"… and if we then use our right to vote in a way that satisfies our deeper conscience and sends a message to the politicians that—"

"Excuse me, Shelley, Edgar wants to know something about your dinner plans," Jane interrupted brutally.

Shelley leaped to her feet like a jack-in-the-box. "Of course!"

"Where are the Johns around here?" Kathy asked.

"There's a bathroom with each bedroom," Jane said.

"Oh, all right! We'll finish this discussion later, Shelley," she threatened, heading off toward the stairs.

Shelley sank back into her chair. "That was a lie, wasn't it? About Edgar wanting to talk to me?"

"Sure. So, how's it going?" Jane asked quietly.

"No firearms have been discharged — yet. That's about the best you can say for it. I must be getting credit in heaven for this, mustn't I?"

"I wouldn't count on it," Crispy said from across the room. She had miraculous hearing. She flipped off the television and came to sit with them. "Sorry I didn't rescue you myself," she told Shelley. "And I'm sorry about Kathy. I was really looking forward to seeing her. All that social consciousness was endearing in high school, but so tiresome now."

As she sat down, carefully adjusting her short skirt and silk-clad legs, Avalon drifted into the room carrying a small leather purse with a long, woven strap. She held it awkwardly, as if it weren't hers.

"What's the matter, Avalon?" Crispy asked.

"It's my purse. It's all full of someone else's stuff."

"Whose?" ';

"I don't know."

She extended the bag to Crispy, who wasn't shy about snooping. She pulled out a billfold and flipped it open. "Pooky," she said. "God, if my driver's license looked like that, I'd give up driving for good. Poor old Pooky."