Zipped by Laura McNeal Page B

problems into perspective. “It ain’t my wife and it ain’t my life.”
    It’s not Lisa Doyle, Mick thought. It’s not Lisa Doyle.
    This helped only a little.
    He was closer now, within thirty feet, entering the no-turnaround zone. At any moment Pam Crozier and Myra Vidal would sense his presence and look up.
    It’s not Lisa Doyle, it’s not Lisa Doyle.
    They looked up.
    Mick tried to smile. Sweat seemed all at once to pop from every pore of his body. He opened his mouth and tried to say, “Hi,” but his throat had tightened and it came out more like a croak.
    Myra Vidal and Pam Crozier stared at the croaking boy. They didn’t speak or smile.
    Mick was having a hard time breathing. He turned to the one with dark hair and olive skin and said, “You’re Myra Vidal, right?”
    She nodded. She waited. So did everybody else. Mick could feel it. Suddenly he said, “Do you know Alexander Selkirk?”
    Myra Vidal cocked her head quizzically. “Who?”
    â€œAlexander Selkirk.”
    â€œAlexander Selkirk,” Myra said. She said it slowly, as if searching it for a taste.
    Mick said, “The reason I ask is he says he knows you.”
    Myra said, “Who’s Alexander Selkirk?”
    â€œThis older guy who says he knows you.”
    â€œHow much older?”
    Mick took a deep breath. It felt good to take a deep breath. It was as if for the past minute or two he hadn’t been breathing at all. He said, “Well, he’s about my stepmother’s age and she’s thirty-one.”
    â€œAnd he says he knows me?”
    Suddenly, in spite of—maybe even because of—Myra’s confusion, Mick began to feel better, almost calm, in fact. “That’s right. Alexander Selkirk said he knows you intimately.”
    Myra stared in disbelief, but Pam Crozier broke into a laugh. “Sister woman! You’ve been holding out on me! Have you got a cute little old-timer tucked away in a cupboard?”
    Mick could see Myra’s face moving from disbelief to anger. He himself felt weirdly composed. In a matter-of-fact voice he said, “The reason I came over to talk to you is because when I heard Alexander Selkirk say that he knew you intimately, I had a feeling he was lying. I remembered how nice you seemed and he’s kind of a donkey.”
    Myra’s face relaxed. It was a dazzlingly pretty face. “You were right,” she said. “He was lying.”
    Pam Crozier said, “But Myra’s not as nice as she seems.”
    Demurely Myra said, “As a matter of fact, I am. Possibly nicer.”
    Mick wasn’t sure what he was going to say next, but Myra saved him. She said, “Can I throw the Frisbee for your dog?”
    Pam evidently didn’t like this idea. “My-ra,” she said in a low mock whine. “What are you doing?”
    â€œThrowing a dog a Frisbee is what. Making some doggy happiness.”
    When Myra reached for the Frisbee, Mick glimpsed between her breasts all the way to her flat stomach. “Frisbee’s kind of mungy,” he said.
    â€œI don’t mind mung,” Myra said.
    She threw the Frisbee in a long graceful arc that Foolish caught up with at the shady end of the field. “Wow,” Myra said quietly.
    While Myra kept throwing Frisbees, Pam lay on the blanket reading from her textbook—
The Economics of Child Labor in the
Industrial Age
—and Mick and Reece stood there not knowing what to do with themselves. Reece kept sneaking glances at one or another set of breasts. Mick tried to focus his attention on Foolish. Finally Pam said, “I guess you guys can sit down if you want.”
    Mick and Reece both nodded and sat. Myra threw another Frisbee, and Pam turned toward Mick and Reece. She’d shifted onto her side, which had a plumpening effect on her breasts. “So do you guys live around here, or what?”
    They both nodded. Mick kept his eyes