surprised how thin his lips had been under it. But they were sweet, delicate lips, not like Carl's. She sighed without realizing it, found a small open passage behind the staircase into what evidently had been a backstage area, and pushed aside a frayed black curtain.
The stage was lit as if she had been expected. Tingles went up her spine as Raylene stepped gingerly out onto the black shag carpeting covering the stage. This was where Sammy had stood! Raylene closed her eyes and imagined what it must have been like: the breathy expectant hush of the crowd waiting just for you to ride the crest of that cheering wave of admiration, knowing that your success was based on your charm, your talent, your effort alone. She’d had a taste of that, showing her dogs, before she got sick and had to get the mechanical voice box that spooked them so badly she couldn’t train any more. And her husband had been the smoker, she thought bitterly. Raylene suddenly felt cold, and stepped forward.
Three rows of shimmering Plexiglas banisters still guarded vacant tiers where cocktail tables and chairs had been thirty years ago. Raylene squinted to see the back, where she and Pat had sat, and started to step off the stage.
But the red, orange, pink and black pop-art floor carpet stopped her cold. There was no forgetting that carpet, or her dainty Carnelian necklace. She had worn it to the VA that spring day so long ago, and kept it on in the evening, rather than losing it in her purse. All through the show, Pat had been tracing her bare arm with his finger, and even though she'd halfheartedly told him to stop, her heart had beat such a tattoo, she could hardly remember what Sammy had sung. At the end of the show, Pat kissed her with such sudden passion that she was overwhelmed with longing and confusion. It had been months since she had responded to Carl. But she was still married to him, and that meant something. Why couldn’t Pat see that? Why didn’t he just go on being a gentleman, she thought irritably, and pulled away suddenly, her fingers rising protectively over her breasts and throat.
“Oh my god! It’s gone!”
“What is?”
“My necklace! The one Carl gave me for our anniversary . . .” Raylene swooped under the table as Pat peered under the long tablecloth, but even with house lights up, they couldn’t see much. Pat started asking other patrons if they’d found anything.
In the dark, Raylene’s panic grew as her conscience spat about “wages of sin.” Nothing had really happened that night, but it was enough to be out with a strange man. Her friend Ivy had gotten divorced for less and now her own mother wouldn’t talk to her.