Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order. ” Michelle relayed the information as if she had been there, though she had not. The theme was a masquerade. Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. Occasionally the canvas snapped as the wind veered slightly. She put her clothes back on, 118 lipstick smeared all over her face. But his treasured dream lay shattered at his feet. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. “Gods!” cried Ann Veronica, and kept him standing. .
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