“The evening was so balmy that several dozen people were still gathered outside. Shaking the rocks in her Scotch and water, she stood at the rail and watched as a blond man in parrot green shorts swam laps in the pool.She felt crisp and glamorous tonight in serious makeup and a turquoise-and-white sailor suit, fresh from a country Martinizing. She’d expected to be recognized—hoped for it, in fact—and she was.“Excuse me,” he said. “You’re Wren Douglas.” He was brown-haired and brown-eyed, mustach...ioed. The mischief and sweetness in his expression would have betrayed him as gay at a PTA meeting in Lynchburg, Virginia.“Yes,” she replied.He stuck out his hand. “I’m Michael Tolliver. I was in the audience when you did Mary Ann in the Morning. You were fabulous. You’re always fabulous.”She smiled and squeezed his hand. She was used to this kind of homo hyperbole, but it never failed to please her. “You didn’t see me on Donahue,” she said with a rueful expression.“No.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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