"How did you two meet?"

"Mom . . ."

Crystal glanced into the great room through the open door. "We're out here." She must have caught sight of Leila because she turned back with an expression of annoyance and disbelief. "Oh, for heaven's sake."

I followed her gaze.

Leila was clumping down the stairs in a pair of black satin pumps with heels so high she could hardly stand erect. Now and then her ankles wobbled as though she were setting off across the ice for the first time on skates. Under her black leather jacket, her top was a see-through confection of chiffon and lace, worn with a long, narrow wool skirt. At fourteen, she was still in that coltish stage of development: no bust to speak of, narrow hips, and long, bony legs. The length of her skirt couldn't have been less flattering. She looked like the cardboard cylinder in a spent roll of paper towels. She'd also done something strange to her hair, which was cut short, dyed a white blond, sticking out in all directions. Some strands had been dreadlocked while the rest remained as wispy as cotton candy. She came to the open door and stood there staring at us.

Crystal snorted. "What's that getup supposed to be?"

"It's not a 'getup.' What's wrong with it?"

"You look ridiculous. That's what."

You do, too. You look like a bag lady. That sweater's down to your knees."

Fortunately, I'm not going out in public. Now please go upstairs and find something decent to wear."

"God, you are always so worried what other people think."

"Knock it off. I'm really tired of fighting with you."

"Then why don't you leave me alone? I can dress any way I want.

It's no reflection on you."

"Leila, you're not leaving the house dressed like that."

"Great. I won't go then. Thanks a lot and fuck you."

"Where's your suitcase?" Crystal said patiently, declining Leila's invitation to escalate.

"I don't have one. I told you I'm not going. I'd rather stay here."

"You didn't see him last time and I swore you'd be there."

"I don't have to go if I don't want to. It's my decision."

"No, it's not, it's mine, so quit arguing."

"Why?"

"Leila, I'm irritated at all the lip you've been giving me. What's the matter with you?"

"I just don't want to go. It's boring. All we do is sit around and watch videos."

"That's what you do here!"

"You promised I could see Paulie."

"I never said any such thing. And don't change the subject. Paulie's got nothing to do with it. Lloyd's your father."

"He is not! We're not even related. He's one of your stupid old ex-husbands."

"One ex-husband. I've only been married once before," she said. "Why are you being so hostile and obnoxious? Lloyd adores you."

"So what?"

"Leila, I'm warning you."

"If he's so full of adoration why does he force me to spend time with him against my will?"

"He's not forcing you. I am and that's final. Now get."

"I will if I can see Paulie."

"Absolutely not."

"God, you're so mean. You don't give a shit about me."

"That's right. I'm just here to abuse and mistreat you. Call Children's Protective Services."

"You think Lloyd's so great, why don't you go see him yourself?" Crystal closed her eyes, trying to control her temper. "We're not going to do this in front of company. He's got joint custody, okay? He's picking you up at seven, which means he's already on his way over. I'll come get you Sunday morning at ten. Now go back up and change. And you better pack a bag or I'll do it myself and you'll hate what I choose."

Leila's face shut down and I could see a patch of red form around her nose and mouth where she held back tears. "You are so unfair," she said, and clomped back up the stairs again. She slammed the door behind her after entering her room, then screamed the word "bitch" again from the far side of the door.

Crystal returned to our conversation, making no reference to Leila beyond a shake of her head and a rolling of her eyes. "Dow and I met in Vegas at the home of mutual friends. The first time I saw him, I knew I'd marry him one day."

"Wasn't he married?"

"Well, yes. I mean, technically speaking, but not happily," she said, as though Dow's marital angst justified her poaching on Fiona's turf. "You've met Fiona. She's only six months younger than him, but she looks like she's a hundred. She drinks. She smokes two packs a day. She's also hooked on Valium, which I doubt she mentioned when she was hiring you. Dow was sixty-nine last spring, but you'd never guess by looking. Have you seen a picture of him?"