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Winnie turned to my mother. “We’ve got to get you all cleaned up, sugar. What’s that man gone and done to you?”

My mother began to sob.

Winnie turned to me. “Sweetums, you go and get yourself a Coke from the vending machine. You got quarters? Reach in my bag over there and pull out my wallet. I got some change in there.”

“That’s okay,” I said.

“Well, alright then. But scram.”

Then Winnie eyed Finch, who was standing at the foot of the bed, utterly bewildered. “And you,” she said, hugging my mother tight, “you take those hands of yours and leave us alone.”

Finch cleared his throat. “Look, Miss,” Finch said. “You do not understand this situation. This woman is in a state of crisis and she needs—”

Winnie released my mother and walked over to Finch. In her high-heeled red boots she was at least four inches taller than he. She lowered her voice and looked him straight in the eyes. “You notice all those rigs in the parkin’ lot?” she said. “Those are my boys. I know every one of ’em. There’s Fred from Alabama, he’s up here makin’ a peanut delivery. And Stew? He’s out here all the way from Nevada. Now,” she said, placing her hand on her hip, “I don’t think my boys would take too kindly if I was to tell ’em that some shrink was in this here motel room holding a lady in crisis down on the bed like I seen when I walked in. As a matter a fact, I think that just might ruffle their feathers. Now you go on and you leave us ladies alone.”

Finch said nothing. He simply turned and walked out of the room.

Winnie went back over to my mother and cupped her face in her hands. “It’s okay,” she said. “Winnie’s here.”

The door did not open again for three days, except to receive deliveries from a few of Winnie’s friends.

When my mother finally exited that motel room, she was transformed.

“Oh my God,” Hope said when she finally saw her.

“Deirdre?” Bookman asked.

I didn’t recognize her myself.

My mother was wearing one of Winnie’s colorful Hawaiian muumuus. Winnie had also treated her to a makeover, painting her face so heavily she looked like a former Vegas lap dancer. Her eyelids were like two cabochons of turquoise and when she blinked, her new plastic eyelashes touched her brow.

My mother loved her new look and her new friend.

I scrutinized Winnie for visible signs of mental illness. I wondered if my mother had somehow captured her mind, made her crazy, too.

“There we are,” Winnie said, presenting my new mother. “She just needed a little talking to and a little makeover. A lady’s got to feel like a lady.”

“Shall we go?” my mother said.

Nobody said a word.

“Winnie’s coming with us,” my mother said. “She’s decided to take a leave of absence from her job. To make sure I get back on my feet.”

Winnie smiled and fluttered her polyester eyelashes.

All the way home in the car, I stared at my mother’s new face. Every few miles she would comment, “What a lovely tree,” or “That is a beautiful lawn.” To the untrained eye, my mother might have appeared to be normal. But I knew better. I could see the wildness behind the eyes, crouching, hiding. I could see the tiny hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth that said, I’ll fool you all.

I flopped my head against Bookman’s shoulder and he moved his hand carefully to my crotch, checking the rearview mirror to make sure that Hope wasn’t watching.

He tried jerking me off through my jeans, but I couldn’t get hard.

THIN AIR

O

NE NIGHT NOT LONG AFTER MY FIFTEENTH BIRTHDAY while I was lying on my bed writing in my journal about how much I hoped to someday meet Brooke Shields, there was a knock at the door. I knew it was Bookman. Nobody else would knock on my door at two in the morning; they would just waltz right in. I wasn’t about to give him a blowjob, that much I knew.

I opened the door. “What?” I was angry with him for being distant recently. Everybody had noticed it—my mother, Dorothy, Natalie, Hope. Everybody was mad at him for withdrawing.

“I’m going out for some film,” he said.

I thought it was odd that he would tell me this. And why did he need film at two