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Eros and Order
part one

Carl Parsons

1.
    Mid-February flurries lingered into the morning as Sandra Patterson drove her blue Lexus coupe onto the gravel lot in front of the Animal Rescue Shelter. The previous night’s storm and the morning’s rising temperatures had conspired to make the roads a slushy mess. No matter. Sandra felt confident in her new life, maybe even a little arrogant. Soon, she was thinking as her windshield wipers flicked away the last mud splotches, I’ll be Sandra Ferrat again.
    She didn’t come to the south side of town very often but thought she would venture some of her newly won freedom there on volunteer work. As a wife, mother, and social worker, she had never been able to find the extra time before. Now she could. Besides, her director at the county social services office, Josefina Tauber, encouraged all her case workers to do volunteer work. “Get to know the support organizations in our community,” she told them. “They can help you with your work, often when you least expect it.” And since Josefina was serving as this year’s ARS board chair, it was hard for Sandra to refuse.
    So here she was, ready to spend her first day receiving orientation from Marie Klein, a veteran volunteer at the Shelter. Marie had come out to the parking lot to greet Sandra. She was several years younger and the mother of the three children who were busy now in the kennels helping feed the dogs and cats. Dressed in a long gray wool coat with a black scarf and a matching black knit hat, Marie was flushed from the cold, but her face was cheerful, pretty, and welcoming. Josefina came out also. She, by contrast, seemed regal, as always, an impression underscored by her impressive height, her short gray hair, and today reinforced by her navy-blue coat with gold buttons.
    “Do you always bring your kids along?” Sandra asked Marie after Josefina introduced them.
    “Nearly always,” Marie answered. “They love it here, as you can tell by their squealing. And I think it’s good for them. Teaches them the importance of doing work and caring for others, even when the ‘others’ are mostly cats and dogs.”
    For a few moments they all watched as the oldest child, a girl, about ten years old, instructed her younger siblings—a girl and a boy—how to measure out dog food.
    “Do you have children also, Sandra?” Marie asked.
    “Yes, a boy and a girl. They’re twelve and ten. But they’re with their father now.”
    “Well, bring the whole family sometime. We can always use some more help, especially male help,” Marie suggested.
    “Why do you say that?” Sandra bristled. “Can’t women manage the work here just as well as men? Probably better, I’d guess! Besides, when I said the children are with their father, I meant permanently. He has custody of them—or will. I’m making sure of that, even though the terms of our divorce aren’t settled yet. Can’t seem to get the lawyers together.”
    “Oh, I didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear you’re divorcing.” Marie’s face, so fresh and pretty a moment before, seemed crumpled now, while Josefina’s showed no change of expression.
    Quite unable to fully comprehend what she had heard, Marie then asked, “But why aren’t you contesting the custody of the children?”
    “I don’t want to, as I said. I’ll let my husband struggle with all the parenting problems for a change. I’ve cared for the kids for twelve years, now he can take a turn instead of always being at his real estate agency. For the first time in my life, I intend to be free. Completely free.” Sandra could feel the shrillness rising in her voice and knew that she needed to control that around Josefina, who right now was staring at her, still silent, listening.
    Josefina possessed a doctorate in abnormal psychology, and that intimidated Sandra. Especially after leaving Paul, she felt at times that Josefina could peer into souls, and right now Sandra didn’t want hers examined. What she’d done, she felt, was her business alone. It didn’t require Josefina’s approval.
    Suddenly, a cell phone twittered. Josefina reached into her coat pocket, pulled out her phone, stared at it momentarily, and then excused herself. With the phone pressed to her ear, she walked backed to the office as Sandra and Marie continued to talk.
    “I could never leave my family, I’m sure of that,” Marie was saying. “My husband and children mean a lot more to me than any amount of personal freedom ever could.”
