It makes Sherri sad to think about shunting such a major part of your life’s story, although part of her understands. People look at Sherri differently as soon as they find out that she’s a former Playboy Bunny, as though they’ve just discovered that her brain is stuffed with cotton tails. If she were to make a pie chart of her life, the eight months she spent at the resort would hardly account for a sliver of time, yet her experience as a Bunny overpowers her identity, like too much bitters in an old-fashioned. The way she sees it, she can either turn her past into a secret, the way Carmen did, or capitalize on it and endure the consequences.

“I caught her in our room once, going through our drawers,” Val says. “She stole from me. I’ll bet she stole from you, too. I was going to tell you about her sticky fingers but just like that”—Val clapped her hands together—“you were gone. Anyway, those girls never liked me, and I gave them no reason to. They have their little reunions sometimes, and they had a big one after Hef died a few years ago. I don’t go anymore. They turn those get-togethers into competitive aging events. They spend the whole time counting each other’s wrinkles.”

Sherri reaches for her bag and remembers how long goodbyes take in the Midwest—it’s a long, slow march to the door, and a real accomplishment to finally put your hand on the handle. But Sherri senses Val’s hesitation isn’t rooted in politeness. She doesn’t seem to want Sherri to leave.

“Gloria’s in Phoenix now. She runs a dog-grooming business.”

“Poor dogs!” Sherri says.

“She wasn’t so bad. That was a hard job for her to do. And Rhonda and Frank bought Zuhde’s Resort in Kenosha. They’re on the God squad now. Frank is a preacher at one of those big churches that looks like a hotel. Guess his stripping days are behind him. Maybe Carmen’s a parishioner.”

A truck rumbles over the bridge that runs across the Rock River. Off in the distance she can see Beloit College perched on the hill, pretty and old. “Let me get a photo,” Sherri says, remembering that Tina wanted a snapshot. She flips her phone around.

Val puts her arm around Sherri and smiles broadly. “Just look at us,” Val says. “A couple of old roomies. I didn’t like you at first, you know that? But you turned out OK I guess.”

Sherri puts her phone away and begins to walk back to her car. “You ever regret it?” Sherri asks.

“Regret what?”

“Being a Bunny.”

“A Bunny? Oh hell no. That was the best time of my whole goddamn life.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE