She dipped Sherri’s cup into the brown sludge and handed it to her. “Here you go, honey. Just don’t smell it first. You’ll get used to it.” Sherri inhaled anyway, and felt the astringent burn cut through her sinuses. Across the room she saw Bunny Tina, now a regular earthling in jeans and a blouse, but still golden and radiant like the first-class Bunnies Bunny Starr told them about in training. She was talking to Bunny Sheila with the red hair and freckles, and waved at Sherri the way a beauty contestant might and returned to the conversation. Sherri approached but was too awkward to nudge her way into the circle of more established Bunnies. She overheard Sheila say that her father was ashamed to have a daughter work as a Bunny, but that he also asked her to have the Bunnies sign each latest issue of Playboy so he could take it to his machine shop to show to his friends.

Sherri stood by herself, not sure what to do next. Bunnies she recognized from the resort but had never spoken to were smoking cigarettes and dancing with other workers whose names Sherri also didn’t yet know. She looked around and realized she’d never been in such a nice house in all her life. It was hardly a cottage, with its massive picture windows and screened-in porches with ticking-stripe rugs and wicker furniture. The living room was paneled in wainscoting, and the ceiling had thick wood beams. A deer head with glassy black eyes stuck out of the wall above a giant stone fireplace. In front of it was a seating area with a deep, fat couch upholstered in red and black plaid fabric and overstuffed leather chairs that seemed to beg for someone to sit down and smoke a cigar.

Andy Gibb’s “Shadow Dancing” was playing, and everyone swayed to the music. Sherri, already a little drunk, took a long gulp of the wap and closed her eyes, hoping to get drunker still so she could enjoy herself. She was a good dancer with a strong sense of rhythm, although she’d never danced in front of other people outside of a high school gym or with Roberta in the Community Hall. She could do the Bus Stop and the Hustle without missing a step. The music changed to Van Halen’s “Runnin’ with the Devil.” The lyrics and the alcohol emboldened Sherri to let go. I got no love, no love you’d call real / Ain’t got nobody, waitin’ at home. Soon other guests joined her, and before she knew it, she was in the center of a group of dancers, sweaty and breathless, feeling suddenly drunk enough to forget about everything that made her sad. When she finally sat down on the couch, exhausted, a few of the Bunnies gave her high fives. Val stood in the distance, leaning against the bookcase, and nodded with approval.