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Keller. Her motto is, ‘Tanned fat looks better than white fat.’ I told her she should paint it on the door.”
    I watched a raindrop of sweat drip down her face, tracing awhite line through her makeup. “Not to get you worried or anything,” she continued, “but labor is like one of them Iraqis torturing you. All three of my kids were like poopin’ frozen turkeys. Not to mention the hem’rhoids. I read on the Internet that I could dab apple cider vinegar on them, but all that did was make me stink like Easter eggs for a week so I don’t recommend it.” That was a hell of a lot of similes in one breath.
    She must have weighed 250-plus pounds, but she moved fast, her mouth a blur of candy-pink lipstick and her ass a giant, bobbing red and yellow flowered pillow. As she propelled me toward the house, I was trying to figure out if she meant she smelled like the vinegar you put in with the dye pellets or … I didn’t want to know. She’d guided me halfway up the walk before I could think about asking her who the hell she was.
    “I’m Leticia Abigail Lee Dunn. Everybody calls me Letty. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.” Her twang fell heavy into the hot air.
    When I looked blank, she said impatiently, “Oh, come on, honey. Wife of Mayor Harry Dunn the
fourth
, your husband’s new boss. Daughter of William Cartright Lee
of the Robert E. Lees
. You know the General, don’tcha, honey? We’ve also got a long line of pageant girls in our family, too, but I don’t want to brag.” She gave my arm a squeeze.
    “I was fourth runner-up in Miss Texas. Miss Congeniality was outright
stolen
from me by Miss Haltom City,” she whispered, as if it were a secret.
    I nodded mutely, struggling to imagine a crown perched on the top of that teased mountain of bleached-blond hair, happy that I didn’t have to participate for this conversation to go on.
    I wondered how she knew so instantly who I was. She swept her hand grandly at the nearby houses. The ripples of fat on her lower arm swung like dimpled bread dough.
    “This tract used to be one of our ranches. I think my ancestors would like that it is now home to modern royalty. You aren’ta Democrat, are you? That’s one thing I told the girls, ‘We might have to brainwash the Hillary out of her.’ ” She narrowed her eyes at me. “You don’t talk much, do you?”
    She didn’t wait for an answer. “We can just walk on in, honey. Caroline is real gracious that way. She’s a bit of a control freak in other matters but you’ll get used to it. Have you filled out an application?”
    Application?
I risked a breath instead of speaking, hoping that once again she didn’t really want an answer. I needed to prepare myself. A roomful of unknowns churned up my insecurities every time. I liked a script, a purpose, when entering a room.
    My best friend in New York, Lucy, is a chameleon like me. Assessing the audience, adapting as necessary. She’s the only other person I’ve ever known intimately who is as deliberate and sneaky about it as I am. I remember our instant connection at a museum gala nine years ago, bonding over a Lucian Freud portrait, a mediocre glass of merlot, and our predilection for dark thinking. I wished Lucy and her biting humor were with me now as I navigated this land of twangy trolls and lemon squares.
    Leticia grabbed the knob of the massive arched double door. She hesitated. One of her long pink fingernails tucked back a piece of my hair that I’d purposely styled to fall out of the bun on my head.
    “I’ve got a little spray in my purse that will take care of that if you want to scoot off to the bathroom first. Be forewarned, this is a curious bunch. And we’re tight. You’ll need to suck up a little to get in.”
    In where? The door? Was she talking about my stomach? Her stomach? Why, why had I said yes to this?
    “Hey, y’all!” Leticia bellowed into the house. “I got Emily here. The new chief’s wife.” She swept me across a marble