Elizabeth Archers
3-D in B&W
Venus was tired of all the attention. Lately it seemed she couldn’t go anywhere without being recognized—little girls touching her skirt, middle-aged men following her with hang-dog eyes, Casanovas swooping in with roses. The young women narrowing their eyes at her in envy were the worst, except perhaps for the ones whose nightingale-high voices broke her eardrums when they squealed, “Ooh, Ms. Venus, can I have your autograph?”
Venus needed a break. So she’d gone incognito six months ago: painted a big wart on her nose, picked out a pair of bottleglass-thick spectacles, experimented with braces. She avoided going out and never went anywhere there was likely to be a crowd.
But Venus also needed comfort, and sometimes—more often than she liked to admit—she missed the familiar crashing waves and salt-scent of her birthplace.
The bathroom wasn’t a very good substitute, no matter how many shells she arranged on the floor.
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