He said, “Better than a suit and tie, Bunnatine. You can get a sewing machine and go to town, dee eye why, but who has the time? It’s all about advertising. Looking big and bold. But you don’t want to be too designer. Too Nike or Adidas. So last year I needed a new outfit, asked around, and found this women’s cooperative down on a remote beach in Costa Rica. They’ve got an arrangement with a charity here in the States. Collection points in forty major cities where you drop off bathing suits and leotards and bike shorts, and then everything goes down to Costa Rica. There’s a beach house some big-shot rock star donated to them. A big glass and concrete slab and the tide goes in and out right under the glass floor. I went for a personal fitting. These women are real artists, talented people, super creative. They’re all unwed mothers, too. They bring their kids to work and the kids are running around everywhere and they’re all wearing these really great superhero costumes. They do work for anybody. Even pro wrestlers. Villains. Crime lords, politicians. Good guys and bad guys. Sometimes you’ll be fighting somebody, this real asshole, and you’ll both be getting winded, and then you start noticing his outfit and he’s looking, too, and then you’re both wondering if you got your outfits at this same place. And you feel like you ought to stop and say something nice about what they’re wearing. How you both think it’s so great that these women can support their families like this.”

“I still think tights look stupid.” She thought of those kids wearing their superhero outfits. Probably grew up and became drug dealers or maids or organ donors.

“What? What’s so funny?”

He said, “I can’t stop thinking about Robert Potter and your mother. Did he want clean underwear? Or did he want dirty underwear?”

She said, “What do you think?”

“I think twenty bucks wasn’t enough money.”

“He’s a creep.”

“So you think he’s been in love with her for a long time?”

She said, “What?”

“Like maybe they had an affair once a long time ago.”

“No way!” It made her want to puke.

“No, seriously, what if he was your father or something?”

“Fuck you!”

“Well, come on. Haven’t you wondered? I mean, he could be your father. It’s always been obvious he and your mom have unfinished business. And he’s always trying to talk to you.”

“Stop talking! Right now!”

“Or what, you’ll kick my ass? I’d like to see you try.” He sounded amused.

She wrapped her arms around herself. Ignore him, Bunnatine. Wait until he’s had more to drink. Then kick his ass.