Several boys were down on their hands and knees, scrubbing the dried bloodstain from the floor. Standing over them, her hands on her hips and blowing ...ubbles, was Becky Finklestein. With glasses on, in a baggy sweatsuit she looked like a chubby nerd girl, but she radiated an unmistakable authority over the kneeling boys. “What’s going on here?” I asked.“This place was dirty, so the boys agweed to clean it up, right boys?” Becky asked.“Yes Princess Becky, Queen of the Universe,” they said meekly. And she liked going out, seeing people and being seen by them and doing things with them and being, basically, the belle of whatever ball was at hand.The odd thing was, I was finding I kind of liked it too, in her company. I'd never been exactly a recluse; the life of an opera singer, even at the comprimario level, doesn't lend itself easily to that. Wherever I'd been, even at home, I'd done my share of partying, been comfortably social, even had rare occasions—very rare over the years—when an. More

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