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its moorings and she had a vision of herself as a slug in a chrysalis, who when unwrapped would have turned to a shimmering thing of beauty. She pictured the sprite on the rock on the soda label, the White Rock girl. She imagined she would step lightly from this shroud, resembling Farrah Fawcett. From there she drifted to a happy thought of Jerry, her ex-husband, asking her to dance. And then, for the next half hour, she slept.
    At the Happy Hour, Rae and Carter found each other.
    “How are you holding up?” Rae asked.
    “I haven’t had a cigarette in twenty-nine hours, and I still haven’t killed anybody.”
    Five Fortunes / 35
    “Very good! I see they got you some clothes.” Carter was now wearing a navy blue sweat suit of her own, and a new pair of aerobic shoes.
    “Yes, but Jill let me keep a pair of her leg warmers.”
    Carter exhibited her ankles.
    “Love the color,” said Rae. Jill appeared, excited about her yoga class. She was sure that by the end of the week she would be able to stand on her head. She and Carter made for the hors d’oeuvre tray, where they were allowed one small vegetable dumpling apiece, dipped in some sort of herb chutney.
    “We made it through a day. How do you feel?” Carter asked.
    “Better,” said Jill.
    “Me too,” said Carter.
    The gong sounded. Dressed in a skintight red-knit pantsuit, the night’s Fitness Professional said, “Good evening, ladies. I’m Terri, I’m your hostess tonight…”
    They moved into the dining room, chattering. Jill and Carter found seats together. Carter was pleased when Laurie chose a seat at the end of their table. Tonight they were even joined by The Movie Star’s sidekick. She didn’t say much. Somebody said she was an agent.
    Over the salad they talked of food. A tiny, trim woman whom Jill had met in T’ai Chi announced that she was one of The Cloister’s success stories.
    “I’m in the book,” she said.
    “What does that mean?”
    “It means I lost more than fifty pounds and kept it off. They keep a book.” Jill and Carter stared. Fifty pounds? She must have been wider than she was tall. Now the Success Story knew how the spa chef made everything. The secret of the oil-less dressings, the way to make fat-free chocolate mousse.
    Over the salmon the talk turned to politics. This was election week.
    There was a woman at the next table, someone reported, who was chief administrative officer for the mayor of New York. There was another whose brother was running to fill a congressional seat. The incumbent had gone to prison but was campaigning from his cell.
    36 / Beth Gutcheon
    “Wouldn’t you want to be with your family on election night?”
    Jill asked.
    “She gets too nervous,” said someone who knew her. “She’ll watch it on television.”
    “Can we watch the returns at Saguaro?”
    “Yes, but you have to remember, you’re not at home. You’re surrounded by Republicans,” said a thin dark woman.
    “What a relief; I was afraid I was surrounded by Democrats,” said another.
    “Speaking of television, did everyone see the news tonight?”
    “No, what’s happened?” voices chorused.
    “One of those commuter planes crashed in Kansas.”
    “How terrible!”
    “Do they know why?”
    “Were many people hurt?”
    “Everyone. Killed. It crashed in a rainstorm, halfway to Lawrence.
    It just barely missed someone’s barn, and it killed a horse.”
    “Those things scare me to death,” the Success Story said.
    “I used to have to take those planes all the time,” said a small woman who hadn’t said anything before.
    “Did you? Why?”
    “I inherited an oil company, and I had to get to my wells.”
    It was at around this point in dinner that Laurie Lopez got up quietly and left the room.
    T uesday morning Laurie was standing by herself in Saguaro, looking hollow-eyed in the early light. She held a cup of something hot, and seemed not to hear the burble of conversation around her. Amy and Jill were talking about