Vicky Banning by Allen McGill Page B

your age, too! Really! You need a psychiatrist. You’re a man hungry…whatever. That’s what you are. Man hungry!”
    “Is that what you think?” Vicky asked, rising to face her directly. “Did you ever think that you may have me all wrong?” She gave a Bogart hitch to her rib cage and turned on a Jimmy Cagney, wise-guy smile. “What would you say if I told you that I was a lesbian? Saaay , has any woman ever told you that you have dynamite boobs?”
    Sarah looked as if she were about to faint. Her face turned ashen, her eyes began to roll, and even her purplish curls seemed to blanch. A wail, rising in pitch and sound, seemed to come from deep inside her as she spun on her heels and galloped across the parlor into the foyer.
    It was the first time Vicky had seen anyone in the Sanctuary use the stairs, up or down, and certainly not at a gallop. She watched Sarah take them two at a time, the hem of her flowery dress jouncing as her “sensible” shoes thumped up the steps. I only asked, What would you say? Vicky said to herself, then turned her attention back to her newspaper.
    * * * *
     
    The heading of the petition read: Save The Sanctuary From SIN!!! Curious , Vicky thought, it wasn’t signed Sister Sarah—Savior of Souls. The typed sheet of unsigned paper had been slipped under her door the following day, making Vicky wonder who would have wanted her to see it first. If Doris knew about the petition, she would have shown it to her in person, and probably Burton would have as well.
    Well, Vicky would have to thank whoever it was later. In the meantime, though, she was going to have to put a stop to Sarah’s nonsense. She needed a plan, something that would bring Sarah down from her righteous perch, if at all possible without demeaning her further in the eyes of the other residents. Sarah had the right to feel the way she did, which was quite different from Vicky’s make-up. If anything, Vicky celebrated the differences in people, didn’t punish them for it, unless it was hurtful to someone else.
    She waited until Doris drove off with the vanload of shoppers before she began to search for—what? She wasn’t quite sure, but there had to be something that would give her an edge over Sarah. The public rooms, of course, would be of no use to her, and Sarah’s room on the opposite side of the house was private. Vicky strolled around the second floor balcony, noting that most of the residents left their doors open to the fresh air. There was no thought of anyone invading another’s domain. Sarah’s, too, stood open, but Vicky dismissed the fleeting thought of stepping inside. Privacy was one of the many things she respected, and she wouldn’t stoop to snooping for her own gain.
    She stood with her back to the railing at the edge of the outdoor balcony, looking toward Sarah’s room. It was like all the others: glass-paned doors—Sarah’s curtained with yellow, silk drapes—a window to the right of the doors, covered with matching material and, to the left, a smaller octagonal window set higher off the floor, and uncovered to let the light into the bathroom. The open doors showed the foot of the bed and, straight across the room, the door to the indoor hallway.
    Vicky stared straight ahead, not really seeing the room at all, thinking. Burton could possibly help her “get” something on Sarah, but Vicky didn’t want to involve anyone else in her scheme—whatever it was going to be. She thought about Sarah, of her reaction to Blueboy , and the “dynamite boobs.” That was it! Vicky didn’t like the plan very well—it was sneaky, which she abhorred—it was underhanded—which she detested—but it would work—which was marvelous! There was shopping to be done, a schedule to be laid out, so she had to start immediately.
    * * * *
     
    She’d seen the sporting goods store on her last “shopping spree” into Jamesville, and had the taxi driver drop her off at its entrance. The windows were crammed full