The Sweetheart by Angelina Mirabella Page A

book. I’ll just put it in a bag for you so Joe won’t ask questions.”
    The two men return at the same time, Joe smoothing his trousers with his hands, Monster—David—holding a paper bag.
    â€œOkay, we’re gone,” says Joe. He points to the bag. “What’s that?”
    â€œA birthday gift.” David places the bag in your hands. “Welcome to the world, Gwen Davies.”

SIX
    I nside that bag, you learn after returning to your room, is a book entitled The Price of Salt. While the title reveals nothing to you, the cover is decidedly more explicit: a young woman sits canted, legs crossed at the ankles, lips curled into a slight, mischievous smile; behind her, an older woman reaching out adoringly; in the background, a lone, excluded man.Scrolled across the top, leaving nothing to the imagination, are these words: The novel of a love society forbids.
    You wondered why Monster treated the book like contraband, why he feared Joe asking questions about a dime-store novel. Now, Leonie—Gwen!—you have your answer. When he asked you if you liked that sort of book, you thought he meant detective stories. (To be fair, the cover of Halo in Brass is subtler than most. No girls lounging together, no “odd” or “warped” or “queer” in the title.) Under other circumstances, you would spend the next few hours replaying the events with Monster Henderson, looking for meaning in the gift. The newly dubbed Gwen Davies, however, is too focused on adopting this new persona. You throw the book on top of your nightstand, strip back down to your suit, kick off the silly heels, lace up the boots, and stand in front of the mirror, your balled fists resting on your hips.
    Here we are, you think. Gwen Davies and the Green Goddesses .
    This clicks your new name into place with a satisfying snap. Despite your earlier protests, you are now glad to be rid of your old one. A new woman has emerged from the shell of the pitiful girl from Philadelphia. Where is Leonie Putzkammer now? Serving eggs and sausage to salesmen? Spending another Saturday night in front of the television with her father? Holed up in her room in want of any kind of love, forbidden or otherwise? No, that girl’s gone, gone. It hurts my heart that you can say good-bye to her with such haste and so little care. But that’s just me. As far as you are concerned, this is exactly as it should be. You came here because you wanted to be somebody else. And now, you are.
    â€¢Â Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â Â â€¢
    You will not win your match against Mimi. Joe makes this abundantly clear to you on the drive to the arena. It will be a best-of-three match, with Mimi winning the first and third falls. Your only goal tonight, he tells you, is to make them want you to win, and for that, you must build some goodwill, some underdog lovability. He parks the car next to a defunct old cannon in the lot adjacent to the armory (the site of Bonnie’s career-halting injury) and clamps his hands onto your shoulders.
    â€œTiming is everything,” he tells you. “Play the game, and your time will come.”
    Your match is the first on the card. You are standing in the doorway of your dressing room, staring at your boots and trying to settle your swirling emotions, when the announcer calls your name: “Ladies and gentlemen, making her first appearance in the squared circle, a young lady with a mean dropkick and a face that will drop-kick you in the heart, put your hands together for Gwen Davies !”
    Here it is. You’ve read it on the mimeographed wrestling cards and heard it in a trio of voices (Monster’s bass, Joe’s tenor, and your own alto), but now, it fires out of the PA system like it’s straight out of heaven, propelling you down the aisle and through the crowd of winks, raised eyebrows, pats on the back, and what might be encouraging words if only you could hear anything but