“Buck Mulligan.”

“That’s a funny name for a woman. Oh, you’re kidding. No, that’s not your name. I remember who you are now. When I saw you with them and followed you, I thought I knew you. I thought you looked familiar. You’re that Wordlaw woman; you’re that writer. That novelist. You haven’t had a novel out in years. I tried reading one of your travel books, but girl, I couldn’t get through that monster. I always did want to ask you, What do you consider the difference between porn and . . .? Look, I could do a write-up on you. I would love to. We haven’t gotten any juice from you in years!”

“No thanks.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t give interviews either.”

“Why not?”

“So long.” I backed away.

“You can trust me.”

I said nothing.

“What are you working on now? I hope it’s not another one of those Summer in New Hampshire books. We want some juice from you, girl!”

“So long,” I said again.

“Sure, be that way.”

I went back to the cosmetics counter to try some cologne. When I glanced over my shoulder the girl was still watching me, standing against a rack of dresses, her little finger stuck in the side of her mouth. I wondered again what she’d be wearing if she’d had to trap the fox herself. Well, she looked as if she’d have managed to get the fur of something.

When I open the door, Catherine is standing over Ernest holding a glass sculpture, ready to bring it down across the back of his head. I scream and he jumps up. The glass crashes into the back of the yellow leather chair. Ernest and I stand watching Catherine, whose hand has crashed into the pieces of broken glass and is bleeding. Then she is sucking her fingers.

“Do we have any mercury?” she asks.

“Mercurochrome, you mean,” says Ernest. “Mercury’s poison.”

Ernest bandages her hand, while I clean up the glass pieces. The sculpture was too big to hide. The only way it could have gotten into the house was for him to have allowed it.

When Ernest leaves, I ask her.

“How did this get here?”

“Someone mailed it to me,” she said. “I had to sign for it and everything. Special delivery, kiddo. Do you remember when I was in my transparent period?”

“What?”

“Oh, you didn’t know me when I was in my transparent period. Used to do all this sculpture folks could see through. That’s when I still could use glass, well, safety glass. I had to switch to plastic. You should have known me when I was in my transparent period. Someone remembered. Anyway, how toxic is it?”

I try to think of all the vicious someones who could get into this act.

She stares down at her bandaged hand.

“Where’s Ern?”

“Gone out.”

“I didn’t notice he went out. Where did he go?”

“Who knows? To air out.”

I hold in my fury. I’ve attached myself to them. I’m stuck too.