Grime and Punishment

did she really know about her?
    She glanced around the kitchen, looking for clues to the secret Suzie. She had nice enough things, selected with taste, but all a bit old and worn. The ornaments on the shelf over the tiny kitchen desk were all obviously school projects of Bob’s. Some pictures he’d drawn, a lopsided ceramic sugar bowl, nothing that really said anything about Suzie herself. Jane couldn’t remember seeing any family pictures, just school pictures of the boy displayed with pride.
    Suzie rarely mentioned her ex-husband, and when she did it was in scathing terms. Jane seemed to recall that he’d left her for another woman—“A thin little bitch,“ as buxom Suzie put it. It was apparently some time ago, because Suzie had lived in the neighborhood since her son was in preschool. There must have been a decent divorce settlement for Suzie to have bought the house and furnished it nicely, but probably not much alimony; she made it clear that she wasn’t working to “fulfill“ herself, but to keep their roof over their heads. And the furniture and carpets, while clean and neat, were beginning to show age. Bob didn’t spend summers with his father like so many of the kids of divorced parents in the neighborhood, so there must not be any contact with him.
    Jane searched her memory. Where was Suzie from? Somewhere in the South, she thought. For her first few years here she’d carried on hideously about the winters. “I never thought I’d see the day when I’d go trudging around ass-deep in the snow!“ she said the first time they’d met. So why had she come here?
    “I’m asking you for the last time what you want to drink!“ Suzie said, shaking Jane’s arm.
    “Oh! Sorry. A Coke, I think. Wasn’t that one of the choices?“
    “Sure, but it’s full of sugar and caffeine. Do you care?“
    “I wouldn’t want it any other way,“ Jane said fervently.
    “A woman after my own heart. I don’t know why caffeine’s suddenly got such a bad rep. First they take away our Dexedrine, then they go after caffeine. It’s not fair. How’s a girl to get through the day?“
    “Suzie, where are you from?“ Jane asked. “Texas, why?“
    “I just wondered. You don’t have an accent.“
    “Southern accents don’t take on Swedes, didn’t you know? Try to picture Mrs. Olson saying ‘Haf sum coffee—y’awl.’ I can do it if I need to.“ She drew herself up, tossed her long, platinum hair, and assumed a sleepy, southern-belle look. “Ah doan know what y’awl city folks mean ‘bout accents. I tawk just ‘bout like my daddy. Sheeeet. It’s a three-syllable word in the South, shit. She-eee-it.”
    Shelley choked on her drink.
    “Where are you from, Jane?“ Suzie asked, politely ignoring Shelley.
    “Everywhere. My father was a civil servant with a genius for languages. He was also very handsome and had a good family background. So every time anybody needed a highly presentable translator, he was it. We lived almost anywhere there had ever been an embassy. What about your folks?“
    “No idea,“ she said breezily. “They dropped me off at an orphanage when I was two. I was raised in foster homes.“
    “Oh, I’m sorry.”
    Suzie sat down and leaned her arms on the table. “Why? It wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t so bad. Foster parents have gotten a bad rep too. Most of mine were nice.”
    Jane had the feeling she’d said something very tactless, but couldn’t tell quite what it was. Suzie and Shelley were both sipping their drinks and staring at her, as if eager to see which foot she’d put in her mouth next.
    “Suzie, was Edith blackmailing you?“ Shelley gasped.
    Suzie just stared at her for an extraordinarily long moment, then chuckled. “That’s so goddamn unsubtle I can’t believe you said it! Like something out of Monty Python. Jane, you’re priceless.“
    “Well, was she?“
    “Hell, no! What for? No, wait—let me see if I can figure this out. You think I’m a Libyan spy in disguise, this is a blond wig, and I asked the cleaning lady to dust a basement full of bombs!“ She shrieked with delight. “Or maybe I’m a mass murderer who slaughtered an entire Texastown and came here to hide out. Edith found my shotgun with forty-seven notches on the handle.”
    Even though she was the butt of the joke, Jane found herself joining Suzie’s infectious laughter. “Actually, I had you pegged for hijacking a truckload of pomegranates—“
    “And Edith found her with juice