Chapter 5

“God’s tears, to sanctify my forty-fifth year.”

“The pearl-clutching move up here, boiz?” It’s Dee, carrying her shoes and someone’s hair. “Miss Sondra lost her clip-on bangs, and I can’t find her.” It’s like a wide paintbrush minus a handle. “There’s a Hispanic neuter loose, covering her high forehead with a birthday napkin.”

Potsy slaps his arms, neck. “Damn fruit-fly repellent didn’t work again!”

“My fruit loop detector must be stronger,” Dee hotly offers. “You don’t treat LezbyAnn this way.”

Potsy flicks ash toward her. “LezbyAnn isn’t needy and bleedy.”

“Seriously. I’m curious. What did I ever do to you?”

“I can’t stomach women who act cool with gay men but secretly resent they can’t change us.”

“I couldn’t even get a husband to stop washing his hair with a bar of Irish Spring, so I have no illusions that I can coax a dick out of your mouth, ass, or armpit.” She gets in his face for this last part. “I’m not looking to convert anyone. Especially you.”