“Not ready for that,” I said. “But soon.”

I felt him nod and then he rested his head on top of mine.

“Tel me one thing, you through with him?” He meant Bil y.

I closed my eyes then opened them.

“I’m working on it.”

He nodded against my head. “Good.”

* * * * *

Uncle Tex took me to get my car so I could go back to my hotel room to rest and get ready for the party. When I got out of his car, he told me that in Denver, people wore jeans.

“Give me your cel phone number, so I can get hold of you,” I said, talking to him through his open window.

“Don’t have a cel .”

I stared at him.

Then he slammed War into the 8-track player (yes, I said 8-track) and hurtled down Broadway with “Low Rider” blaring from the speakers of his bronze El Camino. Uncle Tex, I realized quickly, was kind of living in the 70’s and didn’t feel like leaving it.

I went to my hotel, asked at reception where the nearest mal was, drove to Cherry Creek, went directly to the nearest phone store and bought Uncle Tex a cel phone. He could have his 8-track but he was also getting a goddamned cel phone. Not having one in this day and age was sheer lunacy. (Okay, so Uncle Tex was as close to a functioning lunatic as I knew—Bil y notwithstanding—but stil .)

I went back to the hotel, changed out of my fancy Meet Uncle Tex Outfit, and put on a pair of corduroys that were kind of a cross between green and gray and had a silvery sheen because Denver might do jeans but I didn’t, at least not at a party, or, I should say, at least not at a party where Whisky was. Hank may have ceased to exist for me but he hadn’t actual y ceased to exist and I was relatively certain he was going to be at the party. A girl had her pride. I kept the turtleneck and boots and threaded a glittery ribbon belt through the belt loops.

Then I turned on my cel .

Nine cal s, nine voicemails, al from Bil y, al getting steadily angrier and angrier until the last one.

“I’l find you Roxie.”

I knew he would, I was counting on it.

One more time.

Then freedom.

* * * * *

Uncle Tex picked me up and I gave him the cel phone. “I’ve charged it and put my number in it. You can pass it around the party and get everyone’s numbers.”

“You should have saved your money, won’t use it.”

“Uncle Tex.”

“Won’t use it.”

“Uncle Tex!”

“Darlin’ girl, that’s sweet but I won’t use it.” I crossed my arms on my chest.

“Okay then, I’l pass it around the party and get everyone’s numbers.”

“Knock yourself out.”

Uncle Tex never seemed stubborn in his letters.

“Bet Nancy has a cel ,” I tried (I could be stubborn too).

Uncle Tex didn’t answer.

“So, what were you doing with Nancy this morning?” Uncle Tex stil didn’t answer.

I looked at him. I could see his blush in the dark.

“You like her!” I shouted (in a happy way).

“Shee-it.”

“Uncle Tex and Nancy, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g…” I sang.

“How old are you?”

“Thirty one.”

“Act it.”

Hee hee.

* * * * *

We went to a duplex, the lights blazing on one side, the curtains open and there seemed to be a mil ion people, shoulder-to-shoulder, inside. It was al the folks from that morning at Fortnum’s, plus Indy’s neighbors; a g*y couple named Stevie and Tod.

There was also a very pretty lady who looked a lot, and dressed a lot, like Dol y Parton (including the bodacious ta-tas) named Daisy.

Into this mix was thrown Indy’s Dad; Tom, Hank’s parents; Malcolm and Kitty Sue and Jet’s Mom’s friends; Trixie and Ada.

Add a dash of a Harley guy with long, gray hair in a braid and a rol ed red bandana tied around his forehead named Duke (I’d heard about Duke in Tex’s letters, he worked at Fortnum’s too), a serious stoner named “The Kevster” (The Kevster didn’t work at al ), a couple of Indy and Al y’s girlfriends named Andrea and Marianne and a bunch of guys, some of them cops, some of them worked for Lee (I learned Mace, Vance and Matt al worked for Lee at his private investigation service).

Everyone (but Daisy) was wearing jeans (though Daisy was wearing a jeans skirt encrusted with rhinestones at the hem, the pockets and along the seams).

Little did I know, this was a recipe for disaster for me.

At the time, I thought this party crush was a good thing. In fact, I was having fun. Uncle Tex had good friends, they seemed to like him a lot and I felt comfortable with them immediately. This meant I could enjoy myself, maybe a bit too much and maybe a bit too crazily considering the fact that Daisy told me a story about her, Al y, Jet and Indy stun gunning some women in a bar that made me double over laughing and nearly pee my pants and Tod told me a story about Indy lip-synching with him during a drag show that made me shove him in the shoulder and shout “Shut up! ” so loud everyone turned to stare. This also meant I could easily avoid Hank at the same time, (wel , kind of, it wasn’t a big duplex, but I tried real hard).

I was doing pretty wel , for a while.

Trouble was, it was a good party, nice (albeit slightly crazy) people who enjoyed each other’s company and bowls of cashews (everyone knew, cashews equaled good party). Worse stil , Indy was at the martini shaker and she made a mean dirty martini, so good, I had three before I even realized it.

Worse than that (and my fatal mistake a couple of hours into the party), I took a bite of Jet’s chocolate caramel layer squares while Hank was in the vicinity.

I didn’t know, no one warned me.

I bit in.

I chewed.

I closed my eyes in oblivious pleasure.

Then, I moaned.

I couldn’t help myself, they were that good.

When I opened them, the Handsome Troop, including Lee, Eddie, Mace, Vance and Hank were al staring at me and Lee and Eddie had lost their scary looks.

Hank was looking at me like he wanted to take a bite out of me.

My heart skipped a beat and my head went dizzy.

I covered quickly.

“What?” I asked after I swal owed. “They’re good.” Uncle Tex’s hand went to the top of my head. “You can tel she’s family.”

Al y came up as Indy whisked empty martini glass number three out of my hand and exchanged it with ful martini glass number four, better known to al as Naughty Girl Martini.