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I explained that Elizabeth lived on Bermuda and had been guiding us a bit. We didn't talk much business, but both Ian and Chuck greatly enjoyed Elizabeth's bubbly conversation — and Thomas made sure that the meal was great.I made plans to catch up with Chuck and Ian at the general meeting at eleven and escorted Elizabeth back up to the suite. "Ian's a nice guy, but Chuck is really cute the way he kept choking on words."I laughed. I'd met Chuck's wife a couple of years before — it was no wonder he was tongue tied around Elizabeth.The girls were still sun bathing in the buff so Elizabeth smiled at me and slowly (so slowly) wiggled out of her clothes once again. This is not recommended for heart patients or for any heterosexual male considering disrobing himself. I kept my clothes on to avoid embarrassing Elizabeth... or myself. Tease.Just before she stepped out I mentioned, casually, that she needed to call the zoo about the day's schedule.She looked at me funny but walked over and. .work. Wynn and Janice approached the stairway descending to the basement level. A beefy uniformed guard stood station at a velvet rope blocking the top step. Janice handed him an ivory parchment card with gold printing. The guard scanned the bar code, checked his computer screen, raised his eyebrows at Janice’s topless online confirmation photo and held the rope aside for them to enter. Wynn and Janice descended the stairway to a gallery labeled ‘The Statuary’. It consisted of a marble floored and walled room with a granite bench in the center. Four painted mannequins, each on low pedestals stood in the corners. Janice walked Wynn to the bench and they sat down. Wynn looked around at the statues. Each was a life size unclothed, un-wigged mannequin painted a single solid color. There was Red, Blue, White and Black. They sat silently until Wynn began to fidget. Janice took his hand in hers and gave a squeeze to signal Wynn to be quiet and still. Wynn looked at her and out of the corner.
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Wanda clutched the white tablecloth at the memory. It was like reliving the summer day that Shaquan walked out, dashing so fast past the white lace curtains that they sailed up in surrender. She had more to say, but the breeze he had left behind took her breath away. All she could do, standing in the kitchen, was grab ahold of the curtain panels as he swiped his bass guitar from the hall closet. He snarled his goodbye and slammed the metal door on their marriage. It had taken Shaquan a year to save up for that guitar, which dangled from a hook in the window of the pawn shop at Seventh and Third, but double that time for him to compose the one tune that would end up stringing together another woman who had fallen to pieces like a neglected antique doll. Hearing Shaquan’s construction boots thudding on the main floor two flights down, she recalled how her heart was beat out of her chest when she first heard his heavy feet headed up the staircase toward her apartment, when they first.

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