Stacy and her husband Eric had been living in the Houston suburb for a few years when that new couple had moved into the neighborhood. No longer known as the new couple themselves, Stacy and Eric—who had moved into the little bedroom community when Eric took his first faculty post at a university in the city—had, by then, entered the tight social circle of upper-middle class professionals on their block. From the beginning, everyone knew that something was askew with the new couple, and Stacy assumed that the discomfort was just because the new couple consisted of two women.
Stacy, having been brought up by progressive parents in a city known for its liberal politics, felt a bit superior to those other neighbors whom she perceived to be somewhat backwards. She assumed that her neighbors, Eric's colleagues, and—heck—everyone else she had met since she moved here with Eric grew up in predictable June Cleaver-type households and hadn't been exposed to much else.
"Why did they get a house right across the street from the school? Are they going to have kids or something?"
"Henry and Paula live right next to them, and they say that they don't pull down their shades at night."
"I took a basket of cookies over there one day, and things got… well… weird."
Such was the kind of gossip that wandered from house to house about the new couple. Stacy brushed it off to ignorance. But one thing that Eric mentioned—which offended Stacy at first—did stick with her.
"What's with that place?! It's like the Playboy Mansion without Hugh Hefner!" Eric was referring to the throngs of young women who littered their backyard pool every weekend. Every Friday and Saturday, there was a party held at the new couple's house. Women—many of whom looked like they were in their early 20s—could be seen laughing, splashing about in the pool, soaking in the hot tub, and lounging on the deck chairs. The party would often go long into the night.
While leaving the grocery store one afternoon, Stacy ran into one half of the new couple. "Hey…" the voice in the parking lot called out. "You live down the street from us." Stacy turned and saw a woman who looked to be about 35 with neatly-trimmed hair. She was wearing a crisp linen suit and didn't appear to be at all wilted by the intense Texas heat. "I'm Annie. I'm new in town, and I'd like to get to know as many of my neighbors as possible. Why don't you stop by sometime?"
Annie and Stacy exchanged addresses, phone numbers, and promises to visit. When Stacy returned home, she said nothing to Eric about her chance meeting.
It was on a Sunday morning when Eric went out for a run that Stacy thought to pay a visit to Annie and her partner—who, Stacy had by now learned, was named Carla. They invited her to sit down for a cup of tea and immediately started off on the initial pleasantries that people go through when meeting for the first time. Stacy learned that they were both from New York, and Annie was a freelance writer and Carla a banker. "And what about you," Annie asked. "What do you do?"
"Well… I worked as a graphic designer for a number of years, but when we moved here for Eric's job, I had to leave mine. I haven't found anything since then."
"You know," Carla started, "our bank is looking for someone to work on the layout of our annual reports. Why don't you drop off a copy of your resume with me, and I can pass it onto our human resources department?"
"Oh, really? Wow!" Stacy bristled with excitement. These new friendships could really open doors for her, she thought. And they would in more ways than one.
* * * * *
It was to be Stacy's first pool party at Annie and Carla's house. Eric had been invited, too, perhaps out of formality, but—somehow—Eric sensed that the event really wasn't his scene. Stacy kissed Eric before she left for the party. "Bye, hon,' Don't worry, I won't stay out too late."