be?” Alice started stirring the eggs. “Do you like them dry or runny?”
“Um, eggs dry, thank you. Bobbie Noble’s the contractor.” Karen picked up the paper and glanced at the headlines. More bombings in the Middle East; another lawsuit against the Catholic Church; another scandal involving the Bush administration. Same old, same old. She pushed the paper away.
“Bobbie Noble,” Alice echoed as she scraped the eggs out of the pan, then lined up some crispy slices of bacon and set the plate down in front of Karen. “You know he’s a homosexual, don’t you?”
“Yes, why do you ask?”
Alice just sat back down and picked up the paper again without saying anything.
Karen felt herself getting a little angry. Could Alice be homophobic? She took a deep breath. “I’m thinking of making a work space for me in the attic…and he’s going to help me.”
“That should be nice for you.”
It’s my house now, too, you old witch.
Where did that come from? Karen gulped down her coffee. Alice Winn had been nothing but kind to her—more than kind—ever since she arrived. Where did that sudden surge of venom come from?
Alice put the paper down and smiled at her, her blue eyes twinkling. “Karen, I taught Bobbie when he was in high school. He grew up here on the Cape, down in Eastham. He was always a bit different, if you know what I mean, but—” She sighed. “I always liked him, and I remain fond of him of course—but I don’t approve of his lifestyle.”
“I see.”
Alice picked up the paper again. “Live and let live, is what I say. It’s none of my business or my concern. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a sin.”
“Well, you’re right,” Karen said. “It’s not your business.” She wasn’t hungry anymore. She stood, carrying the plate over to the sink.
“I’ll do the dishes. Just leave it.”
And you’re thinking Philip didn’t marry me for my housekeeping skills, aren’t you? I don’t cook, I don’t clean, I don’t turn my hand to do anything around here. That’s what you really think of me, don’t you, you old bitch? You think I’m some talentless gold digger….
She shook her head. What is wrong with me this morning? Just because Alice has some outdated notions about gay people doesn’t mean she’s thinking bad thoughts about me….
She tried to smile. “Bobbie said he’d be by around one to take a look at the space. Will you call me when he gets here?”
Alice nodded, and Karen went upstairs. She stared at her computer screen.
She wanted to go back downstairs and fire the old witch.
“Karen,” she scolded herself. “Get a grip.”
Alice was her friend; why was she thinking such terrible things about her? And it was kind of her to offer to do the cooking. It wasn’t what she’d been hired to do, after all—and it took a lot of pressure off Karen.
I guess she just caught me off guard with that comment about Bobbie—and I’m feeling guilty about the housework, that’s all. I don’t have the slightest idea of what to make for dinner or lunch or what anyone would want to eat anyway…so why am I so oversensitive this morning?
It was that dream—that’s what this is all about. That dream about Lettie Hatch and her new stepmother. I’ve been obsessing about the whole Lettie Hatch thing the last few days. I was bound to dream about her.
But the dream had seemed so real. Karen could remember the exact way Horace had smelled, the sound of the birds, everything—even the way the sun had felt on her skin as they’d come up the walk.
You’re imagining things again, dumb-shit. You’ve got a vivid imagination, that’s why you want to be a writer—no, why you are a writer.
“Okay, Vicky,” she said aloud, pushing everything else out of her mind. “How are you going to get out of this one?”
She started typing, and before long she became completely immersed in what she was doing. The words started flowing out of her and she forgot everything else—the storm, Alice, Jessie, everything was gone. She was in Vicky’s world, and Vicky had to get away. She hadn’t been able to get the escape sequence to work—she’d erased several versions already, but today it worked. It all made sense, and she typed away.
She was so lost in her work that she didn’t hear the doorbell ring, and when Alice knocked on her door she almost jumped out of her skin.
“I’m so sorry!” Alice wrung her hands. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“It’s okay.” Her heart was pounding, and she took a couple of deep breaths. “I was concentrating and didn’t hear you, that’s all. It’s fine.”
“Bobbie’s downstairs.” Alice smiled. “He hasn’t changed a bit.” She shook her head. “The same terrible tease he always was. I showed him into the living room.”
“Thanks, Alice.” Karen gave her a smile. She saved her work and turned off the computer. The storm had passed, and the sun was out now. She walked into the big living room. Bobbie was standing on a chair, examining the crown moldings. He turned when he heard her and grinned.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he said in his best Barbra Streisand imitation. He hopped down from the chair. “The woodwork in this place is exquisite.”
Karen’s jaw dropped. Out of drag, Bobbie was a very handsome man. He was short—which she’d known, since even in his heels and his towering wig his eyes had been about level with hers—but without the clothes and the makeup, there wasn’t anything the least bit effeminate about him. His hair was dark and curly, his skin olive and tanned—and his eyes were so green they almost glowed. He was wearing a tight white ribbed tank top that showed powerfully muscled arms and a strong chest. He was wearing a pair of cargo shorts that clung to his strong legs like skin. His regular speaking voice was deep and melodious. He had a backpack draped over one shoulder.
“Wow,” she said.
He laughed. “Quite a diff, huh?” He snapped his fingers. “It takes a lot of sweat and time to turn me into Zsa Zsa.” His eyes twinkled.
She couldn’t help herself. She stared at his chest. “How do you—um, how do you—”
“The boobs?”
“Yeah.”
“Darlin’, you’d be amazed at what you can do with tape, a push-up bra, and a nice pair of falsies.” He shrugged. “I’m not transgendered—I’m not a woman in a man’s body. Zsa Zsa is just something I do for fun. And a nice extra chunk of change to get me through the dark, cold, and very long Cape Cod winters.”
“Well, I hope Philip and I are in Boston then. I’ve heard how isolating it gets out here—”
Actually, she hadn’t. But it seemed as if she somehow knew it.
Or rather, that Sarah Jane knew it….
Bobbie snapped his fingers again. “And I’m a perfectionist—if I’m going to do something, I’m going to do it right. That’s why I’m the best drag queen and carpenter on the Cape. Now, let me get a look at this attic of yours.”
She grinned. “I guess I just don’t understand why anyone would subject themselves to high heels if they don’t have to wear them. Come on, let’s go on up.”
She led him up the stairs. He whistled as he looked around. “What a waste of space!” He walked over to one of the windows and looked around. “So you’re seeing this as an office, right?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
He pointed to the windows. “Back when this house was built, they understood