fast as you want.”
Gigi licked jam from her thumb and forefinger. She looked to the left toward the garden and thought she saw in the distance a glint of metal or maybe a mirror reflecting light. As from a state trooper’s sunglasses.
“Gimme a minute,” she said. “Change my clothes.”
In the game room she put on a yellow skirt and a dark red top. Then she consulted her astrology chart before stuffing her belongings (and a few souvenirs) in her backpack which she slung into the car’s rear seat.
“Hey,” said K.D. “We just going for a little ride.”
“Yeah,” she answered, “but who knows? I might change my mind again.”
They drove through mile after mile of sky-blue sky. Gigi had not really looked at the scenery from the train windows or the bus. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing out there. But speeding along in the Impala was more like cruising on a DC-10, and the nothing turned out to be sky—unignorable, custom-made, designer sky. Not empty either but full of breath and all the eye was meant for.
“That’s the shortest skirt I ever saw.” He smiled his lovely smile.
“Minis,” said Gigi. “In the real world they’re called miniskirts.”
“Don’t they make people stare at you?”
“Stare. Drive for miles. Have car wrecks. Talk stupid.”
“You must like it. Reckon that’s what they’re for, though.”
“You explain your clothes; I’ll explain mine. Where’d you get those pants, for instance?”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing. Listen, you want to argue, take me back.”
“No. No, I don’t want to argue; I just want to…ride.”
“Yeah? How fast?”
“Told you. Fast as I can.”
“How long?”
“Long as you want.”
“How far?”
“All the way.”
The desert couple was big, Mikey said. From any angle you looked, he said, they took up the sky, moving, moving. Liar, thought Gigi; not this sky. This here sky was bigger than everything, including a woman with her breasts on a tray.
When Mavis pulled into the driveway, near the kitchen door, she slammed the brakes so hard her packages slid from the seat and fell beneath the dashboard. The figure sitting in the garden’s red chair was totally naked. She could not see the face under the hat’s brim but she knew it wore no sunglasses. A mere month she’d been away, and for three weeks of that time couldn’t wait to get back. Something must have happened, she thought. To Mother. To Connie. At the squeal of the brakes, the sunning figure did not move. Only when she slammed the Cadillac door did the person sit up and push back the hat. Calling out, “Connie! Connie?” Mavis hurried toward the garden’s edge. “Who the hell are you? Where’s Connie?”
The naked girl yawned and scratched her pubic hair. “Mavis?” she asked.
Relieved to learn she was known, spoken of, at least, Mavis lowered her voice. “What are you doing out here like that? Where’s Connie?”
“Like what? She’s inside.”
“You’re naked!”
“Yeah. So? You want the cigar?”
“Do they know?” Mavis glanced toward the house.
“Lady,” said Gigi, “are you looking at something you never saw before or something you don’t have or you a clothes freak or what?”
“There you are.” Connie came down the steps, her arms wide, toward Mavis. “I missed you.” They hugged and Mavis surrendered to the thump of the woman’s heart against her own.
“Who is she, Connie, and where are her clothes?”
“Oh, that’s little Grace. She came the day after Mother died.”
“Died? When?”
“Seven days now. Seven.”
“But I brought the things. I have it all in the car.”
“No use. Not for her anyway. My heart’s all scrunched, but now you back I feel like cooking.”
“You haven’t been eating?” Mavis shot a cold glance at Gigi.
“A bit. Funeral foods. But now I’ll cook fresh.”
“There’s plenty,” said Gigi. “We haven’t even touched the—”
“You put
Gigi licked jam from her thumb and forefinger. She looked to the left toward the garden and thought she saw in the distance a glint of metal or maybe a mirror reflecting light. As from a state trooper’s sunglasses.
“Gimme a minute,” she said. “Change my clothes.”
In the game room she put on a yellow skirt and a dark red top. Then she consulted her astrology chart before stuffing her belongings (and a few souvenirs) in her backpack which she slung into the car’s rear seat.
“Hey,” said K.D. “We just going for a little ride.”
“Yeah,” she answered, “but who knows? I might change my mind again.”
They drove through mile after mile of sky-blue sky. Gigi had not really looked at the scenery from the train windows or the bus. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing out there. But speeding along in the Impala was more like cruising on a DC-10, and the nothing turned out to be sky—unignorable, custom-made, designer sky. Not empty either but full of breath and all the eye was meant for.
“That’s the shortest skirt I ever saw.” He smiled his lovely smile.
“Minis,” said Gigi. “In the real world they’re called miniskirts.”
“Don’t they make people stare at you?”
“Stare. Drive for miles. Have car wrecks. Talk stupid.”
“You must like it. Reckon that’s what they’re for, though.”
“You explain your clothes; I’ll explain mine. Where’d you get those pants, for instance?”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing. Listen, you want to argue, take me back.”
“No. No, I don’t want to argue; I just want to…ride.”
“Yeah? How fast?”
“Told you. Fast as I can.”
“How long?”
“Long as you want.”
“How far?”
“All the way.”
The desert couple was big, Mikey said. From any angle you looked, he said, they took up the sky, moving, moving. Liar, thought Gigi; not this sky. This here sky was bigger than everything, including a woman with her breasts on a tray.
When Mavis pulled into the driveway, near the kitchen door, she slammed the brakes so hard her packages slid from the seat and fell beneath the dashboard. The figure sitting in the garden’s red chair was totally naked. She could not see the face under the hat’s brim but she knew it wore no sunglasses. A mere month she’d been away, and for three weeks of that time couldn’t wait to get back. Something must have happened, she thought. To Mother. To Connie. At the squeal of the brakes, the sunning figure did not move. Only when she slammed the Cadillac door did the person sit up and push back the hat. Calling out, “Connie! Connie?” Mavis hurried toward the garden’s edge. “Who the hell are you? Where’s Connie?”
The naked girl yawned and scratched her pubic hair. “Mavis?” she asked.
Relieved to learn she was known, spoken of, at least, Mavis lowered her voice. “What are you doing out here like that? Where’s Connie?”
“Like what? She’s inside.”
“You’re naked!”
“Yeah. So? You want the cigar?”
“Do they know?” Mavis glanced toward the house.
“Lady,” said Gigi, “are you looking at something you never saw before or something you don’t have or you a clothes freak or what?”
“There you are.” Connie came down the steps, her arms wide, toward Mavis. “I missed you.” They hugged and Mavis surrendered to the thump of the woman’s heart against her own.
“Who is she, Connie, and where are her clothes?”
“Oh, that’s little Grace. She came the day after Mother died.”
“Died? When?”
“Seven days now. Seven.”
“But I brought the things. I have it all in the car.”
“No use. Not for her anyway. My heart’s all scrunched, but now you back I feel like cooking.”
“You haven’t been eating?” Mavis shot a cold glance at Gigi.
“A bit. Funeral foods. But now I’ll cook fresh.”
“There’s plenty,” said Gigi. “We haven’t even touched the—”
“You put
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