The Green Lace Corset

been surprised, and was even a little guiltily glad, when he had been forced to sell the business for financial reasons.
“I did say step forward with care. It’s important to weigh the pros and cons. How’s his retirement going?” Anne asked.
“He seems to be a changed man.” Mrs. Landenheim took the milagro and pushed the leg to kick the foot. “I’ll treasure it.” She beamed and dropped it into the pocket of her pink bathrobe. “And in that bag of tricks?” She pointed toward the boutique bag on the floor next to the backpack.
Anne hesitated. She wasn’t sure what Mrs. Landenheim would think or whether she wanted her opinion. Was her purchase too risqué? Maybe she shouldn’t have bought it after all. Anne swallowed and then pulled out the corset with the skirt and held them up in front of her neighbor.
Mrs. Landenheim’s droopy basset-hound eyes grew wide. “Oh, my. May I borrow it? I can’t even imagine what Ray Ray might say.”
“Maybe.” Anne didn’t even want to imagine Mrs. Landenheim wearing it. “See you later.” She repacked her treasures and ran up the stairs.
Mrs. Landenheim’s cat sat patiently on Anne’s doorstep. Anne nudged Thai with a foot and whispered, “Pssst. Go away. Not now.” If Mrs. Landenheim knew Anne had been feeding her scraps, she wouldn’t be pleased.
The cat snarled and leaped down the stairs, crooked tail bouncing behind her.
Anne stepped inside her dark apartment, flipped on the lights, and put her stuff down on her carpet. It felt wonderful to be home. Her small studio was usually a mess—dirty dishes in the sink, bed unmade, canvases stacked on the floor, open bins of paints and found objects on every flat surface, knickknack shelf overflowing. Sergio had once accused her of being a hoarder. She defended herself by claiming it was impossible to keep a place neat when that place was your studio and your home too. Someday she wanted to have a big studio with plenty of space. In the meantime, for at least four months, if she got that residency, she’d have the museum studio to work in.
She’d recently read on the Hoarder Comes Clean blog that it was good feng shui to return home from a trip to a clean abode. So, before she’d left for Arizona, she had washed the dishes, put away all of her art supplies, and even made the daybed. Today, it felt so fantastic to return to a pristine home that she vowed to always keep it this way. She took a photo of the room, typed home, sweet home and posted it on Instagram.
“Alexa,” she said, “play Enya.”
The singer’s voice magically filled the apartment. Sergio had bought her the Echo and hooked it up right before their breakup. Anne got a little thrill every time the bit of technology followed her commands.
“Alexa, turn on salt lamp.” The light popped on.
She twirled around, took her lucky key from her jeans pocket and put it back on her artist altar in the corner, rubbed the Buddha’s head, and fingered her father’s dog tags. From the box of travel goodies, she located the pendant she’d bought at the Santa Fe Plaza, where local Native American artists lined up their wares under the veranda to sell. The Navajo she had bought it from had been patient as she’d picked up each of his pieces, until she’d finally chosen the one that called to her the most. The size of two quarters, the oval-shaped turquoise was inlaid in silver filigree and stamped on the back with the artist’s initials. Turquoise signified creativity, good luck, and joy. Perfect for her. She kissed it and added it to the altar.
Val’s vocalizations from downstairs floated up to her. Ka-ke-kai-ko-koo. Ka-ke-kai-ko-koo.
Anne sang down, echoing him. Ka-ke-kai-ko-koo. Ka-ke-kai-ko-koo. Some people would think these vocal warm-ups obnoxious, but she found them endearing.
Val performed in Beach Blanket Babylon, the campy satirical revue at Club Fugazi, in North Beach, that made fun of everything. She loved the humongous hats and cross-gender casting that constantly changed to reflect current politics and trends. Luckily, Val got her comp tickets whenever she wanted. But she’d recently heard that the show was going to be closed down. That would be so sad. It had been a San Francisco favorite since 1974. Where would Val ever find another job that was that much fun?
She pulled the corset and skirt out of the bag and held them up to her, looking in the full-length mirror on the back of her closet. The light hit the outfit just so, and the sequins shone. Her belly tingled. She had made the right decision to buy it after all and couldn’t wait to wear it with a special guy. She opened the door and hung it on the back.
Inside, she caressed the black velvet coat that had brought her to Sylvia and the friendship that meant so much to Anne. She fingered the snowflake pin and watched it sparkle in the light. She slipped it back on the rack.
She turned on the water in the farmhouse kitchen sink, added detergent, and stuck the oily hubcap in the suds to soak. She dried her hands and got her phone. There were several messages. Unlike many people, she never talked on the phone while driving. Hard enough to concentrate as it was. The first one was from her mom. Anne would call her later. The second message was from Sergio. Just seeing his number on her phone made her heart speed up.
“I see you’re back. FaceTime me. It’s been a long time since we talked.”
He must be keeping close track of her. She had posted that Instagram photo not even half an hour earlier. He was right on time to break the silence. She was afraid to see him, though. It might let out all those feelings she’d been trying to shove into the cupboard of her heart and shut up tight for the past year. Since then, they’d occasionally texted and liked each