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anyone else.
If somebody thinks they can write you off, so what? As long as you
respect yourself, you don’t need to be concerned with others’
opinions.”
    “ That was direct,” Beckie said, not
looking up, avoiding the psychic intensity of Scotia’s blazing eyes
by looking down instead and picking at her salad.
    “ I guess I should tell you,” Black
said, “the group’s rule of thumb is that when we’re together, we
put aside the conventional conversational forms for something a bit
more upfront--since women are expected to wear so many masks during
their daily walk through the corridors of male power and
domination--since we’ve been trained from birth to feel that what
we do for men really doesn’t count as much as what they do for
us--we find it refreshing to meet once a week to say whatever we
really want to say, with the caveat that what we do say is said in
love and mutual respect. Scotia is sort of the Patty Hearst of our
little group--she just walks in to our emotional bank and starts
blasting away--but it’s only out of concern for you.”
    “ I don’t know if I’m ready for anything
like this,” Beckie said. “My wounds are a bit new, and raw. Perhaps
I should just go home and go to bed.”
    “ You can’t sleep it away, my dear,”
Betty said. “I tried that for years--instead of dealing with my
jackass producer of a husband, I chose to sedate myself in order
not to rock our expensive little boat. I wound up with a sleeping
pill addiction and I’ve got the shot liver to prove it. I finally
had to throw the bum out and get on with my life.”
    The waiter arrived with a thick T-bone still
sizzling.
    “ Please stay,” Black said. “It won’t
hurt you to at least eat something. And don’t I remember you
telling me you were bringing a friend?”
    “ I did bring him,” Beckie said. “But
I’m not sure it’s appropriate to have a male guest at a table like
this.”
    “ Well, I’m sure we’d all like to meet
him,” Black said. “Where is he?”
    “ He’s right here,” Beckie said,
reaching into her large straw purse and extracting the salivating
handful of tiny canine, who, once at surface level, managed to
spring free onto the T-bone and work a corner of it with a
mind-blowing savagery.
    “ Ladies,” Beckie said. “May I introduce
Mr. Boopers? A few hours ago, he saved my life.”
     
    Chapter
5
     
    “ So what’s your favorite flower?”
Scotia said.
    “ White Chrysanthemums,” Beckie said.
“Whenever I see them, I feel giddy, as if I were on the verge of
fainting.”
    “ White Chrysanthemums for a girl with
white-blonde hair--that’s just perfect,” Scotia said. “You’ve
certainly got the looks I wish I had. That long blonde hair and
those blue eyes certainly spell out California girl.”
    Scotia, a diminutive waif with a shiny head
of short brown curls framing a lightly made-up elfin face, her body
wrapped against the wind in a large black leather coat, leaned
against the railing of the rudimentary fishing pier which jutted
tentatively over the swells and shook submissively as each
successive moonstruck foaming breaker contacted the loose-jointed
pylons, the whole structure of which hosted the three members of WE
who, along with Beckie, after dinner, had broken up into more
intimate conversational pairings, having foregone the usual walk
along the shoreline in deference to the crashing waves and driving
wind, choosing instead the relatively drier platform of the
pier.
    “ I’m not a true native,” Beckie said.
“But I’ll take the compliment. At forty-nine years of age, I don’t
get many of them.”
    “ You should get the compliments, from
the tourists if nobody else,” Scotia said. “You could double for
Suzanne Sommers. It sounds to me like you’ve been trapped in the
typical marriage, where your husband took you and your looks
totally for granted.”
    “ I’m just starting to realize it,”
Beckie said. “Much to my dismay.”
    “ If you’re not a