Shame

at your door. They’re going to have a search warrant, and they’re going to have a lot of questions. And right behind them will be the media, who will make your life a living hell. They’ll report dirt and innuendo and downright lies. What’s worse is that people whom you consider friends will betray you. In hindsight, those former friends and neighbors will remember all sorts of terrible things about your husband, you, and your family.”
    Anna’s breath was short, her mouth dry. She managed to say, “You make it all sound so awful.”
    Elizabeth shook her head with regret. “I just gave you the best-case scenario.”

13

    T HE MAN ENTERED the room, drew a deep breath, and looked around with the eyes of someone who had never been there before. There was a nervousness about him that caught Lola’s eye. Married, Lola decided. Out on the town and looking for some forbidden fruit. But no, that wasn’t quite it. Lola studied him from her seat at the lounge. He stayed in the back for a minute, giving her plenty of time to do her observing.
    I know him,
Lola thought, but then realized that was impossible. Still, the resemblance was uncanny. And so was her feeling that this was the person she had somehow been expecting for weeks.
    The man sitting on her right had been trying to catch her eye ever since she had sat down. He finally decided to address her, even without the benefit of her full attention. “I just loved your Judy Garland,” he said. “I closed my eyes, and I swore it was Judy singing.”
    “Thank you,” Lola said.
    She was still watching the man who looked like Shame. He was making his way uncertainly toward the crowded bar. His face was pale, and he kept looking around. Afraid to be seen, thought Lola. Afraid he might be recognized. But she’d seen that kind of furtiveness enough times to know that wasn’t quite it.
    Her neighbor was still talking. “My name’s Joe,” he said. “You have a wonderful voice. I was in the theater myself, once upon a time. I—”
    “Joe, I wonder if you would do me a huge favor,” Lola said. “An old friend of mine just walked into the room. I hope it’s not too presumptuous of me to ask for your seat.”
    Joe’s mouth hung open in midsentence. He recovered enough to offer a martyr’s nod. The diva had spoken. He reached for his drink and started to stand. Lola waved at the Shame look-alike and patted the suddenly vacant seat next to her.
    She’s mistaken me for someone else, thought Caleb. He turned around, but there was no one behind him and no one else around him. For some reason, the woman in the very colorful gown wanted to talk to him. Her eyes never left his. She had long eyelashes, and when she blinked, their folding and opening reminded Caleb of a butterfly’s wings. What could she want?
    Caleb was half convinced he should turn around, but he wasn’t ready to face the streets again. The black-and-whites were out in force, and he had only just avoided coming face-to-face with a foot patrol by ducking into the club. He supposed he was in some kind of cabaret. In the back of the room was an elevated stage with seating beneath it. The lounge was in the front of the building. Between it and the seating was a control panel for the lights and music. The performance was apparently over, judging by the empty stage and the crowded bar.
    He approached the tendered seat. “Thank you,” he said.
    She nodded. Her outfit glittered even in the dim bar, abounding with sequins and chiffon. The woman on her left was wearing an outfit even more iridescent. Performers, Caleb decided. That, or they were going to a midnight ball.
    “The outfit’s an original,” she said. “So am I.”
    “So I see.”
    “Do you have a name?” Lola asked. She had a Southern accent, put honey on her words, but not cloyingly so.
    So she didn’t know him. Good. Caleb paused before answering, reluctant to give his real name. “Paul,” he finally said.
    “Paul,” Lola repeated, not hiding her skepticism.
    He nodded.
    “You didn’t ask me my name,
Paul
.”
    “What’s your name?”
    Her very red lips parted: “Lola.”
    There was almost a fluorescent glow to her lipstick. But she wasn’t the only woman at the bar wearing a lot of makeup. In fact, she was wearing less than most. Stage makeup, Caleb decided. She was obviously part of the troupe. But that still didn’t explain why she had called him over. He looked at her for an explanation, but all she gave back was a