use, Molly couldn't be sure which.
"Avon?" Molly asked.
"No," the blonde in front said with a titter. "I'm Marge Whitfield, this is Katie Marshall, we're from the Coalition for a Moral Society. We'd like to talk to you about our campaign to reinstate school prayer. I hope we haven't caught you at a bad time." Katie was in pink. Marge in pastel blue.
"I'm Molly Michon. I was just cleaning up a little." Molly held up the two glasses. "Come on in."
The two women stepped in and stood in the doorway as Molly took the glasses to the sink. "You know, it's interesting," Molly said, "but if you put Diet Coke in one glass, and regular Coke in another, and let them sit for, oh, say six months, then come back, there will be all sorts of green stuff growing on the regular Coke, but the Diet Coke will be as good as new."
Molly returned to the living room. "Can I get you two something to drink?"
"No thank you," Marge droned in robot response. She and Katie were staring at the paused image of a wet and naked Molly on the television screen. Molly breezed by them and flipped off the television. "Sorry, an art film I made in Paris when I was younger. Won't you sit down?"
The women sat down next to each other on Molly's tattered couch, their knees pinched together so tight they could have crushed diamonds to powder.
"I love your air freshener," Katie said, trying to pull out of her terror. "It smells so clean."
"Thanks, it's Windex."
"What a cute idea," Marge said.
This was good, Molly thought. Normal people. If I can hold myself together for normal people like these, I'll be okay. This is good practice. She sat down on the floor in front of them. "So your name is Marge. You don't hear that outside of detergent commercials anymore. Did your parents watch a lot of TV?"
Marge tittered. "It's short for Margaret, of course. My grandmother's name."
Katie jumped in. "Molly, we're very concerned that our children's education is totally without any spiritual instruction. The Coalition is collecting signatures for reinstatement of prayer in school."
"Okay," Molly said. "You're new in town, aren't you?"
"Why, yes, we've both moved here from Los Angeles with our husbands. A small town is just a better place to raise children, as I'm sure you know."
"Right," Molly said. They had no idea who she was. "That's why I brought my little Stevie here." Stevie was Molly's goldfish who had died during one of her stays in County. Now he lived in a Ziploc in her freezer and regarded her with a frosty gaze every time she retrieved some ice.
"And how old is Stevie?"
"Uh, seven or eight. I forget sometimes, it was a long labor."
"He's a year behind my Tiffany," Marge said.
"Well, he's a little slow."
"And your husband is...?"
"Dead."
"I'm so sorry," Katie said.
"No need, you probably didn't kill him."
"Anyway," Katie said, "we'd really like to have your signature to send to the state senate. Single mothers are an important part of our campaign. And we're also collecting donations for the campaign to have the Constitu-tion amended." She put on an embarrassed smile. "God's work needs funding too."
"I live in a trailer," Molly said.
"We understand," Marge said. "Finances are difficult for a single mother. But your signature is just as important to God's work."
"But I live in a trailer. God hates trailers."
"Beg pardon?"
"He burns them up, freezes, them out, tears them up with tornadoes. God hates trailers. Are you sure I wouldn't be hurting your cause?"
Katie giggled. "Oh, Mrs. Michon, don't be silly. Just last week I read where a woman's trailer was picked up by a tornado and dropped almost a mile away and she survived. She said that she was praying the whole time and that God had saved her. You see?"
"Then who sent the tornado in the first place?"
The two pastel women squirmed on the couch. The blue one spoke first. "We'd love to have you at our Bible study group, where we could discuss that, but we have to be getting along. Would you mind signing the peti-tion?" She pulled a clipboard out of her oversized purse and handed it over to Molly with a pen.
"So if this works, kids will be able to pray in school?"
"Why, yes." Marge brightened.
"So the Muslim kids can turn to Mecca seven times a day or whatever and it won't count against their grades?"
The blue and pink pastel ladies looked at each other. "Well, America is