“Jessie? Good heavens, no. She dates even bigger losers than I do.” Kate surveyed him critically. “She’d like you.”

“On that note,” Jake said, “I am going to sleep. Wake me up when it’s time for your date with Donald.”

“I certainly will,” Kate said. “It’s going to be wonderful, and I don’t want to miss a moment.”


At two, Kate met Donald and Penny and a new friend of Penny’s named Brian, and they all drove into town together.

The town was wonderful.

Donald was awful.

He was tall, looming over her in his designer suit. He was distinguished, his cologne discreetly exclusive, his hair cut strand by strand by a trendy stylist. He was successful, everything about him shrieking designer labels and money. He was detached, reserved and worldly. And he was, above all, what Kate would once have called discerning.

By the end of the afternoon, she had acquired a different, unprintable adjective for him.

They went first into a store called The Toby’s Corners Shop. It was crammed floor to ceiling with gifts and souvenirs in colors Mother Nature never made, and Kate drew back, her good taste offended by the cheapness of it all. Penny picked out a pink stuffed dog with a tag around his neck that said “Toby,” and Brian bought it for her. She hugged him to thank him, and he closed his eyes in ecstasy and hugged back.

Donald was patient while they looked through the store, although he told them firmly in a voice that carried from one end of the place to the other that the store was just an overpriced tourist trap. The little old man who ran it looked wounded, so Kate bought Jessie a neon-purple T-shirt that said “Somebody Went To Toby’s Corners And All I Got Was This Lousy T-shirt,” and an ashtray for her father that looked like a dog leaning against a tree.

“I really love your shop,” she told the old man to make up for Donald, and he smiled at her and thanked her and told her about how he and his wife had been running it for almost two years now, to help with their retirement.

Donald waited with ill-disguised patience by the door.

Then they went into The Corners Art Gallery and looked at walls hung with garish landscapes. Kate tried hard to think about all the work that had gone into the paintings instead of about how bad they were. Donald examined the paintings closely. “Amateur brushwork,” he announced. “Paint By Numbers stuff.” The young man behind the counter looked ready to defend his art with his fists, so Kate asked if he had any pictures of the lake and bought one that featured the willow in soft shades of green.

“This is beautiful,” she told the young man. “I love this part of the lake, and now I’ll always have it with me.”

“My mom painted that,” he said. “I’ll tell her what you said. She’ll be real happy.”

Donald snorted.

They went into Mother’s Sewing Basket and looked at locally made quilts and coverlets. Penny found a crazy quilt in shades of yellow. “This would look great on my bed,” she said. Brian grew pale at the thought and moved closer to her. “Cheap fabric,” Donald said. “They’re using polyester instead of cotton.” The little old woman stitching by the window looked ready to cry, so Kate bought a peach-and-blue comforter for her apartment.

“I’ve never had a real patchwork quilt before,” she told the old woman. “This will keep me warm all winter.”

“It will that,” the old woman said, and patted her hand.

Donald sneered.

They went into Cline’s Dry Goods and found rows of cotton and flannel shirts in bright plaids, stacks of dark blue jeans, and piles of socks, white T-shirts, and underwear that Donald snickered at. They also found, to Penny’s delight, a rack of cowboy hats.

Mrs. Cline came out from behind the counter to help her.

“You’re so pretty, you’ll look a treat in any of them, honey,” she told Penny. “It’s a real pleasure to see you try them on.”

Penny beamed at her and tried on a blue one with golden feathers around the crown.

“All right,” Brian said.

“It’s you,” Kate said, laughing. “You have to have it.”

“You, too.” Penny pulled her over to the rack. “You get one, too.”

Mrs. Cline picked up a red hat with white beads. “Try this one,” she urged Kate. “You’d be a picture in a red dress and this one.”

Kate hesitated, and Penny shook her head. “No. That one.” She pointed to a black hat with silver medallions around its crown.

“That’s for a man, honey,” Mrs. Cline said, but she got it down anyway.

Kate put it on and mugged with Penny in the mirror.

“We’ll wear these tonight,” Penny said, and Kate was about to tell her no, cowboy hats weren’t her style, when Donald picked the hat off her head.

“One hundred and twenty-five dollars? That’s ridiculous.”

Kate saw Mrs. Cline color.

“I don’t think so.” Kate took the hat back from him, even though she did think so. “This is a high-quality hat. I’d have to pay a lot more for this in the city.”

She put it on again and let it slide back so it framed her face. She looked a little bald with all her hair pulled into a chignon, so she took the pins out and let her hair fall free.

“All right,” Penny said.

“Now it’s worth one hundred and twenty-five dollars,” Donald said gallantly.

If she wore braids, she could pretend she was Annie Oakley. She’d always wanted to be Annie Oakley. What was she going to do with a one-hundred-and-twenty-five-dollar cowboy hat?

She looked at Mrs. Cline, who looked at her and smiled.

“I’ll take it,” she said. “Penny’s, too. My treat.”

“Oh, Kate, really?”

“Really,” Kate said.


They went into Dickerson’s Snack Shop because Kate said she was tired of shopping. In truth, she was tired of spending money on things she really didn’t want. It’d be just her luck that the next place they’d end up would be a car dealership, and she’d have to make up for Donald’s big mouth by buying a ‘69 Chevy.

“Hi, folks.” A round little woman came to the table, a pad in her hand. “What’ll it be?”

“Hamburger and fries, lots of catsup,” Penny said.

“Hamburger and fries, lots of catsup,” Brian said, adoringly.

“Do you have anything broiled?” Donald asked.

