Patty balanced the tray of soft drinks carefully, rounding the back of one of the wagons and joining her group seated in the shade. Setting it on the ground, she took a drink for herself and sat forward, elbows on knees. "I thought a lot last night about what you said, Denise, and I just can't believe that sort of thing goes on... here."

"What sort of thing would that be, Patty?" Denise picked up her own drink and sucked innocently on the straw.

Bright pink spots appeared on her cheeks, and she bent her own straw back and forth. "What you said... about Gavin, about him dressing up like that."

"You mean just Gavin, or, 'that sort of thing' in general."

"Denise." Ellen cut in.

"What? Good grief, it's just a question."

"Leave her alone. Don't mind her, Patty, Denise likes to get a rise out of people."

"No, I'm interested- I mean I'd like to know." She placed a hand on her cheek, feeling the heat.

"Patty's right," Denise offered, "my God, I'm right there myself at the moment." She shrugged her shoulders at Ellen. "Oh c'mon, this town's too small to keep anything secret for long." She added, staring her down.

"What do you mean?" Patty.

"Ellen and I are practicing- that sort of thing."

Patty gawked. "I don't- are you saying—"

"We're lovers. Yes."

The pink turned to clammy white and Patty dropped her drink, splashing the contents on her feet. "You- you're teasing me," she almost cried.

"Alright Denise, that's enough. You got your reaction." She shifted over beside Patty and put an arm around her shoulders. "It is true, Patty, Denise and I love one another. It doesn't make us monsters, it's a- a direction we've chosen to take because- well- it makes us very happy... being together."

"I never knew- I don't- I don't know anything about- about things like that." She turned a stricken face to her friend. Ellen handed her a tissue and uttered some soothing noises.

"There are lots of people who don't," Denise said in a kindlier tone. "And there are plenty who are wading through unsatisfactory relationships that should."

They talked for a while longer, skirting the specifics, until Patty gradually felt more comfortable with the subject; not in a prurient way, but with a profound curiosity about a heretofore, unimagined subject, a subject she felt bound to investigate further.

*****

Tiffany sat on the counter in the front of the hardware store waiting for the three customers to wander a little further away.

"It's the God's truth! But don't you dare breathe a word to anyone, Ross." She and Allen had shared their 'lunch', and he was resting up on the floor of the stockroom.

"Holy smoke! Gavin? He's supposed to play clarinet in our group! Where did you here that?"

"Patty McCorkidale called me, said she needed someone to confide in. Someone she felt was worldly enough to explain something to her and be discrete."

"And she called YOU?"

"Watch it buster, and I wouldn't count on that little combo now either, if I were you." She slipped off the counter and yanked at the hem of her skirt. "Maybe your group could use a chanteuse, instead."

"You are one cruel woman, Tiffany." Ross flicked his eyes in warning as one of the customers approached. "Yessir, find what you needed?"

The man was all fishing hat, plaid, and beige chinos. His leathery skin looked almost mummified, and the voice matched the requisite years. He plopped a package of fishing lures on the counter and pointed at them with a barkless twig of a finger.

"These here spinners have number 24 hooks."

Ross picked up the package and read it. "That's right, 24."

"Says they can be used for bass."

Ross read further. "Yep, trout or bass, that's right."

"You a fisherman, sonny?"

"No sir, not really."

"Well I am... really. And unless you're after guppies, a number 24 hook is bullshit for bass."

"Well, the package says—"

"Well the package says," the old man mimicked Ross with a sarcastic whine. "Sonny, you don't know diddly squat," he plopped another package on the counter, "these here are number 4/0 hooks. Next time you think about fishin' bass, these is the hooks you use."

"Okay... I'll certainly keep that in mind. You want the uh, 4/0s then?"

"How much?"

Ross sought the price sticker on the package without actually picking it up. "Uh, six-fifty, plus tax."

"Loada bullshit." The man slapped a ten on the counter, and Ross tentatively picked it up and made change.

"There you go, and thanks for the business sir. Happy fishing."

"Shoulda charged you for the goddamn lesson. C'mon Rance, Edgar, he called, stomping out, followed shortly by two clones.

"Congratulations, Mr. Preston, fishing equipment salesman of the year." Tiffany bent forward, laughing and slapping her thigh. "Oh! That reminds me," she said, her smile growing wider as she leaned over the counter, "you know what name he used?"

"Who?"

"Gavin, you idiot. He called himself, Galleria... wait for it... PRESTON!"

"Get outta here!" Ross looked mortified.

"Sure you don't have a sister, Rossy?" Tiffany jumped back, her laugh ringing through the empty store, as Ross faked a swat.

*****

Jean handed her money over the counter and took the two bags of bread, slipping them into her shopping cart then walking to the cash for her change.

"So you're sure Carlos knows about the meeting to test the lights and sound tonight?"

Arlene handed her the money and nodded. "He already told his mom he'd be late tonight, so I know he's coming."

"You know that you can come too, Arlene, "Jean said, putting her change away, "an extra pair of hands are always welcome."

"That'd be great, thanks, Mrs. Gregorio."

"Super. You and Carlos can work the projection room, and Ro- Mr. Preston and I can adjust the lights and speakers." She blushed slightly, bringing a twinkle to Arlene's eye.

"Sounds great. See you at the theatre then." She returned Jean's awkward smile with a cheery wave.

******

Through the cluttered window he saw Jean heading for her car and ran around the counter to the door. "Ti! Watch the store a sec, will you. I'll be right back." Ross dashed out into the street, skipped between the parked cars and across the road to where Jean was loading her car.

"Hi," he said, "got a minute?"

She folded up her cart and shoved it in the trunk with her groceries, slamming the lid. "Sure, what's up?"

"We're at the theatre tonight, right?"

"Yes." She said, smiling.

"I've got something to tell you, it's gonna blow your mind."

"What?"

"Not now. Tonight. I'll see you later." He squeezed her arm and sprinted back across the road to the store.