    “Don’t be so sure, especially if you’ve never tried it,” Sandra cautioned. With Josefina now out of earshot, she felt freer to speak her mind. “Try a week’s vacation without them sometime. That’s what I did. That might open your eyes as a woman and help you see how you’ve always been trapped by obligations put on you by others, mostly men. I’m talking about the roles we women are supposed to play, no matter how we feel as individuals. You must be the loving wife, the doting mother. Even if none of that is really who you are. And these days you’re also expected to have a job. Well, at least a job gives you some degree of freedom, I’m finding. Helps open the gate, so to speak.”
    “Sorry, I have no desire to go on vacation without my family or lose myself in my job at their expense. None of that sounds appealing to me.”
    “Then you’ll just go on letting others define who you are without ever discovering your true self.”
    At that point Josefina leaned out of the door and called to them, “Ladies, come here for a minute, please.”
    Once Sandra and Marie were inside, Josefina said to them, “I just got a call from my old high school Latin teacher, Albert Volker. He has some books he wants to donate for our spring bazaar—over a hundred of them, in fact. So, I’m wondering, Sandra, if you and I can go out to his home in Locust Hill this morning and inspect his collection to see if it’s worth carting them back here. He says the roads out that way are fine now.”
    “Where does he live, exactly?” Sandra asked.
    “On White Pine Lane.”
    “I have no idea where that is.”
    “Well, I do. I’ve visited his home several times. His wife Marcella and I were classmates in high school. I can drive us. Besides, I have my Yukon SUV, just in case some of the roads are still slick. Plus, it will hold the books.
    Then Josefina turned to Marie. “Now I’m expecting some other calls this morning, one from a donor who may be willing to supply us with pet food for a year. So, be alert for that call while we’re gone. After all, we can’t lose an opportunity like that. The visit shouldn’t take us too long, not much more than an hour, I’d guess. And when we get back, I’ll buy us all a nice lunch. How’s that?”
    “Okay, whatever you say,” Sandra shrugged. “But what’s this Professor Volker like, anyway?”
    “Well, he was born in Germany right after World War II but grew up in Locust Hill, where his family had relatives. He became a Latin and Greek scholar and was teaching Latin at the high school when I took his class, along with Marcella. She eventually became his wife. He’s very formal and polite. Gives you the impression he still has a German accent, even though he doesn’t. Attending his classes was always like going to church, whether we were translating Cicero or St. Augustine.”
    “Rocking the cradle a bit, wasn’t he, with this Marcella?” Sandra almost sneered.
    “Well, he was eight years older than Marcella, if that’s what you mean. But she was the initiator of the relationship. He always preferred teaching Greek, and so as soon as he could, he got a job in a private college in Ohio where he could do that. When Marcella graduated, she enrolled in that college and took his classes again. Soon after that, even before she graduated, they married. We used to joke that if she’d had a Greek name instead of a Latin one, he might have married her right out of high school. Anyway, he’s a very old-fashioned gentleman, struggling a bit since he lost Marcella to cancer last year. I’m sure he never thought that she would die first. Now, he tells me, he’s moving in with his son’s family here in Parkeston. But that’s enough history; we need to be going. Sandra, I’ll meet you at the SUV. Just give me a minute to call him back and let him know we’re on the way. And Marie, you listen for the calls.”
2.
    After climbing into Josefina’s Yukon, Sandra asked, “Do you always drive a vehicle this big? It’s the only one I ever see you drive to the office.”
    “Yes, my husband, Thad, says he wants me to be safe, and it seems that big and four-wheel drive are his idea of safety. Yet he drives a subcompact to work every day.”
    “Probably feels he’s protecting his investment.”
    “Investment?”
    “Sure, you’re the no-charge housekeeper, cook, mistress, and second income provider all in one person. Well-worth the cost of a big SUV, I’d guess.”
    “I believe Thad sees me as more than an investment, Sandra.” Josefina turned her head from the highway long enough to glare at her. “That’s an awfully cynical view of marriage you’ve developed lately. You’re sounding more and more like Iris.”
