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Leah pressed her lips together. “Some things aren’t meant to be discussed in public, but I’ve noticed before you have a potty mouth.”
“I do not!” Jaine said heatedly. “I admit I swear sometimes, but I’m trying to stop, and penis isn’t a dirty word; it’s the correct word for a body part, just like saying ‘leg.’ Or do you have an objection to legs, too?”
Leah gripped the edge of the table with both hands, holding so tightly her knuckles turned white. She took a deep breath. “As I was saying, think how it made those men feel. They must think they aren’t good enough, that they’re somehow inferior.”
“Some of them are,” Jaine muttered. She should know. She had been engaged to three of the inferior ones, and she wasn’t thinking about their genitals, either.
“No one should be made to feel that way,” Leah said, her voice rising. She took another bite of sandwich, and Jaine saw, to her surprise, that the other woman’s hands were shaking. She was genuinely upset.
“Look, I think most people who read the article thought it was funny,” she said in a conciliatory tone. “It was obviously meant to be a humorous piece.”
“I don’t feel that way at all. It was filthy, ugly, and mean-spirited.”
So much for conciliation. “I don’t agree,” Jaine said flatly, gathering up her trash and depositing it in a can. “I think people see what they expect to see. Someone who’s mean expects others to be just as mean, the way people with dirty minds see smut everywhere.”
Leah went white, then red. “Are you saying I’m dirty-minded?”
“Take it any way you like.” Jaine went back to her office before their little disagreement escalated into open warfare. What was wrong with her lately? First her neighbor, and now Leah. She didn’t seem able to get along with anyone, not even BooBoo. Of course, no one got along with Leah, so she didn’t know if that should count, but she was definitely going to make a bigger effort to get along with Sam. So he rubbed her the wrong way; she had evidently been doing a good job of rubbing him the wrong way, too. The problem was, she was out of practice in getting along with men; since the breakup of her third engagement, she had been off men in a big way.
But what woman wouldn’t be, with her history? Three engagements and three breakups by the time she was twenty-three wasn’t a good track record. It wasn’t that she was dog food; she had a mirror, and the mirror reflected a slim, pretty woman with almost-dimples in her cheeks and an almost-cleft in her chin. She had been popular in high school, so popular that she had gotten engaged to Brett, the star pitcher on the baseball team, in her senior year. But she had wanted to go to college and Brett had wanted to give baseball a shot, and somehow they had just drifted apart. Brett’s baseball career had been a nonstarter, too.
Then there was Alan. She had been twenty-one, fresh out of college. Alan had waited until the night before the wedding, rehearsal night, to let her know he was in love with an ex-girlfriend and he had only gone with Jaine to prove he was really over the ex, but it hadn’t worked, sorry, no hard feelings.
Sure. In your dreams, bastard.
After Alan she had eventually become engaged to Warren, but maybe she had been too gun-shy by then to truly commit herself. For whatever reason, after he asked and she said yes, they both seemed to pull back and the relationship had kind of died a slow death. They had both been grateful to finally bury the thing.
She supposed she could have gone ahead and married Warren, despite the lack of heat on both their parts, but she was glad she hadn’t. What if they had had children, then split? If she ever did have children, Jaine wanted it to be in a solid marriage, the kind her parents had.
She had never thought the demise of her engagements was her fault; two had been mutual decisions, and one had definitely been Alan’s fault, but… was something wrong with her? She didn’t seem to inspire lust, much less devotion, in the men she had dated.
She was jerked out of her unhappy thoughts when T.J. stuck her head in the office door. T.J. looked pale.
“A reporter for the News is here talking to Dawna,” she blurted. “God, you don’t think—?”
T.J. looked at Jaine; Jaine looked at T.J.
“Ah, hell,” Jaine said in disgust, and T.J. was so upset she didn’t even demand her quarter.
That night, Corin stared at the newsletter, reading and rereading the article. It was filth, pure filth.
His hands were shaking, making the little words dance. Didn’t they know how this hurt? How could they laugh?
He wanted to throw the newsletter away, but he couldn’t. Anguish gnawed at him. He couldn’t believe he actually worked with the people who had said all these hurtful things, who mocked and terrorized—
He took a deep breath. He had to control himself. That was what the doctors said. Just take the pills, and control yourself. And he did. He had been good, very good, for a long time now. Sometimes he even managed to forget himself.
But not now. He couldn’t forget now. This was too important.
Who were they?
He needed to know. He had to know.
seven
It was like having the Sword of Damocles hanging over her head, Jaine thought gloomily the next morning. It hadn?
??t dropped yet, but she knew it would. The “when” depended on how long it took Dawna to spill the beans that she had gotten the list from Marci. Once Marci’s identity was known, they might as well all start wearing signs that said, “I’m guilty.”
