Sherri didn’t want to eat at Giles. She wanted to work. The resort was getting busier. She’d miss the chance to make lots of tips and brush up against celebrities, and she’d planned to go to the bars that night with her friends. What if Mitch called while she was gone? How would she ever get the message? She was certain she’d miss everything, and everyone would forget about her. She’d become inconsequential, Cinderella after the ball. Worse, returning to East Troy meant she would return to her old self.

“I’ll walk ahead and meet you by the entrance,” she said. She couldn’t be seen leaving the building with Jerry.

The transition from the muffled and cave-like atmosphere inside the resort back outside to the bright light was always jarring. It was finally nice out, and the golf course was a lush sea of green, although the beauty of that late-spring day was wasted on her because of the mood she was in. She twirled her bag in the air and thought of Gloria wearing her dumb kimono to cover up her jelly rolls. She’s the one who should be sent home.

The management company had built condos on the edge of the property and started selling time-shares, offering free or discounted stays with a tour and the kind of heavy sales pitch that was geared for people who had a hard time saying no. Sherri didn’t like the time-shares, because they took away from the feeling of the main resort building being the center of activity. The salespeople were always on the make. One had told a couple that if they bought a time-share, they were welcome to take one of the paddleboats in the tiny lake by the golf course. When they went to pick it up, security stopped them and told them they weren’t the salesperson’s boats to give away.

Service trucks buzzed past her, delivering food and boxes of liquor. The roads leading into and out of the resort were like veins and arteries serving a beating heart. It was hot for May, and the outdoor pool was finally open. She could have gone sunbathing with the other Bunnies, but no, she was headed home.

By the time Jerry pulled up in his black Chevy Nova, Sherri had calmed herself a bit, but she was still edgy and rattled when she slid into the passenger seat. A hula-girl doll was glued to the dashboard. Her hips swung when he took tight turns along the winding roads, which he did with his ample thighs gripping the wheel instead of his hands.

“You’ve got a few days off?” he asked.

“Not exactly.”

“Why are you going back home?”

“Because I’m a fat cow.” Sherri could hear her voice break. She didn’t want to start crying. She looked down at her thighs spreading across the vinyl seat like underbaked loaves of bread.