    Sandra realized that she’d gone too far again. Also, she hadn’t anticipated that Josefina knew so much about Iris. In her eagerness to validate her new life to everyone she met, Sandra had now vexed her own boss.
    Not all women, even ones with PhDs, are willing to act out against their oppressors, she thought. But then, so what? Josefina is clearly a lost cause, anyway. Old school, despite her education, she’s a comfort seeker, too blinded by convention and age ever to risk anything new.
    “It’s not just your marriage I’m talking about,” Sandra offered, “but sorry, if I offended. I didn’t mean to.” Josefina didn’t reply.
    After that exchange, the remaining drive to Locust Hill, though scenic, was silent. Josefina had turned up the volume on the Yukon’s radio. It was playing classical music from the local public radio station. That gesture alone seemed to say, Not another word from you, Sandra.
    In the silence that followed her faux pas, Sandra thought over the recent events that had created her new life. She did this frequently now, mostly when she was alone, if only to reassure herself that she had done the right thing.
    There was the October vacation to Myrtle Beach with Iris, just the two of them, flirting and teasing with men, and some women too, after Sandra’s recovery. Then the time leading up to the New Year, time spent gaining courage and planning the details of her escape. Finally, the moment she told Paul, just after Christmas. She planned it carefully, minutely. Told him while she was sitting on their bed in just her slip with her bare legs crossed, the top one pumping methodically, as though she were impatient. A nicely ironic touch, she thought. Her half-packed suitcase lay open on the bed; a fully packed one was already in her car.
    She remembered his shock. How his face went slack at first, then flashed with anger, though—so like him—that lasted only for the briefest moment. Then he asked, “What will you tell the children?”
    “Nothing. It’s better if you tell them, less traumatic that way. I’ll come back to see them, of course, every other weekend, until we can make permanent arrangements. But day to day, they’re yours now. I’m choosing freedom.”
    “But why? What’s wrong? What have I done?” He couldn’t understand. Didn’t understand when she went on her sudden October vacation, either. Now he was pleading, just as she knew he would.
    “At very least I deserve to know what you think I’ve done wrong.”
    “Nothing in particular. This is just not the life I want any longer. No need to blame yourself, unless you just really want to. But you will need to find a date for your agency’s New Year’s Eve party.”
    Good and valiant man that he was, even now, he ignored her taunting and asked instead, “Where are you going, Sandy? Where will you live? How can I reach you? I must know that much.”
    “I’ll be staying with Iris until I can get a place of my own. Know a good realtor? Here’s her address and phone number.” She recalled handing him the piece of note paper she’d prepared and placed on the lampstand, not really intending to give it to him unless he asked.
    “Plus, you do still have my cell phone number, don’t you? You call it often enough to tell me you’re with a client and won’t be coming home on time. Just think, now you won’t have to do that.”
    Then she ordered him out of the bedroom to allow her to finish packing and dressing. Once that was done, she put on her winter coat, whipped a wool scarf around her neck, and lugged the suitcase toward the garage. As she passed through the kitchen, where Paul was standing, he made a final plea for her to stop, to come to her senses before it was too late. “Surely, you’re not going through with this, Sandy. This will be so awful for the kids, for me, and eventually for you.”
    “It’s already too late,” she replied, then added, “And I’ll be just fine. But thanks for thinking of me.”
    As she started to leave, he grabbed her arm, to plead with her some more, but she feigned an attack. “Don’t touch me, Paul!” she warned, jerking her arm from his grasp. “Never touch me again! I’m not your property anymore.”
    He stepped back from her and put his hands to his head before pleading again, “Please, Sandy, tell me what you think I’ve done wrong. I have to know!”
    She didn’t answer this time. She couldn’t. For what he had done was not a fault in the usual sense, not something she could even name. Rather, it was a surfeit of goodness that he’d manifested in the things of their life together. The house, the cars, clothes, jewelry, even the children. His wanting a third child—surfeit! And he had created it all in tribute to her, without her asking. It all went beyond feeling, beyond love. To her it seemed so artificial. All done as an end in itself, numbing in time her to his words and his touch. And now she was leaving him.
