Cleansing the Soul by Elisabeth Carrey Sniffing warily at some designer shampoo, Deborah wondered if Suzan had any bath products that didn't come from France. A few were Laurel's concoctions, but the rest were all foreign. And girly. Sighing in resignation, she lathered up her hair. She hated smelling like flowers. That was Suzan's department. And Faye's. They were the prissy ones. Deb snickered to herself, imagining their reactions to being called "prissy". Suzan would wrinkle her nose distastefully. "Fuck off, Deb." Deborah would leer suggestively at her. "Anytime, Suz." Faye would laugh at that, and Suzan's skin would blush a deep crimson. She'd look away, but not before Deb would catch a tentative and beautiful smile from her. She grinned and sank down into the water.