Shari’s head poked out of the bathroom where she had been preoccupied with preparations for her morning shower. They got in my mouth. Her eye wandered quickly over that riotous and disorderly assemblage, until it settled upon one group more riotous and disorderly than the rest, of which her son formed the principal figure. In Singapore that had been her only dissipation: a dozen pairs of silk stockings. I had a hard fight to begin with to win my way into the Upper Division—I was third on a list of fortyseven—and since then I have found myself promoted almost yearly in a widening sphere of social service. She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. She pulled a few strands of her hair from her head to leave with Michelle’s.
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