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  “Well, Amy always said—” Sophie looked around for her sister. “Amy?”

  Amy had faded off into the darkness of the yard, and Sophie could see her moving in the bushes beside the porch. “What are you doing?”

  “Just checking to make sure we put the equipment away.” Amy came back on the porch, picked up her drink, and she and Clea began to talk about the video.

  “I want the tape to send to L.A.” Clea said. “To a producer I know out there, Leo Kingsley.”

  “That sounds familiar,” Amy said to Sophie.

  Sophie nodded. “Davy used to work for him. That’s how he met Clea.” And then he brought her home to meet the family and she dumped him for Zane. Sophie took another sip of cider and brandy. She should get over that since Zane had turned out to be enough punishment all by himself. She let her head fall back and listened to Dusty and looked out into the lush green darkness of the trees that separated the house from the river.

  “So what about this Frank?” Amy said.

  “Frank.” Clea didn’t sound nearly as excited about Frank as she had earlier in the day. “He called about a month ago, and it made me... nostalgic. He said, ‘Why don’t you come home, we’ll talk about the deal here, it’ll be just like old times,’ and I thought, what a great idea to film for an audition tape— going home, meeting my old high-school flame, sort of a love story/documentary, you know?”

  Amy nodded. “How long did you and Frank go together?”

  “One night.” Clea emptied her glass and reached for the pitcher to pour another. “I, of course, thought it was going to be forever.”

  “One night?” Sophie thought of Frank: pudgy, badly dressed, and annoying as hell. One night would be plenty.

  “I was in love.” Clea made it sound like, I had the plague. “And he acted like he was. And he was so good-looking—”

  “Frank was good-looking?” Sophie said.

  “It was twenty-four years ago,” Amy said. “Shut up and let her talk.”

  “—and we were doing Taming of the Shrew for the senior play,” Clea was saying. “And you know how it is when you rehearse and rehearse and pretend you’re in love. Except I really was. He was just everything back then.”

  If Temptation was a place where Frank was just everything, Sophie was leaving town. Somebody smart, good-looking, and successful, somebody like the damn mayor, that made sense. But Frank?

  “He’d been dating Georgia Funk forever,” Clea said. “But on Saturday night, after the cast party, Frank took me out to the Tavern for a Coke, which, let me tell you, was big stuff. And he parked in the back which is pretty much Temptation’s lovers’ lane, and he made his move, and that’s when I lost my virginity.” Clea drained her second glass.

  “Ouch,” Sophie said.

  “He promised me he was through with Georgia,” Clea said. “But when I got to school on Monday, she was wearing this tiny chip of an engagement ring.”

  “Maybe we could film a murder mystery,” Amy said.

  “He said she was pregnant,” Clea said, “and they got married fast enough. And then eleven months later, sure enough, she had a baby.” Clea reached for the pitcher again, and Sophie held out her glass.

  “So she lied or he lied,” Amy said.

  “She lied,” Clea said, as she poured Sophie’s cider. “Their wedding picture was in the paper. You’ve never seen a more miserable-looking groom.” She took a sip from her glass and then topped it up from the pitcher. “And that’s how I lost my virginity and went to Hollywood to become a movie star.” She laughed, but she looked grim, even in the candlelight.

  “Does anybody ever have a good losing-my-virginity story?” Amy said. “I lost mine to Darrin Sunderland after the homecoming game my junior year, and it was lousy.” She sipped her cider and brightened. “Fortunately, sex got better.”

  “It was pretty good with Frank,” Clea said. “I mean, the sex wasn’t wonderful, but he was nice to me. And really grateful.”

  “Darrin was too drunk to be grateful,” Amy said. “Which taught me my first lesson about sex: They have to be sober. It’s one of the ‘Classic Blunders,’ right up there with ‘never get involved in a land war in Asia.’ ”

  “My first lesson was not to believe anything a guy tells you when he wants it,” Clea said. “The best guy I was ever with was a crook, so that tells you about my taste in men.”

  “You didn’t know Zane was a crook,” Sophie said.

  “No, Zane’s a mistake,” Clea said. “Davy’s a crook.” When Sophie sat up fast and rocked the swing, she added, “And you know it, so don’t even try to defend him. I know you love him, but he’s as crooked as everybody else in your family tree.”

  “Excuse me?” Sophie said, ice in her voice.

  “Except for you and Amy,” Clea said. “And sometimes I have my doubts about Amy.”

  “Everybody does,” Amy said cheerfully.

  “But I have no doubts about you, Sophie,” Clea went on. “You’ll never do anything wrong. I’ve never met anybody as straight as you. I bet you even lost your virginity well. Elegantly, with no trauma.” She toasted Sophie with her glass. “I bet you didn’t even get your clothes mussed.”

  “I lost it to Chad Berwick in Iowa, one month before school was out, my junior year,” Sophie said, trying to keep her voice even so she wouldn’t spit on Clea. “I thought I’d con him into taking me to prom because I wanted to be ‘in’ just once, and nobody was more in than Chad. Except it was awful, and when I got to school on Monday, everybody knew. And when I went to the cafeteria at lunchtime, his best friend came up and stuck his finger in the pie on my tray and scooped out this big, gloppy cherry and said, ‘Heard you lost this, Sophie.’ And then everybody laughed.” Sophie kept her voice flat, but she felt sick all over again as the memory came back; smelled the bread-and-butter smell in the cafeteria, saw the gray linoleum floor and turquoise wall panels, and heard the smothered laughter.

  After a minute, Amy said, “Jeez.”

  “I knew better,” Sophie said, trying to sound offhanded. “Mama warned me about the town boys. They had to be nice to the girls they knew, so they’d go after the outsiders like me instead. And then I thought I’d be so smart, trick this town boy into taking me to prom.” She shook her head. “Clearly not my father’s daughter. Can’t even run a decent con.”

  “I didn’t know,” Amy said, sounding miserable for her.

  “You were ten,” Sophie said. “I didn’t feel like sharing. But I did make Dad leave us in the next town we stopped in so you and Davy could finish growing up in one place. And by the time you were a high-school junior, you belonged.” She smiled at Amy to reassure her. “To the wrong crowd, of course, because you’re a Dempsey, but still.”

  “And then I ended up with Darrin Sunderland,” Amy said.

  “I can’t do everything,” Sophie said. “You have to pick your own guys.”

  “Well, that explains why you were so cold to Phin Tucker,” Clea said.

  Sophie frowned at her. “What?”

  “Town boy.” Clea gestured with her glass. “The high-class town boy to end all town boys. You’re making him pay for Chet Whosis.”

  “Chad,” Sophie said, thinking of Phin Tucker and his perfect face and perfect body. “Chad was tall and blond, but that was it. The mayor doesn’t look anything at all like him.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Clea said. “Frank’s still the guy I lost, and any town boy is going to be the guy who fucked you over. That’s history. It keeps repeating on you.”

  “So you’re making this film to get Frank back?” Sophie said, trying to get the conversation off town boys and Phin Tucker.

  “No.” Clea shuddered. “Did you see him today? What a fathead he grew up to be.”

  “We noticed.” Amy sounded a lot more concerned than the occasion warranted. “You still want to do the video, right?”

  Clea nodded. “All I need is film that shows I’m still bankable. When I talked to Leo, he sounded i