“What?”
“She was raised Presbyterian.”
“That makes no sense,” said Frank.
“What that she was raised Presbyterian?”
“No, that she was attracted to some low life like Billy Taylor,” said Frank convincingly.
“Remember when we were kids and used to sneak into those rock concerts when they came to town?”
“Sure I do, but what does that have to do with anything?”
“You remember those girls up on the stage?”
“Sure I do, who could forget?”
“They were fantastic. They were everything anyone could want. Right?”
“Yea, I guess.”
“Frank, what we were looking at was the fame. What we were looking at was the bodies and the makeup. We were looking at whatever the promoter wanted us to see. We were looking at the illusion.”
“Damn good illusion,” said Frank.
“You’re right. I was a damn good illusion and that illusion was what Lynn Powell was looking at the first time she saw Billy Taylor. She saw exactly what Billy Taylor and his whole money grubbing crowd had perfected over years of work. Let’s not be too critical of Lynn. You would have hooked onto any one of those girls we used to see in those rock concerts.”
Frank nodded. “In a skinny minute.”
“Yet, we had no idea who they were or what they were. We didn’t know if they were on drugs, in a gang or hooking after the show. We didn’t know a thing about them.”
“You’re right. We fell for the illusion.”
“That’s right, the illusion and that’s what Lynn Powell fell for. She bought the illusion all the way.”
Frank nodded in an embarrassed way.
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