    As she entered the garage, he was beginning to weep she thought, but she didn’t look back. Instead, she placed the suitcase into the Lexus and said to herself, “I’ve done it! I’ve broken him and freed myself!” Though to what purpose she didn’t yet know or even care. Freedom in the abstract called, and she intended to answer. She touched a button, the garage door lifted, and she left.
    “Here it is,” Josefina finally announced, breaking the silence after a twenty-minute drive. She pulled into a gravel lane flanked by pine trees interrupted only by the occasional driveway and property frontage.
    “The third drive on the left should be Professor Volker’s,” Josefina said. “Ah, yes, this is it,” she added quickly and turned into the driveway. Guess she’s okay now, Sandra thought.
3.
    A cedar cottage stood before them. The sun was shining even brighter than when they had left the Shelter. Its warmth sent snow sliding from the cottage’s green metal roof, splashing onto the ground. At the far side of the cottage, smoke was spiraling from a red brick chimney. It looks so cozy, Sandra thought. I wouldn’t leave this.
    Josefina stopped the Yukon. They got out and walked to the porch, but before they could knock, an elderly man with thick spectacles and a gray moustache opened the door. He was dressed in warm brown corduroys.
    “Welcome, Ladies. Come in from the cold, please.”
    He swung the door open for them. They entered a nearly bare living room. Draperies were gone from the windows; boxes stacked along the walls. The only remaining furniture was a sofa with a matching easy chair. Separating them was a tea cart on which the Professor had placed a teapot and coffee carafe along with three ornate cups and a dish of zwieback toast and jam.
    “Please, help yourselves to the beverages,” he said, waving the back of one hand at the cart. He stood by his easy chair until his guest poured their drinks and sat.
    “It’s good to see you again, Josefina. But first, have you finished your assigned translations this time?” His face wrinkled with mirth.
    “No, I’m afraid you’ve caught me again, Professor,” Josefina laughed while she and Sandra arranged themselves and their coats on the sofa. “But I promise to do better next time.”
    “Ah, but time is running short, you know. It waits for none of us, not even my better students. Now tell me, who is this lovely person with you?”
    “Professor Volker, this is Sandra Patterson, our newest volunteer and one of the case workers at DHS.”
    “I am very pleased to meet you, Sandra.”
    “Sandra Ferrat Patterson,” she added. “And I’m pleased to meet you as well, Professor Volker.”
    “Sorry, Sandra Ferrat Patterson,” he repeated, nodding to her, and trilling the “r’s” in her maiden name as he pronounced it. “I believe I know your husband. Isn’t his name Paul?”
    Sandra stirred uneasily. “Why yes, that’s right. But how do you know him?”
    “When Marcella and I moved here ten years ago, he helped us find this property. He was so kind to us, helping us with utilities and such. Even though both of us had lived here—Marcella, in fact, grew up in Parkeston—we had both been away for such a long time that we were like newcomers.”
    “Well, I’m glad he helped. He’s good at that sort of thing.”
    “I remember his telling us about you. He kept boasting about his pretty wife, which I can see now was true. So beautiful and smart, he kept saying. And you were pregnant then, I believe.”
    “Yes, that would be right—with our daughter Kristen.”
    Then Professor Volker’s expression tensed, and his voice hushed a bit, as though he were talking more to himself than his guests. “I asked Paul last month to sell this cottage for me, and now he has done it. So quickly, in fact, that I can hardly believe it. I hate to leave this home, for I still have such a strong sense of Marcella’s presence here. She was an excellent biologist, you see, and loved to wander this property, along its stream and pond in the back, always finding something new to write about in her blog. Hundreds of people, perhaps even a few thousand, followed her writings weekly.”
