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famous?”
    â€œYou know, your parents. Are they famous?”
    â€œWell they travel a lot,” said Delores, startled at how easily the words were leaving her lips. “They play the guitar. They sing. You’ve probably seen them around.”
    Molly fell quiet, realizing that she might be in the presence of greatness, or at least someone related to greatness. She took in Delores’s outfit—a red-plaid miniskirt, a short-sleeved black knit sweater, and white vinyl boots. High fashion for 1972. There was a sudden shift as if, by Delores introducing the possibility of famous parents and glamour, Molly was the one who would now have to try to please Delores. Delores let the silence linger before asking a question of her own.
    â€œIs that scar a stab wound?”
    Molly put her fingers to her neck. “Oh that,” she laughed a littlefalsely. “I forget that it’s there half the time.” Then, in a hurry to change the subject, she said: “What’s your sign?”
    Delores checked herself up and down. “What sign?”
    â€œYour birth sign, you know, your sign of the zodiac.”
    It was as if Molly was speaking Swedish.
    â€œI don’t know if I have one.”
    â€œOf course you do—everyone does. When’s your birthday?”
    â€œMay fourth.”
    â€œTaurus. Your sign is Taurus. People born under the sign of Taurus are determined and stubborn. They can also be lazy and greedy.” She made a sad clown face. “Are you stubborn and lazy?” She quickly brightened. “My birthday’s in June, so I’m a Gemini. We’re very sociable and good communicators. People like to have us around.” She made a happy face.
    Delores had assiduously avoided the horoscope section of
Teen Girl.
With its weird drawings of animals and planets, she had assumed it was some column about religious stuff. So Molly spent the rest of the trip explaining astrology to Delores. By the time they arrived at Weeki Wachee, Delores’s head was filled with images of bulls and twins and rising moons and waning tides. Westie, she’d learned, was a Sagittarius (cheerful but restless). Her dad had bought Otto at the circus in mid-September, she remembered, which made Otto a Virgo (shy and fussy).
    Molly led Delores to the dormitory where the mermaids slept at night. The room was sparsely furnished and overheated. Eight girls, wearing identical white terry-cloth robes and with towels tied like turbans around their heads, sat on a modular couch in front of a fireplace.
    â€œEveryone,” shouted Molly, clapping her hands. “There’s someone new I want you to meet. She’s from New York City.” She put her arm around her new friend’s shoulder. “Say hello to Delores Taurus.”

Two
    The name stuck. Since all of the recruits except for Molly came from the area, Delores Taurus was the only name on the list for tryouts the following morning. That night, she stayed across the street at the Best Western—the same motel where she had stayed with her parents two and a half years earlier.
    Molly walked her to her room. All afternoon, she’d been giving her tips for her tryout: smile while you lip synch; if you get water in your nose, just blow it out; play to the audience, not just one person; and, most importantly, don’t panic if you get disoriented.
    â€œGet a good night’s sleep,” she said now, tentatively patting the suede fringe jacket draped over Delores’s arm. “Tomorrow is your big day.”
    Alone behind the closed door, Delores noticed that the room was the color of overcooked peas. It was small, with a low ceiling and a stained bedspread that had a poinsettia print. The smell of Lysol cut through the old cigarette air. Next door, a bunch of men were laughing in that deep, hollow way that men do when they drink. What she felt dug deeper than any Sunday night loneliness in the Bronx. Delores propped