People had told her she had a hat face.

Parting two other stacks in the corner revealed a bunch of plastic bags containing tubes and jars of high-end cosmetics. Some of it all dried up, but she packed it anyway, Nick was the boss.

In a humongous plastic bag, she found a dozen wigs, with tissue paper between them. All different colors and styles. In a matching bag were the little foam dealies you put wigs on.

The coolest find was thirty-three of the nicest scarves Felicia had ever seen. Vuitton and Armani and Chanel and Escada and some others she’d never heard of. She counted them because she’d never seen so much gorgeous hand-painted silk in one place.

No men’s stuff, not a single sock.

Felicia wondered if Nick was a costume designer. Or maybe married to an actress who traveled, needed all those changes.

Big woman, maybe a character actress. She conjured an image: tall, buxom, had to be a blonde. Big but firm and shapely, you had to give Nick credit for not insisting on an X-ray.

Felicia had once been a totally slim size six. She’d lost all her preg weight, but twenty-five months later was still a little poochy in front, favored baggy sweatshirts.

No competition for Nick’s glamorous wife.

Stupid thought!

Like the fantasies that had begun filling her mind since last night.

Lying in bed, hoping Emilio would sleep through the night. Thinking about Stuart in Fallujah. It had been three weeks since she’d heard from him and no way would she listen to the news, all news did was make everything as horrible as possible.

Stuart’s face faded from view.

Nick’s took its place.

Felicia felt stupid and ashamed.

Fought the fantasy but it kept coming back and finally she gave in.

Her and Nick.

It starts off all friendly, totally innocent, they’re both good people.

The two of them in that vanilla-colored house. Beautiful, warm sunny day.

She’s mopping, dusting, sweeping stuff outside.

She goes outside, by the pool, to dustpan it up. It’s so hot. She peels off her sweatshirt. Underneath is that skimpy black tank top. The one Stuart always asked her to put on when they…

For some reason, she’d worn it to work.

No bra.

She stretches. Bends down, accidentally flashes a full view of her dangling boobs.

That’s okay, no one there.

Uh-oh; there is.

Nick. Lounging under a palm tree, reading a book.

Wearing swim trunks, nothing else. Nice body, not an ounce of fat.

He sees her, smiles.

She smiles back, shyly.

Her eyes drift to his swim trunks.

Uh-oh. That’s kinda hard to miss.

Nick blushes. Tries to hide the evidence with a book.

She smiles. Walks over to him, real slow.

Both of them working at controlling themselves because they’re good people.

But…

Remembering last night’s fantasy, Felicia’s cheeks burned. Her knees felt weak.