“Mashed potatoes and gravy,” Kate said, reading the menu. “You have mashed potatoes and gravy?”

“Sure do.” The little woman beamed at her. “I make ‘em myself.”

“I love mashed potatoes and gravy,” Kate said. “Real homemade mashed potatoes and gravy. Two orders, please.”

The potatoes when they came were light and fluffy, the gravy dark and speckled with meat chunks and scrapings.

“I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Kate said and the little woman laughed.

“Kate,” Donald said loudly when she’d gone back behind the counter, “they’re instant.”

Kate looked horrified. “They can’t be.” She tasted them. They were thick and rich, full of butter and real potato. “They’re real.”

“No place like this could afford the time to make real mashed potatoes,” Donald told her. “They’re instant.”

Kate ignored him. The gravy was salty and thick, the potatoes creamy, the meat falling apart on her fork. Who needed men? She had this.

“Kate!” Donald was as outraged as if he’d read her mind.

“They’re real.” She scooped up another mound. A piece of meat fell off, and she raised her fork to spear it.

“Let me see.” He thrust his hand over the plate just as she aimed the fork.

Later, she couldn’t remember whether she’d had time to stop, or if Donald’s trying to ruin her potatoes the way he’d ruined everything else had made her temporarily insane. Whatever the reason, she stabbed him with the sharp, narrow, old-fashioned fork and hit a vein in the back of his hand.

Donald screamed, and she shoved his hand away so he wouldn’t get blood on her potatoes.

“I’m so sorry, Donald,” she said and took another bite.

An hour later, Kate stopped by the cabin and dropped off the things she’d bought and then strolled back to the pool for a while. Two orders of Mrs. Dickerson’s mashed potatoes had made her world a better place, even though Donald tried to make her leave after Mrs. Dickerson had wrapped his hand in gauze.

“I’m almost finished,” she’d told him, “and you’re not bleeding anymore.”

He was standing at the bar when she sat down next to the pool, drinking with his left hand and ignoring her. Obviously he wasn’t going to be making any passes at her tonight. Just as well, she told herself. He’d probably tell me that my nightgown was polyester and that I’d faked my orgasm. And he’d have been wrong about the nightgown and right about the orgasm.

Penny waved to her and she moved to the chair beside her. “Thank you for talking me into going into town today,” she told Penny. “I had a very good time.”

“Well, don’t forget, we’re going to Nancy ’s tonight, too,” Penny said.

“Anything you say,” Kate said and slouched down in her chair to enjoy the late afternoon.


Jake watched her slouch and then deliberately turned away. She didn’t seem upset, but something had pretty clearly gone wrong that afternoon; for one thing, Donald the gnat was wearing a bandage. She must have done something to him. Jake grinned, wondering what he had done.

He felt somebody at his elbow and turned to see Kate.

“Soda,” she said. “Any kind. I’m dying of thirst.”

“Sure.” Jake moved behind the bar. “So how did the plan go today?”

Kate glanced over at Donald who was glaring at her as he nursed his hand. “Not well. Why?”

“I was curious as to why old Donald was wearing a bandage. You were my first guess. What’d you do, bite him?”

“He should be so lucky,” Kate said. “I stabbed him.”

Jake handed her a drink. “Try not to injure anybody else, okay?”

“He deserved it,” Kate said.

“I’m sure he did. But if you go around wounding every guy who deserves it, you’ll be taking out most of the hotel.”

“I’ll behave,” Kate said. “I’m not even going to be at the hotel tonight. Penny’s taking me someplace called Nancy ’s.”

“I’ll warn Nancy,” Jake said.

“Very funny,” Kate said and walked back to her chair while Jake watched.

I’m really not attracted to her kind, Jake thought. Which is a good thing, because if I was, I could be in deep trouble here.


Penny knocked on Kate’s door at seven. “Come on, Kate,” she called. “Let’s go.” She was wearing white hoop earrings the size of bracelets, her new cowboy hat, and a neon-blue scoop-necked cotton-knit shift that stopped a good distance above her knees. She had exquisite knees.

Penny came in and sat on the bed and her dress rose above her thighs. She had great thighs, too. “You’re going to love Nancy ’s. Everybody says it’s the best-a real country bar. Everybody goes there.”

“Right,” Kate said. “I’m going. Just give me a minute.”

What to wear was a problem. She really liked Penny, but going places with her was depressing. No thighs or knees, she told herself. You can’t compete.

She pulled her white silk halter dress out of the closet. It was a little formal and draped a little low in the back for a bar, but it was also calf-length. She looked at Penny’s thighs. This was the dress.

She put her hair back in the chignon and put on her gold hoops.

“You should leave your hair down,” Penny told her. “It looks really good down.”

“It’s messy.” Kate tucked a loose strand firmly behind her ear.

“Men like messy hair. They like to touch it.”

Kate looked at Penny’s hair, tumbling all over her shoulders. It was lovely.

“Not my style.” She put in another bobby pin.

Penny sighed and followed her out to the car.


Surprisingly enough, Kate liked the bar. It was everything Penny had said-a real country bar. The light was dim, the tables were scarred wood, and a jukebox glowed neon as it moaned country and western to the crowd. In the background, Kate could hear the snick of pool balls and see people playing under hanging lights, and somewhere someone was playing pinball. A real bar. Not a fern in the place.

A good-looking redhead was tending the old oak bar, wiping down the thick white-veined marble top. Like the rest of the waitresses, she was wearing a well-filled black tank top and a pink vest. Unlike the rest of the waitresses, she was self-possessed and over thirty. Kate made a bet with herself that this was Nancy.