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Halloween night with some of my friends?” (She was an up-talker, treating sentences like questions. The first couple of times are endearing, and the final few instances are guaranteed to induce teeth grinding.)
    Mouths stopped midchew at this unusual opening dinner-table gambit.
    Peggy Sue slowly set her fork down and looked pointedly at her daughter. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
    Ashley shrugged. “Why? I’ve never seen it and everybody says it’s a hoot?”
    “It’s not a hoot. It’s a disgusting, perverted movie. Encouraging all sorts of deviant behavior.”
    Sis had said much the same thing about Broke-back Mountain .
    Ashley was raising one well-shaped eyebrow. “Really? Have you ever seen Rocky Horror , Mother?”
    “No, and I don’t have to,” Peggy Sue said with measured distaste, “to know it’s…inappropriate.”
    “How psychic of you.”
    “I’m not psychic—I am merely…attuned to the youth culture.”
    I was staying out of it. It wasn’t my place to mention that Rocky Horror hadn’t been “youth culture” since the eighties.
    Ashley must have picked up on something in my silence, because she was gazing across the table at me with a mischievous twinkle. “How about you, Aunt Brandy?”
    “Huh?” Yes, I’m always ready with a sharp and witty comeback.
    “Have you seen it?” Ash found no greater joy in life than to pit me against my uptight sister.
    Which put me in a tight spot.
    I owed Sis a great deal. Starting with my childhood and her taking care of a little dirty-faced Brandy and a then not-so-stable Mother…all the way to the favor she was doing us, not just feeding us a decent meal but dog-sitting Sushi while Mother and I went antique hunting.
    I was pretending to study my Caesar salad. “Well, what do you know!” I pointed at the lettuce. “Am I crazy, or does that look just like Jesus? You can see his eyes, and his beard….”
    Mother was leaning for a look, while Peggy Sue’s expression turned horror-struck and Bob tried to disguise his amusement.
    “We really should save it,” I said. “This is way better than the pope in a pizza, or that Virgin Mary grilled cheese sandwich that sold on eBay for—”
    “ Well , Aunt Brandy?” Ashley pressed with impish glee. “ Have you seen Rocky Horror ?”
    I sighed, shrugged, fessed up with a nod, adding, “Frankly, I’m surprised to find anyone who hasn’t .”
    The first time for me was with my BFF, Tina (you’ll meet her later); we’d been out one night in our college days, celebrating a test we both squeaked through, rewarding ourselves by imbibing a bottle of champagne on empty stomachs, and both tipsily thought the crowd lined up at a theater was there to see the latest Sylvester Stallone Rocky picture (although the people waiting were dressed kinda funny—but it was a college town, after all).
    The picture hadn’t been about Rocky at all, but our experience sure was….
    Two hours later, Tina and I stumbled out of the theater sopping wet, with hot dog pieces in our hair and soggy toast down our blouses. The really weird thing was that for quite some time I tried to make it work as a Rocky movie—I thought sure Rocky was going to box that guy in the gold shorts for the heavyweight championship.
    Later we saw it, fairly sober, three or four more times; but never had as much fun.
    Mother piped up: “Well, I have seen the flick. Quite entertaining, really. Catchy tunes! Some girls and I used to go to the midnight show, in Davenport—we each had our own roles!” She bolted to her feet, pushed back her chair, and (“put your hands on your hips!”) began to dance in place while singing, “Let’s Do the Time Warp Again!”
    To make Mother stop, Peggy Sue threw her hands up and caved: “All right, all right—you can go!”
    Ashley smiled. She glanced at me and I glanced at her, and my smile said, Nicely played .
    Mother sat down, imparting these words of wisdom to her granddaughter, “Do take a newspaper to