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angle complete.”
    â€œIt’s bad enough that I look like a reptile with my burnt face, Rick, I sure don’t need to look like an evil reptile. This guy looks satanic.”
    â€œSorry, Val. I just thought maybe you’d be interested.” He gingerly lifts the magazine from my hands.
    â€œI am still human you know, Rick. Forked tongues are fine on lizards, but I’m not really a lizard, remember?”
    â€œSorry, Valentine.” He presses a hand down on his dirty-blond hair and closes his eyes.
    â€œJust like you’re not really made of dough, like you’re not really a pretzel. Got it?”
    â€œSorry, Valentine. I’m really sorry.”
    He slinks off, feet splayed outward, a little like Gumby, only with pockets. He sinks his hands in them. I feel bad, but you have to make some people remember you’re a human being. It’s an occupational hazard, I suppose.
    â€œI just didn’t think I’d have to do that with Rick,” I say to Lella after telling her all about it as I brush her auburn hair back into a high ponytail. Lella is stunning. I’ve never seen anyone prettier.
    â€œValentine, were you nice to him?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œBe gentle with his heart. Even a three-year-old could see that Rick is awfully fond of you.”
    â€œWhich leads me to believe he stretches his optic nerves out of shape as well.”
    â€œOh, Valentine!” But Lella laughs.
    I finish her hair, pat on some light makeup, and dress her in a yellow fleece top and a pair of sweatpants I cut off and sewed across the bottom. “I’ll go get dressed and then bring you down for some breakfast.”
    â€œI’m not at all hungry yet. Would you mind just turning on the TV? Robert Schuller is on soon. I dearly love that man.”
    â€œLella, you and your TV preachers.”
    â€œNow, Valentine, don’t begrudge me my pastors.”
    I turn on the TV and find the right channel. “He looks like a leprechaun.”
    She just laughs.
    â€œThey all look like leprechauns.”
    â€œOh, Valentine, that simply isn’t true. I can think of at least two that look like trolls.”
    I back into the hallway, leaving her door open.
    Blaze calls up two flights of stairs. She’s that loud. “I’m going to church! You want to come?”
    â€œYeah right!”
    â€œJust figured I’d ask!”
    â€œI’ll make dinner tonight!”
    â€œThanks!”
    I watch her back her station wagon out of view.
    Lighting a cigarette, I head to the bathroom. It’s a cramped space under the attic stairs in the hallway. The door’s in my room, thus making it my own commode. It’s a good thing, having my own commode. Just before entering the glorified closet, I start up iTunes on my laptop and the tones of my favorite song enter the quiet space beneath the steps.
    â€œEmbrace me, my sweet embraceable you.”
    Lady Day, sliding up and down the notes, swings the words in the gentle circles of a parent grasping the hands of her toddler and twirling around like the swing ride at the fair.
    I grab a pot of Ponds and look in the mirror. Imagine a purple-red alligator purse. I have hardly any lips left, except on the left side. My skin is dry. I rub in the moisturizing cream, sighing with a small relief.
    It’s too bad I didn’t have insurance when it all went down.

    After I dress I head down for breakfast. I’d like to detail a quaint B&B or farmhouse meal, but I’d be lying. Breakfast at Blaze’s table consists of a gallon of milk, a box of shredded wheat—the big biscuits you break up with your fingers—and a pot of coffee.
    She doesn’t mind if we use her kitchen as long as we clean up the mess and whatever you do, don’t leave the metal cabinets open. I don’t feel like cooking, so I shred up a cereal biscuit, pour on the milk, and let it soak while I fix a cup of coffee. I load in cream