I think of that girl I read about in the paper — the one with the flammable skirt. She’d bought a rayon chiffon skirt, purple with wavy lines all over it. She wore it to a party and was dancing, too close to the vanilla-smelling candles, and suddenly she lit up like a pine needle torch. When the boy dancing next to her felt the heat and smelled the plasticky smell, he screamed and rolled the burning girl up in the carpet. She got third-degree burns up and down her thighs. But what I keep wondering about is this: that first second when she felt her skirt burning, what did she think? Before she knew it was the candles, did she think she’d done it herself? With the amazing turns of her hips, and the warmth of the music inside her, did she believe, for even one glorious second, that her passion had arrived?
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m so pleased and thankful to be able to publicly acknowledge the following people:
The UC–Irvine workshop was instrumental in helping me shape and form these stories, especially Cullen Gerst for his forthright and giving nature, Glen Gold for his storytelling convictions, Phil Hay for his stubbornly wise opinions about what fiction is, and Alice Sebold for her humor, strength, and friendship. Geoffrey Wolff offered tremendous encouragement and help in the true spirit of generous leadership, and I’m so grateful to Judith Grossman both for her aesthetic and for giving me that crucial second look.
Many thanks to my enthusiastic and intelligent editor, Bill Thomas, and to my agent, Henry Dunow, who is that excellent combination of thoughtfulness and warmth.
I am indebted to the journals that accepted my stories, and to those editors who encouraged me over time.
The outstanding Miranda Hoffman read nearly everything first, and from the beginning, has had a crucial unflagging belief in me. And this book itself is one of the triumphs of the work I did with Jeanne Burns Leary, and I am so grateful to her for her help in reminding me and teaching me and rere-minding me and reteaching me that eagles don’t catch flies.
Finally, my family: my parents, Meri and David Bender, with their mutual belief in the bizarre beauty of the unconscious, my gentle, powerhouse sisters, Suzanne and Karen, and my elegant fairy-tale-loving grandmother Ardie, have all in their own way both supported and inspired me by who they are, what they believe in, and by the sustaining strength of their love.