    The professor paused for a moment before continuing in a brighter tone. “But now my son insists that I move in with his family. I guess he’s right; he has always been such a good boy, so smart about practical things, like his mother, and quite unlike me, someone always lost in the past. They have a guest room with a bath above their garage where I can live with some degree of privacy and yet be with them for meals and such. And enjoy visits from the grandchildren, too! Perhaps I can even finish my translations of Hesiod there, in time to make my editor happy for a change. The world occasionally needs a fresh look at old truths, you know, like those in Hesiod. And even we elders can use a change of scenery now and then, just to renew us.”
    “Plus,” Josefina interjected, “it’s not good to be alone, especially as we grow older. That’s a well-documented fact.”
    “Josefina, you sound just like my daughter-in-law. She used nearly those same words to help her husband convince me to move.”
    “Well, more to that same point, are you open to having a pet in your new home? Pets are also proven to help us immensely as we age.”
    “Ah,” he chuckled, “now you are speaking as the Board Chair of the Animal Rescue Shelter, aren’t you?”
    “Indeed, I am. To thank you for your donation, we invite you to come to the shelter at your convenience and select any animal you wish—except, that is, for our office cat, Lily. She keeps our books.” They all laughed now.
    “I may just do that, Josefina. Marcella loved animals, as you know, especially cats. So perhaps a cat would do. But first let me check with her, and of course with my son and daughter-in-law. It’s their home, after all.”
    “You’ll check with Marcella?” Sandra asked, obviously puzzled. “I thought she was dead.”
    “Only in body, my dear,” replied the Professor, “not in spirit. I still talk with her daily.”
    Intervening quickly, Josefina said, “Well, there’s no rush. Just let me know if you’re able to have a pet. In the meantime, I’ll have the staff keep an eye out for an especially friendly cat.”
    After more small talk, during which the remaining tea and coffee had cooled and Professor Volker had seemed to grow tired and rather sad, Josefina asked, “May we look at your books now, Professor Volker?”
    “Why, yes. I didn’t mean to keep you so long. I apologize.” He rose from his chair with some difficulty and pointed toward the back of the house. “Here, this way. The books are in the next room there, Ladies, ready for your examination. Already in boxes with the spines up.”
    Josefina rose too and smiled. “I would have expected no less. You were always so considerate as a teacher as well, despite your constant pretense at being stern.”
    “Ah so, you caught on to me, did you?” he replied, laughing. “And I always thought I was so clever.”
    Sandra, who had lapsed into silence, first at the mention of Paul and then more deeply at the invocation of Marcella’s ghost, felt greatly relieved as she followed Josefina into the adjacent room. This room, too, proved to be nearly empty. While wooden bookcases still lined the room, their former contents now sat in boxes before them. There were novels from many periods, mostly classics; histories, mostly ancient and Biblical; books on exegesis and hermeneutics; and nearly all were hardbound.
    Professor Volker trailed into the room behind his guests as they began bending over the boxes, Josefina occasionally removing an untranslated text and handing it to Sandra.
    “I hate very much to part with these,” he said while watching them. “They are all such good friends. Such a part of me that they are nearly like family members. But part we must.”
    Josefina stood up. “Aren’t you keeping anything at all, Professor?”
    “Only the few Greek reference works that I need for my translation work, plus Homer, Hesiod, Vergil, Dante, Shakespeare, and our old German family Bible, which I shall bequeath to my son soon enough. Those are more than enough now. There is too little time left for anything of lesser merit.”
    In just a few minutes—but much too long for Sandra—they had finished their inspection.
    “Except for these few Greek and Latin texts I’ve pulled out, Professor Volker, which I don’t think we can sell, we’ll take all the rest,” Josefina declared. Sandra was now holding an armful of books.
    “Gut. I understand. Just put those on the shelf there, Sandra, won’t you.” He pointed to an empty shelf. “Thank you, dear. What you are taking is a great help to me, and I hope will be to you as well. Shall we load them into your car now?”
