" Then there's Fulmala -- she's a real dark-skinned Indian woman. She gave the group its name. She calls herself a Desi, whatever that is, or an Aunti.... Indians have arranged marriages -- did you know that?" I prattled on. "Her old man just put her on the street one day when he decided he liked American women better. She's probably the most decent lookin' one of the bunch of us -- she's got big droopy hooters and some flab here and there, but she don't weigh two hundred, even. She's real shy,. It was obvious. I'd put the wine glasses in the dishwasher after Bradley had left, but the empty from the wine I'd killed, sucking right from the bottle, was on the coffee table. The quilt that usually adorned the back of the couch was on the cushions and had obviously been used as a cover. "Yeah," I acknowledged. "Come with me," she ordered. She led the way down the hall. In the bedroom she pointed at the bed. The sheets, pillows, and blankets were as we'd left them. Then she was talking. More

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