But Sherri made it. How odd it felt to walk out on the floor in her costume and heels for the first time, her hair loose and wild, the air cool on her bare shoulders. It was like one of those dreams Sherri often had that she’d shown up at school dressed in just her underwear. But nobody was shocked. None of the guests in their heavy sweaters and sport coats who sat in the Sidewalk Café where she worked pointed and made fun of her, or insisted she should cover herself up; instead, she was as expected and as welcome as the cocktails she set on the table in front of them. When she did, the men gazed at her with raw approval.

It only took a few shifts for Sherri to begin to enjoy all those eyes on her. She knew that she was there to be seen, and for the first time in her life she learned that she liked being looked at, she did, as much as she liked to be told that she was beautiful, something she now heard every single day.

Kids were always at the resort, whether to have brunch with their grandparents or warming up with hot cocoa after a day of skiing, and they’d hide behind the giant pillars and muster the energy to ask Sherri for her autograph. At first, she felt like saying, “Who, me?” But soon she learned to smile and sign her name with flair.

And then there were the men who stared at her as if she were the answer to every problem they ever had. She could move them with the smallest gesture, from an extra napkin to calling them “hon,” and offering up a sincere smile. You’re a good-looking girl, aren’t you? they said. Well, hello, gorgeous! Have I died and gone to heaven? Men asked to have their photos taken with her. They complimented her skin, her button nose, her hair, her long, elegant neck.

If it weren’t for Roberta suggesting she interview here, she might never have experienced this revolutionary rush of power; never learned that she had control.

That thought made her smile. When she did, she could see why Gloria chose only happy, wholesome-looking Bunnies. Her smile worked. It reminded her of the shift in sound on the organ, when she would change the registration from a 16' Bombarde reed stop to the light, charming sound of a 4' flute. After so much heavy sadness, she finally felt light and free.

CHAPTER FOUR