    “Yes, but you should stay inside. We have boots on already, and snow has spilled onto your front walk in some spots. So, if you’ll just man the front door for us, Sandra and I will load them.”
    “Again, Josefina, you sound just like my daughter-in-law,” he laughed, as he moved toward the front door.
    Then he stopped, apparently remembering something, and turned to Sandra. “Let me just say one thing more to you, Sandra, before you go, especially since I may never see you again.” His brown eyes were now glowing like chestnuts cast into a fire. “When Paul came to talk with me about selling this property, he seemed a completely different man than the one I had met ten years before. Incredibly sad and strained. When I asked him about it, he told me about your separation from him. Let me just say how sad I am to hear about it and how much I hope that you two will be able to reconcile.”
    “That’s very doubtful, Professor, but thank you for your concern. As for Paul, I’m sure he will get over it. Men always do. They have more options in life than women and so eventually move on.”
    He seemed to think about her response a moment, weighing its worth, before saying, “Tell me one more thing, Sandra. Have you ever read The Iliad?”
    “I suppose I did—in high school. But I can’t say that I remember much about it.”
    “There are several translations of it in these boxes.” He reached into a box next to Josefina and removed a book, opened it briefly, and said to Sandra, “Here, try this one. I hope you’ll use it to refresh your memory, especially the parts regarding the wrath of Achilles and the abduction of Helen. Will you do that to honor an old man’s request?”
    “All right, I suppose I can.” Sandra took the book and glanced at it a moment. It was a small green bilingual text, Greek to the left and English to the right. Then she stuffed it into her purse, next to the compartment where she kept her wedding rings zipped up.
    “Gut,” the professor said with satisfaction, as though he had accomplished an important mission.
    Once the books were loaded and they were on their way, Sandra asked, as much to herself as to Josefina, “What do you suppose the old guy meant by telling me I should reread The Iliad?” She had opened the book and was leafing through it randomly. “He seems to think it’s somehow relevant to my leaving Paul.”
    “I suspect Professor Volker wants you to consider what Achilles has done. That’s my guess.”
    “Doesn’t he just mope around because he didn’t get to rape some Trojan girl? That’s about all I remember.”
    “Yes, he does do that. Briseis is the Trojan girl’s name. Achilles believes he has won her fairly in battle.”
    “Of course, he does. Women are just property, after all! So then, does Mr. Volker think I’m like this Briseis and that Paul is depressed at not having me around to have sex with anymore?”
    “No, Sandra, Professor Volker is a much more subtle man than that. I believe he’s inviting you to compare yourself to Achilles rather than Briseis.”
    “Achilles! How am I like Achilles? I didn’t rape anyone—man or woman—nor do I want to.”
    “Achilles betrays his vow to the Argives by refusing to fight. He’s angry because his commander, Agamemnon, has taken Briseis for himself. Consequently, Achilles sulks in his tent rather than fighting as he promised to do. But by withdrawing, he jeopardizes the outcome of the war and the restoration of Helen to Menelaus—an act the Argives believed was necessary to restoring natural order. Thus, for the ancient Greeks, the dispute involved a lot more than just property rights.”
    “I still don’t get it. Achilles is a man, so that’s not me. And I’m not like Helen, either. I didn’t run off with another man the way she did.”
    “No, you ran off with Iris, didn’t you?”
    Sandra fell silent, shocked that Josefina knew so much about her relationship with Iris. Then, she dared, “Well, what if I did? That’s my business—and hers.”
    “True enough, and I don’t mean to intrude into your personal life. That would be unprofessional of me. But I think Professor Volker wants you to consider whether you, like Achilles, have broken an important vow and in doing so have betrayed your husband and your children. It may not be a perfect comparison, but he’s asking you—no doubt because of his affection for your husband—to reconsider what you’ve done.”
    Then Josefina paused, as though collecting some new thoughts before she resumed. “Also, I hope you realize just how unstable Iris can be. Despite her tough talk, she’s as fragile as a lightbulb beside an elephant’s foot. And possibly just as volatile, so be careful with her. Plus, right now she regards you as her greatest triumph in life.”
    “I know she’s your employee but how do you know so much about Iris’s personal life?” This point truly worried Sandra.
    “She was at the center of one of my first cases when I started with DHS. That must have been—oh, fifteen years ago. But professionally, you surely understand, I can’t say more.”
    Now it was Sandra who imposed a silence, pretending to read her little green book.
4.
    Late that afternoon Sandra sat in a lounge chair in the living room of Iris’s apartment, reading here and there in the book Professor Volker had given her while she waited for Iris to return. She found marginalia scattered throughout the book, on both the Greek and English pages. Many of the notes were in Greek, but not all. However, they all were made in the same neat, tiny, clearly feminine handwriting. She marveled at the writer’s beautiful Greek letters, so nearly like the printed ones. Of the notes themselves, at least the ones that Sandra could interpret, the gist was always some version of—natural order must prevail, Hera must be served, Troy must fall, Helen must return to Sparta. Then Sandra thought to look at the flyleaf. There she found the name “Marcella Rhinehart” followed by “1972” in the same handwriting as the marginalia.
    Presently, a key clicked in the lock of the apartment door, and Iris burst inside.
    “I see you beat me back,” she shouted as she pulled off her blue nylon ski jacket and tossed it onto the sofa. Then, removing her knit hat, she began fluffing out her purple hair, using both hands.
    “Yes, I did,” Sandra replied, “By quite a bit, actually. Wasn’t that an awfully long play rehearsal?” Sandra put her book on the chair arm.
    “It was, but well worth it. Lots of cute guys and gals in the cast this time. Should be lots of fun! We’re already planning the cast party. I’ll introduce you around, then you can have some fun, too.”
    “Don’t we already have enough fun together?”
    “Sure we do, but the more, the merrier.” Iris laughed obscenely, then flounced onto the sofa. “Come on, Girlie, enjoy your freedom! That’s why you came here, isn’t it?” She kicked off her white suede sneakers, leaned back on the sofa, and plunked her feet on the coffee table.
    “You seem buzzed again. Am I right?” Sandra asked.
    “Oh, you bet I am—a little snow on the mountain, courtesy of the scenery guy. He’s one of the cuter guys there, I might add.”
    “What did you give him in return?”
    “A little hug and a kiss—well, several kisses, actually—behind one of his scenery backdrops. And lots of promises. But don’t worry, Sandy, they were only empty promises. Guys are so easy. Just promise them whatever they want—and you already know what that is—and they’ll give you anything your little heart desires. I mean, this guy literally let me snort the stuff right out of his hand and then I licked up what stuck.”
    Sandra took up her little green book again, then asked without looking up, “What play did you say you’re rehearsing this time?”
    “Sweet Bird of Youth. I thought I told you when I auditioned. And I get to play Heavenly Finley, the romantic lead. Should be a blast, I’m telling you.” Then she stretched out her arms and legs in all directions, languidly, like a cat.
    “Say, how was your first volunteer day?” she asked while tugging at the sags in her orange leggings.
    “Odd, that’s about all I can say.”
    “Odd? How so?”
    “Instead of the training I was supposed to get from Marie whatever-her-name-is, Klein, I think she said, Josefina took me on a trip out to Locust Hill to pick up some books an old teacher of hers donated to the Shelter. Turns out this old guy knows Paul and thinks he’s the greatest person in the whole world. He even had the nerve to give me a homework assignment of sorts. I’m still trying to understand it.” Sandra held up the little green book. “And, as if that weren’t enough,” now she leaned forward toward Iris as though she were about to impart a secret, “on the way out there, I managed to insult Josefina about her marriage.”
    “Well, insulting her isn’t that hard to do. Take it from me. I’m in trouble with her all the time. The old hawk-face.”
