It was clear to me that Barbra was using Anne to keep an eye on

Peter and I.



I can't say that I blame her--we were doing what she suspected us

of doing. What pissed me off was that I had slipped up somewhere

and given her a clue.



*****



"You have to ask what's wrong?" Barbra stood in her favorite

pose: arms crossed severely over her breasts, brow furrowed in

anger, and a Wicked Witch of the West scowl on her face.



I folded my arms and furrowed my brow, too, mimicking her gesture

for gesture. But she continued, "I think I deserve an answer. Your

behavior lately has been completely irrational."



The words shot out of her mouth like bullets. "You're queer,

aren't you?"



Without a word, I walked over to her and stared her in the eyes.

Then I walked out of the room.



*****



"You just left?" asked Peter.



"Nobody talks that way to me," I said, sipping the cold beer.



"I don't like where this is going," he said, putting his hands in his face.

"I never meant to get in the way of you and Barbra."



"Barbra gets in the way of me and Barbra, Peter. I'll just stay

here tonight and let her cool off."



*****



The phone rang around two in the morning.



Right by my ear, of course.



I reached over and grabbed it.



"Hello?"



"You're there? I should have known! Put Peter on the phone!"



"Barbra, it's two! He's asleep."



"Do it now!" she screamed into the phone. "Or you can kiss your

share of Mocha Daze good-bye!"



"I'm sorry, Barbra, but this line is a little fuzzy. I can't

seem to make out what you're saying..."



"You-"



"The line's starting to break up."



"I want to talk to Peter."



"We'll talk in the morning!"



I hung up on her and hid the receiver under a pillow.



*****



That was when I decided that as soon as I got my hands on Mocha

Daze, Barbra Lawrey was dead.



Nobody messes with my sleep.



Nobody.