.95 Available Now w w w.dolor e s j w i l s on .c om

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WAT ER FA LL GLEN WHEN KATE BRODIE INHERITS WATERFALL GLEN IT seems like the start of an exciting new life. Full of romantic notions, she swaps her dull routine in San Francisco for life as a Highland lady. But the stunning beauty of the glen belies a troubled history and uncertain future, and Kate’s imposing new home, Greystane House, is full of disturbing revelations about her family’s past. Each portrait on the ancient walls tells an un-nerving story, while the empty rooms echo with rumors of a centuries-old curse that takes on new significance when unsettling events threaten the small community whose fate lies in her hands. The only person Kate can turn to is a man haunted by equally troubling events, a man she has every reason not to trust. Only with his help can she find a way to defend old values against the materialism of the modern world. Only together can they lay their ghosts to rest. ISBN#9781932815832 US $6.99 / CDN $9.99 Mass Market Paperback Available Now w w w.d av ie hender s on .br ave ho s t .c om

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