    “I think she would prefer you compare her to an eagle rather than a hawk.” Sandra laughed, but the joke whisked by Iris. Then Sandra added, “By the way, just to return the compliment, she thinks you are fragile. Fragile as a light bulb dropped in an elephant barn, or something like that.”
    “Well, who the hell cares what that old bat thinks! I sure don’t. So, I’m fragile, am I? The old bitch! Just because she helped me once, she thinks she owns me now. I hope you got her good with your insult.” Then looking closely at Sandra, she added, “But I have to say, you do look a bit worried. You okay?”
    “Oh yes, I’m okay, I guess. Just a little tired. She did mention something about helping you when you were a little girl, but only in vague terms. What was that all about?”
    “Yeah, I was just a kid then, about ten. My folks had split up and neither one wanted me. They both slept around a lot and didn’t want a ten-year old brat interfering. Bad for the love business, you know. So, DHS got involved, and I got swapped around foster homes until I was eighteen. Josefina’s the one who usually checked on me. But I’ve been on my own since then. Eventually, she got me the filing job I have now, I’ll give her that.”
    “Sorry, I didn’t know.”
    “No reason you should. I don’t talk about it much. Say, you sure you’re okay? You look so damn sad you make me want to cry.”
    “Oh, I’m okay, but you’re sweet to worry about me. It’s just that anymore I feel on the defensive around Josefina. And always surprised at how much she knows about us. It’s almost spooky!”
    “I’m sure she doesn’t approve of your liberation, especially since it includes me. And trust me on this, she makes a point to know everything that goes on in that department of hers. And hates surprises. So, whatever else you do, for god sakes, don’t ever surprise her. She’s such a control freak.”
    “Okay, thanks. I’ll take that on your authority, since you two are such old acquaintances.”
    “But she’ll get over your insult, I’m sure. Besides, she likes you. I’ve heard her say so several times. At least you’re a professional, unlike me, a lowly file clerk. No, Josefina’s not going to fire you the way she could me if she takes a notion.”
    “Actually, she seems genuinely concerned about you.”
    “Maybe so, but she can’t legally meddle in our personal lives, can she?”
    “Don’t be so sure of that. And my professional status is no protection, either. At least twenty people applied for this job when I got it three years ago.”
    “Oh, so what if they did! Stop worrying or else you’ll get wrinkles in that pretty face and then I won’t love you anymore,” Iris cooed to her. “Hey, since it’s kind of late, why don’t we go out to eat? There’s a new Mex food place on Grand Central. Let’s try it.”
    Iris jumped from the sofa without waiting for Sandra’s answer, pulled on her sneakers, and popped her jacket back on. Then she went to Sandra.
    “Come here, Girlie,” she said and jerked her out of the lounge chair, sending the little green book tumbling to the floor. Iris pulled Sandra in front of a large oval mirror mounted behind the sofa and pointed to it.
    “There, just look at us—a couple!” Iris wrapped Sandra in a tight embrace and kissed her firmly on the cheek, leaving the imprint of her abundant lavender lipstick. “Ha, look at that!” she laughed and pointed to the stain with great satisfaction.
    Sandra did indeed look into the mirror and saw a lovely petite woman, demure, with softly applied makeup, carefully kept hair, and a smooth oval face touched just now by a faint smile—and a lavender lipstick stain. And clasping that woman was a wild, open-mouthed girl with frizzed purple hair, promiscuous lavender lips, and blue eyes surrounded by thick Gothic mascara. Moreover, a girl who right now seemed electrically charged.
    “You know what you need?” Iris offered while taking Sandra’s chin in her hand and turning her face back and forth to examine it. “Lavender highlights in that blonde hair, that’s what you need. Would do wonders for you. And might just go with my kisses, too.” She laughed again and then stroked Sandra’s hair, as someone might pet a favorite cat. “Might even transform you into—well, who knows what—some wild creature! I’d like that.”

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