By Peter de Zwaan
Bob en zijn vrienden zitten achter een bende aan die autowrakken dumpt.
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Coba stayed there, watching her. She wished Walter would come. "You don't seem particularly dizzy," she said, getting out a saucepan for Claude's tea. " "I used to work at Disneyland," he said. She laughed, going to the sink. "No, really," she said. " She turned around and looked at him. " he asked. "No," she said. " She thought, and knew. " he said. " To hell with him; she would. " Torpedoing forever, no doubt, the admission of women to the hallowed and sacrosanct Men's Association. Coba looked at her-disparagingly.
She thought, and grabbed a box from the shelf-Ivory Snow -and tossed it in. Didn't even need the damn stuff! She spoke to the mother of one of Kim's classmates in Dr. Verry's waiting room; and to Yvonne Weisgalt, on the other side of the Stavroses; and to Jill Burke, in the next house over. All of them turned her down; they either had too little time or too little interest to meet with other women and talk about their shared experiences. Bobbie had even worse luck, considering that she spoke to almost twice as many women.
They drove back through Stepford Center-slowly, because Pete said that he might throw up too. Walter pointed out the white frame library, and the Historical Society's two-hundred-year-old white frame cottage. " "That's the Men's Association house," Walter said. Pete leaned to his seatbelt's limit and ducked and looked. " he asked. "That's right," Walter said. " They had come up behind a truck with a man in khakis standing in its open back, his arms stretched to its sides. He had brown hair and a long lean face and wore eyeglasses.
Bakkeleien in een Berlijnse bios by Peter de Zwaan