Chapter 5

Though she had done it many times, Desirée felt strange standing on Liz Clark's front porch and knocking, for it was the purpose of her visit that filled her with trepidation. For almost as long as she had lived here, Desirée had been coming to visit the pretty bleach-blonde thirty-year-old at least twice a week, and they were fast friends. The only thing that Desirée didn't particularly like about the older woman had been her liaison with Clete, for she could never quite get over her aversion to interracial romances. She, Desirée, could never be so involved, and the idea of her friend's doing it put her off. But then Clete and Liz had split up and Desirée didn't have to worry about running into him when she visited her friend, didn't have to endure his creepy leer.

But her reason for this visit now was linked to Clete's new fiancee, or rather, what had happened to her, and whether the rumors about the perpetrator's, the dog's, being Liz's runaway pet were true.

Liz answered the door, stuck her head out quickly, looking up and down the street, and then hastily pulled Desirée inside.

"Liz, what's going on?" Desirée asked, surprised at her friend's manner. "You act like a woman hunted."

Liz curled up on the couch, pulling her long legs up under her, and glanced behind her out the window, again, cautiously. As Desirée sat in a stuffed chair opposite, Liz was a shadowy silhouette against the glare of the sun through the window behind her.

"That's exactly what I am, Dezzy," Liz replied. "Exactly that. They're blaming me for what happened to Nancy." Liz lit a cigarette. "At least some people are, and one of them is Clete Anderson."

"Why, how can he blame you, Liz? You had nothing to do with it."

Liz took two drags on her cigarette. "Not directly, no. But- "

Desirée looked at her friend, waiting for the answer to the mystery in the truncated sentence. "Come on, Liz. Tell me what you mean-"

Liz laughed bitterly. "Clete and I, you know, we used to be real close. You know that. But he and Lobo hate each other with a bloody passion."

"Lobo?" Desirée leaned forward in her seat.

"Lobo," Liz said with a nod. "Lobo is his name. He's my dog."

Desirée caught her breath. "Then the rumors are true."

The older woman nodded again. "Completely. My pet from a puppy. My lover long before I knew Clete."

Desirée's eyes widened, only half comprehending what the other had said. "Lover?"

Liz glanced behind herself again and drew the curtains. She spoke in a low voice, as if afraid to be heard. There was no doubt that she was. "Clete and Lobo were jealous of me. At first it was Lobo that was upset. You know Clete used to come here. We were lovers, and Clete's huge cock-excuse my Greek-kept me happy most of the time. A woman needs a man for a lover and companion, and Clete's got a lot of sex appeal."

Desirée closed her eyes briefly and thought of Mark, what they had done yesterday, how she had craved his hard, thrusting penis, how she knew she would want it again, how she wanted it at this very moment, even though he was busy at work and completely inaccessible.