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For days, Marlene wouldn't step out of the house. She'd lost her job, so there was no need to get up at any particular time. No need to do anything, really. She would've killed herself if there'd been a point to it, which there wasn't. She ate only one meal — a can of Campbell's Chunky Soup — and that was it for the day. At first she'd stopped drinking, then went back to it with a vengeance. Her own body disgusted her. She was paranoid and frightened of the telephone. Her parents had called several times, but she was too embarrassed to talk to them. Stuart couldn't get though to her either, and she feared he'd stopped trying. They still slept together but hadn't once had sex since her arrest.
    The police, as it turned out, had been exceptionally nice to her. She'd already made her court appearance, where she'd pleaded guilty to one count of public indecency. She'd offered no excuse, just looked at the courtroom floor and let the tears fall as Judge Caprio sentenced her to a small fine and sixty hours of community service. The judge was not a cruel man; he knew a broken woman when he saw one. Imposing his punishment, he ordered her to report back in the morning

for her work assignment. The task was fairly easy and involved canvassing for voter registration.
    As to her previous habits, she'd stopped — simple as that. She stopped lounging naked around the house and even slept in her clothes, undressing only to take a bath or shower. She hated her body.
    Almost as penance, she went up to Stuart's office one day and logged onto the internet. Surely she wasn't the only person who'd gone down this same confused path. Public nudity wasn't the worst crime in the world; there was rape, and bestiality, and premeditated murder. Googling "public lewdness" had brought up a fairly uninspiring list of legal briefs and court cases, nothing that she could really sink her teeth into. She wanted testimonials, firsthand accounts from people just like her.
    By chance, she stumbled upon a page called secret-exhibitionist.org, a very popular site, judging by the number of hits on its counter. The main page originated in Britain, with postings from all over the world, some dating back more than three years. A full three-quarters of these were from men, but the ladies chimed in as well, just as shamelessly and aggressively. One wrote: "I discovered this website today, and I can't tell you how delighted I am. I used to think I was the only person who liked to go au naturel in public, but I can tell there's a lot of us out there. Thank you! Thank you!"
    Other friendly, supportive contributors forwarded their responses to the woman's story:
    "Welcome!!! Sounds like you had one hell of a night. Keep it up, and let us know the next time you do something crazy."
    "I had a similar experience when I was in La Junta, Colorado. One word of advice: you should always keep an extra change of clothes hidden if you plan on going

out more than a few miles. It can take a little preparation, but it'll save you a lot of trouble in the end. Other than that, good work. BTW: Anyone want to trade pix of PN in urban settings? I have construction sites, abandoned factories, highway overpasses. Daytime only, please. No shoes."
    For several minutes, all Marlene could do was stare at the screen. The sheer quantity of the postings was impressive. Public nudity was everywhere, in stores, parking lots, every conceivable mode of mass transit. The idea bothered her. She felt as though something tiny and fragile had been taken away from her and stretched out of shape, made grotesque. According to these people, public nudity was like a sporting event, with its own lingo and code of ethics. "Secret exhibitionism" — a term Marlene had never heard before — was defined as "the display of the unclothed human body in places and situations where nudity is not permitted by law or social custom." Fair enough. But why sound so clinical about it? This was a compulsion, not a sport. No equipment, no qualifying rounds, no tips from the experts. Just nightmares, and anxiety, and self-doubts. One or two brief glorious moments, but that was it.

Marlene and Stuart returned from Martha's vineyard feeling even more distant from each other than they had the week before.
    They didn't sleep together that night. After Stuart had gone to bed, Marlene took a bottle of Clos du Bois to the back porch and spent the next few hours drinking and feeling sorry for herself. With fatigue came a dismal sort of clarity. What she wanted wasn't so particularly extravagant, after all — just to add one or two little sentences to the paragraph that ultimately described her life.
    The next morning, she waited until Stuart has left on his daily hour long walk, then took his car keys and drove out of Providence. With no particular destination in mind, she felt a strange pull leading her north into the mountains. Heath would be there and Nathaniel Pike, too. Maybe they would accept her, if no one else would.