82 Desire

had always been a pleaser, but Sheila was like the little girl with the curl—she’d quite often been horrid. Not lately, though, and Skip wasn’t up for any more acting out. But she held herself in check. “Do I detect a tiny bit of homophobia on the home front?”
    Sheila looked horrified. “Homophobia! What’s that got to do with anything?”
    “ ‘Ruffly aprons’? What’s that about?”
    “They’re just so damn cute, that’s all.” She turned and flounced into the house, as well as one can flounce in a denim miniskirt. As she opened the door, Skip heard the domestic clatter of Dee-Dee and Layne putting away groceries.
    “Hey, gorgeous,” one of them said.
    “Oh, hey, Layne.” Skip could imagine Sheila giving him a half-contemptuous glance as she passed.
    Dee-Dee said, “What’s wrong with her?”
    “Hormones, I guess. Where’s Angel, I wonder?” Layne stepped out to the courtyard.
    Kenny turned instantly from Steve. “Hey, Layne—like my hairdo?” He put one hand on his hip and the other on the side of his face, primping.
    Layne stood riveted, eyes round and naked as checkers. He opened his mouth and closed it again, doubtless trying to think of a way to protect Dee-Dee from the spectacle.
    Dee-Dee chose that moment to follow him outside. His comment was unequivocal and loud. “Aaaaaaaagggggghhhh.” But seeing Kenny’s sweet face crumple in misery, he tried to inject some humor: “Help! The Martians have landed!”
    Kenny smiled again, a little uncertainly, but clinging to the desperate hope that approval would after all be forthcoming.
    Sheila chose that moment to rejoin the group, a malicious little smile on her face. “Don’t you just love it, Uncle Jimmy?”
    Skip saw Dee-Dee marshalling his resources. “I’m getting there. I’m getting there.”
    Kenny was starting to catch on that his sartorial experiment wasn’t a success. “Everybody hates it!” He started to go in the house, about to go through the whole teenage door-slamming routine, but Layne caught him. “Hey, sport. Hold it. It’s cool. I’m not kidding, it’s really … um … cool. Really. It just kind of takes you by surprise, that’s all.”
    Kenny wriggled away. “You’re lyin’,” and he pushed past him into the house.
    Sheila slunk away behind him, chastened a bit.
    Steve said, “I need a beer.”
    “We were, uh, going to barbecue in the courtyard,” Dee-Dee began. “Layne’s making his famous potato salad and we were going to have this jolly old time…”
    “Are you asking us to join you?” Steve asked. “We accept. Looks like Sheila and Kenny won’t be around—somebody has to eat that chicken.”
    “Oh, dinner’s an hour away. They’ll have time to cool down.”
    Steve went to shower off after a hard day of home improvement, and Layne went to construct the famous salad. Dee-Dee sat dejectedly in one of the green-painted chairs. “Why, Minerva? Why, why, why did he feel the need to do that?”
    Skip said, “Are you speaking to me or invoking the goddess of wisdom?”
    “Both, my tiny trifle. As you are the living embodiment of wisdom—or at least the closest thing in this courtyard—please tell me what’s wrong with that boy.”
    “Same as ever, Dee-Dee. He’s insecure.”
    “Oh, God—I mean Goddess—when will it ever end? What does it take to get a kid secure?”
    “Well, I think Sheila’s coming into her own. Speaking of goddesses.”
    “Oh, shit. Forget it in that case.’”
    Steve came out in fresh shorts and T-shirt, sipping the aforementioned beer. He spoke thoughtfully. “First the earring and now this. Something’s going on with that kid.”
    Dee-Dee said, “Wonder if he’s gay.”
    Sheila came out with a plate of chicken, which she began forking onto the grill. “He’s not gay. Gay people always think everyone else is gay.”
    “Is that so, Missy-Wissy? Tell you who’s not gay—all those hunks that hang around your young patootie. I don’t think for a millisecond they’re gay.”
    “Oh, Uncle Jimmy, you’re so protective.” Her voice was whiny and irritated.
    “Oh, Niece Sheila, I can’t do anything right. What is the problem around here?”
    All of a sudden she was crying. “You just don’t know what it’s like to live with two randy old coots!” Once again she did her mini-flounce.
    Layne came out. “Old? Who’s she calling old?” He was fifteen years younger than Dee-Dee.
    “And randy! After we’ve been so discreet. Separate